#el back at it again with the six different tags for her name <3

[sickbromeo]

guys i love will byers so much :)

ANYWAYS head canon that after everything with the upside down is over and joyce and hopper get together and the byer-hopper family moves in together, hopper comes home from job one day really annoyed so he has a beer because that’s what he does when he’s annoyed and stressed from work but will sees this and knows hop’s in a bad mood so he goes upstairs and goes into el’s room just to talk and hang with her but when he closes the door he makes sure it’s locked because even though he tells himself hopper is nothing like lonnie better safe then sorry right? :)

#LOL #like guys we’ve literally seen how hop can get when he’s angry and you’re gonna tell me will and jonathan aren’t gonna be a little weary #around him especially when he’s tipsy or drunk ? #will byers #stranger things s4 #byler tumblr #byler #jim hopper #eleven hopper #eleven byers #jane hopper #jane byers #el hopper #el byers #el back at it again with the six different tags for her name <3 #jonathan byers #the byers family #willel

[lizardkingeliot]

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic

[wrestlingisfake]

All Out preview

Here we go with AEW's annual Labor Day weekend show in Hoffman Estates, just like the original All In show three years ago. I have been going to wrestling shows for days, and it all comes down to this!

The show starts at 8pm EDT, streaming on Bleacher Report (in the US and Canada) and Fite.tv for $49.99. A free pre-show will be available at 7pm EDT.

CM Punk vs. Darby Allin - This is CM Punk's first pro wrestling match since January 26, 2014, when he spent 49 minutes in the Royal Rumble working with a staph infection and a possible concussion. The following night he walked out of WWE, leading to seven and a half years of debate about what is next move would/should be. Two weeks ago he debuted with AEW and declared that he wanted to help the younger talent, starting with a match against Allin. Allin, for his part, took some exception to being the first opponent, as if he's just a stepping stone to bigger matches.

The big issue here is seeing how well Punk, 42, has held up after seven years away. I've seen reports that he's looking good in training, but you just don't know until the bell rings. Regardless, I expect the hometown crowd to be very forgiving to Punk, and Allin is good enough to carry the match if he really has to.

I feel like I ought to have more to say about this, but it also feels like everything's been said. I can't believe Punk would lose his first match in. But I can believe that if Punk insisted on doing the job, AEW would let him do that. It'd be unusual for the returning guy to come up short, but New Japan does that sometimes and it can work as a longer build to the first win. Still, it is Chicago (sort of), so my gut says Punk wins to let us feel special.

Kenny Omega vs. Christian Cage - Omega is defending the AEW men's world title. For months, Omega held four different belts, representing championships in AEW, AAA, and Impact Wrestling. But on August 13 Christian defeated Omega for the Impact/TNA world title (and later retired the TNA belt), leaving Kenny more vulnerable than ever. The AAA and Impact titles aren't at stake in this match, so no matter who what happens the winner will be a double champion.

Cage is a great wrestler, but not a great challenger for this match. For months the storytelling pointed towards Hangman Page in this spot, but Page was abruptly written off television so he could take paternity leave. I don't think anybody resents Christian for filling in, but nobody really expects the 47-year-old, recently returned from a seven-year retirement, to win the big one. It's also a rematch of something we already saw a few weeks ago, which isn't a big deal but it's a bit of a talking point when everyone is always dogging WWE for excessive rematches.

The big go-home angle on September 1 was that Omega, the Young Bucks, and their buddies destroyed Christian, the Lucha Bros., and their buddies. After the show went off the air Tony Khan promised that this kind of bullshit interference wouldn't happen in the Bucks-Lucha Bros. cage match. Well, okay, but this match doesn't have a steel cage, so I have a feeling there will be plenty of bullshit interference. And I'm willing to bet that interference gives Omega the win while somewhat protecting Christian.

Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson vs. Penta El 0M & Rey Fenix - The Young Bucks (Matt and Nick) are defending the AEW tag team title. The Lucha Bros. won a four-team tournament to earn this shot. The Bucks have relied on a lot of outside interference from their entourage lately, so to counter that this match will be held inside a steel cage. In AEW, the only way to win a cage match is by pinfall or submission.

I was at All Out 2019 when these teams last met in a crazy ladder match (which feels like a million years ago). Everyone raved about it, and also worried that the Bucks damn near killed themselves. Personally I had a really shitty view of the ring, which made it hard to follow the match. This time I've got a much better view, so I'm looking forward to some good karma.

In theory the Bucks have sworn off doing the dangerous shit from the ladder match, but technically this is a cage match so maybe they'll just do different dangerous shit. Personally I'm more intrigued by seeing them change their game to fit in the confines of the cage, which doesn't lend itself to springboard flips off the ropes. But the cage has places to stand at the top, which will encourage the idea of setting up crazy highspots.

I feel like a title change is possible, but I could just as easily see the Bucks hold the belts for another six months. Santana and Ortiz seem to be next in line for a shot, and honestly I think that would work with either of these teams. But I guess I'll lean towards the Bucks retaining.

Chris Jericho vs. MJF - MJF defeated Jericho on November 7, 2020, to earn entry into Jericho's stable, the Inner Circle. MJF inevitably betrayed Jericho and formed his own stable, the Pinnacle, which beat the Inner Circle on May 5, 2021. Jericho was so determined to get revenge that he accepted MJF's terms to perform five "labors" to earn a rematch, but MJF beat Jericho once again on August 18, 2021. So now MJF is 3-0 against Jericho. (For some reason we're counting the ten-man match on May 5 but not the other one on May 30, which Jericho's team won, but whatever.) To get this final rematch, Jericho has put his career on the line.

Suddenly everything else in this storyline has taken a back seat to the idea that this may really be the end of Chris Jericho's 30-year in-ring career. There are plenty of fans who think Jericho, 50, should hang it up, but now that it might actually happen I think people aren't so sure they're ready for it all to end. The timing for Jericho to tease this is perfect, because he could easily just win and go another couple of years, or he could easily just finish today.

Part of what makes this work so well is MJF. I think everyone recognizes that MJF is going to be a top name in the 2020s, and that Jericho wants to make this guy. So it's like, if Jericho can get retired by anyone he wants, why wouldn't he pick MJF? I think the match will feel a little flat if Jericho comes up short yet again, but if it's the end of his career it suddenly doesn't matter if he's lost too many times, y'know?

Still, something tells me this isn't the end. Something tells me Jericho has more he wants to do. And something tells me, in a few years, we may be wondering if it would have been better if he retired on this show.

Britt Baker vs. Kris Statlander - Baker is defending the AEW women's world title. I expect to like this match but there's not really much to it. Baker was feuding with Red Velvet a while back and then Statlander made the save for Velvet. Baker and her crony Rebel have brought in Jamie Hayter to stack the deck against Statlander and Velvet. I think it's way too soon for Baker to drop the title, and I don't expect Kris to be the one to take it from her. So this is kind of a formality to kill time until Baker vs. Thunder Rosa down the road.

Miro vs. Eddie Kingston - Miro's AEW TNT championship is on the line. Somehow in the past year Miro has gone from Kip Sabian's gamer buddy to a monster heel who thinks God has anointed him to beat the shit out of people. Kingston has gone from a gutless heel to the most beloved guy in AEW. Wrestling is great.

Anyway, I love both of these guys, but I can't just bet that all the wrestlers have a good time. If Eddie's going to win a championship, it really ought to be in New York. I realize Chicago is AEW's favorite and we get all the good shit, but I've had my CM Punk ice cream and I'm maaaaaybeee going to get the Bryan Danielson debut too, so I'm willing to let New York have this one thing. Just this one time.

Jon Moxley vs. Satoshi Kojima - Moxley is the new GCW world champion following a surprise appearance at last night's GCW show; I assume that does not turn this into a title match. Moxley told top contender Nick Gage "you know where to find me," and it's anyone's guess if Gage will show up here to accept that invitation.

Mox is a busy boy making friends everywhere he goes. For a few weeks he was angling for a match with a top New Japan Pro Wrestling star on this show. The leading candidate was Hiroshi Tanahashi, but several other interesting names were discussed by fans and pundits alike. After that buzz, Kojima is a bit of a letdown.

Don't get me wrong, it's cool to get a guy who's held the IWGP heavyweight title, the All Japan Triple Crown, and the NWA world title. Kojima's a legend. But at this stage of his career, he's the guy New Japan sends when the real stars aren't available. Besides which, my cup runneth over when it comes to 50-year-old guys showing up to prove they can wrestle like they're 40. And I don't think anybody really believes Kojima can beat Moxley.

Ideally, this match should end with a video message from a bigger New Japan name calling out Moxley. I'm not confident that will happen. Then again, at this point I wouldn't be surprised if Moxley showed up in NXT UK to pick a fight with WALTER.

Paul Wight vs. QT Marshall - Formerly the Giant in WCW and the Big Show in WWE, Wight debuted with AEW earlier this year as a color commentator. QT and his goons were picking on Wight's broadcast partner Tony Schiavone when Wight intervened, setting up this match.

I was actually kind of into the idea of this until Marshall showed photos of Wight's recent hip surgery. Up to that point, they'd managed to keep me from noticing if Wight could move okay, and I was willing to accept he could do a basic squash match without a problem. But now I just assume he's broken down and he'll need a lot of smoke and mirrors to do even a simple match. Maybe that's the plan, to get me to lower my expectations and be pleasantly surprised. I sure hope it works out.

I'm about 95% sure Wight clobbers QT and just wins handily. There's a chance QT's squad pulls enough shenanigans to get a bullshit win, but I'm not sure what the point would be.

21-woman Casino Battle Royale - This is AEW's funky concept for a gauntlet battle royale. Five women start the match, and then every five minutes another wave of five enters; the 21st entrant gets to come out alone. Eliminations can occur at any time, by exiting the ring over the top rope to the floor. The last woman left after the others have been eliminated is declared the winner, and receives a future title match against the AEW women's champion.

AEW has announced 20 participants: Abadon, Anna Jay, Big Swole, Diamante, Emi Sakura, Hikaru Shida, Jade Cargill, Jamie Hayter, Kiera Hogan, KiLynn King, Leyla Hirsch, Nyla Rose, Penelope Ford, Rebel, Red Velvet, Riho, Skye Blue (a late substitution for Julia Hart), Tay Conti, The Bunny, Thunder Rosa.

The 21st spot has been left open for a surprise. Ruby Soho (formerly Ruby Riott in WWE) is widely expected to join AEW, and this would be a sensible spot for that to happen. But there are other women who could potentially debut here as a swerve.

I always want to pick the surprise entrant to win these things, but they really haven't done all that well in AEW battle royales. I could see them giving the win to, say, Big Swole, and just having Britt Baker beat her a few weeks later on Dynamite. Or Thunder Rosa could win to set up a major program for the next pay-per-view. They have a lot of options, which makes it hard to predict but fun to watch.

Orange Cassidy & Chuck Taylor & Wheeler YUTA & Luchasaurus & Jungle Boy vs. Matt Hardy & Marq Quen & Isiah Kassidy & Jack Evans & Angelico - This is booked for the pre-show. Hardy's heel group has been feuding with most of the midcard babyfaces for months. I don't expect this match will blow off the feud, but it'd be nice if it did so we could move on to something else. Orange's team should probably win.

#aew #all out #cm punk #darby allin #kenny omega #christian cage #the young bucks #lucha bros #cannot *believe* i managed to get this done

[avatraang]

Writer Tag Game

I’m 18 days late but thank you @irresistible-revolution for tagging me <3 and thank you to @thetpot for tagging me more recently too <33

I’m going to tag @cats-and-metersticks @twinkle-toph @rllybritrlly @justoceanmyth @alllemagne :)

How many works do you have on AO3?

48 🤡 i have more on ff.net, but we don’t speak of those lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

211743

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

sad, beautiful, tragic she could rule the world (and he loves her), truths and ideals (and the fallen in love), breezing into joke shops (in search of good coffee), (just say) you won’t let go.

the fandoms are as follows: doctor who, avatar: the last airbender, pokemon black and white, harry potter, harry potter. They are all older fics of mine, especially the doctor who one! phew, what a trip down memory lane lol.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do my best! Sometimes I forget for long stretches of time, and then in a flurry of energy I respond to a big load of them. But I think it encourages community, which in fandom is really all we have.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i’d say one of my fremione fics, the liar and his lover. I am definitely prone to angsty writing above any other genres, but this fic definitely hit a level I don’t typically dare approach. still, even as the years have progressed, i really do continue to hold this fic near my heart.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

because i don’t write a lot of feel-good fics, it’s way easier to pinpoint a fic with an overall happy tone and ending! personally, i believe the happiest ending i’ve ever written is to my fic the sweetest rewards. it was definitely solely for my own enjoyment and had no intention of being sad, and i think the joy i had while writing it showed.

Do you write crossovers? If so, What is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I used to write a few Disney crossovers, and I think one of them is up on ao3, but honestly, the one and only crossover that I’ve written that comes to mind even 6 (six!!!) years later is a captain america and narnia crossover i wrote that centered around bucky barned and susan pevensie. the premise of bucky and susan is actually super interesting to me, and i always meant to write another fic for them, but time passed and i never did.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

one time someone commented on a fic and told me that toph and sokka wouldn’t have pet names, which like, okay i guess? but as a whole no, i typically don’t get hate. if i did though i’d probably treat it like i treat everything else on the internet -superficially. 

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

i do, but not often. I started more recently! i have two explicit fics, and three fics that are mature. the M rated fics more just ~imply~ sex, but the explicit fics are, well... explicit about it, lmao. the two explicit fics are definitely porn with feelings, and have just been me exploring and bettering my skills in the sex writing department. one of them is a tokka fic, called lazy sunday, and the other is a maiaang fic, called a better companion.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

o.o i don’t think so!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

i have! on ff.net, though. 

