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totheblood · 7 months

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begging for rain. (three)

󠁐# THREE; the harder that it takes to undo

PAIRING: ex!ellie williams x nextdoorneighbor!reader

SUMMARY: moving to a new town can be tough, especially as you are trying to hold everything in your life together. after you meet ellie, your life completely changes, but for the better? well that's still up in the air

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x,

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N : ok this was the longest chapter i've written to date so... please enjoy.... ONE AI AUDIOS IN THE FIC ! please please please like and reblog/reply/send asks, comments, the whole nine yards… it is so appreciated!

TWO YEARS AGO

It felt weird to be in Ellie’s house.

Ellie opened the door to a cozy living room with warm beige walls and wicker furniture that had been well-worn by time. An old acoustic guitar leaned against one wall and a record player sat atop an end table, surrounded by piles of vintage vinyl. The air was thick with the aroma of coffee and old books, creating a comforting ambiance. Family photos and posters dotted the walls, giving an insight into Ellie's life that made you feel like a intruder but also made you want to know more.

"Nice place," you said, removing your shoes at the door.

"Thanks," Ellie smiled, leading you to the living room. "You can drop your stuff there. We'll study at the table."

You took a seat at the sturdy oak dining table and ran your fingers over its smooth surface before settling into it. Scattered papers littered the table, some lined with handwritten lyrics, others with doodles intertwined in colored ink. You opened up your English books and laid out your homework, feeling a sense of warmth emanating from the room. The aged furniture added an air of familiarity, like you were being invited into Ellie's private world. Ellie seemed to be working on physics homework, while you had an English essay on Shakespeare to tackle. The juxtaposition wasn't lost on you—Ellie with equations and you with Elizabethan English.

You both settled into your work, the atmosphere tinged with concentration. Occasionally, your eyes would drift towards Ellie, watching her brows furrow in thought or her lips move silently as she read through her notes. Each time, you'd catch yourself and refocus on your own work.

"So, how are you finding the essay?" she finally broke the silence.

"It's... okay, I guess. Mrs. Porter has a way of making Shakespeare sound like rocket science."

Ellie chuckled. "Ah, the age-old struggle. To be or not to be confused, that is the question."

You laughed, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift. "You're not so bad at this, you know," you said. "Maybe you should consider a career in stand-up."

"And give up my dream of becoming a rockstar physicist?" she feigned surprise. "Never."

You smiled at her enthusiasm. "A rockstar physicist, huh? That's a first."

"Well, what about you? Any grand plans?"

You hesitated, thinking about your dad for a moment. You blinked, looking down at the book in front of you before looking back up at Ellie. "I'm not sure. I used to think I had it all figured out, but now... everything's so uncertain."

Ellie put down her pen and looked at you, her green eyes softening. "Uncertainty isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's just room for something new, something better."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and felt something shift inside you. "That's pretty wise for a 17-year-old."

She blushed a little, turning her attention back to her notebook. "Well, don't spread it around. I have a reputation to maintain. Plus, I’m almost 18."

The rest of the study session went smoothly. You’d occasionally sigh and drop your head in frustration, making Ellie stifle a giggle and demand you get back to work. You had only known her for a day and was already falling into a rhythm with her. You didn’t want to go home, but the sun was beginning to set and you wanted time to rest. Time to think about the day you had and try to make sense of it. When it was time to leave, Ellie walked you to the door.

"Thanks for coming over. It was fun," she said, her hands twisting together.

"Yeah, I had a good time too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of happiness and reluctance to leave.

As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Ellie's words echoed in your mind: "Uncertainty isn't always bad... it's just room for something new, something better." And as you walked back across the dirt path to your house, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, something new and better had already begun.

You walked into your room, shutting the door behind you as if to seal off the world outside. It was your sanctuary, a little haven where you could breathe, think, and just be. You tossed your backpack onto the bed and sank into your chair, letting out a sigh as you looked around. Your room was still a mix of unpacked boxes and half-arranged furniture—a physical representation of your current state of mind, unsettled yet hopeful.

Picking up your phone, you noticed you had an unread Instagram DM. Your heart skipped a beat; could it be Ellie? Unlocking your phone, you saw the message was from Ingrid. Curiosity piqued, you opened.

ingrid.xoxo: Hey there, newbie. How was your first day?

You felt strange reading her message. Like it was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. Was she just being friendly or was there something more? You quickly typed back.

y/nsworld: hey! It was a little overwhelming but good overall. how was your day?

Almost instantly, she replied.

ingrid.xoxo: Same old, same old. But seeing a fresh face around made it more interesting. 😉

The winking emoji caught your attention. Was she flirting? A little flutter of excitement mixed with confusion settled in your stomach.

Before you could process it further, the front door opened and closed loudly. It was your mom, finally home from work. You heard her footsteps coming up the stairs, and a few seconds later, she knocked on your door.

"Come in," you called.

The door swung open and your mom stepped in, her face tired but lighting up when she saw you. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your first day at the new school?"

You looked at her and smiled. "It was good, Mom. Made some new friends, and Ellie from next door is really nice. I went there and studied after school."

"That's wonderful," she said, her eyes shining with relief. "I was so worried you'd have a hard time adjusting."

"I mean, it's still the first day, but so far, so good," you said, shrugging. The relief on your mom’s face made you uneasy. You wanted to make this transition easy for both of you, but there was a newfound pressure building inside of you. You had to make it work here, even if you were unhappy. There was no escaping this place, and you suddenly felt trapped. Before your mind could go any further, she was speaking again.

"That's my brave girl," she said, coming over to give you a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

As she left the room and wished you a goodnight with a firm kiss pressed to the top of your head, you sat back and sighed. Your phone buzzed again. Another message from Ingrid.

ingrid.xoxo: So, got any plans for the weekend? Maybe you'd like a tour guide to show you around. 😊

There it was again, that undercurrent of something more than just friendliness. You found yourself smiling, both intrigued and uncertain. It was as if life, in its own whimsical way, was presenting new possibilities, each more complicated than the last.

You glanced back at the door, then at your phone, then at the unpacked boxes still sitting in your room. Everything felt like a question mark, and as Ellie had wisely noted, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Lying back on your bed, you stared up at the ceiling, pondering your response to Ingrid, your new friendships, and the unpredictability of life itself. Uncertainty, as it turns out, could indeed be the room for something new, something better.

And so, with a mix of excitement and apprehension, you typed out your reply to Ingrid, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself.

y/nsworld: a tour guide sounds fun. i'm in. :)

PRESENT DAY

When Ellie's text popped up on your phone two days ago, you almost deleted it without reading it. The mere sight of her name on your screen was like a splinter you couldn't remove—small but persistently painful. She wrote that she missed your friendship, and though you wanted to scoff at her audacity, a part of you hesitated. Her words, "Can we at least talk? Just as friends?" echoed in your mind. Against your better judgment, a wave of nostalgia washed over you, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing, "Fine, but this doesn't mean anything." Now, as you stepped into the quaint coffee shop where so many of your past memories were brewed, you questioned that decision.

"You're early," Ellie remarked, her voice as flat as the expression on her face.

"I had nothing better to do," you responded, matching her tone as you stepped into the coffee shop. It was almost empty, the aroma of freshly ground coffee mingling with the subtle tension that had settled between you two.

"Of course, you didn't," Ellie sighed, sliding a cup of coffee your way across the wooden table. On it was marked with your order, two pumps of hazelnut, two pumps of vanilla, and one pump of almond, extra cream.

You looked at the cup, then back at Ellie. "You remembered how I like my coffee."

"I'm not completely useless."

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip while simultaneously biting your tongue. You had every right to tell her she was useless, but you refrained. It was perfect, just the way you liked it. "What do you want, Ellie?"

Ellie sighed, looking uncomfortable for a moment before speaking, "I wanted to talk. About us."

You almost snorted into your coffee. "Us? There is no 'us'. Not anymore."

"I know I messed up, okay? But can't we at least—"

"Messed up?" you cut her off, feeling the familiar surge of anger rise within you. "You didn't just 'mess up', Ellie. You broke something. Something that can't be fixed."

Ellie flinched as if you had slapped her. The look on her face almost making you feel guilty. But she didn’t have that right anymore, and you weren’t about to let her back in.

"I know. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But can't we at least try to be civil? For the sake of our friends, if not for us?"

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment you were back in her living room, struggling with physics homework and discussing the uncertainties of life. Back when things were simpler, easier. But that was a different time, a different you, and most importantly, a different Ellie.

"Being civil is a far cry from what you're suggesting," you said finally, breaking the silence.

Ellie sighed. "I know I don't deserve a second chance. Hell, I don't even deserve your friendship. But can't we at least try to be... something?"

You stared at her, pondering her words. The Ellie sitting in front of you now seemed so different from the girl you had fallen for. And yet, there were moments, fleeting seconds, when you could almost see traces of the old Ellie—the one who made you laugh, who made you think, who made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But those traces were just that—fleeting and insubstantial. The real Ellie, the one sitting in front of you, was a reminder of a chapter you had painfully closed.

"We can try," you said finally, "but I can't promise anything."

Ellie nodded, a mixture of relief and regret flashing across her face. "I guess that's all I can ask for."

As you both sipped your coffee in silence, the weight of what was left unsaid hung heavy in the air. And yet, for the first time in a long time, it felt like you could both breathe a little easier.

But as Ellie's eyes met yours, you couldn't help but wonder: in the quest for something new, something better, had you both lost something irreplaceable? There was something substantially broken between the two of you now, innocence on both parts lost.

TWO YEARS AGO

You found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror, staring at your reflection as you pondered what to wear for this so-called 'tour' with Ingrid. You wondered if you should aim for casual or if Ingrid, with her meticulous style, would expect something more. After rummaging through your wardrobe, you settled on a simple pair of jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt. Casual, yet presentable. You threw on a light jacket, considering the morning chill, and took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied but not entirely confident, you grabbed your phone and headed downstairs. Your mom was sitting at the dining room table, bowl of cereal in front of her with her spoon in one hand and phone in the other.

"Going out?" Your mom looked up from her phone, her eyes scanning your outfit.

"Yeah, a girl from school is showing me around town."

"Ah, great. Text me if you need anything." Her eyes returned to her phone, but not before you caught the fleeting look of relief. There the pressure was again, and in turn your sinking stomach.

"See you later, Mom," you said, heading for the door.

"Have fun, sweetheart!" she called out as you closed the door behind you.

As you approached Ingrid's car, you noticed her already leaning against it. She was wearing what could only be described as the epitome of 'casual chic'—ripped jeans, a designer top, and a pair of sunglasses perched effortlessly on her head. She looked up from her phone and greeted you with a broad, almost rehearsed, smile.

"Ready for your grand tour?" Ingrid inquired, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than you were comfortable with.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, cautiously optimistic about the day ahead.

The interior of Ingrid's car was as meticulously maintained as her appearance. The leather seats were pristine, and the air was scented with something floral, bordering on overpowering. She started the engine, and you were off.

The first few minutes were filled with awkward silence. You sensed that Ingrid was waiting for you to initiate conversation, but you were too wrapped up in your thoughts to open your mouth to speak. Finally, she broke the ice.

"So, first stop, the infamous Longview Park. You'll love it—it's where everyone hangs out," she said, her voice tinged with enthusiasm that sounded slightly rehearsed.

"That sounds fun," you responded, forcing a smile.

As you drove through the town, Ingrid began to pepper you with questions. They started off harmless enough—questions about your old town, your interests, your favorite movies. But as the drive continued, the questions began to probe deeper.

"So, why did you move here? If you don't mind me asking," she added hastily, as though realizing she might be venturing into sensitive territory.

"My dad passed away. We couldn’t afford to live there anymore, so we had to move," you replied, trying to maintain composure. You had rehearsed this response, but it still felt like you were ripping off a Band-Aid every time you said it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ingrid responded, her voice softening for the first time that morning. But before you could reply, she was off again. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The abrupt switch in topic caught you off-guard. "Uh, no, not right now," you stammered.

"Really? Someone as hot as you? I find that hard to believe," she said, her eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road.

"Um, thanks," you muttered, not entirely sure how to interpret the compliment.

Ingrid seemed to take your discomfort as a cue to change the subject. "We're almost at Longview Park. It's truly the heart of our community," she declared, as if rehearsed.

As you pulled into the parking lot of Longview Park, you took a deep breath. It was time to see what this 'heart of the community' was all about.

he car rolled to a stop, and Ingrid switched off the engine, her eyes twinkling like she was unveiling a secret treasure. "And here we are—Longview Park. It's like the social hub of our high school world."

You opened the car door and stepped out, looking around. The park was sizable, dotted with large oaks and willows that offered generous shade. A playground occupied one corner, bustling with the laughter of children, while a pond shimmered peacefully in the mid-morning sun. People were everywhere—jogging, playing Frisbee, or simply lounging on the grass. It had a communal feel.

Ingrid led you along a gravel path, her steps confident and rehearsed as if she'd walked this path a thousand times before. "See that gazebo over there?" she pointed, "That's like the unofficial meet-up spot for parties and hangouts. And over there is the infamous 'Lovers' Lane' where couples go to... well, you know."

Her words were punctuated with a suggestive wink that made you feel slightly uncomfortable. You chuckled nervously, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the way people looked at Ingrid—long enough to show interest but not too long to risk her noticing. She seemed to command attention effortlessly, and you couldn't tell if it was her charisma or if you were completely missing something

"Everyone loves to be here on weekends," Ingrid continued, her tone casual but her eyes scanning the area, as if looking for someone or something in particular. "It's a great place to catch up with friends or make new ones. Like we're doing right now."