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

twice, once with my sister (first fic i ever wrote), and again for the pjo fandom. the pjo one was never finished, but that’s alright!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

ooof this is such a HARD question! i’ve always loved tokka, since atla’s original airing. fremione has also always been close to my heart! i have many more pairings i love, but let’s just call it a tie between those two lol

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

lmfao my pokemon black and white fanfic, truths and ideals (and the fallen in love). i left it open for a second part, but then i was like “eh, it works by itself too” and never went back to it even though to this day people still comment begging for a second part. it’s the chaotic energy for me lmfaoooo

What are your writing strengths?

i’d say my attention to the details of a setting (like a room or a person). i recently wrote a fic where i described aang’s tattoos in vivid detail, and i’m really proud of the explanation i came up with for how they just disappear in some places. i also have been told i translate emotion well into my writing without characters having to explicitly say what they’re feeling, which is good, because i think it’s rare for folks to actually come right out and express themselves.

What are your writing weaknesses?

while i give a lot of attention to a setting or a person, my attention to detail when it comes to dialogue and action is weak. i also am not the best at transitioning from scene to scene, most likely from the fact that i usually write fics that have long breaks of time between each moment.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t really do it in any languages other than English or Spanish. Even in Spanish I’m wary, because it’s such a rich language with different dialects. I speak El Salvadoran Spanish, which is virtually the same as Honduran and Guatemalan Spanish, but differs hugely from Colombian, Cuban, or Mexican Spanish (for example). Therefore, I’m always a little scared to write dialogue in Spanish even though I’m a native speaker, just because of those huge differences in dialect. And when it comes to other languages, I pretty much never do it.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Pokemon, lmao. It was a truth or dare fic series that I cowrote with my little sister.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

worship the flame. it was like making a daydream your reality. i had spent countless hours just thinking about the concepts, and then one day after talking to some folks in the hive mind server, sat down and penned the whole thing in one sitting. not just a favorite, but THEE favorite.

#my fanfiction #irresistible revolution #tag game #tag meme

[imaginingmarvelandeverything]

Unsettling News

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for season 3

Word Count: 1450

A/N: So, here is part 15 of Nightmares and Bruises. This is more of a filler, the next proper chapter will be posted next week. The taglist is open so drop me an ask or a comment! I won’t reply to comments because this is a side blog but know that I see and read them all.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

For the second time this week, Y/N was woken by the phone ringing. She sat up and looked at her surrounding with a blurry eyed confusion. It took her several moments to realise that she was in Billy’s room. The phone cut off as someone picked it up. Y/N flopped back down and looked up at the ceiling. She had only ever woken up in this room a handful of times. Each of those times had been like this; when Billy’s dad was out of town. He refused to let her be anywhere near Neil. But this was the first time she was here without Billy.

Billy’s room was a reflection of both him and his home life. There were several ash trays dotted around the room and the smell of smoke had permeated every surface. A few posters were dotted across the wall (he had removed the poster of the blonde in the bikini before the first time she had stopped over). His stereo system and record player took up the largest part of the room other than the bed. His record collection splayed across the floor beneath it. There was also a cassette player in the room. His love of music was definitely the most prominent part of him in the room. His dressing table was made up of stacked crates. Something Y/N knew was because Neil had refused to by him one. So, he made do with what he had. She also knew she was the only one who knew about the collection of paper backs hidden under his bed and in the bottom of his wardrobe. His best kept secret because he knew what his father would say if he found them.

Y/N was pulled out of her thoughts by loud knocking followed by the door opening.

“Morning.” She yawned as Max appeared in the doorway.

“Morning.” Max paused as she tried to find the right words. “Mike called, said it’s a code red and we need to go to his right now. Could you drive us, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Give me twenty minutes.” Y/N smiled and stood up from the bed.

“Thank you!” Max called as she shut the door.

Y/N walked over to Billy’s drawers and pulled the bottom one out. She shifted his shirts to one side and pulled out some clean underwear. She kept a stash of things (clean underwear and toiletries) there after the first night she had spent here and had nothing she needed the next morning. She threw off Billy’s shirt and shorts she had slept in and pulled the underwear on. She pulled her shorts from the previous day on and then ransacked Billy’s closet for a clean shirt. She threw her hair up into a ponytail to get it out of her face. After that, she grabbed her toiletries and walked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later the three of them were driving to Mike’s. Y/N pulled up in front of the Wheeler’s and Max turned to her.  “You should probably come too. Mike sounded… scared.”

“Sure.” She threw the hand break on and followed the two younger girls to the basement door.

“The hell happened to you?” Mike asked as she walked in. Will and Lucas were also looking at her arm and head with concern.

“Me and Billy got into a car crash.” She brushed them off and sat down in one of the chairs. “So, what’s the code red?”

Everyone sat down and looked at Will. “I didn’t think it was anything at first. I mean, I think I just didn’t want to believe it. The first time I felt it was at Day of the Dead.”

“The power went out that night too.” Mike cut in.

“And then I felt it again. At the field, near the Nelson farm the next day. Then again yesterday outside Castle Byers.” Will glanced around them all.

“What does it feel like?” Max asked.

“It’s almost like… You know when you drop on a roller coaster?”

There was a chorus of yes’s and one no from El

“It’s like, everything inside your body is just sinking all at once, but this is worse.” Will explained. “Your body… It goes cold and- and you can’t breathe. I’ve felt it before, whenever he was close.”

“Whenever who was close?” Y/N leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees; praying Will wouldn’t say what she thought he was going to.

“The Mind Flayer.” Will told her.

“I closed the gate.” El said.

“I know, but… What if he never left?” Will looked scared. “What if we locked him out here with us?”

Everyone stared at him in confusion so he shot to his feet. He walked across to a set of drawers and pulled out a sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal. He walked back over and put the paper down. They all moved to stand around him “This is him. All of him.” He roughly drew a monster with six legs in the middle of the paper. “But that day on the field, a part of him attached itself to me.” He wiped his palm against the image and showed them his hand, now dusted with charcoal. “My mom got it out of me, and Eleven closed the gate.” He flipped the paper. “But the part of that was still in me, what if it’s still in our world? In Hawkins.” He slapped his hand against the paper, leaving behind a hand print.

“I don’t understand. The Demodogs died when El closed the gate.” Max chipped in. “If the brain dies the body dies.”

“We can’t take any chances. We have to assume the worst.” Mike said. “The Mind Flayer is back.

“Yeah, and if he is, he’d want to attach himself to someone again. A new me.” Will added.

“A new host.” Lucas looked unsettled.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat and she was back on the road, with Billy after the crash. She got to her feet and walked a few steps away from the kids. “How can you tell if someone is a host?”

“Why?” Mike asked as she turned back to face them. “You saw something didn’t you?”

“No- yes- I don’t know.” Y/N ran her hand over her face. “I was knocked out when we crashed. I don’t know where we crashed or what happened but when I came round… Billy, he was terrified and covered in dirt. He pulled up to a pay phone and told me to stay in the car as he got out. He picked up the phone but the lights started flickering and he put it down. He walked into the middle of the street and started yelling.”

“At what?” Max asked.

“Nothing I could see. So, I got out of the car and walked over to him. He didn’t seem to notice me, just kept yelling. I took his hand and…” She bit her lip. “The entire world seemed to flicker. Like everything got dark and the sky kept flashing red and the floor was covered in vines.”

“The Upside Down.” Will realised.

“I guess so. It looked how you described it. But that wasn’t the worst thing. There were people.”

“People?” El asked.

“Yeah, like a big group of them stood in the middle of the road. But I could only recognise one because he stepped forward. It was… It was Billy.”

Mike looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Billy was stood next to me, but he was also stood in front of us. The other him, was different. He was wearing the same clothes but he was clean and he sounded wrong. Like there were multiple people speaking at the same time.”

“That’s why you were looking for him yesterday.” Max said and Y/n nodded. “So, how do we know for sure if it’s him?”

“We have to find him first.” Mike said. “D’you know where he’ll be?”

“His shift at the pool starts in about five minutes.” Y/N said. “But I can’t fit you all in my car.”

“You take Max and El and we’ll meet you there.” Mike said.

“Alright, see you in around twenty minutes.” Y/N said as they all set off. 

Part 16 

Tags: @assholeheartthrob @httperrornicole @ambeazyyy @princess-huffy @gemgemswift @colie87 @iris-suoh @sydneynix8305 @peter-pan-hoe@p0wderedtoast @not-a-glad-gladiator @fangirlinganditswonders @endgameendsme @lazinesstookovermylife @lilac--dreams @anon-1112 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @wickedlovely121 @lightlysweetened @scarecrowsragdoll @bilesxbilinskixlahey @moonstruckhargrove @krazykatkay456 @thecraziestcrayon @moonchild1507 @tah0e @tony-stank3@allie-mcginn @supernatural-girl97 @hi-my-name-is-riley @ria132love@t-swizzle-owns-me @sabrinasturtlenecks @meliv99 @jamesvaldezzzz@thatfrenchperson @cynthianokamaria @avnngrs @studysimsx @emmaquarius @stevieboyharrington@eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @ofwisdomandwar @external-l-appel-du-vide @evelynfreakinaddams @bish-ima-clown @noodlenerd101 @jakesmysterio@playboygeniusphilanthropist @itsfangirlmendes @pinkrosesx @killer-queen-xo @steveharrigntons @bookmarkofglitter @alina-margaret @labyrinth-of-thoughts @helen-of-troi @ninjathrowingstork @requestedmemory @believerofall  @thefandomzoneisdangerous @esteroni @deepmilkshakecoffee @somethingdawn @brandi1936 @universefinds @huang-the-geek @silver-winter-wolf @longliphoney @absolute-randomness-forever @littlepsychos-world @octavia05 @escaping-reality21 @httpakasha @dmv49 @lyricfreaks @helena-way07 @katiexdacre @fangirlbitch02 @lo-bells @slytherinrising @i-am-a-smol-sweet-potato @imjusthereforsupernatural @lokis-butter-knife @banannie25 @itsanallygator @justabeautiful-letdown @calumsfringe @jakeblck @sunshine-and-riverwater @wickedpr1ncess @ang-hellic @marvelous-hargrove @safewithintheheart @kpopishilarious @beyxlm @sighrins @iloveyou3000and5 @yosoymuyloca @lauren-novak @killerqueenishere

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery imagine #Max Mayfield #mike wheeler #Lucas Sinclair #will byers #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #nightmares and bruises #imagine #x reader

[jadeywrites]

Writer’s Month | Day 1: Tattoo Artist

[Masterlist]

Alright, here we gooo

This one’s a long one, but I expect this to be a rare occurrence because I won’t be able to keep up if I always write ones these long.

This is a snippet from a world and characters I’ve made in my head, but never really got around to writing due to all the plot work that would need to be done first. I’ll tag it as #wip: two cities anyway, in case I end up writing more related stuff.

I realized I misinterpreted the Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU prompt wrong. I thought it was a choice between “tattoo artist” and “flower shop au”, but apparently it’s a specific thing that’s sometimes seen in fanfic. I don’t write fanfic so I wasn’t aware of this, and had this written already before last night my brain went oH wAiT. I kinda like this so I won’t be deleting it, but I’m not 100% sure if it still counts or not.

Word count: 1,480

Everything about what he was doing today was… not necessarily illegal, for it wasn’t illegal for a Cryx citizen to visit Downunder, but definitely out of the ordinary. What he was doing was ill-advised, El decided. A very bad idea, if you were to ask anyone on Cryx. Those who had been born on Cryx did not venture down to the lower level of the city, where the lesser-born lived. Go down there, and you would never come back up. 

Downunder was a “necessary evil”. 

Having grown up in Cryx, discomfort stretched tightly across El’s skin as he walked the dim streets. It was harder to breathe down here, and there was a stink of… what? The combined tang of metal and sweat filled the air, a scent that didn’t vanish completely even if you stood right next to the giant ventilators spread across Downunder to keep the citizens provided with enough fresh air.

Where were all the people? He could hear clanks, echoes, distant voices here and there, but he had only encountered a grand total of five people in the hour he had been down here. He had been lucky, that each time no one had looked close enough to see how he was a piece that did not fit.

Reaching an intersection, El glanced up at the faded street signs. Ouro Gul, read the sign to his right. Where had these strange names come from? Was this the dead language of old Cryx, before it had become the Downunder of today? El turned onto the street, keeping his steps brisk. He wanted to stop and stare at everything. The stained gray walls. The dimly glowing bulletins, most of them turned off or broken, but a few advertising products that were already old news up in Cryx. Up in Cryx. Buffering skies, he really was standing underneath the city he had grown up in.

The street narrowed. The buildings, the shortest ones five stories tall, loomed over him. A part of him worried that they could tumble down at any moment. El tugged his worn jacket closer around his shoulders and began to scan the sides. Many building fronts were unmarked, some had signs with more words he knew no meaning of. Then, there it was. Above a door to the left, engraved in the--brick?--were the words “Grist Jul: Kapi Relnuten”. On the door hung a sign, thankfully in the language he knew: Shelm’s Tattoos. Open.

There were no windows on the ground floor to peer in. All El could do was turn the handle, and push.

The door opened into a small room, similar to a reception area. The lack of modern technology was atrocious. No AI seemed to register his appearance. No welcome greeting. The room was lit with one of the styles that had been a fad ten years ago--the entire ceiling glowing uniformly to provide light--but the blue color was harsh and the light wobbled. It tinted the illustrations of different tattoo designs on the wall, the intricate swirls, bold lines, little tattoos and large ones spread across ones back. 

A desk was placed across from the door, wooden and clear of any objects. A chair behind it. A line of five chairs along the right wall, presumably for waiting in. There was a large screen built into the left wall, headlines scrolling across in 3-D lettering.

Thusian’s Factory holding interviews for floor manager

Sector 7G governor announces new guidelines for product 4B8W53 manufacturing

Breakdown in 3C causes mass-exodus

El frowned at the headlines. They were far from what he was used to seeing in the news. He reached out to tap on the last headline for more information, but the click-click of shoes on hard floor made him pause. There was no one in this small room, but--

A section of the wall beside the desk swung out into the door, and El started. He hadn’t made out the outline of a door, not in this lighting. From the dark hallway he could glimpse beyond, a woman stepped out into the blue light.

El’s gaze flitted over her appearance. Chin length straight hair, tinted slightly blue by the light, framed an also slightly blue face. A pointed chin, flat nose, and thin eyebrows over narrowed eyes surrounded by black makeup. Her attire was odd: geometric patterned tunic over black fitting pants, and a leather jacket with studs that reflected the light.