She shot you a smile, the kind that was meant to be endearing but felt slightly off-mark. You returned it nonetheless. "It's a nice place. Very... lively," you said, choosing your words carefully.

As you neared the pond, you spotted a familiar face sitting on one of the benches—Cat. And next to her, unmistakably, was Ellie. They seemed engrossed in conversation, their faces inches apart. A pang of something—was it jealousy?—stabbed at you, but you quickly brushed it aside.

"Hey, look who it is!" Ingrid's voice brought you back to reality. She had followed your gaze and was now staring directly at Ellie and Cat. "Want to go say hi?"

You hesitated. The last thing you wanted was an awkward run-in, but before you could voice your concerns, Ingrid had already started walking toward them.

"Hey Cat, Ellie!" she called out, her voice unnaturally high. Both heads turned in your direction, and the range of emotions that crossed their faces in that brief moment was unsettling—surprise, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Hey Ingrid," Ellie finally spoke, her eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before returning to Ingrid. "What brings you here?"

"Just giving our new resident a grand tour of Longview Park," Ingrid replied, her arm casually draping over your shoulder. You felt a shiver run down your spine but chose to ignore it.

"That's nice of you," Cat chimed in, her eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on you. You couldn't tell if she was being sincere or just sizing you up.

"Yeah, it's been fun," you said, forcing a smile. But your eyes met Ellie's once more, and the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between you.

"Well, we won't keep you," Ingrid said abruptly, as if sensing the tension. "Lots more to see. Come on," she tugged at your arm lightly, and you followed her back to the path, leaving Ellie and Cat behind.

As you walked away, you felt Ellie's gaze burning into your back. You wanted to look back, to catch one last glimpse of her, but you resisted. Whatever was or wasn't happening between you and Ellie would have to wait. Right now, you were on Ingrid's turf, and you couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a much larger game.

"Shall we continue?" Ingrid asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you replied, but your thoughts were already miles away.

The door clicked shut as you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts still reeling from the encounter at the park. Ingrid revved up the engine and pulled away, humming softly to the beat of the song playing on the radio. You looked over at her, everything about her seemed staged.

"How did you like the park?" she asked, casting a quick glance in your direction.

"It was... interesting," you said cautiously. "It's a nice place, very lively. Lots of history, I imagine."

Ingrid chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea. It's like the theater of high school drama. Anything and everything happens there."

Her words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel like there was a deeper meaning behind them. But before you could ponder it further, your phone buzzed. Glancing down, you saw Ellie's name flash on the screen.

Ellie: hey. can we talk later?

You felt a mixed bag of emotions, but you were mostly nervous. You hadn’t taken the group's warning and hung out with Ingrid anyays. It wasn’t like she was two fingers deep inside of you, but with the way Cat and Ellie looked, it seemed that way. You were about to type a response when you noticed Ingrid's eyes flicking toward your phone screen, then back to the road.

"Who's that?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

"Just a friend," you said, choosing your words carefully. "We're supposed to catch up later."

"Oh," she responded, but you could sense a change in her demeanor, a tightening around her eyes. "Well, I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."

"No, not at all," you reassured her, quickly typing a response to Ellie. "Sure, let's talk. Text me when you're free."

As you pressed send, you couldn't help but wonder about the timing. Why did Ellie want to talk now? And what was it about? Your thoughts were interrupted by Ingrid turning up the volume on the radio, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"So," she began, breaking the momentary silence, "we've covered quite a bit today. Any highlights?"

You pondered the question. "Well, the park was a highlight, I guess. It's always good to know where people hang out. Makes me feel less like an outsider."

Ingrid smiled, but there was something about it that made you uneasy. "You're not an outsider, you know. You're just new, and new can be exciting."

"Thanks," you said, your phone buzzing again. This time it was a text from your mom asking about your day.

Feeling the need to switch gears, you asked, "So, how long have you been living here? You seem to know everyone and everything."

"Born and raised," she declared proudly. "It has its pros and cons, but I like it. And yes, I do know a lot of people, but it's not hard when you grow up here. Everyone kind of knows everyone."

"That must be nice," you said, though a part of you wondered what it would be like to have that much history in one place—so many connections, but also so many ties that could bind you.

"Yeah," she paused, her expression turning serious. "But it can also be a bit suffocating, you know? Sometimes you just want to break free, start fresh somewhere new. Like you."

You looked at her, intrigued by this sudden glimpse into her thoughts. "Well, starting fresh isn't as glamorous as it seems. It has its own ups and downs."

"True," she conceded. "But at least it's a blank slate."

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. Another text from Ellie.

Ellie: i really need to talk to you. it's important.

This time, you couldn't ignore the urgency in her message. Something was up, something significant. You looked up to find Ingrid watching you, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You hesitated, weighing your options. "Actually, I might need to cut our day short. Something's come up at home."

Ingrid's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in them—disappointment, perhaps, or maybe something else.

"Of course," she said, finally breaking eye contact. "Life happens. Let's get you home."

You stepped out of Ingrid's car, waving goodbye as she drove off. Your phone buzzed as you approached your front door, another text from Ellie.

Ellie: can you meet me at the grind? it’s about two blocks away from our house. i can drive us back.

You texted back a quick "on my way" and made your way over.

Ten minutes later, you walked into The Grind, the local coffee shop where the whole town seemed to be at this moment. As you scanned the room, your eyes met Ellie's. She was seated at a corner table, her phone face down and her fingers nervously tapping a rhythm against her coffee mug.

"Hey," you greeted as you approached, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Hey," Ellie replied, her eyes meeting yours briefly before averting. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Sounded like it was urgent. What's up?"

"I saw you today," she began cautiously, "with Ingrid."

A knot formed in your stomach. "Yeah, she was showing me around. Why?"

Ellie hesitated, looking down at her mug, and tapping the handle. She closed her eyes for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Be careful with her. She's not what she seems."

"I mean I heard what you guys said about her at lunc but," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "She seems harmless."

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Cut right above her shoulders, the choppy layers suited her face. "Ingrid has a way of getting close to people, and it's not always for the right reasons. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Your eyes met, and you felt a strange warmth spread through you. Ellie was concerned for you. But why? She had only known you a day. You searched her face for an answer, for anything, but you came up short.

"Do you have something against her?" you asked, not hiding your skepticism.

"No," Ellie was quick to respond, "it's not like that. I've just seen her ruin friendships, relationships. She's manipulative."

"You seem serious," you remarked, detecting a tinge of something in her voice—was it jealousy?

Ellie looked down at her mug, her fingers ceasing their tapping. "I just don't want history to repeat itself, okay?"

"History?" you questioned, leaning forward. "What happened?"

She looked up again, her eyes meeting yours again, but this time they were vulnerable, exposed. "Ingrid and I had a thing once. And it felt more serious than her ‘things’ with Cat and Dina. And let's just say it didn't end well."

Now it made sense. The hints, the caution—it was personal for Ellie.

She held your gaze, her eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. "Also," she paused, as if weighing whether to continue, "You’re my friend now. I care about you. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words.

You finally broke the silence. "Thank you for telling me, Ellie. I appreciate it."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah, yeah. Of course"

As you left The Grind, your thoughts were a swirl of confusion and clarity. Ellie's concern had added another layer to the already complicated dynamic of your new life. But through it all, one thing became clear—Ellie cared about you, maybe more than she was willing to admit.

And as you replayed the conversation in your mind, you couldn't shake the feeling that Ellie wasn't just warning you about Ingrid. She was also staking her claim, marking her territory in a landscape that was becoming increasingly complicated.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

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kangaracha · 12 days

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 17

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n today's self promo is catskin which is a felix x reader fantasy/fairy tale oneshot that i am pleased enough with that i might write a part two. anyway, here's more of the drama you're really here for.

previous | masterlist | next

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At 6:05 on the dot, there's a knock on your door.

He must have been up all night waiting for your text, you think as you answer it, the way that he'd made it down the stairs within five minutes of your alarm going off. You're still in your pyjamas, a hoodie thrown over the top when you'd dragged yourself out of bed to combat the early-morning cold of your apartment.

The boys waiting outside your door are dressed similarly, at least, padding around in clothes they've chosen at random from a laundry hamper somewhere and shoes that they kick off as soon as they pass through your doorway. You're not surprised to see Chan, hair sticking up at every end like he's gotten straight out of bed for this and not bothered to even try to stick it back down again, but you are surprised to see Changbin. You don't think you've ever seen or heard a peep from Changbin at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," Chan says as you close the door, lingering within arm's reach as Changbin wanders his way further into your apartment like he's looking for something.

"Good morning," you echo, your attention divided between the two of them. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Chan hedges, hesitating like he's not decided yet what he's going to say next. "Changbin is here to steal your cereal."

"Hyunjin ate all of mine," Changbin says, his feet carrying him one step closer to the kitchen in question.

You wave him towards it, despite warnings you've been given against ever giving him free reign over your pantry. "There's eggs in the fridge too if you want them," you offer, and your heart lifts at the way his face lights up. It's funny how such a little thing could cause such simple joy.

"Gamsamnida, noona," he says, and disappears into your kitchen.

Chan steps into your line of vision.

"What are you doing here?" you ask when he doesn't immediately say anything, though the pit in your stomach and the sleepless night unravelling behind you say that you already know the answer.

He draws in a breath and holds it, anticipation paling his face just enough for you to notice. "I'm being honest," he says, his eyes flicking up to the kitchen door. Changbin doesn't appear - he's busy making a lot of noise with your pans in there, the slam of a cupboard door a little too obvious to be anything but deliberate. "I promised I'd be honest with you, so...I'm here."

"About the things they're saying online, or what's going to happen next?" you question; and you don't miss the way that his face falls, his brow tightening imperceptibly.

"You've seen it," he sighs, as if he'd been hoping for something different.

A grim smile twists itself around your mouth. "It's trending," you point out. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"True." He looks away, eyes casting behind him to where Changbin is being deliberately noisy in the kitchen as he hunts through your cabinets for something. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you question. "You didn't do anything."

"They're my fans," he says and then blinks, correcting himself. "Our fans - if something I've done makes them think-"

You've seen the messages he's talking about, the back-and-forth between fans debating whether this was his idea or something that had been forced upon him by the company. Always Chan - Chan's group, Chan's members, Chan's decision. If the trending tags were anything to be believed, the general consensus was that the Chan they knew and loved would never do this to them, nor would he endorse it. It was obvious that you had forced your way into the group, and at first opportunity he would drop you right back out again; if only they screamed loudly enough in opposition, JYP would give him that choice quicker.

You didn't find that daunting at all. There wasn't a black pit opening inside your gut every time you thought about it, the urge to get back to the practice rooms and gruelling hours of work scratching at your skin.

"You're acting like you told them to do this," you tell him wryly, and the corner of his mouth quirks upwards. Nearly a smile, despite how sardonic it feels.

"I definitely did not," he answers, a hand pressed to his chest in honesty. "I meant what I said the other day. You're one of my people now."

Inexplicably, warmth blooms in your chest around the icy cold that has had a stranglehold around your stomach since you'd first seen...well, everything that's happening. The reminder of the conversation you'd had before all of this began is timely - it was easy to forget sometimes, around the screaming of a thousand voices that it couldn't be true, that he had chosen you, in a backwards way. That all of this was only happening now because he'd fought with the company for you. Because he'd won the fight, a feat you've never seen accomplished before, in a long career of letdowns.

Your teeth grit together at the thought of those voices online, hiding behind screens as if they know anything about what’s happened in the last three months or even the past six years. You had forgotten for a while last night, all the things that Chan had said; you’d felt like throwing something across the room, God’s Menu playing over and over through a tinny speaker until your body moved without thinking. You’ve contained most of that rage since, under the assurance that none of them know what they’re talking about, and truly, you don’t think that you’ll really care at all as the days wear on; but still-

"Someone should have told them that," you say without thinking, and then watch as Chan's brow furrows. "Sorry. I didn't mean you. It's not your fault."

"Someone will," he replies. "Once I've been to this meeting with management. Which I am probably going to be late for."

His phone appears in his hand, the screen lighting up to show him the time. "If you have to go-" you begin to say, already moving out of the way of the door.

"He's eating breakfast first," Changbin says from the kitchen door before Chan can argue with you himself.

"Am I?" Chan asks; but his voice is mild and his feet are already turning towards Changbin, all the fight draining from his body before he has even begun.

"You think I'm going to eat all of the eggs myself?" Changbin fires right back. "I'm not a pig."

"But I thought you were a pig, Changbin," Chan says and watches in amusement as the sound of Changbin shouting indignantly fills the air of your apartment.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya @keepswingin

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surrogate-fawn · 6 months

Note

Im a fan of #7.

Nesting (Werewolf AU)

Prompt: "The baby feels so low" [Also inspired by @hush-writes-preg's "Spooky Season Day #3" prompt. He can consider this an early birthday gift as well!]

Characters: Fawn, Newt/Asher - Pre-Polly Relationship ((Newt is owned by @mittysins, and Asher is owned by @killer-orca-cosplay.))

Context: This takes place in a modern world where werewolves are common amidst human society. Fawn is a packless Beta who is about to give birth to her ex-mate's pup. Newt, an Omega, and Asher, an Alpha, are a mated pair who took Fawn into their home -- despite the fact they're expecting a pup of their own in a few months. The three have formed a close friendship, though Fawn still feels like an outsider. After all, she was human only a year ago.