She did not look as pleased as someone greeting a potential customer should. She didn’t look surprised to see him either, so… on second thought, there was at least one hidden camera in this room.

El tried to place his features into an expression that could be interpreted as less “nervous as hell” and more… smooth. “Gre--”

Ah, buggers. Not formal. He wasn’t trying to out himself as not belonging here. El cleared his throat and tugged on the bottom of his jacket. “Hey,” he tried. “This is the place for tattoos, right?”

She gave him a long, unimpressed look. His heartbeat sped up. “Yes. Obviously.”

“Great. Are you the… manager? I’m El--by the way.”

“Not the manager. Not in. But the tattoo artist? That’s me.” She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. He gave it a glance, noting how it was indeed difficult to spot if you didn’t know exactly where to look. A smile curved her lips, but despite her next words it wasn’t a friendly one. “Nice to meet you, El.”

He knew his next words mattered. Well, every single one of these words mattered, but--the next ones were particularly important. Searching hadn’t turned up much information, but there were two common threads that had come up through all his Searches through the database. A tattoo shop--this one--and a certain symbol with a lot of circles. How these related to magic he had no idea, but he had to try. For his sister, he had to try.

El cleared his throat again. “I’m looking to get a tattoo.”

She leaned back against the door. “Shoot.”

“I have a design in mind. It’s--a lot of circles, kind of like...” He traced a pattern in the air, but from the raise of her brows she was getting nothing out of his gestures. “I can draw it for you if you have a screen.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pushed off the wall and stepped towards him, boots clicking across the floor. It only took her a few steps before she was close enough for him to feel distinctly uncomfortable. She was taller than him, too. “I’ll be straight with you, boy. No one here is going to serve you.”

El stiffened. “I just want a tattoo--”

“No.”

“Just let me draw it for you. Then you can decide.”

Their eyes met and held, and in his head El counted the seconds as he struggled not to look away from her glare. Six, seven, eight.

Surprisingly, she looked away first, with a scoff. From her back pocket she pulled out a thin device about the size of her palm. An old eNotes. After the screen booted up, she presented it and a stylus to El. He took it, and set the point down. His artistry skills were subpar, but he’d been staring at that design enough over the past few days to memorize it. He sketched the design out, making sure to get every overlap and sizes correct. When he presented it to her again, she only glanced at it once before pocketing it and staring El down again.

“Someone’s been trying to do research.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“The answer is still no. Get out.”

He couldn’t keep the shock and hurt from flashing across his face. Had he got it all wrong? No--her comment about research had to mean she knew what he was getting at. “No, wait, you don’t get it. I’m looking for--”

In a flash, one of her hands cupped the back of his head while the other pressed across his mouth. Her hand was cool and soft, but her nails dug into his cheek. Her smile curved wider. “Quiet, boy. Don’t argue.”

It suddenly occurred to him that he should have backed off. Who was he to think he could enter Downunder and come back out alive? And if there really was still magic here, those who knew about it would be protecting it by all cost.

“As I said, the manager’s out. She’ll be back in around… oh, five hours. If you want to take up business with her, you’re welcome to do so then.” She paused, then dropped her hands and stepped away. “Although… I really don’t think she wants to do business with you.”

As she turned and clicked back across the floor, her voice took on a sing-song quality. “See you in five, El. If you dare~”

She swung the hidden door back open and stepped through. It shut quickly behind her, leaving El standing stunned, with the finality of the door’s click still echoing through his head.

#writersmonth2020 #amwriting #writeblr #jadeywrites #wip: two cities #original work #original characters

[missbrightsky]

Bitch Is A Five Letter Word

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5: Out and About

Mor:  I’m fucking done with this day. Rita’s tonight?

Feyre’s phone buzzed, pulling her out of her painting. She was putting the final touches on what she hoped was the last round of edits by the bakery patroness.

Feyre:  Yes please. I’ll just need to go home and change. Want to meet there at 7 pm?

Mor:  You’ve got it babe, I’ll make sure the rest of the children are in tow.

Feyre:  Lmao see you then :)

She switched to Karen’s chat and sent a text saying that the painting was done, and she will be in her studio tomorrow afternoon to view it. Sending a prayer to the Cauldron that this would be the end to her clients’ critiques, Feyre hopped off the stool and threw her paint-spattered apron over it.

A final glance around her loft studio had her satisfied with today’s progress, even though she was cutting it short to make it to Rita’s on time. Plus, the sun was starting to set, and she promised Rhys that she would make an effort to be home before it was dark.

A quick twist of the lock and few steps later had her down the stairs and in Elain’s flower shop. The air was heavy with the scent of full blooms, bursts of colors that Feyre cataloged and stored away for later use. She stopped in almost every day to see her sister but the effect of the beauty of them never ceased to dull in her artist brain.

“Hey El, we’re going to Rita’s tonight, wanna come with?” calling out to her sister somewhere hidden along the rows of bouquets.

“Not tonight, sorry Fey,” Elain responded, her voice drifting from the front display. “I have two orders to finish up and a new Netflix series calling my name.

Feyre smirked, knowing that her sister would never pass up a chance to see a certain someone. “You sure? Mor promised especially that Az would be making an appearance tonight,” Feyre lilted, the white lie hurting no one.

A small squeak drifted up to hang among the flowers’ aromas. Feyre wove her way to where Elain’s initial response came from. Even though her sister was facing away from her, she could see the burning red ears that peaked through her gold hair.

Ever since Elain tagged along to a brunch to meet Feyre’s then new-boyfriend and friends, she declined almost every invitation to hang out with them again. At first, she thought it was because they could be a bit much for quiet, demure Elain but after a little bit of prying, the real truth was that Elain couldn’t think straight around Az.

“Maybe,” came her response, “I’ll text you if I get done in time here.”

As good as a promise as any, Feyre walked out of the front of the shop and turned right, striding up one of Velaris’s main street. She passed clothing boutiques, bakeries, cafes, galleries, bookshops, each with their own charm that made up the Rainbow. Any citizen of Velaris could walk into the district and leave with exactly what they needed, whether or not it was on their shopping list.

It was Feyre’s favorite place on earth, her home away from home where nothing mattered but the beauty that was in front of her.

The other part of her agreement with Rhys was that she would stick to major streets that were still busy with the days’ shoppers. No short cuts down dark alleys. It wasn’t her biggest problem—number one being that a rising gang wanted her blood— but it did add time to her walk home. Only the charm of the Rainbow soothed her frustration.

The sun had just brushed the horizon, turning the sky soft pinks and oranges, when Feyre reached her townhome. She paused on her doorstep, admiring how the clouds looked like a god had brushed strokes of sun across a periwinkle canvas before stepping into her home.

Feyre repeated the motions from the night before, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag from the night before at the base of the stairs. She moved to the kitchen for a quick cup of black tea, knowing Mor would persuade the group of them to stay out too late for their own good.

Her phone buzzed with a reply from Karen saying that she’ll stop by the studio at lunchtime to view the piece. With no one to hear her frustration, Feyre let out a soft groan and sent a silent prayer to the gods that she would finally be happy with the work.

Sighing, she set the empty mug into the sink and climbed the steep stairs to her and Rhys’s bedroom. Feyre flicked through her side of the closet, wondering how much work she wanted to put into her outfit tonight. She didn’t have a lot of spare energy, but it had been a while since she dressed up and wanted to keep Rhys’s eyes on her all night.

She decided on a red blouse that sat just off her shoulders, exposing the gentle curve of her collarbone and dusting of freckles that continued down her back. Dark blue skinny jeans and black wedges completed the look, mixing comfort with sophistication. She knew that if the heels were any higher, she would be limping on her walk to the studio tomorrow.

Their bathroom was a bit small but well organized, a double vanity was evenly split between the two, Rhys surprisingly having nearly as many beauty products as Feyre. With the way he looked most of the time, she didn’t think he needed them, and she knew he felt the same way about her makeup supply.

She took her hair down from the crown braid she put it in last night causing soft waves to fall, bringing out the gold highlights that threaded their way through. Thankfully her skin has been behaving itself recently so she minimally applied concealer under her eyes, followed by a bit of powder to set it in place.

She brushed gold eyeshadow in the corners of her crease, bringing out the blue in her eyes with a thin line of eyeliner to give them definition. Black mascara pulled the whole effect together, causing attention to be drawn to how they sparkled with hidden mischief.

Instead of a permanent lipstick, Feyre opted for a light pink lip gloss that could easily be reapplied. Multiple drinks and most likely food would be involved tonight so she didn’t want to fight to keep her lipstick in place.

Final checks in the mirror had her satisfied with her appearance, all that was needed was some small gold earrings that were shaped like leaves, her favorite that Rhys gave her at their six-month anniversary. Feyre moved through the house, flicking off lights and grabbing a black purse to drop her keys and wallet in. The last thing she grabbed was a well-worn black leather jacket hanging by the door, right next to Rhys’s.

Although it was almost fully dark outside, the street their townhouse was on was well lit and the subway station was only a block down. She decided that it would be fine to take a train to Rita’s, it was only a 10-minute ride and the station would be busy with evening commuters. Plenty of cover for her to be safe from any would-be attackers.

Rita’s was their favorite dance hall, close to most of their homes and the precinct, it was a common hangout after a day’s work.

Feyre walked in and headed to their usual booth, she was the first one there, but the others would be along shortly. The club was subdued, the main crowds not showing up until 11 pm or later. For now, she could order nachos from the kitchen and a margarita from the bar to get her started.

Those from the precinct showed up a few minutes later, some still in their white button-down and black slacks, Mor and Rhys choose to change to looser clothes that better fitted the club scene.

All slid into the booth, snagging the nachos away before Feyre could protest, Rhys on her left and Az on her right. The waitress approached, recognizing the friends as regulars, and took their drink orders. Feyre leaned into Rhys’s warmth, enjoying his presence and started chatting with Cass about his day at the department. Rhys happily leaned his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the subtle perfume she sprayed on before leaving the house.

All chatted and exchanged conversation partners, catching up on their days, even when they all mostly worked with each other. There was something different hearing about someone’s day than just merely observing it.

Mor carefully avoided her visit to the hospital and none of the others pressed her for details. She and Azriel had made their official report and arranged for the brothers to be placed in their respective places when the doctors released them from care.

Their drinks arrived, then were soon replaced by more rounds, all of them on the way to being pleasantly tipsy. More bar food was ordered and being passed around while the club slowly filled up, more people starting their weekend early.

Feyre’s phone buzzed on the table.

Elain:  How long will you be at Rita’s? I just got home. 

Feyre:  We’re just getting started, come join us!

Elain:  *sigh* I’m on my way.

Feyre:  !!!!! <3<3<3

“Elain’s coming!” Feyre announced to the table. Az had exchanged places with Cassian at some point, now sitting to Rhys’s left, but Feyre could still see around her boyfriend. He was already faintly flushed from the alcohol, but the news of Elain joining them caused the blush to deepen marginally.

Rhys and Feyre exchanged smug looks, they had been trying to get the two to talk more since they first met with little success. Maybe tonight they could mettle a bit more to push the two together.

Mor chugged the rest of her drink and reached across Cass to grab onto Feyre,  time to dance it seems . Cass scooted out of the booth to comply with Mor’s requests. Feyre stumbled slightly, her friends’ hidden strength and the heels working against gravity.

They somehow made it onto the dance floor with no broken ankles, Mor pressing her hips flush to Feyre’s so that they were chest-to-chest, setting the pace to the beat of the song.

Mor giggled, pressing her forehead to Feyre’s exposed shoulder, looping her arms around her friends’ waist. She returned the laughter, the weight of the past 24 hours falling off her shoulders with the help of her company and the liquor that was warming her belly.

The men watched from the booth, smiling at the pair making their own fun, continuing with their conversations, arguing over upcoming sports events and where to watch them this weekend.

Behind them, Elain entered the club, spotting Az’s closely cropped hair and broad shoulders immediately. Her cheeks were pink from the chill outside, worsened at the anticipation of seeing him. Almost of their own will, her feet turned towards the bar, hinting at her need for liquid courage before facing the man.

Early enough still to not be packed, she easily found a seat and ordered a Jack and coke, stronger than her usual but the situation called for something bracing. And something that would hit her system faster.

Elain mindlessly scrolled through her social media feeds, neglected after a busy day in her shop. She had tried to linger at  Fleurs par Elain,  putting finishing touches on orders and preparing the back room for tomorrow’s delivery, but her assistants were too efficient, and she was quickly done. Even dragging her feet home, she had too much time before bed, leaving Feyre’s offer to join them at Rita’s very tempting.

A quick text confirmed that they would be there for hours to come and soon she was discarding outfit after outfit. Some too fancy and some too casual. Elain eventually settled on light blue jeans and a loose floral long sleeve. A bit on the nose for her profession but it was comfy and brought out the gold in her eyes. Not one for heels, she decided to wear her brown flats in case Mor got it in her head to pull her onto the dance floor. No need for her to trip and make a fool of herself in front of the guy she thought was too attractive for her own good.

The liquor started to relax her body; liquid confidence had her close to joining the others. Tucking her phone into her back pocket, Elain made to grab her drink when a well-muscled, darkly clad arm blocked her from leaving her seat.

“Hello, gorgeous. What brings you here tonight?” She followed the arm up to the face of its owner. He was maybe about her age, tanned with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. Not ugly by any means but her thoughts were currently preoccupied with a certain dark-haired detective.

“My friends, actually. I was just about the rejoin them, so if you’ll excuse me,” she replied. When their mother was raising them, she drilled countless hours of etiquette and politeness into their minds. Even with the unwelcome interaction, Elain refused to be rude or force her way out.  

“I’m sure they can wait,” he drawled, a lazy smile followed the words. His eyes roamed her body, leaving her feeling like she needed to shower twice to get rid of the filth he left behind.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Elain,” the alcohol and her manners allowing her name to slip out.

“ E-lain , a pretty name for a pretty girl,” his eyes tracing her figure again. “Well I’m a bit pressed for time tonight, the boss wants me working late, but how about I grab your number and I’ll see you this weekend.”

Elain opened her mouth, racking her mind for some excuse to get herself out of his request or scrounging through her memories for one of those fake numbers she can give to him.