Disclaimer: This fic contains lore for my, Mitty's, and Orca's werewolf AU -- be forewarned there will be worldbuilding mixed in with the kink stuff. If story-heavy kink is your kind of thing -- like it is for us three -- enjoy!

TW: A/B/O dynamics, but within the context of a werewolf society; mentions of past abuse, werewolf-related birth troubles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoky whisps of incense scented the room with lavender. The shades were drawn over the windows to block the fading sun. Golden fairy lights twinkled in the gossamer curtains woven through the support beams of the nesting tent, the only dots of light in the dark room.

The nylon pop-up tent was specially designed for those who were nesting. It clung to the baseboard and covered the entire bed in a snug, arched shelter. It could be zipped or unzipped in sections to create windows and doors as needed, or it could be shut tight for total privacy. The interior of the tent was stuffed full of jumbo-sized Squishmallow plushies, three oversized duvet covers, and one very pregnant werewolf.

"How you doing, Mama?" the mop-haired Alpha sitting bedside asked.

Fawn's pointed ear flicked in the direction of his voice in acknowledgement before she opened her eyes. She lay curled around a giant fox pillow, the soft material supporting her belly as she lay dozing in the tent. She had opened a section of the tent by the headboard so she could leave the nest if she wanted, but at the moment she didn't feel safe anywhere else.

"I've been better," she said, her voice lagging with fatigue.

A dewy layer of sweat clung to her whole body. Her clothing was shed to the bedroom floor, save for a black tank top and pair of boyshorts. The air around her was temperate, but her body burned with a mild fever. Her muscles felt heavy and useless, tired from months of carrying her pregnancy whilst fighting the tremors of rejection sickness. The worst of it had passed over time; but here she was, still feeling the effects of breaking her pair bond almost ten months later.

Oh, and being in labor for the last nine hours was not helping the situation.

The soft click of the door handle caught their attention. The pair of cryptids lifted their heads to look as it opened, the hallway light reflecting green in the mirrors of their eyes.

Newt's familiar scent -- much stronger than his mate's -- overpowered the lavender as he entered the room. Fawn's sinuses tingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of his smell, comparable to sassafras, that indicated his pregnancy as much as the grapefruit-sized swell of his lower belly. Fawn still struggled to describe the scents that were new to her.

The Omega approached her nest and held out the glass of tap water he'd been sent to fetch. Fawn craned her neck and lapped from it, her mouth too parched to obey her command. Her tongue was longer than it had once been, able to bring water to her throat as easily as any straw. She didn't pause to wrap her lips around the edge of the glass until her thirst was mostly quenched.

"Jeez, don't drown," Newt chuckled as Fawn took the drink from his hand.

Asher, the Alpha, got up from his seat and offered it to his mate with a nod of his head.

Fawn gulped down the last of the water and came up panting for air. "Don't tell me what to do," she retorted with a tired, playful grin.

"Don't tell her what to do, babe," Asher said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face as he set the empty glass on the bedside table.

The three shared a brief, quiet laugh.

Fawn's eyelids drifted closed as the room settled back into silence. She shimmied herself deeper into her pile of softness, falling easily into a twilight sleep; at least, for a few more minutes.

A huff of air left Fawn's nose a split second before her brow creased in discomfort. "Ash, start it," she said, curling tighter around her pillow.

"Yes, ma'am." Asher fumbled to unlock his phone and started the timer on his stopwatch app. "Started."

Fawn filled her lungs with air with one long breath and released it as a drawn-out exhale. The contraction coiled itself around her hips and squeezed, growing tighter by the second. The pain grew like a stinging vine around her belly, her ribs, her back, even wrapping around her upper thighs.

With a low groan, Fawn rolled herself onto her back. Her legs fell open at a wider angle than normal -- a sign her hips were loosening in preparation for her large pup to come through. She continued her ritual of slow, deliberate breathing as the contraction continued to climb to its dreaded peak.

Newt leaned into the opening in the tent, enough for him to run a gentle hand over the clammy skin of Fawn's arm. He didn't say anything, but his touch brought her a sense of ease. Even knowing that Asher was in the room, even if she couldn't see him, made her feel better. They'd only known each other a month, but she couldn't imagine surviving labor without them.

Fawn flashed her fangs in a snarl as the contraction reached its apex, the part she dreaded each time. "Ugh!" she growled through her teeth, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Newt's eyes widened when Fawn hooked her hands beneath her knees, drawing her legs up on either side of her belly. "Are you pushing already?"

"She's what?!" Asher gasped in alarm, his face appearing over his mate's shoulder.

"No!" Fawn growled, hardly able to breathe enough to speak. "My legs are about to fuckin' dislocate!"

She could feel the pup pressing its way out, prying open the flesh of her cervix as her womb squeezed it down. The pressure sent stabbing waves of agony between her legs. Her birth canal opened a little more with each millimeter the pup dropped, and now it was putting unbearable pressure on the ball-socket joints of her pelvis.

Fawn grunted in relief as the contraction ebbed. She released her legs, draping them wide apart over her plushies. Thankfully, Newt and Asher's guest bed was queen-sized and allowed her plenty of space to spread out.

"It's done," she announced, so Asher could stop the timer.

"Ooh, getting close," Asher said. "That one was thirty-eight seconds."

Even that short burst of work sent drops of sweat rolling down Fawn's sides. She pulled her tank top over the curve of her belly and tucked the fabric under her swollen breasts. She caressed the sore underside of her bump in long, soothing circles. The skin around her womb was pulled smooth as glass from the weight of the pup inside. She could feel where its surface was gouged by deep, purple stretch marks. Her pup wriggled impatiently beneath her hands, as if able to sense her touch through the thinness of the skin.

"Call me crazy," she said, "but I'm hoping this baby takes its time. It might rip me apart if it tries to break the speed record."

Asher checked the recorded times in his phone. "You'll be fine, it doesn't look like they're in a hurry," he said. "Just stay relaxed and the pup will keep working its way down."

Fawn gave a thumbs-up. "Copy that, Sarge."

"So, guys, are we taking bets?" Newt asked, resting his upper torso inside the tent.

Fawn tilted her head to peer up at him from inside the canyon of her pillow plushie. "On what?"

"Boy or girl," Newt grinned. He propped his chin up on his hand and beamed down at the redheaded wolf woman. "Should we take bets?"

"You boys can if you want," Fawn said.

"Just you versus me, babe," Asher chuckled from somewhere else in the room. "Fawn already knows, that would be cheating."

"No, I don't," Fawn said, quiet and matter-of-fact. She turned her eyes to the little golden lights twinkling over her head. "I didn't know if a doctor would make me contact my mate, so I never went to one."

At the mention of him, the mating scar at the nape of Fawn's neck became hot. She grimaced, able to feel each small wound his teeth had left when he'd inflicted her with the curse of the wolves. It wasn't as strong of a reaction anymore; the pain had at one point been overwhelming.

When she'd taken that first step out of the apartment with the intention to never come back, the mark had burned so intensely she thought she could smell her flesh searing. She was lucky Todd hadn't been home, because he'd no doubt felt the same sensation on the back of his neck -- where he had forced her to mark him as her mate as well. Had he been home, Fawn wouldn't have made it out of the building before he'd realized what she was doing.

"Besides," Fawn added, "I have no idea if I should go to a doctor or a vet now." Her freckled face paled, and she looked back up at Newt. "Shit, is that offensive?"

Newt laughed and leaned in to rub his cheek against her forehead. "Nah."

Fawn smiled as he brushed against her, leaving a bit of his spicy-sweet scent on her skin. She was still adjusting to perceiving the world through scent as much as sight and touch, but she grew more comfortable with it each time the pair scented her. Scent was transforming into language the more she utilized it. Maybe she wasn't sure how to communicate with it, yet; but there was something about it she was starting to understand.

"We'll show you the ropes once you're over the rejection sickness," Asher said, leaning against the nightstand so he could peer into the nest. "So . . . this guy didn't explain any of our lifestyle to you?"

Fawn shook her head. "Not anything us hum-," she paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Not anything humans don't already know. Transformation and full moon stuff, basically. He had me sell my silver jewelry before he'd even kiss me. I didn't know werewolves were that sensitive to it."

The boys shared a concerned look.

"Um," Asher cleared his throat, "we aren't. Silver allergies are rare as hell. A few poor bastards had a fatal reaction hundreds of years ago, and humans assumed it was a rule for all of us."

"Good old stereotyping," Newt said.

The lines in Fawn's brow deepened. "That piece of dogshit," she muttered under her breath. "I sold my grandma's pendant for him!"

Goddammit! Why hadn't she thought twice about Todd suddenly needing to "borrow" that money?! Her mating scar throbbed, seeping heat like an open wound where their pair bond had once been. A fresh sweat dampened her brow.

Newt brushed a few stray curls from Fawn's eyes and tucked them behind the point of her ear. "Fuck him. He's a dick."

"Yeah, fuck him," Asher agreed with a frown. His ear twitched as his scowl deepened, knocking his glasses askew. "Alphas are supposed to protect our mates, not take advantage of them."

There was a brief pause. Asher took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and added: "For what it's worth, Fawn . . . I'm sorry on his behalf."

"Me, too," Newt nodded. "Not as an Alpha, but as a wolf."

Fawn sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. "Thank you for that, boys. It helps . . . at least a little."

She felt like the world's biggest idiot.

When they'd met, she'd been seduced by Todd's hyper-masculine physique and charmed by his overly protective "doting". How special she'd felt, having an Alpha werewolf want her -- an average human woman -- as his mate. In hindsight, being an average human woman was exactly what made him want her. Easy prey.

How quickly she'd regretted her decision to let Todd put her in a mating press. After she'd endured the weeks it took for her anatomy to shift into that of his kind, Todd had convinced her they needed to breed as soon as possible. He wanted a large pack, as many pups as she could give him. It didn't take her long to realize they were the only reason he'd claimed her. Days after leaving him, she'd detected the strange smell of sassafras on her skin -- though she wouldn't know what that meant for two months.

The rejection sickness had masked any symptoms of a pregnancy. The effects were like that of withdrawal: fevers high enough to cause delirium, tremors, nausea, and full-body aches. She'd spent endless days and nights confined to the bed of a sleazy motel room. What carried her through was the knowledge that Todd was feeling just as shitty as she was. Yet, in her darkest moments, Fawn considered going back to him just to make it stop.

Then, her world changed when a fellow wolf woman at the drugstore offered congratulations based on her scent. This prompted her to buy a pregnancy test, and the thought of going back never crossed her mind again.

"Fellas?" Fawn asked, still blindfolding herself with her forearm. "Is a large pack, like . . . a status symbol for y'all or something?"

Asher shrugged. "Not as much as it used to be," he said. "It used to be a big deal in the past, like before we had the treaty with humans. That was because our packs needed the numbers for defense. But now? Not as much."

"Except maybe for those freakishly traditional families," Newt chimed in.

"Mmm," Fawn hummed in acknowledgement. She placed her other hand on the upper swell of her belly and gave it a thoughtful rub. "Well, this baby is mine. I'm not giving birth for the sake of some insecure asshole. This is my baby."

"Damn right it is," Newt grinned, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.

After a few seconds of silence, Fawn's limp-hanging hand curled into a fist. "Mmm, Ash . . . " Her voice trailed off into a chesty groan.

Newt looked over at his mate. "Ash, start it."

Asher pulled out his phone with a nod. "Starting."

Newt massaged Fawn's shoulder as she once again pulled back her legs. The pressure in her hips was immense, and the contraction was heaving the baby down with unholy force. Fawn pulled harder on her knees until she felt her pelvis widen, the bones drifting apart like tectonic plates.

"Breathe, Fawn," Newt gently reminded. "You're holding it."

Fawn hissed out her breath like a deflating tire. "God, it's coming down," she groaned. She shut her eyes and whined as the pup pressed harder against her cervix.

"Change position," Asher offered, bending down to see inside the nest. "Let gravity help you out."

Fawn released a high-pitched whimper. "My hips . . . my hips hurt."

"Here, hold on." Newt reached around Fawn and pulled out another of her oversized Squishmallows from the pile. He left his chair and climbed onto the bed, crawling through the opening of the tent with the plushie in-hand. "Sit up, love."

Fawn reluctantly let her legs fall. Her bones were lead. With Newt's help, she got to her knees and straddled herself atop the large pillow plushie so her hips could remain open.

"There, that's better!" Asher said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His phone screen reflected in his lenses, revealing the contraction had lasted twenty seconds already.

Fawn bent forward onto all-fours, rhythmically dipping her hips into the pillow as the pain climbed higher than it had before. The Omega at her side dug the heel of his hand into her lower back, allowing Fawn to rock back against the counter-pressure. Her deep breathing wavered, each inhale growing shallower until the wolf woman was full-on panting.

"Calm down, you're doing fine," Newt lulled, ghosting his claws over her spine. "Deep breaths, like you were doing."

Sweat appeared in shining beads on Fawn's reddened face, dampening the frizzy curls around her temples. "I can't," she gasped. All four limbs trembled, fatigued muscles giving up the last of their strength. "I can't . . . I need to lie down."

Fawn sank chest-first into the fox plushie, arms unable to support her weight. Her tongue dipped in and out of her mouth as she failed to control of her breathing. Her fingers sank into the duvet, claws tearing holes in the fabric.

The end of the tent unzipped, creating an arch-shaped door that Asher climbed in through. While Newt continued to knead Fawn's back, Asher laid himself beside her.

"Hey, Mama, look at me," he crooned, his face appearing in the corner of her vision. When her hazel eyes met his, he said: "You are owning this! There's no need to get freaked out. You're too tough for labor to beat. Take a deep breath for us, alright?"