“I’ve got our first date all planned out already,” he barreled on, oblivious to her uneasiness. “There’s this super exclusive fight happening uptown, invitation only. High-class members all in masks, quite romantic I think,” he leaned in, forcing her to capture his eyes.

“It’s run by my boss actually, he’s become quite the hot commodity lately,” the man continued, he was trying to impress her, with little success.

He pulled his phone out, the moment for her to put in a number had arrived. As if the universe sensed her discomfort, his phone started to ring.

Mr. Hybern  flashed on the screen, the man flinched a bit and immediately answered.

“Mr. Hybern, I’m on my way, sir.” The club was too loud at this point for her to hear the voice on the other side, but by the man’s facial expressions, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

Without another glance to her, rushed towards the door, what she assumed was his boss had lit a fire under his ass.

Elain finished her drink, flagging the bartender down and ordered lemonade with vodka. She was happy that she didn’t have to give him her number, lucky that he got a call at the perfect moment.

She’d had plenty of guys hit on her over the years, her smaller stature and polite manners making her an easy target for men to shoot their shot. Usually a nice enough turn down was enough to send them on their way but some were persistent. He was one of the persistent ones, but the Caldron seemed to be on her side tonight. Maybe the luck would last as she made her way over to her friends.

Feyre and Mor were on the dance floor, leaving a spot open by either Cass or Az. Her nerves told her to sit by Cass, safe, comfortable, familiar.

The alcohol made her bold, spurred on by her unwelcome admirer, she wanted to be close to someone she was actually attracted to and whose attentions would be welcome. She slid into the booth beside Az, slipping into his radius of warmth. Fire blazed in her cheeks and tried to convince herself that is was only from the heat of the club and liquor.

“Hey guys,” she offered, nodding to Rhys and Cass before looking up to give Az a small smile. He looked slightly surprised at her direct acknowledgment. Every time they had met beforehand, she only barely recognized his existence, giving up no more words than societal convention called for.

Cass and Rhys gave their greetings, resuming their conversation from before.

“It’s good to see you, been a while,” Az said in a lower tone so that only she could hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with the flower shop. Business is really picking up.”

“I’m glad, your arrangements are always so… exquisite. I see them in Feyre’s house all the time.”

Elain somehow blushed harder at his praise. She knew she was talented but hearing it from him strengthened her confidence in her work.

“How are you this evening?” gently avoiding commenting on her reaction.

“Fine, better now that I’m here with you—,” Elain caught herself, not meaning to imply that she was happy to see only him, though what her heart might scream otherwise. “I mean, um, it’s better than when I was at the bar, some guy was hitting on me and wasn’t taking the hint.”

Az frowned slightly at that, she tried not to read into it too much.

She babbled on, “Yeah, he was going on and on about his boss, trying to get my number so he can take me to a fight this weekend. I got lucky that his boss called him at that moment, and he ran off. I guess I have a Mr. Hybern to thank for that.”

Everyone at the table froze, their breaths trapped in their throats. The temperature seemed to rise several degrees as all of her friends’ stares locked onto her face.

“What?” her gaze flitted around, trying to not let it rest too long on the man beside her.

The trio only continued to stare at her, tension building until Mor and Feyre stumbled back to the table, a light sheen of sweat coating them.

The girls were laughing at some dumb joke Mor made but stopped when they noticed the men were all looking at Elain with weird intensity.

“What? What happened?” Feyre asked, worried that something was wrong with Elain. She didn’t mean to pressure her too hard into coming out tonight and hoped that she didn’t fuck things up between her and Az.

Rhys was the first to regain his composure.

“Elain here just gave us the most wonderful news.”

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #sjmaas #sjmaas books #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #morrigan #cassian #elain #azriel

[mkayisinsane]

Another 11/11/11 Tag Game!!

I was tagged again haha thanks @spilledinkpot for the tag, I really appreciate it! Again, sorry I took so long!

Her questions:

1. Are any (or all) of your ocs inspired by real people or other characters?

Not all of them, and much less so as I get older, but in my early writing every character had a real-life counterpart. Most often, my protagonist's best friend or most trusted person is based off of my parabatai. However, I do pretty much always imagine myself as the main character, or sometimes the villain. Also, imagining yourself as your OC aids the writing process SO MUCH I cannot stress that enough.

2. What is/was your inspiration for your current WIP?

I have a lot of current WIPs, I'm gonna go with my most recent, Flirting with Death. My inspiration was kinda morbid, I was literally sitting in the library at my college waiting on my mother to get me so we could carpool to a funeral. And a few guys were walking past where I sat, eyeing me up and down and I thought to myself, "I swear if one of them tries to hit on me right now I'm gonna make them regret it." And then Thana Carmichael was born. And those guys quickly escaped the death glare I gave them.

3. Do you prefer to plan your characters out, or develop them as the story progresses?

I normally have the base of my character and their personality and how they handle things worked out before I start writing them, but for the most part I develop them as the story progresses. I like to write them in such a way that I learn a little more about them as I go, just like the reader would.

4. How do you deal with writer's block?

I don't lol just kidding! It really depends, if I'm writing and I don't absolutely have to continue or get it done right then, I take a break. Listen to musical soundtracks, play video games, watch a film who's genre corresponds with the type of scene I'm writing. Anything with a story. If I do have to get it done right then though, I just keep writing. I write absolute shit that makes no sense and then take it out later. I once wrote a whole page of "blah" over and over again. I free write until I get my mojo back.

5. What/who first encouraged you to begin writing?

According to my earliest childhood babysitter, I've been writing since I learned the alphabet. I remember once when I was six, I wrote a whole six page book with pictures I drew about why I thought birds were pretty and cool (Update: I am now afraid of birds.) It was titled "BIRDS," yes in all caps, and I cried because my name was so long that I couldn't fit the whole thing on the cover. However, I didn't start really writing until about 6th grade. I was reading a book, and the ending was so sad that I got mad and rewrote it, and I realized how much I loved making stories, how much I loved choosing my own ending. In my life as a child, nothing was certain and I never stayed in one place for too long or made any lasting friendships, but writing was always a constant for me. And through writing I made more friends, and they helped me write and it was just incredible. I can't put into words how much writing has done for me.

6. Are you able to write everyday, or need a couple of days intermediate?

For my WIPs, I definitely need a day or two off before I continue the story but I definitely try to write something every day, even if it's just free-writing or ranting about my day or journaling, I write something every day. It isn't progress on my WIPs, but it helps.

7. How long have you been writing for?

In general, since about age 6 or 7. Seriously, about 6th grade, but I didn't like any of my writing until 8th grade, and at times I don't even now. So in general, 12 or 13 years, but seriously only about 7 or 8 years.

8. What inspired your first WIP?

The Percy Jackson series. I was 10 or 11, and I had just finished that series and I was mad there wasn't more, so I wrote myself into the books as like a spin-off type thing with the minor gods (btw in case anyone cares, I'm a Hades kid). Seven chapters in, my OC still hadn't left her house. It was not my finest work haha

9. Who are the authors that you looked up to, to develop your writing?

Lemony Snicket (yes I know that's a pen name, but I mean A Series of Unfortunate Events specifically), Neal Shusterman with his Unwind series, Marie Lu with literally anything she's written, Cassandra Clare with The Infernal Devices and The Mortal Instruments, J.K. Rowling with Harry Potter (I'm a huge Potterhead, Slytherin btw), Rick Riordan with anything he's ever written, Leigh Bardugo with anything she's ever written but mainly Six of Crows, and Oscar Wilde with The Picture of Dorian Gray. Probably many many more, I'll think of them later.

10. Is there a book that inspired you to write your own story?

Remember I mentioned that I didn't like the ending of a book I was reading so I rewrote it? That book was Bridge to Teribethia. If you read it, you know why I changed the ending. But also, I drew inspiration from books that made me feel like I was actually in the story, like I could see it all for myself. The stories felt real, and I wanted to be able to tell stories like that. To travel the world without leaving my room.

11. Do you include moral points in your writing, or prefer just the entertainment?

There is always something to take away from my writing, some lesson to be had, whether it be an emotion, a theme, a vice, or a virtue. I can't promise it's always moral, but it's always there.

My questions:

Which of your OCs fits the quote, "those with no vices have very few virtues"?

If you could meet just one of your favorite authors, dead or alive, who would it be?

What is your number one goal as a writer? (i.e. have your books taught in schools as "classics," write a series that makes people cry, get fanmail, mine personally is to create the perfect villain that no one can hate no matter what they do)

Do you project onto your writing?

Favorite ship you've written? Why?

Do you write LGBTQ+ characters? Why?

Do you write characters with mental illness? Why?

Have you ever tried to get published/actually been published?

What keeps you motivated to write?

What is your writing support system?

Do you write book dedications, and if so, are they always different?

And this concludes our 11/11/11 tag game! If I've tagged you and you have no clue who I am, I'm sorry lol I panicked tagging people but it means that either I follow you or you follow me. Rules are simple: answer my 11 questions, ask your own 11 questions, tag 11 people to answer them! Of course you don't have to play if you don't wanna, don't feel pressured to. If you want to tag me back or have me answer my own questions or just random questions, shoot me an ask. Thanks, and good luck!

@r-avenlee @writingmyselfintoanearlygrave @benvolio-writes @illiteracy-is-for-woozles @ill-write-when-im-dead @mercyandcruelty @crimescenedwrites @fictionalthrills @writerofscribbles @els-writes @gaslightwestern

[pengychan]

[Coco] The Bedside Ghost, Ch. 3

Title: The Bedside Ghost Summary: The bell falls but, instead of waking up in the Land of the Dead, Ernesto de la Cruz finds himself with a broken spine - and an unwanted guest at his bedside who claims he can let him have the sweet release of death, if he gives back what he took from him… Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Coco Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Julio Rivera, Imelda Rivera. Rating: T Status: in progress [This is the fic’s tag for all chapters up.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: Ernesto is salty, Héctor's 'ghost' is made of pure salt, and Coco is mostly confused.

ALSO THERE IS ART by @eurazba​ look guys look.

***

Ernesto knew that the bell was about to fall moments before it did, and ran away from beneath it as though he had the devil at his heels.

If that surprised the public, the dancers and the stagehand that had just taken-- Héctor’s -- his guitar from him, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. He was aware of nothing but the sense of impending doom, his own pounding heart as he struggled to get away. It wasn’t easy, the escalator was working against him and trying to bring him back under that accursed bell, but he was faster, already halfway down the steps.

The bell would fall, but he wouldn’t be beneath it. All would be well. He’d talk about how close it had been, laugh about it, joke that he was never going to have bell props on stage ever again. Maybe it would become a running joke, and years down the road he would still be telling that funny story of how a bell had almost turned him into a tortilla.

The thought made him laugh even now, but it died in his throat when something suddenly seized his shoulder and pulled him back, when a familiar voice rang out and caused him to still as though blood had turned to ice in his veins.

“Hola, amigo,” Héctor said somewhere behind him, just as his arm latched around his throat. His voice was impossibly cheerful. “Remember me?”

All strength went out of his legs, and Ernesto was unable to take another step. Héctor’s grip tightened, but not enough to strangle him as Ernesto had half-expected him to. He had a split second to feel relieved before he realized that something much, much worse was going on: the escalator was still moving, and them with it. Back up to the top.

Back up towards the bell.

“No, no, no, no! Héctor, stop! Por favor! Por favor!”

Ernesto tried to struggle, to break free, but it felt like he was moving underwater and Héctor’s grip was impossibly strong, keeping him still as the escalator brought them further up, where the bell awaited. It was swinging slowly back and forth, ringing in a funeral toll, ready to fall down on him the moment he found himself beneath it. And it would fall, he knew it, as he knew what kind of hell would follow.

“Trying to get away from me, mi hermano? Trying to leave me behind? That won’t do, it won’t do at all,” Héctor said, clicking his tongue as though disappointed. His voice was gravelly, and he could smell earth and alcohol in his breath, and something else he dared not name.  “I didn’t get to go anywhere, and neither will you.”

“No! Let me go! Someone help me!” Ernesto cried out, trying to stretch out an arm towards the public, the dancers, security, anyone. He couldn’t move it at all. Héctor’s fingers dug into his shoulder like knives, cold as ice.

“I tried so hard to go home, but I fell and you didn’t help me up. Now it’s your turn.”

“Ayúdenme!”

No one lifted a finger, no one said anything. The dancers were still and silent, looking at him with expressionless, identical faces. Because they all had the same face, now, God, they all looked like… like…

“Imelda! Please! Put to stop to this! I beg of you! I--”

Too little, too late, and Imelda didn’t take a single step to help. She didn’t even change expression: she just turned away - all of them turned away - and then Héctor laughed, and the bell came crashing down on him. That final toll covered his old friend’s laugh, but not his own scream.

That kept ringing in his ears even after he woke up.

***

By the time the train stopped at Mexico City, Coco had had enough time to regret leaving without making up with her mother, regret leaving at all, convince herself all over again she was doing the right thing, think up at least seventeen things she should have told Julio to do, and feed everyone in the coach she was in with the lunch Rosita had insisted to pack for her.

Even if she hadn’t been feeling slightly nauseous - had she eaten something that had gone bad recently? She didn’t think so - the sheer amount of food Rosita had dropped on her went well beyond what she could reasonably eat on her own during the journey.

“Nonsense, nonsense! You never know when your next chance to have a good meal is going to be!” she’d said, waving off her protests. To be fair, her tamales were absolutely delicious, so Coco hadn’t complained too much. She was nowhere as good at cooking as her sister-in-law; sometimes Julio joked that his sister’s cooking was the greatest asset he’d brought into the family with their wedding. Coco didn’t quite agree, but she had the distinct sensation that her uncles sort of did.

Tío Óscar and Tíó Felipe were the only ones among them who had been to Mexico City before, too. They had tried to give her suggestions on how to navigate it, but they had only been there for a couple of days and nearly two decades earlier; in the end, all that they could suggest was that she got into a cab as soon as she left the station, gave the driver the address, and let him do the rest. It was exactly what she’d done, and it had been easy; the cab driver seemed more than slightly unhinged when it came to driving, but he was up for a chat and that helped her ignore the stabs of nervousness in her stomach.