Fawn wet her lips and maintained eye contact with the Alpha while she drew in a big breath.

"Good!" Asher smiled, patting her shoulder. "Now let it out and make the next one even deeper. Show that pain who's boss!"

She obeyed, but mid-inhale she choked on air. With a canid yowl, Fawn pressed herself against the Alpha's body. Her hips ground against the pillow, as if it would cushion the force of her pelvis being forced apart.

"Ugh, gravity's helping too much!" Fawn moaned into Asher's shirt. "This pup is about to fall outta me!"

"That's a good thing!" Asher encouraged, draping his arm over her and motioning for his mate to lie down beside them. "You're making progress. The pup will be here before you know it!"

Fawn's hips finally settled as the contraction eased off, but she still felt unable to move. Her pelvis sat wide open, and the hefty weight of the pup was sinking deep inside it -- even without the contraction.

“Augh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound rumbling in her chest. “Fuck . . . the baby feels low. It feels so fucking low!"

"Ash?" Newt asked as he rearranged the pillows to better support the three of them. "Are you still timing?"

Asher caressed Fawn's thigh as she shifted to support her upper body against the mountain of Squishmallows Newt had piled up. Newt reclined on his side beside her, flashing her a bright smile -- his fangs always hung over his lower lip when he smiled.

"No, I think we're just feeling it out now," Asher said. He'd left his phone charging on the nightstand, just in case they needed it. "I think we're 'reaching a checkpoint' as it were."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Gamers."

Fawn snuggled into the pillow mountain, trying in vain to get comfortable. It wasn't as dramatic as what they showed on television, but Fawn knew exactly what the hot rush of fluid was as it soaked the pillow between her legs.

"Umm, hey . . ." She nudged the pillow aside, revealing ribbons of cloudy water running down her inner thighs. "I think it's time to lose the shorts."

Asher pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And checkpoint reached!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For five hours, no one left that tent. The room grew darker as the evening gave way to the early morning hours of pre-dawn. The boys stayed at either side of the laboring wolf woman, holding her steady in positions that allowed her pup to ease down with gravity.

Between contractions, the three werewolves lay side-by-side in tranquil silence. The sweat on Fawn's brow would dry, her feverish body would cool, but the warmth of two other bodies prevented the chills from returning. That quiet peace would be broken when Fawn vocalized during a new contraction, signaling the boys to sit her up and widen her stance.

Fawn was growing restless, wanting to switch positions several times during every contraction: squatting against the headboard, kneeling against one guy or the other, or falling into a half-squat in a pile of her plush pillows. The longer the night wore on, the more fidgety the laboring mother became.

At around four in the morning, as the trio rested together beneath the fairy lights, Fawn suddenly spoke:

"Is the cradle ready?"

"Hmm?" Asher sat up and readjusted his glasses.

"Is the cradle ready?" Fawn repeated. There was a glint of urgency in her eyes, although her tone was soft and even.

The fold-out mesh bassinet was visible from inside the nest, placed against the opposite wall. The pup's first outfit was already laid out atop the blanket lining the mattress -- a cotton quilt with embroidered rubber duckies that Newt had donated from the stash he was buying for his own pup.

After a quick glance, Asher responded: "Yep, it's ready and waiting."

"Can you grab some extra blankets or something?" Fawn pleaded. She gradually drew her legs up until her heels touched the underside of her thighs. "Just anything that's soft."

Newt sat himself up and gave his mate a knowing look. "Babe? You think this is that 'final nesting' the baby books talked about?"

Asher's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. It might be."

"What?" Fawn asked. She suddenly realized she couldn't remember what either of the boys had just said -- she wasn't fully aware of what was going on around her. It was so, so hard to focus on anything other than the pounding pressure that had come to rest in the curve of her tailbone.

The mated pair gave each other a nod.

"Ash and I have been reading books about pups like crazy this month," Newt explained in a lighthearted tone. "'Final nesting' is just what your brain does right before the pup is ready to come out."

Asher grabbed the corner of the topmost duvet and rolled it towards them until it became a padded cushion. He carefully slid it beneath Fawn and said: "Yep, it's an instinct. Got to make sure the pup has a safe place to land, you know."

Now it was Fawn's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait . . . wait, is it happening?" she gasped, her head shooting up off the pillows.

"Maybe," Newt said. "You'll know if it is." He placed a pillow over his torso to protect his belly and scooted behind Fawn to support her into a squat.

"And if it isn't, then we'll just wait some more," Asher concluded. "Don't try to bear down if you don't need to."

Fawn nodded, gulping down the dryness in her throat. She had no idea what to expect with the next contraction. If the monstrous pressure she was feeling hadn't triggered her body to push by then . . . oh, God above, what was about to happen to her?

"I don't . . . don't know if I'm ready for this," she muttered.

Newt leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the side of her neck. "You're as ready as you'll ever be," he said. He intertwined his clawed fingers with her own.

Fawn didn't feel the next contraction as pain, only as a familiar tightness wrapping around her womb. All other sensation was snuffed out . . . massacred . . . left bleeding in the streets! . . . by the wicked downward thrust of her pup moving through her effaced cervix. There was nothing holding that baby in her womb any longer, and it was not waiting another minute to leave.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed -- out of fear more so than pain. Her hips jerked back, trying to escape the demonic pressure burning inside.

Newt squeezed her hands -- his claws never marking her skin. "You feel it?"

"Yes!" Fawn cried, her body shuddering under the hellish urge to push.

"Go with it," Asher encouraged, placing his hand on her knee. "Let's meet your pup."

Fawn held her breath and gave a shallow, hesitant first push. She wasn't sure if she was using the correct muscles, but it felt . . . how could she describe it? . . . it felt like she was doing something. A few seconds of strain later, she let up with a sharp yelp. Yes, she'd been doing it right. That slight nudge had sent the pup rushing forward.

"It's moving . . ." was all she had time to say before her body demanded she continue her efforts -- and double them!

Those few millimeters of progress kicked her urge to push into overdrive. Fawn braced her weight against Newt, put chin to chest, and bore down with every ounce of force she could. The crown of the head pressed deeper against her innermost walls with a fiery, thorny tug. The sensation of her baby moving through her after so many passive hours of labor was startling -- yet beyond rewarding.

Had her eyes been open to see, Fawn would have observed Asher's tender smile as he watched primal focus harden her features.

"Just like that, Mama," Asher praised, again stroking her thigh. "Don't hold back, give it your all!"

Sweat trailed down her flushed skin. Unable to hold the push any longer, Fawn emptied her lungs with a harsh grunt.

"It's already hurting me," she growled through closed fangs. Her voice strained as, for just a few horrible seconds, she resisted the urge to push. "Goddamn, this is gonna suck!"

Newt laid his chin on Fawn's shoulder as she sank into another deep push. "Whatever you feel, don't fight it," he offered evenly. "Your body knows what it's doing, Fawn. Listen to what it's telling you to do."

Fawn's ears pressed back against her head as her hips dipped lower to the duvet. She felt a small trickle of fluid drip from her labia, but the flow stopped as soon as she stopped pushing. A groan escaped the back of her throat as the contraction eased off and she was able to relax.

"That was great," Newt praised, unlacing their fingers and letting Fawn have her hands back. "You got the hang of it right off the bat."

Fawn sighed and balled the duvet beneath them in her claws. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her pulse hammered in her neck. Any sense of physical comfort was gone now, even between contractions. She knew there would be no peace for her until this pup was out and in her arms . . . but God only knew when that would happen. God only knew if that would happen! The pup was barely inside her birth canal and Fawn was already terrified that it was going to get stuck.

"What if . . . what if I can't get it out?" she panted. Her lower back was screaming, so she shifted her hips forward. It didn't help. "What do we do if I can't get it out?!"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Newt helped Fawn recline a bit further against him. He steadied her in his arms, his hands gently massaging the curves where her belly met her ribcage. "There's no doubt in our minds that you can do this!"

"And I'm down here if you need a little extra help," Asher said. He carefully took Fawn's leg and draped it over his lap, helping to open her hips now that she was in a more reclined position. "We won't let anything happen to you or your pup, Fawn. That's a promise."

"You're safe here," Newt said in a low, soothing tone. He continued to apply soft pressure to her sides and back, kneading over her sore body as if smoothing out a delicate fabric.

Fawn never doubted for a second that she was in loving hands. She dreaded to think where she would be right now if the pair hadn't opened their home to her. Without their kindness, chances were that she'd be delivering her baby in a motel bathroom or on top of a cot in a homeless shelter. These two had given her the ultimate gift: a warm, safe place to give birth. She owed her pup's life to them.

"I know," Fawn said, snuggling down further into the nest. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Fawn's hairline. "Keep listening to your body. Don't rush what it's trying to do."

Fawn nodded, puffing out a breath as she felt the next contraction roll up from her back to her belly. "Okay . . . let's go."

She took in a slow lungful of air, waited for the contraction to build in strength, and pushed.

Her loosened joints spread easily for the pup's skull as it squeezed its way down her passage. It became an endless pattern: Fawn would push, the head would squeeze down, and her pelvic bones would spread over its shape as it passed beneath them. She could feel the rhythm of the changes.

Push. Squeeze. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread. Spre-OW!

OW! OW! Oh, fuck! Now it was so too big! Her hips were filled to the maximum, her canal stretched wide around a huge pair of shoulders as they slipped from her womb. She could feel her labia bulging from between her legs -- and oh, God, they ached! There was nothing but a layer of her skin holding the pup in, and it felt like a bubble of gum about to burst!

But she couldn't stop pushing. Not now, not when everything was raw and stretched and open and hurting so goddamn bad! Fawn curled her toes into the mattress and wailed as she threw herself harder into pushing. Her voice grew louder as she felt the inflamed skin between her legs starting to open.

"Good job, Mama! Here it comes!" Asher cried, his voice raised to be heard over Fawn's roar of effort.

Asher had his eyes glued to the pale, wet sac pressing out of Fawn each time her body strained. He'd read in their books that it was common for werewolf pups to be born with their membranes wrapped around them. That was fine, he just had to be prepared to remove it.

A tiny spurt of fluid leaked out from around the sac as the head began to stretch the skin of the perineum. The pup's size seemed to be keeping most of its sac unruptured, the fluid too pressurized to leave the birth canal. Asher furrowed his brow but said nothing.

Of course, Newt took notice of his mate's unease. He swallowed the unease in his chest, and scented Fawn's hair with his cheek again in the hopes it would distract her.

"Ash sees the head," he crooned. "Keep going, you're pushing like a pro!"

With renewed vigor, Fawn gave into her body's needs. Asher waited until a few centimeters of the solid white membrane stretched open Fawn's lips, then he placed his index finger against the bulging sac to gauge how much fluid was inside. He felt the semi-solid squish of the pup's head just beneath the film, but his finger pad felt the swish of water when he pressed down. That wasn't a very good sign, but Asher still felt confident that he could handle it.

"I'm going to help you out a little, okay?" Asher told Fawn, cupping his hand over the crowning pup. "Focus on pushing, and I'll help you open up. I'll go slow."

Newt once again sensed Asher's unease and made it his mission to protect Fawn from sensing it, too. "Pup's almost out, Fawn," he said as he gave her shoulders a brief hug. "It'll be out quicker with Ash helping you. Just take a deep breath and let yourself stretch."

"I'm trying," Fawn whimpered. "I'm trying."

As Fawn bore down against the pup, Asher ran his fingers against the sides of her lips. He nudged her skin open bit by bit around the sac, watching as it stretched from a small oval to a wide circle over the course of several minutes. Asher cringed as he saw the skin of her labia discolor from a raw red to an almost beet purple with the width of the head.

Fawn, meanwhile, had fallen completely taciturn. Aside from wolfish growls and whimpers, she made no efforts to express her pain verbally. Her focus had shifted solely to bearing through the ordeal, working with her body to bring it to a swift end.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Asher cheered. He had his hands positioned at the apex of her inner thighs, supporting the tight skin as Fawn pushed the head to its widest point.

Fawn shuddered and let her head fall back on Newt's chest. Her mind was a mess of black static as the pup's shoulders ground against her pubic bone. She arched her spine as the pup ceased to move for one heart-stopping moment. Then, in a sudden lurch, the sac-covered head popped free into Asher's waiting hands.

"Awesome! Awesome, Fawn!" Newt cheered, peering over her shoulder as much as he could. He could see the white membrane resting in his mate's palm. "Babe, you got it?"

Asher nodded. "I've got it, don't worry."

Without drawing attention to it, Asher took the claw of his thumb and carefully -- oh-so-carefully -- punctured the membrane at the base of where he felt the pup's neck should be. A quiet sploosh filled the nesting tent as amniotic fluid rushed over Asher's hands. He hooked his claw inside the tear and slowly peeled the sac over the pup's head.

There wasn't much hair on the pup's head -- unusual, though not uncommon -- but that wasn't what Asher was looking for. He craned his neck at a painful angle until he could catch a glimpse of the pup's face. When he saw it, he paled. The features were predictably swollen, but the puffy lips were hanging open and dripping a thick yellowish mucus. Asher thanked the stars above that he and his partner had read up about whelping -- for he was able to recognize the tell-tale symptom of waterlogged lungs.

The mates locked eyes with each other and nothing else needed to be said or done. They both understood.

"This is it, love," Newt said, leaning in to help Fawn hold her legs apart. "This next contraction is going to be the one."

Fawn's jaw gaped like a suffocating fish, but finally her voice obeyed her command: "Is my baby okay?"