“So, Ernesto de la Cruz’s mansion! You know him?”

“Sort of. He used to be a family friend.”

“I see. Dreadful accident he had, huh? Never seen him in public after that. A shame, I loved his songs. Well, who doesn’t-- watch where you’re going, hijo de la mil putas! Er… sorry about that, señorita.”

Coco, who had stopped being a señorita about six years earlier, smiled a bit. “Mexico City is far busier than my hometown. A car is still a sight to behold, there.”

“Hah! This might sound funny coming from a guy who drives for a living, but lucky you,” the man laughed, then glanced into the mirror. “Hey, are you all right?”

Truth be told, she was still feeling a bit nauseous and the man’s driving was not helping matters, but dismissed it as her nerves playing tricks on her.

He has something to tell me about papá. His best friend - there must be so much he can tell me, all the things my mother won’t say. I remember so little. I remember a song, and smiles and warmth and being picked up, but not much else.

“I am fine, yes. Only a bit nervous. I haven’t met Tío Ne-- de la Cruz in a long time.”

In the mirror, she could see the man making a face. “Before the accident?”

“Long before then, yes. I was a child last time I saw him.”

Him, and my papá. They left together. Neither came back, but only Ernesto is accounted for.

“Then get ready for some unpleasantness, señorita. I know a guy who knows a guy whose brother worked in the mansion, and he says he’d be better off dead.”

The notion caused something in Coco’s stomach to clench. Through the journey, she had done her best to dig up all memories she had of Ernesto de la Cruz, as well as those of her father. The man she remembered, ever so vaguely, looked well and healthy, often laughing, with a mustache she’d found almost as funny as her papá’s goatee. It seemed that she would find herself looking at a very different man, after all.

“Is it… that bad?”

“Oh, yes. Can’t move his legs, can’t move his arms, can’t move a thing except his head. Needs help with everything, and I do mean everything if you get what I mean. I’d prefer to die, too. He had a dog, I think - he always had dogs, but that one was the last. It died a couple of years ago. Word is that he almost went insane with grief over that thing. Being stuck in bed does funny things to one’s head, huh?”

There was that sense of nausea in the pit of Coco’s stomach again, and she knew that it had nothing to do with anything she may have eaten. Far from noticing, the driver kept going.

“I guess some folks get used to  being stuck in bed for the rest of their lives, but he never did. They say that he tried to bribe carers to… you know, speed things up.”

The thought was so awful it took Coco’s breath away for a moment. “Did he really...?”

“That’s what my friend’s friend swears by. A blasphemy against God, of course, but Hell can’t seem that scary when you’re living it already," he added, taking both hands off the wheel for a moment to quicky cross himself. "I for one can’t blame him.”

Neither could Coco, really. It was almost unbearably sad to think of, but not surprising, given what she’d heard so far. She felt yet another pang of pity for a man she hardly remembered.

“He used to have visitors, but not anymore,” the driver went on. “He gets gifts, sure enough, from fans all over Mexico, but I’m sure he would trade it all for just being able to get up and walk. Maybe getting a visit is going to help. Look, that’s the mansion - we’re almost there.”

Coco glanced through the windshield to the road ahead. The drive had taken them to the outskirts of the city; they were now going through a long path with fruit groves on both sides and, ahead of them, there was a massive gate.

Nervousness tried to make a comeback, but Coco forced herself to ignore it. Why should she be nervous? He had written, asking - pleading - for her mother to get in touch. She was not her mother, but she was the next best thing, surely. He had something to tell her, and no reason to turn her away.

Telling as much to the man who came at the gate, however, wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped.

“I am telling you, he wrote to us!”

“Señorita--”

“Señora Rivera-Martinez, if you will.”

“However you’re called. El señor de la Cruz doesn’t receive guests--”

“Which part of he wrote to us eludes you?” Coco snapped, holding up the letter. For a moment, he could almost hear her mother’s voice rather than her own. “If you can’t read, it’s not my problem. Find me someone who can and let me talk to them.”

“De la Cruz cannot write on his own--”

“So someone wrote it for him, doesn’t that seem likely to you?”

The man hesitated and Coco drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down. She rarely, if ever, snapped at anybody - but she was tired from the journey, eaten up by questions that wouldn’t let her rest and very close to losing her patience. She hadn’t come all the way from Santa Cecilia to be held up at a gate by someone too thick to understand plain Spanish.

“Listen. Ernesto de la Cruz is an old friend of my family. He asked for our visit, and urgently as well. I figure my godfather wouldn’t be pleased at all to learn you’ve kept me waiting here,” she added, and that finally got the man to recoil, the stubborn frown on his face turning into doubt. He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else got there first.

“Juan, what's going on?” The woman approaching looked about as formidable as Rosita, if at least a couple of decades older. Her graying hair was tied back in a bun, and she carried a small basket filled with tangerines. She looked at her somewhat warily.

Coco held out the letter through the bars of the gate. “I am here to see Ernesto de la Cruz.”

The woman stared at her for a moment, then held out her free hand to take the letter and read through it quickly, her eyebrows rising slightly. After what felt like a long time, she glanced back at her. “Are you Imelda?”

She shook her head. “No, she… she couldn't come. My name is Socorro. I’m her daughter.”

“I heard you saying that he is your godfather. Is that true?”

Truth be told, Coco wasn’t entirely sure; her memories were too few and distant… but she was almost certain of it, almost certain of having heard as much a long, long time ago.

“Ay, don’t you want to give a hug to your favorite goddaughter?” “She’s my only goddaughter, pendejo.” “Hey! Watch your language in front of my girl!”

“Yes,” she finally said. “He was… he is a family friend,” Coco said. “He’d known my father since childhood, in Santa Cecilia. There is something he needs to tell us about him.”

The woman nodded, staring down at the letter. “Héctor,” she muttered. “He does call out that name, sometimes. In his sleep,” she added, and that was when Coco knew she had been convinced that the letter had truly come from de la Cruz. She turned to the man called Juan. “Let her through. And carry her luggage inside, where are your manners?”

The gate was opened, and she stepped in. The woman, who introduced herself as Griselda Lopez, guided her through a large garden - there were groves of various fruit trees, shrubbery, flower beds, lawns, a fountain, and Coco was almost sure she could see a pool at the far end - and towards the main entrance of an impression mansion.

“This place is emptier than it used to be. We have the gardener and his helper, then Juan, myself and a couple more carers. We do have security, too, but there isn’t much for them to do nowadays,” Griselda explained. “We got crazed fans trying to get in, the first year or two after the accident, but not in a long time. The ‘security’ is off somewhere, I suppose, drinking lemonade. Absolutely useless, but señor de la Cruz’s manager insists to pay for them.”

A few minutes were spent talking about her journey from Santa Lucia, what time she had left, how long it took; Coco asked a few polite questions about the fruit groves and the mansion. It was only as they stepped through the front door that the conversation turned to the reason for her visit. “He is not well,” Griselda said, and her feature twisted in a sorrowful expression. “God only knows what plagued him last night - it was a difficult one. He’s sleeping now, and peacefully. I’d rather not disturb him yet. I am sure you understand.”

Despite the need to know gnawing at her, Coco understood perfectly. “Of course.”

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re arrived as soon as he’s awake and aware. Meanwhile, do get some rest. We always keep a few guest rooms ready, just in case. I trust you’ll be staying at least for the night.”

“Oh, I… I wouldn’t want to impose,” Coco said, feeling more than slightly uncomfortable. Truth be told, she had been fully prepared to check into a hotel; the main reason why she’d gone straight to the address on the envelope, suitcase at all, was simple impatience. She wanted to know, and she wanted to know right away. Now, however, it looked like there would be some waiting to do regardless.

“You’re not imposing at all,” Griselda was replying, waving her hand. She put the basked with the tangerines down on a table, took Coco’s suitcase from Juan’s hands - if she noticed her stretching out her hand to take it herself, she pretended not to - and guided her up a huge staircase. “This place feels dreadfully empty, and a change is more than welcome.”

As far as Coco was concerned, that place didn’t feel just dreadfully empty: he it felt dreadful, full stop. It was spotless and luxurious beyond anything she had seen, but it made her think of an empty carcass, like bones picked clean of flesh. Still, she had been offered hospitality and that was a kindness she had no logical reason to refuse. “Thank you,” she said, then, “you said that he mentioned my father’s name before.”

“Never when awake,” Griselda replied, preceding her through a long corridor. There was a sudden defensive note to her voice, and Coco regretted bringing it up. “I never pried. It is not what I’m here for. El señor de la Cruz has little left in the way of privacy, you understand. At least what goes on in his mind should remain his business, unless he decides otherwise.”

“Of course. I apologize for asking. I didn’t mean to--” Coco began, only to fall quiet when Griselda waved a hand and stopped in front of a door.

“It is alright, dear. I am certain he will answer your questions in due time. After all, this is why he wrote to your mother,” she said, and sighed. “I do hope that telling you whatever is troubling him will ease his mind as well as yours.”

“Is he restless?”

“Oh, he has always been since the incident. We all bear our cross in life, but some are heavier than most. And, God forgive me for even thinking this, even His son’s path to Golgotha did not last years,” Griselda said with a shake of her head, and pushed the door open, setting down Coco’s suitcase. “Here, do make yourself comfortable. If there is anything more you need, don’t hesitate to let me know. You’ll have word as soon as Señor de la Cruz is ready to see you.”

Despite the sense of dread that had taken hold of her, Coco managed a smile. “Thank you,” she said, taking suitcase - only to stagger back when her head spun and her stomach turned, as though she’d just made a terrible effort rather than just picking up a relatively light suitcase. There was an arm behind her back steadying her, and she didn’t fall.

“Oh my, this may not have been the best time to undertake a journey,” Griselda said, some sternness in her voice. Head still spinning a bit, Coco blinked at her.

“I supposed it would be a good time as any. I must be more tired than I thought. Thanks for--”

“How far along are you, dear?”

Coco blinked at her. “... Qué?” she asked, causing the woman to pause and shrug.

“My apologies, I assumed… oh, never mind. Do lie down for a bit, though,” she said, and left before Coco could say anything - leaving her to stare at her retreating back in silence, a hand reaching to rest on her stomach.

***

“Oh, you’re awake, finally. I was starting to get bored here. Stop keeping your eyes closed, I know you’re not asleep. Hey, want to hear something funny?”

Ernesto clenched his teeth, refusing to answer, and kept his eyes screwed shut. Of course, his ghost kept going regardless. He always did. There was nothing Ernesto could do to shut him up, to stop hearing him.

“If you hadn’t killed me to become famous, chances are you would have never found yourself under that bell. I figured it would be a nice thought to start they day with. Sort of. You know it’s probably afternoon, right? Whatever they gave you to put you back to sleep when you so rudely woke up screaming must have been some powerful stuff. Knocked you off your feet, so to speak.”

He did remember screaming, but very vaguely. With the nightmare still clinging to him, so dreadfully real, everything else had seemed very far away. He had screamed, and someone had come in. He’d heard a voice - Griselda’s? - and felt a hand brushing back his hair, pressing on his forehead to keep his head down on the pillow. He hadn’t felt the prick of a needle, but of course she must have injected something because he’d fallen into unconsciousness moments later. It had been a deep, dreamless sleep. For a time, he’d been dead to the world. But he was still alive, and all too soon the illusion was gone.

“Señor de la Cruz?”

Ernesto opened his eyes and turned to the door. There was someone standing there, some handyman who usually worked in the garden called Juan. Or was it José? Hell if he knew and hell if he cared. It was some nobody who probably didn’t even know how to read, but he could still walk, scratch his own nose and wipe his own ass, and Ernesto hated him for it.

“What do you want?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Héctor, who was grinning at him while sitting at the end of the bed. He looked, once again, like a corpse just out of its grave. If he had been able to turn in his dream, Ernesto had no doubt that was the face he’d have seen.

The man took a step inside, not sparing a single glance in Héctor’s direction. Seeing him was the one thing Ernesto could do that no one else could; a privilege he would gladly trade for death, really. “A lady has come to see you, earlier this afternoon.”

Ernesto blinked, his heart seemingly leaping into his throat. He was aware, distantly, of the fact Héctor’s grin had faded into an expressionless mask. “A lady,” he repeated slowly. Could it be that Imelda had come, after all? That she had decided against settling the matter by letter or phone, and had come there in person instead?

Ernesto found himself hoping so more than he’d ever hoped for anything, or almost. He almost felt like he could cry if it turned out to be her. Maybe he would: if that would be enough to sate Héctor’s ghost, enough to finally allow it all to end, then he’d weep with joy.

“Yes,” Juan, or José, was saying. “She said her name is Socorro Rivera-Martinez, and that you wrote to her family.

For a split second, not hearing the name he’d been hoping for made his heart sink - but then his memory caught up and he knew that not all was lost. “Socorro, you said?” Ernesto asked slowly. So Imelda had never written back, but her daughter had come. Héctor’s daughter. He remembered a child; she must be a woman now, older than her father got to be before he-- was murdered you murdered me and left me to rot and now you will rot too -- died.

Ernesto’s eyes flickered to where the ghost - Héctor, or a very convincing hallucination - was sitting. He said nothing, did nothing; he only stared at the man with blank, milky-white eyes. And to think that those eyes would sparkle so much when he talked about his little girl; Ernesto had found it amusing, until he’d come to find it annoying and, by the end, plainly infuriating. Now, however, he was none of those things. He was just scared, hardly daring to let himself hope that the end may be within sight, out of fear that hope would be crushed.

Whatever you are, are you happy now? I will tell her, will it be enough to sate you? God, please, let it be enough.

“Sí,” Juan or José or whatever was saying, and Ernesto turned his gaze back on him. He was standing near the door, a hand still on the doorknob. “She says she received a letter from you, and has travelled here from Santa Cecilia. She had a letter to show, but none of us can recall assisting you write--”

“You’re not the only ones here who can write down what I say,” Ernesto cut him off.  “She’s telling the truth. I wrote to her family. Where is he? She better not have left! You should have come immediately!”

“No, no, she hasn’t left. She--”

“Good for you. She is my guest, so see that she’s treated as one.”

“Of course. Griselda gave her a room. Shall we tell her you can meet her once you’ve rest--”

“I have had enough bed rest to last me a lifetime,” Ernesto scoffed. A sense of dread threatened to choke him - how much would he need to tell her for Héctor to be sated? How much of it would the world know? Even now, he found that thought terrified him - but he forced himself to ignore it. “Let her in the living room--”

“Which living room?”

“Whichever is closest, whichever is cleanest, whichever you like the most, I don’t care. Send someone to get me on the wheelchair. I’ll see her right awa--"

“Juan! What did I say about letting him rest?”

Griselda’s voice caused José - no, wait, it was Juan - to wince, and turn back towards the hallway. “I was just checking… he was awake, Griselda, I didn’t wake him up!”

“I certainly hope so,” she huffed, pushing past him. Her expression was stony as she watched Juan leave, and immediately softened when she turned to the bed. She passed right by the spot there Héctor had been, and now had disappeared from. “Good afternoon, señor. How are you feeling?”

Ernesto ignored the question. After all, it was a stupid one to begin with when asked to someone who felt absolutely nothing from neck down. “He said Socorro Rivera is here. I have to see her at once.”

“Of course. I have brought you some tangerines, just picked.”

“I don’t want--”

“You need to eat something.”

“I want to see--”

“Not in these conditions, you don’t. You need to get cleaned up and dressed.”

Somehow, that statement made Ernesto laugh. He could taste bile. “Hah! Like anything you do is going to make me a better sight. She’s in for a shock. Or two,” he muttered, and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Your back looks like Swiss cheese, for the record, Héctor has said. Smells worse, though.

Did it? Yes, he probably reeked of decaying flesh; the only reason why he couldn’t smell it, just like he couldn’t smell the ointments and disinfectant, was that he lived in it.

“How bad are the ulcers?”

“I will change the dressings in a minute. I think your hair needs some washing and--”

“That is not what I asked.”

There was a brief silence, and it was the only answer Ernesto needed.

You’re pretty much rotting alive. I would be amazed that you haven’t died of sepsis yet, antibiotics and all, if l didn’t know you’re just not allowed to die until...

Until. There was that, if anything. That until he could cling to, in hopes it would be now.

Move Heaven and Earth if you must, but give me what I want. And then you can die.

“Get on with it,” he finally heard himself saying, very quietly. “And then take me downstairs.”

“... Sí, señor.”

***

The living room she was accompanied into was large and immaculately clean, with white furniture and walls and even a very expensive-looking piano on the far side. A huge window let in sunlight, allowing a view of the garden outside as the sun began to set, setting the sky aflame. It was beautiful, and yet it felt all the world like she was sitting inside a tomb.

Sitting on an armchair so immaculate she was afraid of staining it by just touching it, Coco drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and kept her hands tightly folded on her lap. No matter how much she told herself that she had every right and reason to be there - he’d written to her mother, pleading for her to get in touch - she still couldn’t entirely shake off the feeling she was not where she was supposed to be.

Home, that’s where I should be. With my family, Julio and Victoria, not here chasing ghosts.

Something I need to tell you about Héctor that you should have known many years ago.

I didn’t bother to read it and neither should you!

It cannot be worse than knowing nothing.

Get ready for some unpleasantness, señorita.

You’re coming back soon, mamá?

Is papá coming home soon?

How far along are you, dear?

Coco’s stomach clenched, and she had to fight back another wave of nausea. Maybe it was all her nerves. It had to be, she had plenty to be nervous about. She didn’t want to think that Griselda may have guessed right - she wanted another child, she and Julio had been trying for a couple of years, but now that she was so far away from her family the thought scared her. And if it was true it felt so wrong, being unable to share it with Julio right awa--

The sound of a door opening snapped her from her thoughts. Coco looked up without thinking - only to recoil when her eyes fell on the man who was being wheeled in on a wheelchair by a silent, somber Griselda.

She had expected to see a ruin, but nothing could have prepared her for it. Her memories, few and vague as they were, were of a broad-shouldered man, younger than she was now, who looked fit enough to lift a grown man over his shoulders and take him for stroll. Actually, she was almost positive he’d done as much with her papá once, causing him to protest while wheezing with laughter. She had laughed, too, while her mother watched on with a half-smile on her face as Coco sat on her knees.

What she saw now was a world away from the man she remembered. He was thin in a way that the house vest on him and the blanket on his lap couldn’t hide, all muscle in his limbs having wasted away. The hands on the armrests of the wheelchair looked like a bird’s talons, and she could have easily closed her fingers around his wrist with room to spare.

There was a strap across his chest, holding him upright against the armchair’s backrest, but she hardly noticed that: what her gaze paused on was his face. It was gaunt and of an unhealthy ashen color, but she still recognized those features; even the mustache had stayed the same, and his hair didn’t look that different. And the eyes - those hadn’t changed at all, perfectly clear and alert. They fickered somewhere over her shoulder for a moment, and he seemed to clench his jaw before he turned his gaze back on her, saying nothing.

Coco opened her mouth to speak, but she found herself speechless, and it didn’t seem to come as a surprise; Ernesto de la Cruz’s lips twitched for a moment in what could have been a sneer. Griselda stopped, leaving the wheelchair in front of her across a small table. That was when Coco smelled it: the scent of iodine and ointments and, beneath it all, the sickly sweet smell of corruption. She knew, there and then, that she was looking at a dying man - and that she had made the right choice by visiting, seizing what could be her only chance to know what had become of her father.

“I will leave you alone. If you need me, you only need to call,” Griselda said before turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind herself. It did feel like being locked inside a tomb, too, but this time it didn’t unnerve her.

Right there and then, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

***

Héctor was there because of course he was, standing silently right behind the woman, looking just as he had the night he had died. She was older now than he’d been then; it was a jarring sight, a reminder that more than a quarter of a century had passed.

He remembered, distantly, how she’d looked at him back when she’d call him tío, laughing and reaching up for his face - his mustache specifically, she seemed really keen to find out if she could rip it off - whenever Héctor decided to put her in his arms for whatever reason. She certainly wasn’t laughing now, her horror at seeing him plain as day, her pity barely concealed. It would have bothered him if his mind hadn’t been taken by something else that he could see so very clearly, with the two of them right next to each other across time.

“You look like Héctor.”

He only realized he’d spoken as much aloud when the words reached his own ears, and from behind her Héctor’s ghost gave the closest thing to a real smile Ernesto had seen on him in a long time, if ever. “She does! Muy guapa, eh?”

“... Thank God Imelda was able to spare you his nose,” Ernesto added, causing her to blink and Héctor’s grin to turn into an unimpressed glare. It gave him no small amount of childish satisfaction, to be entirely honest.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing! You get one chance to roast me back, so of course you had grab it with both hands and run with-- ooh wait, no you can’t,” the ghost muttered, but Ernesto ignored him. Unaware of her father’s presence, if he was indeed present, Socorro Rivera brought a hand to her mouth and gave a small laugh, some of the tension in her frame melting away.

“Haha! I suppose… I’m sorry, I must have come across so rude, just staring and saying nothing,” she said, and pulled her hand away from her face, the smile still lingering. Ernesto half-dreaded to hear her say it was good to see him, or any other equally fake nicety he’d heard far too many times, but she did not. “I’m sorry it took so long for any of us to get here. Your letter was… misplaced.”

“Bet you fifty pesos that Imelda tried to burn it,” Héctor muttered from behind her. Again, Ernesto ignored him and gave her a wry smile.

“I’m happy enough that you made it here, Socorro,” he said, like each single day hadn’t been torture. But she was there, and speak out was all he needed to do, or so he hoped. She would know, Héctor would be sated, and he’d be allowed to die. It’d only take a few words; he could speak them now, and be done with it… yet something in him balked at the prospect.

Maybe I won’t have to tell her everything. Maybe she doesn’t need to know. Maybe the world won’t need to know.

“Please, call me Coco,” she was saying, entirely unaware of his thoughts. “Everyone does.”

“Of course. Coco. Is your mother well?”

“She is, thank you. She’s sorry she couldn’t come - she was needed to run the business.”

Héctor snorted. “So sorry she couldn’t come, sure. You don’t believe that, do you, Ernestito?”

No, not for one second, but it wasn’t important. “She runs a business?”

“Yes. We make shoes - she started it on her own when I was little, with my uncles helping.”

“The Bobos?”

“What?” Coco blinked at him in clear confusion, and the laugh that left Ernesto sounded somewhat genuine. He thought back of two young boys looking at him with identical frowns.

“Your uncles. When they were kids, they used to pull this trick on everyone - pretending to be each other. I solved the problem by just calling them both ‘Bobo’. They were not very amused,” he added, and her confusion melted into a smile.

“Oh! They did that to me, too, when I was little. And my husband fell for it the first few times.”

“You’re married?”

“And with a daughter,” Coco replied, and suddenly her face lit up. She looked even more like Héctor now, nose or not, and there was a pang of something painful somewhere in his head, making him suddenly think that he would have rather faced Imelda and all of her grudge. As Coco reached for the locket around her neck to show him a picture, Ernesto glanced over her shoulder. Héctor was looking back at him, his expression somber.

“A granddaughter,” he said, flatly. “Imagine how much I would have loved her.”

I don’t want to, Ernesto almost said, but he kept his mouth shut and turned his gaze on Coco’s locket instead. There was a small picture inside, that of a man he did not know looking at the camera with a smile, a solemn-eyed little girl on his knees. He stared at her for a few moments. “... She looks like Imelda,” he found himself saying, and Coco laughed.

“She does! More than I ever did. She’s a lot like her, all serious and proper. And she can always tell her uncles apart. They could never trick her,” she said, and closed the locket, putting it back around her neck. “Her name is Victoria.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

“How many Victorias did you bed back when everything downstairs was still functioning?” the ghost wondered aloud.

“Four,” Ernesto said without thinking, causing Coco to blink in confusion and Héctor to guwaff. “I mean-- she looks like she might be four?”

“Oh! Yes, she’s almost five,” she said, and paused. There were a few moments of silence, and he broke it before it became uncomfortable.

“It must have been a long journey. I trust the staff has treated you well.”

“Oh, yes. Griselda was very helpful.”

“You were offered something to eat, I hope. I should have asked before dismissing her - would you like a drink, or…?”

“Hey! HEY! No tricks with her, pendejo! Mija, don’t drink anything he-- oh wait, you can’t actually pour the drinks yourself. Never mind. False alarm. Do carry on.”

Ernesto kept ignoring the ghost’s antics, though he could have sworn he had felt his left eye twitching a little. If so, she didn’t notice.

“I am fine, no worries. Thank you for letting me stay, señor de la Cruz.”

“Ernesto.”

“Right. I… used to call you Tío Neto, didn’t I?”

She did. He was amazed she even remembered. “Yes. Your father used to call me that as well, when we were children and he couldn’t pronounce my name properly.”

“I see. You... grew up together, didn’t you?” Coco was asking, but before Ernesto could answer, Héctor’s ghost smiled. It wasn’t one of his usual grins. It was a small, wistful smile.

“I wasn’t even three years old yet, and your name was a mouthful. You liked it better than when your mother called you Tito, though. You said you’d always wanted a little brother. I wished I had a big brother. I thought I was so lucky to have found you.”

You were, Ernesto thought, and something in his skull hurt. We were lucky. We could have had it all but then you had to go and decide that I wasn’t enough, we weren’t enough, everything we’d always wanted and dreamed about suddenly meant nothing.

Héctor shook his head. “Oh, no, mi hermano, don’t you get it? I told you, it was your dream.”

“Seño-- Ernesto?” Coco’s voice caused Ernesto to recoil and turn back to her. She looked concerned now, the earlier smile gone from her face.

“I… my apologies. Yes, we… we grew up together. He was my best friend.”

“... I’m picking up a past tense,” Coco said, and drew in a deep breath, as though to brace herself. “He died, didn’t he?”

Ernesto nodded. “Yes. I am sorry,” he said, fully expecting the ghost to say something scathing, but he remained silent. He kept her eyes fixed on Coco, who nodded.

There was a faraway cast to her gaze, but no tears just yet. “Years ago?”

“Sí,” Ernesto said, bracing himself for the next question he ought to expect - namely when, precisely, had he died. He should have dreaded it, but he found he didn’t. If she asked, he would tell her he’d died only months after leaving Santa Cecilia. If she asked why hadn’t he told them then, he would admit to taking his songs. Perhaps she would rage and then, well, she may very well guess the entire truth. Or maybe he would tell her first, anything to sate her. Anything to sate Héctor, and make him go away when she did.

But she didn’t ask. She closed her eyes, drawing in another deep breath, and brought her hands up to her face. She stayed still only for a few moments before she breathed out, and and pulled her hands away. Again, no tears; only that distant gaze again. “Why tell us now?”

“I’m not long for this world,” Ernesto found himself saying, fervently hoping that was the truth. He half-expected a remark from the ghost, but again he said nothing. He remained still and silent, his own gaze fixed on the floor. “It was now or never, I suppose.”

“I see,” Coco said, and looked down at her hands. They were folded tightly on her lap. “I remember so little. I have… good memories of him, but few. And I was so young, I am not even sure I can trust them. My mother never speaks of him - no one in the family does. She hasn’t been anything but amazing, but...”

“It was a sore spot, being left behind,” he said, his voice dull to his own ears. “I understand.”

“No,” Héctor snarled, suddenly looking up. “You don’t. I wanted to go home and you wrote me off musical history, wrote me off my own family. Take your pity party somewhere else.”

Coco was nodding, and suddenly she looked up from her hands to glance at him. “You knew him well. Will you tell me about him?”

For a moment, Ernesto wasn’t sure he had heard right. “What?”

“Tell me about him. You must have so many stories to share,” she replied, and for the first time her voice shook, like that of a pleading child. “It’s the only way I can have him back, I suppose. I want to know about him. So that I can actually be sad that he’s gone. Or angry. Or both,” she added, and gave a painfully forced laugh. “I know it makes no sense, but--”

“It makes perfect sense,” Ernesto cut her off, looking down at his own motionless hands. Having no feeling whatsoever below his neck had been the hardest thing to get used to - so hard, in fact, that he didn’t think he ever truly had. He would welcome the most excruciating pain over that horrifying nothingness.