Oh, hell. She must've smelled the pheromones of their stress. Newt had been hoping she wouldn't understood what the scent of fear was, yet.

Newt smiled at her and brushed her sweat-plastered hair away from her eyes. "They're fine, they just need some extra help."

"When you push, I'll give them a little tug," Asher said. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be over before you know it."

Fawn squeezed her eyes shut. "Can't hurt any worse than this," she mumbled. "Just do it."

The boys were expecting the horrific scream Fawn released when Asher began guiding out the first shoulder, but it still made their sensitive ears ring.

"You're so strong, Fawn!" Newt said into her ear. He felt her legs trying to close against the pain, and he had to pause to pull them back apart. "I know it hurts, but you're handling it so well! We're so proud of you!"

Asher kept his focus locked on delivering the pup as fast and as safe as possible. One hand supported the pup's body while the other pulled down on the emerging shoulder.

"Come on, little guy," Asher muttered under his breath. "Come on, you can do it."

With an audible pop of Fawn's hip joints -- and another yowl from the wolf woman herself -- the pup's first shoulder slipped free. Asher wasted zero time in hooking his thumb under the tiny arm and continuing his steady, gentle tug.

A rather disgusting squelch accompanied the pup as it slid onto the duvet. The remains of the membrane bunched around its feet as Asher scooped it into his hands. The body was grey and limp, and all three heartbeats stalled.

"What's wrong?!" Fawn cried. "What's wrong with it?!" She reached for her baby on instinct, but Newt held her back.

"It's okay!" he said, adjusting himself to block her veiw of Asher and the baby. "It's okay, I swear! Asher's taking care of it."

Newt stroked her sweaty face with the back of his hand, doing anything he could think of to soothe her. It didn't stop the tears from flooding the exhausted mother's eyes.

Behind his mate's back, Asher brought the pup's face to his lips. His mouth easily covered the nose and mouth of the newborn, and he gently sucked the sour-tasting fluid out of its airway. Asher spit the gunk into his sleeve and repeated the action, rubbing his thumb against the baby's chest as he did.

It was a process that lasted less than twenty seconds, but to all three werewolves it felt like eternity. But eternity ended when the pup sucked in a deep, squeaking breath. The sound of its first cry was shrill, but to the trio it sounded like singing.

Asher couldn't help but start crying as the little body he'd resurrected wiggled to life in his hands. "Here he is!" he said, voice wavering with joyful tears.

Newt sat back immediately, allowing Fawn to see the baby alive and well in Asher's arms.

"Here's our boy!" Asher announced, laying the crying baby over his mother's heart.

Through the haze of her tears, Fawn looked over every detail of her little boy. She saw the layer of damp fuzz covering his skin, the points on his pink, folded-over ears, and the coating of protective skin over his miniscule claws. She thanked whatever power was out there for that last detail, because such tiny needles would've been horrible to feel coming out.

"Sweetheart," she told the baby, wrapping her arms around him, "don't make a habit outta scaring me like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is he already nursing again?" Newt asked as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

"He eats like a horse," Fawn chuckled, adjusting the nursing pillow under her baby. Jacob was the name she had settled on.

The sun was coming up now, filling her bedroom with a soft white light. Asher was on the floor, disassembling the nesting tent. It would be taken out again in a few months for Newt to use, but the Alpha was determined to Tetris the pieces correctly into their box.

Jacob was an aggressive nurser. Three hours old and this was his third time demanding his mother's milk. Newt and Asher insisted such an appetite was normal for a larger werewolf pup, but Fawn wasn't too thrilled to learn she was going to get even less sleep than she anticipated with a new baby.

Fawn quickly drained the glass of water. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel not-thirsty again. "So, Newt," she said, "I didn't scare you into wanting a C-section, did I?"

"Nah, not at all." Newt laid down on the bed beside Fawn, propping himself against the Squishmallow pile. "If you could get him out, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Newt pet the thin strands of hair on Jacob's head. The newborn swiped a clumsy, mitten-covered fist over his head with a teeny-tiny growl. All three adults stopped and stared.

"Was that him?!" Asher asked from the floor.

"Yeah . . ." Newt said, withdrawing his hand. "He's very protective of his food."

Asher almost fell over laughing. "That's Alpha behavior if I've ever seen it!"

"How do you guys even determine that stuff?" Fawn asked. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Eh, a bit," Newt shrugged, "but it's also a personality thing." He tickled the folded tip of Jacob's soft ear, and got the same response as before.

"Ow!" Fawn jerked as her son bit down on her breast. "Stop annoying him, or I'm biting you, too!"

"Sorry," Newt chuckled.

"I can't thank you boys enough for this," Fawn said. "This werewolf shit is all sorts of weird for me, and . . . now I know for certain that Jacob wouldn't have been alright if you weren't with me."

"That's what packs do," Asher said, re-folding a segment of nylon tarp. "We look out for each other."

"Do we even . . . " Fawn stopped herself mid-sentence and looked away.

Newt grinned and touched his forehead to Fawn's temple. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Fawn grinned in return and rubbed her cheek against his hair, leaving her scent on his skin.

#fawn drabbles #mittysins #killer-orca-cosplay #Fawn/Newt/Asher #fpreg labor and birth #labor kink #birth kink #borrowed ocs #fpreg

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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hiiii

soulmate au with Aaron Hotchner in which your scars show up on each other’s bodies?

love you 🤍🤍

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

love you too my darling <3

You'd almost fallen over before your shower this morning. There was no warning, no pain in the night, you'd gone to sleep with a bare torso and woken up with scars. Nine of them, dotted around your abdomen like polka dots, but much less whimsical and far more sinister. They warp and glisten as you twist in the mirror, and you wonder how they look on whoever was unfortunate enough to receive them. While you only got the end result, surely wounds like this hadn't healed all too well on the actual victim.

Your phone rings, and you realized you've spent ten minutes surveying your new body.

"Hello?"

"Hey," Emily's on the other line, "I know you're not coming in for a bit, but can you call Hotch? He's not answering, and it's really weird for him to withdraw like this. I've gotta go, we've got a case, but I'll fill you in when you get here."

"Oh! Uh, yeah," You nod, hastily navigating your way to Hotch's contact before she hangs up so that you don't forget, "Bye, Em."

"Bye," You hear the click of the phone, then she's gone. You try to forget about your new scars, hoping that they weren't fatal to a victim. Bearing the scars of an attack that killed your soulmate would be emotional torture on you.

The line rings as you dial Aaron's number, but he doesn't pick up. His overly formal voicemail 'greets' you, and your voice is slightly shaky as you shake out your hair in preparation to wash it in the shower.

"Hey, Hotch," You tuck the phone to your ear, tugging off your sock as you speak, "Prentiss asked me to call you, she said you didn't pick up when she called, either. I, uh- I hope everything's alright, she says we've got a case. Are you going to be in later? Just- let us know, okay? See you then."

You're minorly worried about Hotch. You ponder in the shower, soaping up your hair and wincing as you feel the tender skin of your scars burn in the hot water, He's never late. Never. And he's never MIA either, completely detached from his phone and out of contact. You hope for his sake that he's just sleeping in, or maybe he's taken a vacation you haven't heard about.

Fortunately for you, a stalking case makes one hell of a distraction. Hotch's presence is definitely missed during the investigation, but Rossi and Morgan trade off authority, and you function fine without him. You're just debating a curious call to Strauss about him when you get one from Emily, and you pick up assuming she's got a new lead.

"Y/N," She pants, and you're instantly worried, "It's- it's Hotch. He's hurt, he-" Your eyes widen, and your stomach drops as she speaks, "He's been stabbed, nine times."

"In the torso," You breathe, nearly crushing the phone in your grip, "Emily, get him to a hospital, now. He- he has to be okay."

"Yeah, yeah, I- How... how did you know where he got stabbed?" She trails off, and you have two options. Reveal yourself as his soulmate, or implicate that you'd stabbed him yourself."

"Uh, lucky guess." You throw a protective hand over your stomach, real slick, "Just- I'll meet you there, okay? Don't you dare let him die on me, Prentiss."

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

Happy Thursday y'all! It's been a while since I gave an update on the Dancing with the Stars Dieter fic, Closed Position.

As mentioned before, I do not plan to fully dive into this fic and start posting until Destiny & Deliverance has been completed. However, there is only one chapter and the epilogue left (I'm not ready). Since, it's not that far off...I have started working on my outline for dancing Dieter. More below the cut. 👇

I have it planned out fairly well, so I am sharing my chapter list with you today. This could change slightly when I start digging in, but this is the format I'm going with:

Prologue

Introductions

Week 1 - Foxtrot

Week 2 - Cha Cha

Week 3 - Jive

Week 4 - Rumba

Week 5 - Argentine Tango

Week 6 - Paso Doble

Week 7 - Jazz

Week 8 - Viennese Waltz

Week 9 - Quickstep

Week 10 - Samba

Week 11 - Finale

Epilogue

I've been doing a ton of homework on the show, so I plan to incorporate a lot of crazy behind the scenes stuff that actually happens and makes for an entertaining plot. Anyone down for a weekly spray tan? No? Dieter isn't a fan either.

This fic will not be anywhere near as angsty as D & D. However, some tough topics are mentioned, mostly relating to Kat's (OFC) asshole ex who will be very present as another professional dancer on the show. Then of course, Dieter's issues with drugs and alcohol are discussed too. He will be sober in this fic, but early on in his journey. Still very much our loveable, hot mess trash panda though.

I would like to do a lot more extras with this fic. I plan to share some inspiration videos for each chapter so you will have a visual of the dances. I think it will help you understand what ultimately causes Dieter and Kat to fall for each other. If nothing else, the visuals are just hot AF.

There will be a lot of Latin dances, just because we have to show off Dieter's loose hips. You know there are going to be jokes about that. I feel like it's a good excuse to take Dieter's button allergy up a few notches too. 😏 Here is a sexy little Rumba video to get us started. This dance may or may not be the one that gets them in trouble...🤐

youtube

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo was looking to change his bad boy image and clean up his act after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dance partner to one of Hollywood’s biggest stars to go the same as it had for the past nine seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

If you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, feel free to comment below or shoot me a message and I will get you added.

Tagging all my usuals. If this isn't a fic you would like to be tagged on, let me know and I will remove you. 😉

@rhoorl @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @secretelephanttattoo @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @undercoverpena @sin-djarin @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @myloveistoolittle @annieispunk @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #closed position teaser #closed position series #Youtube

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arceespinkgun · 9 months

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I really appreciate that Earthspark is unique and holds up amazingly well as its own thing, but is also constantly in dialogue with other parts of the franchise. I couldn't help thinking about Sari from TFA when I was watching Mo and Robby in the newest Earthspark episodes.

Remember when Sari, feeling like she kept being left behind despite being a key part of the team, upgraded herself and then lost control and stabbed Bumblebee, and the only way to stop her from her rampage was for the Autobots to shut down most of her upgrades? It reminded me of how Robby did something similar, throwing himself into combat, trying to be more adult (despite only being thirteen), and then dying (!) and becoming extremely ill when Mo brought him back to life.

I was thinking about how I was shocked when I saw Sari's rampage and was really interested in seeing, you know... how she felt about everything that had happened. Maybe she wouldn't be in a rush to grow up after all of that. Maybe she and Bumblebee and the rest of their friends would have lingering trauma from this experience—Ratchet was having PTSD flashbacks while operating on Bumblebee!

But no. None of that happened. Once Sari's upgrades were mostly deactivated, we got one scene with her unconscious with her father worrying about her... and none of this was explored any further. Sari became less and less prominent, her feelings about this situation were not addressed, and we never got to learn much more about her. Her origin supposedly would have been revealed by season 5 (not even 4!!!) which never happened, and the creators have been cagey about it ever since the show ended.

Compare this to Earthspark. After what happens to Robby when he uses his new Cyber-sleeve powers, we get to see the horrified reactions of his entire family. The next episode's premise is about searching for a cure to his illness. The episode after that is all about Mo's trauma from this situation, and we get to see an exploration of adultification and how unfair Mo feels life has been to her and her family. Her parents are struggling just as much even though they're not the focus, but it's clear how worried they are for their children.

I've seen some people think the pacing is too fast in Earthspark, but I'm glad it followed-up on all these themes so quickly. I've also seen people understandably be disturbed—like Dot and Alex were—by the fact that Mo is nine and yet was chosen by a Prime. But I think the truth is that this connects to real life. Life sucks and is exhausting for marginalized kids like Mo. The reason she saw all those "messed-up memories" was to see how life isn't fair, it isn't predictable, and bad things will happen no matter what, but compassion and a desire to be there for the people you love still matters and helps preserve joy and positive aspects that could otherwise be lost. I think that's what Quintus Prime meant when he said the power was always inside of her, and that's why her battle with Mandroid was in the mental/spiritual plane. This is why Mo is the "Legacy of hope" along with Robby, and why the powers she and Robby have were not taken away like Sari's were—they symbolize the qualities the Malto kids have always had.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that since their powers are similar, the Cyber-sleeves look similar to Sari's robotic palms and arms, they're all South Asian kids, they went through similar trauma and adultification, Mo and Sari are both nine, etc. I was really happy to see Earthspark take the time to explore all of that in-depth after it was brought up, while TFA didn't really and lost its chance.

#earthspark spoilers #transformers earthspark #transformers animated #TFA #my analysis #Mo Malto #Sari Sumdac #Robby Malto #long post #my gifs

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shybunnie20 · 10 months

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Bearded Eddie: @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★Invitation ★My Masterlist

Summary: After nine years of living separate lives and carrying the weight of unresolved emotions, destiny intervenes when you and Eddie unexpectedly cross paths at your high school reunion.