“Tell her.” Héctor’s voice rang out suddenly, quieter than before, sadder, younger, pleading. Ernesto glanced down to see the young boy he’d been standing by the armchair Coco was on, a small hand with fingernails bitten to the quick resting on her arm. She gave no sign of being aware of that. “Please, Neto. Tell her about me.”

“Yes,” Ernesto said, not knowing who he was talking to anymore. “I’ll tell all I remember.”

If this is what you want, I will. And then allow me to die. For the love of God, let me go.

He looked back at Coco, who smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and then she fell quiet to listen,  hanging to his every word.

Ernesto couldn’t tell for how long she listened in silence: in a way, he wasn’t there at all. For the first time in over a quarter of a century he was back in Santa Cecilia, where the sun beat down mercilessly and two laughing boys ran amok through fruit groves, splashed in the stream and made music with whatever they could find, dreaming of the wide world outside.

***

A/N: Coco will, eventually, know when Héctor died. But at the moment she wants more than anything to know about her missing father's life rather than his death, and she has no reason to suspect foul play. Yet.

***

[Back to Chapter 2]

[On to Chapter 4]

#coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #coco rivera #pixar coco #bedside ghost

[totaltozier]

Just Another Day: Chapter 4 - Stranger Things/IT Richie&Mike Twins AU

NOTES: Sorry for such a long wait since chapter 3! I’ve been sick lately and super out of my element! But here it finally is!! This is the beginning of a wild ride! Message me to join the taglist also I love feedback!!!

WORD COUNT: 2K

SUMMARY: Stranger Things/IT crossover in which Richie and Mike are twins, Mileven is real, and even though Hawkins Lab was shut down what lies beneath the Upside Down is still up to no good!

CHAPTER ONE // CHAPTER TWO // CHAPTER THREE

“If X is equal to twelve and Z is equal to forty-one then the answer would be?” Mike prompted Eleven.

“Seven?” El guessed with a hopeful face. Unfortunately, she was wrong and Mike gently shook his head.

The two of them were sat next to each other at the Wheeler family dining table accompanied by Richie, Dustin, Eddie, and Will as well, each working on homework and assignments.

“Hey Will, can I see your history notes? I’m missing some from last class.” Eddie asked the small boy.

Will nodded and shuffled through his binder for the notes. “What happened there? You never miss any notes!” Will asked him back.

Eddie sighed. “You’re right, I normally don’t but this doofus here was distracting me!” He explained while elbowing Richie, who was sitting next to him, in the side. “Thanks, Will.”

“Hey! I was being regular ol’ Richie! You chose to get distracted!” Richie teased, earning a flick on the arm from Eddie this time. “Ow!” He whined, rubbing the spot with his hand. “I’ve been wounded! Shot even! How do you suppose I complete my work with such an injury, Eddie Spaghetti?” Richie pleaded with an English accent.

Eddie stared at the notes in front of him. “By not doing the British guy right now, that would be a good start.” He said.

Richie shrugged and opened up his science textbook. “I know you love the British guy, but fine.” He huffed.

“Richie, no one loves the British guy!” Mike argued from across the table.

“Yeah and no one loves that sweater of yours either but here we are, Michael!” Richie argued back with a cheery voice. Mike looked down at the sweater he was wearing, a knitted paisley blue and mint green crew neck that had wavy patterns on it. He looked back at his twin who’s face had a shit eating grin on it.

“I hate you.” Mike stated. He went back to reading his notebook to help Eleven with her math some more.

The group fell back into a focused silence, with only the sounds of pencils scratching and pages flipping. Time passed rather quickly as they worked and soon it was almost dinner time.

Eddie’s watch beeped, signalling that it was quarter to six o’clock and time for him to head home. He shuffled his papers together and quickly packed them away in his bag. “I gotta go, Ma’s making dinner.” He announced as he stood up.

Dustin folded up his papers also. “I’ll go with you, Mom will have a fit if I don’t feed Tews before she gets home!” Dustin and Eddie lived only a couple blocks apart. The two boys slipped their bags on and headed for the front door.

Richie stood up and followed them. “I’ll walk you guys home, grab some fresh air.” Dustin and Eddie both hummed in agreement, knowing that Richie always walked Eddie home anyways. He slipped on his sneakers and followed the other two boys outside.

“Have you guys heard of the new Spiderman movie that’s coming out?” Dustin asked the other two boys as they made their way towards his house. “It’s out next Friday, we should all go see it!”

“Is that the one with the guy who looks like he has frogs in his mouth?” Richie asked.

“What the fuck?” Eddie asked. “Frogs in his mouth? What the hell does that even mean, Richie?”

“It means that he looks like he’s keeping secret frogs in his cheeks, Eds!” Richie looked down at the sidewalk and kicked a stray rock with his foot. Dustin watched as it flew in front of them and jogged ahead to kick it himself. “Dusty, that’s my rock!” Richie teased.

“Mine now, Richard!” Dustin teased back. The two boys bickered back and forth over the rock in front of them until Eddie was fed up.

“Guys! Shut the fuck up, you can both kick the goddamn rock!” Eddie almost shouted out of frustration. Richie and Dustin continued to argue over the rock anyways. “Guys!” Eddie said again. “Guys!” Nothing.

The three boys had stopped walking. Eddie had basically given up on trying to get the other two to shut up so he could get home. Eddie glanced at his watch. It was six o’clock, meaning that he was already late. He figured he could just blame it on Mrs. Wheeler, claim that she had invited him to stay a little longer. Dustin and Richie had somehow left the original topic of the rock and were now arguing about Batman and Superman.

Knowing that they weren’t going to end their debate any time soon, Eddie looked around at his surroundings. They were beside the forest, the same one that stretches out near Will’s house and further to Mike’s farm. Eddie stared into the woods. The autumn sun was starting to set, casting a shadow over the forest floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move, something quick and small run into a bush. Eddie felt his breathing hitch before remembering that animals live in the forest, it easily could have been a rabbit. He turned back to look at Richie who was now using his British voice again and Eddie smiled. Behind him, a bush rustled again, causing Eddie to whip around to see what the noise was.

“Guys?” Eddie asked with an unsteady voice. When neither answered, Eddie grabbed onto Richie’s arm, shaking him until he noticed Eddie.

“What’s up, Eds?” Richie asked as he turned to look where the Eddie was staring.

“There’s something out there.” Eddie answered. Richie and Dustin looked at each other, exchanging looks of confusion. The three boys stared into the forest watching for anything that could possibly be out.

“It was probably a squirrel or something, Eddie.” Dustin suggested. “I need to get home before my mom does, let’s go.” Dustin turned and started to walk away.

Richie looked down at Eddie and tilted his head as if asking if he was okay to keep walking home. Eddie gave him a slight nod and the three boys were off again. They soon made it to Dustin’s house where they dropped him off, exchanging goodbyes and see you laters.

“Let’s take the cut-off, I’m already too late to take Robinson Street home.” Eddie said leading the way from Dustin’s driveway. Richie followed suit, taking his long strides beside Eddie.

Thankfully, they made it to Eddie’s house only twelve minutes late (after fifteen minutes, Sonia calls the police trying to file for a missing person’s case). Eddie ran inside, calling out his apology to Sonia for being late. Richie followed him inside and into the kitchen where Eddie had bolted off to.

“Sorry Mrs. K! I warned Eddie Bear here that he was going to be late but he just wouldn’t listen to me!” Richie pleaded with an innocent voice. Eddie gave him his signature look that Richie knew meant “shut the fuck up”.

Sonia nodded her head slowly and looked over Richie. “Um, yes, thank you Mr. Tozier. Although I think it’s time you head home yourself.”

“Yes ma’am!” Richie said, giving her a salute before exiting the room. “I’ll call you later, Eds!” He shouted over his shoulder as he closed the front door behind him.

Richie made his way back home, cutting through the walkway, and back past Dustin’s house. He pulled out his phone as he walked, checking his notifications as he strolled. Dinner time wasn’t until seven at his house so he was in no rush. Beverly had texted him something about Mike being the annoying twin for once, Bill had sent him three snapchats all with some silly filter on his face, and Lucas had tagged him in multiple memes. He clicked on the meme, disappointed that it was one he had already seen about a week ago. Richie tagged Lucas back, typing out something about calling him a ‘n00b’ when he heard a noise come from beside him.

Richie hadn’t even noticed that he had made it as far as the woods again. He glanced into the shadowed trees, looking for the source of the noise. After a moment, Richie kept walking, he probably made the sound up in his head anyways. Less than a minute later he stopped again.

“Richie.”

The boy stopped dead in his tracks. Spinning around to look for someone but no one was around. He swore he had heard his name, whispered sharply only just loud enough for him to hear.

“Hello?” Richie asked, his voice shaking. There was no response. He could feel his heart beating faster and an unsettling feeling rise in his stomach. Richie started walking again, his long legs stretching farther than normal. He was only two streets away from his own, if he pushed himself he could get there within the next three minutes.

“Richie?” He knew that voice. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Richie whipped around, his heart stopping when there was someone standing behind him. Not just someone but Eddie.

“Eddie? What are you doing, I just walked you home?” Richie questioned. His eyes locked on his friend. He studied this Eddie, but something was wrong.

“I was making sure you would get home safe, Rich.” The Eddie replied.

Richie nodded his head. He looked at all of Eddie, scanning over him entirely. Richie realised that the shirt he was wearing was the same style as the one he was wearing earlier but in a different colour, this one a pale green while he was wearing a blue shirt at school. Eddie was also wearing a fanny pack, the oddest part of it all since he had thrown them all away the summer he found out his medicine was bullshit. Eddie vowed that he’d never wear one again.

“Uh, thanks Eddie. But I can get home on my own.” Richie uttered nervously to the boy in front of him.

Eddie shook his head and Richie swore that he saw his eyes flicker to an eerie bright green colour before turning back to dark brown.

“I’m going to go now. See ya later.” Richie said before turning around and walking home. Once he made it to the end of his street he looked behind him, no sign of Eddie to be seen. He ran home pulling out his phone and dialing Eddie’s number as he went. Eddie picked up within seconds.

“Hey Rich, what’s up?” Eddie asked.

“You’re at home, right?” Richie asked him and he approached his own front door.

“Um, yeah, you literally dropped me off like eight minutes ago.” Eddie answered.

“And you’ve been home ever since?” Richie asked desperately.

“Yes, you weirdo, I was eating dinner with my mom. Are you okay? What’s going on?” Eddie asked with concern.

Richie’s heart rate picked up again. “Uh, nothing Eds.” Richie claimed. “I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He explained, ending the call before Eddie could say anything else. Richie walked to the stairs passing the dining room on the way.

“Dinner’s ready, Richie!” Mrs. Wheeler called out to him.

“Sorry, I’m not hungry!” He shouted as he bolted upstairs to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He stood with his back against the door, chest breathing heavily. “Holy fuck.”

TAGLIST:

@alwaysmebeforeyou @rrichiettozier @deebaddee @kaitlinlexiepxrrini @lulibeanss @parkeriddikulus @bevvverlymarsh @trashmouthdiangelo @prongs-mileven @wheeeeeeeeeeeze @aburbules @88-shooting-stars @sarah-cat-and-the-doctor @usagiserenityy @sweetlysilent @myupsidedownsoul

#mike wheeler #richie tozier #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things cast #beyond stranger things #stranger things imagine #IT #IT 2017 #IT movie #IT 2017 movie #mileven #reddie #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard imagine #jack dylan grazer #jack dylan grazer imagine #eleven #mike x eleven #richie x eddie #stranger things/it #crossover #crossover fic #mike and richie twins #just another day #mine

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

ALRIGHT I have apparently a lot of things I’ve been tagged in (recently or otherwise) so we are gonna do one big post of those things under the cut here to save your dash (sorry if you’re mobile and the app isn’t doing a read more D:) - stating it now I’m not gonna tag anybody bc I took so long to get around to it oops

10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms things -Ami Mizuno (Sailor Moon) -Elizabeth Corday (ER) -River Song (DW) -Delilah (Firewatch) -Velma Dinkley (Scooby Doo) -Molly Grue (The Last Unicorn) -Lady Macbeth (Shakespeare) -Yang Xiao Long (RWBY) -Dana Scully (The X-Files) -Tuppence Beresford (Agatha Christie)

Writing Tag 1. How many works in progress do you currently have in progress? “Just” three - Princess and the Goblin AU, a personal project, and an original work about the world’s grumpiest immortal old lady 2. Do you/would you write fanfiction? Yes and yes :P 3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks? Paper books to own, but for schoolwork I’d much rather use ebooks as they’re a lot easier to search through when writing a paper and needing that one quote. 4. When did you start writing? Age six! We still have the word document from 2003 where I wrote an epic tale about myself helping the Boxcar Children solve a mystery in which my mom was, for some reason, a police officer. 5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with? Knight! 6. Where is your favorite place to write? At home, sitting on my bed. That’s where I work best in general; I don’t do well with the distractions of public places. 7. Favorite childhood book? Oh gosh. I was a ridiculously avid reader all through childhood. I don’t know that I could pick a single one, but the Nancy Drew series had me from very early on. 8. Writing for fun or writing for publication? For fun! But in an ideal world there would also be publication in the future lol. 9. Pen and paper or computer? Computer! I used to do pencil and paper when I was in middle school/high school and filled up a few composition notebooks, but I get too easily sidetracked with pencil and paper and tend to end up doodling if I try to use it for writing nowadays. 10. Have you ever taken any writing classes? I have! I did a fiction/poetry combo the summer of 2014 which was very nice, a poetry class fall of 2015, and am currently in another poetry class. One day I’ll get to have my fiction workshopped again! :P 11. What inspires you to write? Lots of things - music, dreams, other people, daydreams...

Last sentence you wrote:

She’d thought maybe she was doing it wrong, and that was why, but she didn’t quite know how to ask.

Top 5-10 songs you listen to: 1. Fire Escape by Love, Robot 2. Cherry Tree by The National 3. I Wish I Was Your Cigarette by K.I.D. 4. Pretty Girl by Hayley Kiyoko 5. Beneath the Brine by The Family Crest

that one tag thing it didn’t have a title sorry Name: Mouse Star sign: Cancer Average hours of sleep: 5-8 depending on the day Lucky number: 7 or 27 based on numbers I like, but the OCD demands repetitions of 12 or 20 so take that as you will Last thing I googled: “panko crumbed turkey schnitzel” because I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS AND I WANTED TO KNOW IF I COULD EAT IT Favorite fictional character: Yes I Have Lots of Those What are you wearing right now: Batman pj pants and a soft green plaid buttonup When did you start this blog: May 2013 :’) please don’t go look at my first posts I was an embarrassing child What do I mostly post: Sailor Moon, Alex Kingston, helpful art things, and lately a lot of middle-of-the-night squawking about Scooby Doo Do I get a lot of asks: on the art blog! not here though lol Why did I choose this URL: River Song + memento mori

another one that doesn’t have a title I think sorry again O N E -name: Audrey || nickname: Mouse || zodiac sign: Cancer -height: 5′2″ || orientation: ace lesbian || ethnicity: white enough to make hiding in laser tag very difficult -favorite fruit: apple || favorite season: winter -favorite book: The Last Unicorn || favorite flower: carnation? -favorite scent: vanilla || favorite animal: cat -coffee, tea, or hot cocoa? no thank you -cats or dogs? cats -dream trip: I go to an abandoned, isolated castle in the middle of a wide-open field of green. no one is around. I am wearing a soft, billowy dress. I run through the halls of the castle to echoing sea shanties. in the tallest tower of the castle I sit and fill up an entire sketchbook and it doesn’t even matter if I mess up on a couple pages because I have brought sticky notes to try that cool thing where you just slap a sticky note over the mistake and keep going. -aesthetic: old empty buildings, soft blankets, girls holding hands, scuffed up knuckles and fingertips, the pages in a sketchbook where marker has bled through in just a few spots to make it look splattered, the smell of old books, antique brass pocketwatches, cold grey skies -favorite band/artist: Anberlin -fictional character I’d date: River Song, Elizabeth Corday, Makoto Kino -Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw T W O -countries I’ve lived in: US, UK I guess now? idk does it count -favorite fandom: uhh... if we’re talking about the fandom itself then Scooby Doo, there’s so little drama and everyone is just super into these goofy kids solving mysteries, it’s great -languages you speak: English, and I’m passable enough in Spanish that I could PROBABLY survive if I were dropped in a Spanish speaking country -favorite film of 2016: I have No Concept of Time and also don’t watch that many movies. did Wonder Woman come out in 2016? that’s like the only movie I’ve been to see in theatres recently. idk I apologize -last article you read: uhh something for class, so something about Gothic feminism -last thing you bought online: a maroon sweatshirt with Scooby’s face on it. I am the coolest adult and 12yo me would be proud. -how would your friends describe you: sweet but a huge dork, very little common sense, means well -how would your enemies describe you: I am always trying my best to not make enemies so?? I don’t know?

questions Nikki asked specifically 1. You spend an entire year in another time and place for the next three years of your life. When/where do you choose and why? THESE KINDS OF QUESTIONS STRESS ME OUT because on the one hand, access to everywhere and everywhen!! BUT ON THE OTHER HAND IF I GO TOO FAR BACK INTO THE PAST I LOSE ACCESS TO THINGS LIKE MEDICINE WHICH I NEED AND POSSIBLY CONTAMINATE THE POPULATION WITH MODERN-DAY GERMS WHILE IF I GO TOO FAR INTO THE FUTURE I GET EXPOSED TO BACTERIA/VIRUSES I HAVE NO IMMUNITY AGAINST. it’s a lose/lose. so... picking close enough to not do too much damage, I’ll spend one year following Agatha Christie around sometime in the 60s, mentor my younger self in 2010, and go through all of 2014 again just so I can go see the Armory production of Macbeth. 2. Okay, be honest: do you put your laundry away immediately, or does it sit somewhere in a pile for entirely too long? IT SITS AT THE END OF MY BED FOR WEEKS YOU DON’T HAVE TO CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS 3. Describe yourself as if you’re in a fic. (Scent, appearance, aura – everything & anything is game.) “She was small and mousy, in the sense that she was a bit skittish of everything and squeaked sometimes when she talked, always too quiet for the ‘real’ grownups. She stepped lightly, and tried to take up as little space as possible, and was almost a ghost for her efforts.” 4. What non-essential thing(s) do you blow the most money on? MARKERS AND BOOKS I am a simple woman with simple desires 5. Did you have extracurricular activities as a child? Any that you wish you’d done? I did ballet and cheer in elementary school for like two years, gymnastics for a bit; journalism in middle school (say hello to the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper y’all); drama in high school - I can’t say that I wish I’d done any more actually 6. You can time travel (or not) and have your portrait done by any artist. Who do you choose? I'm gonna go with El Greco simply because his “Penitent Magdalene” haunts me 7. You’re out in public. You see a cat. How do you react? point at it and say CAAAAAAAT and hope it doesn’t run away 8. What kind of weather do you thrive in, and what can you simply not do? A bit cloudy and 50-60 degrees F is ideal. I cannot abide heat. Anything above 80 degrees is repulsive. 9. Om nom nom, breakfast! What are your favorite breakfast foods? CEREAL AND WAFFLES 10. Do you like running up and/or rolling down hills? ...not particularly... I have a weird thing about heights, and inclines do not really help D:

#I went back TWO WHOLE YEARS in my likes so hopefully I got all of the ones I'd skipped over like a lame-o #anyway #long post #like SUPER DUPER LONG #seriously it's. sad. #Mouse talks! #about me #also #writing tag #I GUESS KIND OF #there's one sentence from the AU I am Never Sharing Anywhere Or Providing Context For #anyway GOOD NIGHT EVERYONE gaoishgweoihg sorry I'm so bad at doing these in a timely fashion #shoutout to Flo for tagging me in stuff like just today so I remembered I had those to do!! #I hope it's okay I did it on the main instead of the art blog since that's the one you tagged D:

[grapsandclaps]

Before I talk about the matches the ring announcing has to be mentioned. Quite simply the worst ring announcing ever, and I mean EVER! I do believe the man doing it had never done it before and was doing it as a favour to help out assumingly in a way of keeping costs down which is understandable buthe clearly knew nothing about wrestling.

He had a clipboard with 7 or 8  pieces of paper on it and kept flicking between them, he was struggling to read what was written down occasionally asking the referee, getting confused which match was next, announced Jack Bandicoot as a WWE UK superstar (maybe one day) instead of Amir Jordan, didn’t know anyone’s nicknames, pronouncing Amir Jordan as the Banjra badboy (Poor Amir got a raw deal here) announcing a tag match that we had just seen andother faux pas that need to disappear if he is to do it again. It really was atrocious but I have got my smarkiness out of the way

MATCH 1 EL Ligero DF Boris Koslov in a Falls count anywhere match

Decent match this. 2 guys very well known and both babyfaces with the crowd. I really am not sure about the stipulation of falls count anywhere but for marketing it was a good idea with the fight going outside onto the streets and a few locals walking by wondering what was going on but hopefully havingtheir interest piqued. Boris took the beating to Ligero with a six pack of Walkers crisps before coming back into the venue and wrestling in the little 8 by 8 ring for a few minutes. The roof was so low at this point over the little ring the ref went down for the 3 count and hit his hand on the roof.

As the action went back towards the ring El Ligero used “cowboy” John Parker who was in the crowd watching as a stool and splashed Boris after jumping off John’s back.

They got back in the ring with action back and forth and Ligero got the win via pinfall. After the match

Boris got on the microphone and told the crowd that if any wrestler in the UK deserved his WWEUK shot it was Ligero. This got a good reaction from the crowd and it is hard to disagree with. To prove this Ligero walked out and drove down to Birmingham to have a 2/3 falls match with Chris Ridgeway which was, by all accounts, exceptional.

Match 2 Jack Bandicoot DF Amir Jordan to become new LPW 24/7 champion Brand new belt and a new title. Not really sure what the 24/7 title is but looking at the first 2 to challenge for it I am assuming it is a Cruiserweight/X Division type title.

This was another good match. Both wrestlers had some fun at the beginning with Jack being announced as a WWEUK superstar. He act shocked and very happy about this but Amir Jordan put him right. This was another babyface vs. babyface match with both guys well known by the fans and doing some good high flying (as much as was allowed with the roof) I enjoyed this match a lot and I enjoy watching Bandicoot always looking for ways to hit high flying moves. on a side note, the last 2 times I have seen Bandicoot in RISE and Tidal he has hit 2 of the most unique and devastating DDT’S I have seen.

Bandicoot was taking some punishment and Jordan was lining up for his finisher before Bandicoot got the roll up win.

After the match Jordan got on the microphone and told Bandicoot that if he keeps doing what he is doing he will go far in pro wrestling and a handshake was shared. On a personal note I have now seen Jordan in RISE, TIDAL, PCW and LPW and I know he has wrestled for Progress and others. The juxtaposition of Ligero with near 3000 matches and Jordan with just 2/3 years of wrestling is  fascinating but his position is no less deserved and I really am a big fan of Amir and look forward to seeing him more.

Match 3 J Graves w/ Ruby Radley & Ivy DF Ragnar with use of a baseball batBoth of these wrestlers were new to me and frustratingly didn’t leave much of an impression. Ragnar seemed to be a powerhouse type wrestler but wasn’t really big enough or jacked enough to pull it off. J Graves’ character was more rounded off playing the 80s rocker type but coming off a bit Adam Rose like. Technically they appeared fine in the ring and this was the first heel vs. baby face dynamic of the show. The real stars of this match were Ruby Radley and particularly Ivy. Ivy would get in any fans face and shout at them, threatening to batter one young fan with her bat. She was Scolding the referee continuously and interfering where possible. Real heel heat and when Graves won it felt like the right result and the crowd were not happy which was good.

Match 4 Persephone DF Rhio Not a lot to say about this match as I didn’t watch a lot of it. I didn’t leave my seat I was just worried for Rhio getting seriously hurt. This match had changed from Thursday with Little Miss Roxxy vs. Lizzy Styles to this so it was a last minute booking but it was not a good match and became scary to watch. Rhio was trying her hardest and in all fairness none of the danger was her fault but Rhio seems to be able to have a good match when she is in with someone better (vs. Viper at PCW) but when she isthe better talent in the ring it can be messy. Intermission During the show a  lady had come round doing a football card. We entered this but never heard a draw being done and never found out who won. Tony went for a cigarette and I found that the bar did sell alcohol, which was needed after that last match. As ghastly as Heineken is it was £2 a can and really cold on a hot day so it hit the spot.

Match 5 Drill & Drake Winter DF Jimmy Jackson & Jack Flash A real baby face vs. heel dynamic in this match, mostly because of Drake Winter looking and dressing like a fat Jon Snow (and the crowd let him know) although his gear looked a lot cheaper than Jon Snows. I knew none of these wrestlers and spent the match thinking Drill was actually called Trill (like the budgie food) because of the announcer and thinking what a terrible name. Tony was excited to see Jack Flash as he was a regular on the EBW shows around Rotherham/Sheffield and Drake Winter, withthat weird Shane Taylor midriff/leg weight thing going on was pretty good with some hard hitting moves and got good heat from the fans. This was a pretty standard match but I would enjoy seeing any of these again, Bandicoot vs. Jack Flash could be a good match in the future.

Match 6 Lexi Olivia DF Ruby Radley, Ivy and Alfie Rose to become new LPW women' s champion   Really fun match. This started as a triple threat match with Ivy on the outside. As Alfie and Lexi teamed up against Ruby, Ivy was getting mad and forced the ref to let her enter the match and make it afatal four way(although we had to assume this as the announcer didn’t explain anything) and the ref obliged. If he didn’t he probably would of took a baseball bat to the head so who can blame him? Ruby and Ivy regularly teamed up with it often ending up with miscommunication and bumping each other. Lexi Olivia, another EBW regular, seemed very new. Lots of her moves looked good but not great transitions and each moved seemed obviously set up but I believe she is 18/19 and lots of potential. Her Elbows look legit badass and her running knees were good and drew gasps from the crowd. Lexi took advantage of miscommunication and got the pin on Ruby to win the title from Alfie Rose who wasn’t hurt as she was not pinned and lots of ways for this story to go. Really fun stuff.

Match 7 the Lion Kings DF Son of Ulaid - Rory Coyle and Big Lou from England ’ s    hardest men.This was a very good match with 4 talented guys who will all be at the next RISE show. I have no idea what happened to Bas Ban the other SON of Ulaid but I like this idea of Rory Coyle having to team with someone different at all these shows. Almost a cult, disciple thing and hope he runs with it. The Lion Kings are firm fan favourites around the Leeds area and work really well as a tag team. This was a good solid tag team match and did exactly what you would expect and with the fan favourites going over. There isn’t really much to say about this as it was exactly what it should have been - a hard hitting tag match. Enjoyed it and always enjoy seeing any of these 4 guys.

Main event Matty Mayhem vs. HT Drake for the LPW title ended in a no contest afterinterferenceDrake has been on every Tidal, Rise and Defiant show I have been to but I did not know Matty Mayhem and did not know how long he had been champion. This was a good match with both guys working over the other and some good high flying. Drake took the match to the outside and Mayhem threw him over the chairs which were not folding chairs and it looked painful and drew a good reaction. The match was back in the ring and it felt like Drake was going to win before a man in a Michael Myers mask and boiler suit jumped into the ring and super kicked both Mayhem and Drake and left them lying. The crowd were stunned and the mask came off to unveil Sean Only! Only drew the boos and was interviewed in the ring but the sound wasn’t great and we couldn’t hear what was being said (should of just give Only the mic) the show finished with a match announcement of Only vs. Mayhem for the title at the next show which should make for a good match and also Only can draw legit heel heat. HT drake was one of only 2 wrestlers I saw pull double duty on my 3 show weekend also appearing at Defiant in Sheffield on the Monday and he is certainly a solid hand.

The doors opened and we left. It was a nice little show and a good start for the NEW LPW and I will certainly keep my eyes out for their next show. I hope they improve their social media presence as it would be good to see a few more in the seats next show as the promoters have clearly tried hard to put a good card together. But please improve the announcing .