Author's Note: I've been working on this since February and I'm so proud of how it turned out.

1994 AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Established past relationship. Reader & Eddie are roughly 28 yrs old. POVs are first told separately, refer to the time stamps! Reader is depicted as introverted but it's a minor detail.

Word count: 11.4k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Substance consumption, mentions of sex, includes swearing.

You’re not sure why you came here tonight, it’s not like high school was particularly memorable for you. Be that as it may, you’ve been feeling homesick lately and you needed an excuse to be in Hawkins. What better way to satiate a craving for nostalgia than to attend the class of 1984’s ten-year reunion?

As you stride through the double doors and enter the gymnasium, you’re taken aback by how dated it looks. Even though the light fixtures and basketball hoops have been replaced, it looks just as it had when you were here last. Judging by the meticulously buffed floor, it’s evident that the basketball team continues to receive the majority of funding.

The glossy court is dotted with circular folding tables that are draped with forest-green plastic runners. Each table has a bundle of balloons that are secured by gold foil weights. The decorations are fairly tacky but you expected nothing less. On the far end of the gym, the makeshift dance floor in front of the DJ booth lacks participation.

At the welcome table, you use the provided Sharpie to sign a sticky name tag. You blow on the wet ink to expedite the drying time because the last thing that you need is a jet-black stain on your favorite top. It feels silly to be wearing a name tag at a reunion but the harsh reality is that the majority of your graduating class doesn’t know your name; very few bothered to learn it in the first place.

While scanning the sparse crowd, your eyes land on a petite woman who is waving you over. You catch up with Mary, your junior-year lab partner. She introduces you to her husband but you swiftly lose interest in the interaction because they’re droning on about how difficult it’s been to get their son into a good preschool.

You hadn’t anticipated feeling this drained from a single conversation. You politely excuse yourself from the mind-numbing chat and scour the room for an available seat. The one that you choose has three people seated on the opposite side and they eye you while you pull out a chair. They look vaguely familiar so you flash them a polite grin. They resume their discussion without further acknowledgment of your company.

In front of you lies a pamphlet with “Go Tigers!” printed across the front in large block letters. Thumbing through the pages, you glance at the various pictures of high-achieving students who have since created prosperous careers for themselves. You look closely at the photos and then search for the individuals in the room, seeking to compare their old appearances to their present ones. It occurs to you how much beauty and fashion trends have changed in the past decade.

Most of the women here have abandoned their Aqua Net and mousse-finished perms. There are multiple pixie cuts, but what stands out the most are the emulations of the choppy and layered “Rachel haircut” from that new show Friends that your pals force you to watch with them.

You push air through your nose when you get a load of the self-appointed queen bee of your class. She’s wearing a gown that is unquestionably inspired by Princess Diana’s revenge dress. She looks ridiculous compared to the sea of casual attire surrounding her. It doesn’t surprise you though, she came from money and she likely married rich too. If anything, it would be out of character for her to be wearing jeans.

The booklet’s various snapshots make you wonder who achieved their goals or started families. Who peaked in high school and hasn't found any purpose in life? Who’s been arrested or fired from their jobs? As you reach the last page, you’re caught off guard by a large hand being placed on your shoulder. It makes you jump in your seat but when you turn to see who it is, the tension is alleviated from your body.

Scott Daley beams at you with his remarkably pearly whites. The five years of braces paid off and he’s obviously gotten professional whitening done. “Is that who I think it is?” He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and takes a half step back.

You’re enlivened as you get to your feet. “No way!” The hug is brief but not awkward. “How have you been?”

His blonde feathered brows arch gleefully at your reaction. “Not too bad,” Scott motions to the seat beside yours. “May I?”

“Yeah, of course!” After returning to your seat, you take notice of his gel-slicked waves and the ironed Polo shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.

Scott angles himself to face you and shamelessly checks you out. “You look phenomenal, truly.”

Warmth spreads across your body because you’re not used to men being so forward with you. Although, this isn’t a stranger. Scott moved into your neighborhood when you were eleven. Your mothers became close friends so naturally you wound up being the best of friends. You didn’t sit next to anyone else on the school bus or at lunch; you were practically attached at the hip.

Scott wasn’t always this handsome. When you met him, he was nerdy and excelled academically. He may have been scrawny but his competitiveness made up for his shortcomings. He was motivated by receiving awards like trophies and plaques. Scott Daley had his eye on the prize, which was attaining a perfect report card and being elected as class president. He had an insatiable hunger for success and that was something you found fascinating.

After you became freshman at Hawkins High, you grew apart. You didn’t have any classes together due to Scott being in advanced courses. As one would expect, you fell into different social groups. Rather, he joined the tennis team and buddied up with the jocks while you faded into the background and kept a low profile. There weren't any hard feelings because you naturally grew apart.

You listen attentively while Scott fills you in on his experiences. He graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame. This isn’t shocking in the slightest, it’s a very prestigious school and he certainly has the brains to thrive in such a setting. He mentions having invested in a starter company that took off and now he gives entrepreneurial seminars around Indiana. Scott also mentions that he’s divorced with no kids.

It’s a relief to hear that the relationship with his high school sweetheart didn’t work out because you’re in the same boat, minus getting married and divorced. You’re glad that you’re not the only one here who’s companionless. It’s embarrassing to attend get-togethers like these as a single person but you’re feeling less insecure now that you know Scott has already had a failed marriage by the age of 28.

When he begins to gab about the parasailing classes he’s been taking, you gradually zone out. You don’t mean to but you can’t listen to the rambling any longer. Even though you’re visibly on another planet, Scott obliviously continues with how great his life has been. You immediately regret glancing away.

Your lungs are packed to the brim with fine sand and your throat fills like the stem of an hourglass. You didn’t anticipate seeing him.

Eddie looks older, even from a distance. The deeply set lines under his eyes make him look tired but the dark scruff brings an enticing liveliness to his fair complexion. His boyish charm is long gone but he’s a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Eddie’s charcoal dress shirt is undone four buttons from the neck, revealing the band tee he’s wearing underneath it. An eyebrow and nose piercing is a tricky look to pull off but it suits him. The array of black tattoos that adorn his veiny forearms is on display from his lazily rolled-up sleeves.

His left arm is slung around the shoulders of a dark-haired woman while he converses with two other people. When Eddie flashes his signature smile, your heart is carved from its rightful place in your chest. You’ve tried so hard to forget how much you missed being the reason he beams; back then, he only smiled like that for you. Up until now, you were fully convinced that you’d gotten over him. Yet, being merely fifteen feet away from Eddie causes bitterness to unearth. The resentment was buried but it never decomposed.

The woman can’t possibly be his wife because you vividly recall that Eddie didn’t subscribe to the concept of marriage. It’s not that he thought there was anything wrong with it per se. In the midst of one of his innumerable non-conformist rants, Eddie expressed that neither a ring nor ceremony is necessary to prove your devotion to someone. He made a good point because signing a certificate doesn’t lower the chances of a devastating breakup. Scott can certainly speak to that.

It wasn’t a big deal to you and if anything, you were indifferent toward his take on the topic. You agreed that vowing fidelity doesn’t have to be lavish and elaborate. But there was a small part of you that imagined a special day where you get to feel like a princess. The desire wasn’t all-consuming and by no means something that you strived for. Even so, it stung to know that wasn’t what your future with Eddie was going to look like. All in all, he wasn’t the marriage type and you accepted that.

A pair of binoculars would be awfully useful to check this lady’s finger for a ring, just to be sure. You’re struggling to put a name to the face. Her hair color is modern but her crunchy roller-curled bangs are a blast from the past. That’s the detail that yields the recollection of her identity.

Karie West. You had classes together but you never saw her and Eddie exchange so much as a glance. She was at the bottom of the upper-crust crowd because her family has run the local hardware store for generations. Not exactly brag-worthy but it made her somebody. Eddie and Karie are an odd pairing but maybe his preferences changed. To be fair, she’s pretty and you don’t recall having an issue with her back in the day. She wasn’t anything to write home about but she was nice enough. The real question is, did he raise his standards or did she lower hers?

Is Eddie sweet to her like he was to you? Do they talk about the future like you and Eddie did? He used to insist that you’d join Corroded Coffin on the road when they inevitably made it big. Over the years, you kept an eye on the tabloids at the supermarket to see if his band made their way onto the front covers.

Initially, you arranged to start your lives together after graduation but the plan was squashed. You walked the stage to get your diploma but Eddie didn’t. You stayed in Hawkins for another year and worked odd jobs while you waited for him to finish school. You sacrificed your personal goals to support him but Eddie didn’t graduate in 1985 either.

When it came down to it, you couldn’t bear to continue setting your aspirations aside when Eddie showed no initiative to pursue his diploma. In due course, a letter came in the mail informing you that you’d been awarded a full-ride scholarship to the university of your dreams.

You and Eddie talked about a community college that was three towns over but that wasn’t what you wanted. You knew you wouldn’t reach your full potential if you went that route. There were a lot of things that you wanted for your future and Eddie was one of them. At the time, you assumed that he would be ecstatic to hear the news regarding the incredible opportunity you’d been presented with.

It was a toasty summer evening. and like most days, you were lounging around and basking in the adoration you had for one another. His heavy-lidded mocha eyes studied your face while you snorted at his jokes. On your twin-size bed, Eddie was laying on his back with you nestled comfortably under his arm. He was sharing the ideas that he had for his next tattoo. You drew the concepts he described onto the velvety skin of his forearm with your fingertip. Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed as your featherlight touch painted your interpretations in his mind. At some point, you excused yourself to use the bathroom. Upon your return over a minute later, your heart stopped when you saw the cream-colored paper in his grip. “Are you shitting me?” he boomed with a piercing glare. “You’re fucking leaving?” “Hold on, let me explain-” You stepped forward to capture his free hand but he yanked it away before contact could be made. “I don’t see anything that needs explaining.” Eddie’s eyes had never looked more ablaze. “This school is hundreds of miles away. What happened to our plan?” His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he boomed. “God, all you ever do is think about yourself. What about me, you’re just gonna leave me here?” Your red-rimmed eyes conveyed the harm done by the biting tone of his voice. “Why would you say something like that?” The blood in your veins began to boil and your face became feverish. “You don’t need to get so upset. We’re gonna make it work, we’ll talk on the phone every day and you’ll come to visit me during the holidays.” Eddie scoffed and crossed his arms with no regard for the letter being crumpled under his bicep. “You’ve convinced yourself it’ll be that easy, huh? You’ve lost your mind if you think being this far apart will be a piece of cake.” “I need to take this scholarship,” your eyes welled and your voice began to break. The defensiveness withered away with each word that you spoke. “This is a huge opportunity for me.” “I had no clue that you wanted to get outta here so damn bad.” Eddie’s voice dropped to a growl. “You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you?” You bunched the bottom of your shirt into your fist and squeezed so hard that your knuckle cracked. “I was going to but I was afraid of you reacting like this.” Eddie’s frown deepened. “Y’know what? I’ll make this easy for you then.” He crushed the letter into a ball and dropped it at your feet. “Since you’re doing what’s best for you, I’m gonna do what’s best for us.” Eddie stepped around you and stopped in the doorway. “We’re through. So uh- good luck with everything.”

In 103 seconds, the years you’d spent together were thrown to the wayside. You couldn’t wrap your head around how easily he threw in the towel at the mere proposal of attempting long distance. Apparently, you weren’t worth the trouble.

From thereon out, every waking moment was nothing short of hollow. For a week following the event, you stayed near the phone; but when it rang, it wasn’t him. You half-expected Eddie to show up with a teddy bear or a bouquet but he didn’t. Despite not being the one who ended things, the guilt picked at you like a vulture until your bones were clean. You didn’t mean for him to feel like you were putting your career before him.

Leaving the house was a rare occurrence given that you rarely got out of bed. Taking care of yourself wasn’t a priority. You were either eating too much or too little and the same went for your sleep pattern. Everything was in excess or deficit with no in-between. There were so many tear-soaked tissues on the floor around your bed that it looked like a gathering of white doves surrounding your place of blubbering. It was ironic, really. Doves are often seen as a symbol of tranquility and you felt anything but at peace.

Before then, you thought it was cliché when heartbreak was described as losing a part of yourself but you finally understood. Beneath the layers of blankets, you were splayed out as though your mattress was a sidewalk and you’d just plunged from the top floor of a skyscraper. Miraculously, you were alive but the impact left you broken in every way possible.

There were a few times that you picked up the receiver but you stopped yourself before dialing his number. Consequently, no contact was made for the two months leading up to your departure. In the fall of 1986, you left Hawkins and didn’t look back.

Being each other's first love, you and Eddie shared an irreplaceable bond. He was your reference point when it came to matters of the heart. In a world full of options and roads to take, you could’ve been anything but you wanted to be his again.

It took a while but you got back in the saddle. The mediocre dates outnumbered the satisfactory ones. You had a handful of boyfriends but none of the relationships got serious enough for you to meet their folks. You struggled to fully invest yourself even when they were the perfect gentleman who cared about you. They were nice but they weren’t Eddie.

You knew that you’d be okay someday. It took two years for the ball and chain to rust through entirely. While the ache may resurface from time to time, it has dwindled to a dull throbbing. Whenever the pain begins to swell, you remind yourself of how much you’ve achieved on your own. Hell, brushing off the hurt has gotten you this far.

Seeing Eddie canoodle Karie is driving you to question if you ever healed at all. Perhaps you merely fooled yourself into believing that you moved on. By the looks of it, Eddie is fulfilled being with her. You’re curious about what he remembers. Does he know your birthday or the color of your eyes? Has he forgotten the nickname that he called you so frequently that it made your real name sound unfitting?

With a subtle shake of your head, you concentrate on Scott, determined to divert your thoughts away from Eddie. As Scott continues his story of riding Vespas in Italy, you nod and grin, doing your best to feign interest and play it off as though you have been fully engaged this whole time. It’s difficult to fight the urge to sneak another glance at Eddie.

Despite your best efforts, your eyes betray you. They dart back in his direction. His curls, once a beloved characteristic, look soft and shiny. The chocolate coils cascade around his features like the delicate branches of a willow tree. Your mind conjures images of him carefully tending to them with care.

Eddie looks down at Karie and says something to her. In response, she kisses the hand of his that’s dangling off of her shoulder. Eddie and Karie's interaction, their seemingly effortless interaction, twists your guts like a saturated towel being wrung out until it’s bone dry. You wish she’d rip the look of contentment off of his face.

The overwhelming urge to avoid any potential encounter with Eddie intensifies. You don’t know what you’d say to him. As the pain of seeing Eddie persists, you use Scott as a lifeline to anchor yourself in the present. His animated gestures and stories offer an escape from the thoughts that threaten to consume you. He's going on about how your moms are still good friends and they started a book club together. As Scott mentions their current choice of reading material—a steamy romance novel—you can't help but feel a flicker of amusement at the wiggle of his eyebrows.

After your laughter dies down, Scott continues to ramble. His incessant words enter one ear and exit the other without leaving a trace. He’s like a chattering teeth toy that’s been wound up too tightly. You're acutely aware of Eddie’s proximity and it’s like an invisible weight on your chest. The mere thought of him conjures emotions you've been desperately trying to keep at bay. It's a delicate balance between acknowledging his existence and avoiding the sorrow that accompanies it.

The intro of "Heat of the Moment" fills the air, sending a jolt through your body. The song paints the picture of a time when it was your anthem, the soundtrack to your relationship with Eddie. But now it feels like a cruel twist of fate to hear it playing. As the thumping beat reverberates through the speakers and the lyrics echo around the room, it becomes harder to maintain your composure. You can’t remember the last time you heard it but it surely hadn’t hurt this much. In great need of space to collect yourself, you place your hand on top of Scott’s. The touch halts his self-absorbed rambling. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Sensing your distress, he looks at you with concern and his self-centered demeanor fades. “Sure thing,” Scott nods before sparking up a conversation with the trio seated across from him.

You weave around clusters of people until you find yourself in a less populated area. The sound of chatter and laughter recede into the background as you approach a short table adorned with generic-looking tiger decorations that are undoubtedly meant for children’s parties. The three-tier stand has been picked over but there are a few remaining cupcakes that have H’s messily piped in orange frosting on top. Across the backside of the table is a tri-fold presentation board with photos taken by the yearbook staff stapled to it. Yet again, you look at the faces of people who didn’t give your existence much thought. While you look closely at the images, you don’t realize that you’re humming along to the song.

The two asshats conversing with Karie are as uninterested in Eddie as he is in them. Rather than actively engaging in the dialogue, he adopts a passive approach by making occasional sounds that mimic agreement. He’s trying to make this experience as painless as possible.

He’s in attendance against his will but he’d rather be here than to have Karie on his case about her feeling humiliated for attending by her lonesome. Unlike her, Eddie doesn't place a great deal of importance on his reputation or what others think of him. It's one aspect of his character that remains unchanged.

Eddie observes the lively scene unfolding before him. He watches as people mingle and sip generic brand punch from disposable cups. His line of sight sweeps the seating arrangements and he does a double take. It feels like an arrow spears his chest and his heart is the bullseye. “Apple,” He breathes out with his mouth narrowly agape. Apple of my eye.

As Eddie looks you over, he takes note of how your appearance looks effortful and your jewelry pairs perfectly with your outfit. The subtle differences that time has brought make him yearn to acquaint himself with them. The dark circles below your eyes defy the light layer of makeup that’s been applied to conceal them. Your hair, styled in a way that accentuates your features, beckons his fingers to play with it.

He marvels at you, his eyes tracing the contours of your form. Eddie knew that you wouldn’t look the same if he saw you again but your mature beauty is throwing him for a loop nevertheless.

You’re talking to someone. He looks familiar but Eddie isn’t sure who he is. Sam? Brett? Who the hell cares, what’s for certain is that this dude is a hunk. His shirt is immaculate, devoid of any wrinkles. His facial hair is precisely trimmed to create a sharp edge along his jaw. Eddie's hand instinctively glides over his scruff and he regrets not touching it up while getting ready.

Judging by the way you’re engaging with him, it’s plain to see that this guy is your boyfriend or maybe even your husband. But since when are you into the athletic type? Obviously, the man is mindful of the food he eats and has a consistent workout routine.

Eddie looks down at his bicep, which rests behind Karie's head, and a wave of insecurity washes over him. He convinces himself that he is not toned enough to meet your preferences. You used to love the slight pudge of his belly but you probably wouldn’t find his physique attractive anymore. Ever the hypocrite, Eddie grits his teeth when your hand grasps the man’s forearm. Your laugh cuts through the noise and sends a pang through Eddie’s core.

He feels selfish for wanting the meathead to kick you to the curb and leave you so heartbroken that you come crawling back to him. Eddie could save the day and treat you well like he always intended. Is this guy keeping you comfortable and ensuring that your needs are met? Does he spoil you with gifts and shower you with affection?

He hates that he hasn’t seen or made you smile like that in so long. He tried to forget how much he missed the little things. He can’t remember the way your perfume smelled but he reminisces about the way it used to fill him with light. It was invigorating to smell, touch, and taste you. You had a way of flooding Eddie’s senses that was borderline addicting. You were oxygen to him and you breathed him back to life when he felt deflated. Throughout the years, Eddie had been holding his breath as he navigated life without you. Finally, seeing you as beautiful as ever, he feels like he can breathe again.

He wonders how you’ve changed. Above all, he hopes that your infectious laugh, with its distinctive snort that he adored, hasn’t gone away. He’s itching to walk over but Eddie finds himself restrained by Karie. He feels a sense of restlessness from how badly he wants to engage with you.

Karie looks up at him and asks a question but he doesn’t comprehend what she says. Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, that’s true.” He throws in a light chuckle and that sells it. She kisses the top of his hand and he feigns a grin at her affectionate gesture. The sensation of her lips pursed against his hand makes his skin crawl more than it usually does. Eddie imagines that they’re your lips instead. He knows that her gesture is for show. She’s not remotely this lovey-dovey behind closed doors. Karie is portraying the image of a stable relationship for people who could give a shit about her love life.

Eddie believes that you left Hawkins because you didn’t have faith in his third try at graduating. You left because he wasn’t good enough of a reason to stay. The argument you had flipped on the defense mechanism switch in his brain. It was a means of self-preservation and he protected himself in the only way he knew how. While this impulsive act may have prevented you from initiating the breakup somewhere along the line, it didn't diminish the pain of losing you.

When he got back to his trailer shortly after the fight, Eddie tore his bedroom apart to frantically collect any item that had anything to do with you. Within the jumbled mess of hair accessories and mismatching socks were the tangible reminders of your shared attachment—a skull ring you had given him on his previous birthday, folded notes, and Polaroids that were once lovingly taped to his mirror.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to throw any of it away because it all meant so much to him. He simply couldn't bear to have any reminders of you lingering around. The keepsakes were dumped into a wilted shoebox and stuffed in the far back corner of the hallway closet. By stashing it away, Eddie was shielding himself from the sharp sting of abandonment that he feared would accompany their presence. He hoped that by removing the mementos, he could somehow free himself from the emotional burden that they carried.

Eddie may not have fit the mold of a traditional Prince Charming, but he regarded you as his princess in the imperfect fairytale that you lived in. Truthfully, he was flawed and so was the relationship. Some arguments started over trivial matters such as Eddie chewing with his mouth open after you asked him to stop countless times. There were instances that you reminded him politely but sometimes you were less than patient.

That’s one of your flaws that drove Eddie up the wall. It seemed that no matter what he did, there was a sense of dissatisfaction or criticism. Be that as it may, he accepted that it was part of the exchange. You hated shit that he did and he felt the same way toward your bad habits. No romance is without its trials and tribulations. The various points of conflict proved that love is not smooth sailing at all times. It requires effort, compromise, and understanding from both parties.

Occasionally, you would go to sleep mad at each other. When that was the case, Eddie insisted on saying “I love you” and exchanging a goodnight kiss. It didn’t matter if it was brief, on the cheek, or over the phone. He made certain that you never went to bed without a manifestation of his devotion. These acts of reassurance served as a testament to Eddie's refusal to let negative emotions overshadow the deep affection he held for you. Eddie ensured that you didn't spend the night in your respective bedrooms drowning in tears or overthinking every word that had been said in the heat of the moment. The first and only time he broke that commitment was the day he discovered the acceptance letter.

Despite not handling the situation well, Eddie wasn’t usually immature. He always listened intently when you spoke to him. He nodded and maintained eye contact to make certain that you knew he heard and supported you. One thing Eddie had to learn how to do was to stop giving unsolicited advice. It was a habit that stemmed from his discomfort with unresolved problems. It was challenging for him to refrain from trying to find solutions when handling a situation that seemed potentially fixable. However, Eddie gained awareness of his shortcoming when he realized that you stopped confiding in him about the girls who teased you in PE.

It was a love of such great intensity that many adults struggle to comprehend, let alone handle it if they are fortunate enough to find it.

After the season transitioned from crisp to bitter, Eddie went looking for a new way to keep himself warm. You were the only partner he’d had and he would’ve been content rolling around with you for the rest of his days. But you gave up on him, so he did whatever he had to in order to keep the loneliness away. To the best of his ability, Eddie avoided the memory of you by sidetracking himself with pretty faces. Engulfed in a string of one-night stands, he found himself desperately chasing the elusive feeling he experienced with you.

No rebound was going to help Eddie get over you. He realized that if he was going to live without you, he’d be miserable at best. Engaging in casual encounters did little to alleviate the emptiness within him. Instead, it merely provided a temporary surge of dopamine. This fleeting pleasure offered a brief distraction until he moved on to the next woman and endured yet another night without you.

Your lips left a watermark that couldn’t be washed away with time. Your touch was delicate as if you were scared he would shatter in your palms; but it wasn’t your touch that could break him, it was the loss of it. Eddie has been nothing short of broken since. You hold the key to the vulnerable part of his being. Behind a heart-shaped padlock lies his compassionate, goofy, and gentle side. A side that has remained locked away since you left.

Fortunately, Eddie earned his diploma on his third try after shedding blood, sweat, and tears. Regardless of his initial determination to leave Hawkins following graduation, Eddie didn’t take the leap. He realized that if he left, you would have no way of finding him. Despite the painful way things ended between you, he made a sacrifice, forfeiting the opportunity for a brighter future in the hopes that you might reappear in his life someday.

Sleeping around became tiresome so he reluctantly agreed to go on a blind date with Karie. It would be a stretch to say that he actively chose to continue seeing her. Following their dinner together, Karie became an unabating presence in his life, akin to a persistent house fly buzzing in his ear. She frequently called him, making her pursuit of him abundantly clear. Eddie found himself lacking the motivation to address and shut down her behavior, indifferent to the situation that unfolded.

At first, he was confused by her persistence because what would someone like her want to do with someone like him? She had run through all of the eligible bachelors in Hawkins, only to drive them away with her insufferable behavior, leaving Eddie as her last option. They’ve been on and off for so long that it’s merely routine at this point. He has no desire to try his luck dating other women. No matter how unhappy she makes him, it’s better than being alone. With Karie, the good times are okay at best. She has a tendency to instigate senseless arguments, seemingly for the sheer thrill of drama.

On top of that, the sex isn’t mind-blowing by any means, which hardly makes it worth it. For Eddie, it’s emotionless and strictly physical relief. He couldn’t get invested if he tried because of how controlling she is, inside and outside of the bedroom. When they’re in the car together he doesn’t get to tune the radio to the station that he likes. She dictates his plans and makes sure every moment of his free time is spent with her.

Eddie chose mistreatment over being lonely and longing for the girl he pushed away. Karie is a welcome distraction, albeit a toxic one, from what he really wants. Even if he could only be your pen pal or someone you get coffee with while you visit on occasion, he’d take the chance in a heartbeat. He’s bruised from years worth of kicking himself for letting you go.

Part of Eddie knew that you were unlikely to return to Hawkins, but he couldn't help but hold onto a glimmer of hope. Each year, he would check the phone book and search for any sign of you. It was wishful thinking but he couldn’t let go. On occasion, Eddie asked around town in the hopes of gathering any tidbits concerning your whereabouts or how you were doing. His inquiries yielded no substantial leads or insights that could provide a glimpse into your life.

Eddie wonders how much time passed before you moved on. He can't help but hope that you touched yourself to the thought of him, that you cried into your pillow pretending it was his chest instead. He hopes that hearing your song kept the memories from eroding.

The absence of your light cast a shadow over Eddie's days, leaving him immersed in a perpetual state of darkness. He found himself trapped in a world of thunder and gray skies, where the vibrant colors of life had faded to muted shades. At night, as he lay in bed, Eddie's thoughts would inevitably drift back to the way it felt to hold you in his arms.

It shouldn’t have been goodbye, it certainly didn’t have to be. The discovery of the letter hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. It was a farewell, one that would unfold gradually. He was confronted with the painful truth that people inevitably walk out of his life. It was an inevitable pattern, one he had encountered time and again. Friends had drifted away, relationships had crumbled, and now it seemed you that you too, were going to outgrow him.

As the years went by, Eddie thanked himself for holding onto the shoebox of keepsakes; it was all that he had left to cherish. You were god knows where doing god knows what. The only place Eddie could find you was in his dreams and in that box. The selfishness didn’t falter as the regret heightened. He crossed his fingers for your plans to go up in flames, for you to flunk your classes so that you would have no choice but to move back home. If by chance you did return, he intended to do everything in his power to show you how sorry he was.

Eddie zoned out while a cyclone of feelings tore up his ability to stay present with Karie under his arm. He’s been so caught up in his head that he’s practically vibrating. As if the universe has decided to spare him, “Heat Of The Moment” begins to blare from the speakers. Eddie’s eyes snap to your table but you’re nowhere to be seen. His panicked eyes scan the floor for the pair of legs that never failed to make him drool.

As if luck is on his side tonight, Karie’s voice cuts through the noise. “I need to use the ladies' room.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie shrugs and watches Karie walk toward the restrooms. He spots you hurrying past a group of people. In this charged atmosphere, surrounded by the whispers of what could have been, Eddie has to make a decision. Is he going to take the leap and risk further heartache or let the moment slip away, forever wondering what might have been? Apparently, Eddie’s feet have a mind of their own because he’s going after you at a moment’s notice.

His scuffed sneakers squeak against the polished floor as he weaves with determination coursing through his veins. Eddie mutters, “Excuse me,” when he bumps into someone but he doesn’t stop moving until he finds you checking out the snack table display. As he steps closer, he gets déjà vu from being drawn to you the same way he was the first time he noticed you.

On a gloomy Friday in September during sophomore year, Eddie was in U.S. history when he was hit with inspiration. Ideas for a campaign flickered in his mind and he needed to capture them before they slipped away. While he scribbled, Eddie momentarily tuned out the ongoing presentation that was being delivered by his classmate. He was fully immersed in the realm of his imagination as he jotted down strategies and visual concepts.

Not long after his pencil hit the paper, Eddie felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Mr. Gatlin standing beside him with disapproval stamped on his face. Eddie tried to explain that he was taking notes for his own project, hoping to avoid any consequences. Mr. Gatlin was unconvinced and wrote him a detention slip.

In the designated classroom for the disciplinary measure were three other students who, like him, were slouched at their desks. Eddie kept himself busy by filling out the form that he needed to submit to start a new club. The blank space on the paper seemed to mock him, taunting his inability to come up with a clever club name. As Eddie's thoughts swirled around, he was abruptly brought back to reality by the sound of your voice softly greeting the teacher. With a lifted gaze, Eddie watched how you interacted with her, offering a respectful salutation instead of presenting a dismissive attitude like the average disgruntled student would.

His eyes traced the contours of your profile while you settled into a desk near the door. He couldn’t recall seeing you around, you seemed detached from any particular social clique. Eddie could tell that you didn't dress to conform or uphold a particular image. There was a refreshing authenticity about you. It was clear to him that you weren't shy. Rather, you preferred to avoid unnecessary attention.

It was as if a dormant part of him had suddenly awakened and the self-consciousness gnawed at him. His hair, which he had been growing out, was at an awkward length as it fell just above his earlobes. He frowned at his reflection in the nearby window, noticing the acne that bespeckled his complexion. He examined his shirt for any visible signs of wear and tear. The insecurities crept in, making him question whether his appearance was enough to catch your eye.

Eddie spent the entire hour utterly captivated by how cute you were. As the teacher announced dismissal and you gathered your belongings, his heart sank. He had the chance to make a move but his nerves got the best of him and he was rooted to his seat. The desire to go after you to introduce himself tugged at him. Eddie was stuck on all the reasons why he shouldn't. What if you didn't want to be approached? What if you had somewhere to be or you weren't interested in getting to know someone new? He berated himself for letting his insecurities hold him back.

That following Monday, Eddie was tardy to fifth-period study hall and when he lifted his eyes from his shuffling feet, his heart leaped in his chest. There you were in the far back corner of the classroom. As it turns out, you’d been in his class the entire semester. The teacher asked Eddie to take a seat. He swore under his breath and smoothed down his frizzy hair while he sauntered over to the available desk beside yours.

Eddie settled and a creak resonated through the otherwise silent classroom. You remained in your own world, engrossed in the act of doodling. He respected the reminder from the teacher to maintain silence, understanding that this was not the opportune time to introduce himself.

He stole glances at your notebook, intrigued by the abstract shapes and lines that decorated the page. They held a certain allure, a reflection of the intricacies of your mind. It was as though he was stepping into your dimension, one where vulnerability and creativity intertwined. Eddie felt a connection with you. He understood that sometimes, amidst the pressures and expectations of daily life, it was important to allow yourself to breathe and simply be. At the end of class, Eddie once again watched you gather your things and leave. Instead of being hard on himself for letting you go once more, he became eager.

The next morning, Eddie got out of bed early to spend more time on his appearance. He aimed to look and smell his best because he was finally going to put himself out there. Bouncing through his day with a spring in his step, Eddie made his way to the classroom. As he settled in the desk next to you, he intentionally made more noise than necessary. He rummaged through his backpack and shuffled the contents but you didn’t pay him any mind.

As Eddie tore a sheet of paper from his notebook, the sound echoed through the classroom, drawing disapproving glances from your classmates. With his slightly chewed-up number two pencil, Eddie wrote a message on the first line. He held his breath as he slid the sheet onto your Trapper Keeper. For a few heart-pounding seconds, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He had yet to exhale, watching as you picked up the note and read Eddie’s messy penmanship.

The furrow in your brow softened. In that instant, the ice that surrounded you began to melt. The brief moment of eye contact felt electrically charged. He swam in the hue of your irises as he looked past your initially withdrawn disposition. When your toothy smile took shape, it tugged on his heart. To him, you were more than just a pretty girl; you welcomed him with open arms, free of repulsion or fear.

The minutes ticked away while the paper was passed between you like a messenger. It was a blank canvas transformed into a heavily graffitied wall. High school had been nothing short of cruel to him so far, so he needed a friend. When the bell rang, Eddie folded the paper and tucked it away into his backpack where it would be safe. From thereon out, a mute dance evolved between the two of you on a daily basis. The restrictions of the no-talking rule seemed inconsequential as you found other ways to communicate, transcending the need for talking.

In times of solitude and introspection, Eddie has sought solace in those pages. Like a worn-out book, he knows them by heart, having reread them countless times. Whenever he opens that shoebox and unfolds those precious notes, he’s transported back to the time when his life was in technicolor. They became more than ink on a page. Each word, each scribble, carried the significance of your history.

It’s quieter by the snack table. The closer Eddie gets to you, the wetter his shirt feels. His palms begin to tremble as the adrenaline in his system kicks up. The sensation feels eerily similar to the pre-show jitters he used to get back in the day when he and his bandmates would take the stage at The Hideout. Eddie takes another step and now he can hear that you're quietly singing along to the song. He can’t stop himself from singing with you.

As his familiar voice reaches your ears, a mix of emotions well up within you, causing a lump to form in your throat. With a quick intake of breath, you turn around and put on a mask of surprise as if you hadn't been staring at him with his girlfriend. “Eddie!”

“Hey, you.” He purrs, casually holding his arms open. He wishes he’d taken a second to rehearse what he was going to open with but there’s no going back now.

At first, you’re rigid when he goes in for a hug. But once his hands find your waist, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie's embrace tightens, lifting you slightly off the ground. Being lifted onto your tippy toes ignites a playful giggle and you bury your face in his silky curls. His chuckle rattles against your chest, the sound creating a soothing vibration that rolls deep within you. You nuzzle up to him as you melt. Being wrapped in each other's arms feels like a balm for the wounds of the past.

Eddie is a little too high to be on his best behavior. Your natural scent evokes a sense of nostalgia and comfort. The fragrance of your perfume adds a layer to the intoxicating mix, its fresh and mature notes entice him. Your bodies feel different pressed together but just like puzzle pieces, they only fit with their corresponding piece. Being chest to chest, your hearts dare to relink.

He guides your feet back to the floor and loosens his grip, splaying his palms flat on the small of your back. When your eyes meet, you feel like you’re anywhere but in the musty gym. You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers down to your lips and you can’t help but do the same.

“Edward,” Karie says loudly, her voice laced with possessiveness as if she’s his mother.

Promptly pulled out of his lustful trance, Eddie releases you and steps back. A rough clearing of his throat breaks the stillness. He turns to face Karie and consciously composes himself by donning an innocent expression, aiming to hide the intensity of what just transpired. “Yeah, babe?” The pet name tastes sour as it rolls off of his tongue.

Karie loops her left arm around his right one and tugs him close. “Who’s this?” She doesn’t blink once while she looks you over from head to toe.

You nearly scoff because you refuse to believe that she doesn’t remember you. The audacity to pretend that she doesn’t know you were his girlfriend for four years. You can see right through her poised and cordial exterior. She’s intimidated because she knows how much you meant to him, and you’re not wrong about that. One day, Karie was being nosey and snooped around Eddie’s trailer while he was outside tinkering under the hood of her car. The desire to uncover any hidden secrets of his past compelled her to dig deeper, disregarding any boundaries of privacy. She came across the stash underneath his bed, nearly camouflaged by dirty clothes and junk food wrappers. The shoebox, once a privately kept capsule of young love, laid open before Karie. She knew exactly what she’d found.

Before Eddie can give a proper introduction, you outstretch your hand to her and do it yourself to see how long she’ll play dumb. You refuse to let Karie's facade deceive you, remaining steadfast in that she’s well aware of the impact you’ve had on his life.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and stares down at the floor while Karie repeats your name as if it tastes familiar but she can’t quite place it. She’s drawing out her performance but Eddie hasn’t picked up on it in the slightest. He isn’t any good at detecting subtlety. When you were together, he had to be told how you were feeling because he’s “not a mind reader.” Poor thing, he truly thinks that Karie has no idea who you are.

Her burgundy-painted lips curl inauthentically, revealing her somewhat crooked teeth. “Oh! We had algebra together, right?”

You let out a sound that resembles amusement, though the irritability with her bitchiness is evident. “No. American Literature, actually.”

She considers arguing that you’re the one who’s misremembering but Eddie pipes up before she has the chance. “Would either of you ladies like some punch?”

Karie says “No,” without taking her eyes off of you.

From the heat of her stare, the moisture in your mouth has evaporated. You meet Eddie’s gaze and grin warmly. “Sure, I could go for some.”

He leans in and winks, “Want me to spike it?”

You giggle and nod in reply. Eddie shoots you with finger guns and then walks away to the nearby table that houses the beverages. In his absence, it becomes apparent how much he was buffering the tension. It skyrockets and Karie’s glare is unwavering. Regardless of how uncomfortable she’s making you, you offer her pleasantness to glower at. “Well, it looks like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snarls while folding her arms across her chest.

Thankfully, Eddie returns with the two cups of fruit punch and he hands them both to you. You hold them steadily as Eddie pulls a small flask from his sneaker. With practiced precision, Eddie adds a dash of the mystery liquor to one of the cups, while the other receives a more generous pour of two shots' worth. Oblivious to Karie's scoff and eye roll, Eddie remains focused on his task, unaware of the disapproval emanating from her.

Eddie takes the stronger cup and taps the lip of it against your own. “Cheers,” He grins before chugging the entirety of the concoction.

You take a small sip and watch as the flushed sunset crawls across Eddie’s neck. As you go to take another sip, Eddie gently lifts the bottom of your cup to encourage you to swig instead. Your eyebrows lift in surprise but you do what he wishes while he smiles goofily at you.

Now that you’ve swallowed enough to really taste it, you can tell that his palette has evolved. The bitter scald sends a shiver down your spine and you squeeze your eyes closed. A cough bubbles from your throat, bringing the earthy pine flavor back up with it. Eddie pats your back through your coughing fit as if it’ll help but he knows it won’t. It’s simply an excuse to touch you.

“Thanks,” You clear your throat. “That’s some strong stuff, pretty different from your Blue Ribbon days.” Back then, Eddie swore that Pabst’s Blue Ribbon Beer was the nectar of the gods and he vowed to drink it to his grave. Eyeballing the remainder of the tainted punch in your cup, you try to think about anything other than how awful the aftertaste is.

“Y’know, that’s forty-five dollar gin you’re choking on.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Woah, big spender over here.” Without thinking, you poke at his belly, sharing a laugh while the liquor warms both of you at your cores.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Karie is seething beneath her carefully curated surface. She taps her foot and looks around the room with her arms still crossed. Though she has been listening to your conversation, Karie has chosen not to participate. She perceives herself as being above Eddie's antics. But there's an underlying fear that lingers; she recognizes the depth of the bond that you have with him and she‘s threatened by it.

You’re getting a rise out of her by entertaining his spontaneity and it’s rather satisfying. The steam blowing out of her ears is just below Eddie’s emotional awareness radar. When your eyes meet hers, a nonverbal conversation ensues.

What the fuck is your problem, lady?

I don’t like you and he’s mine, so don’t even think about it.

Meanwhile, Eddie is bobbing his head to the music while the combination of substances takes him up into the clouds. Your focus is brought back to him when he resumes the conversation. “What about you? What’ve you been wetting your whistle with?” He continues to ignore Karie and neglects to include her. “Are you more of a chardonnay or champagne girl?” Eddie’s brows scrunch together. “Wait, what’s the difference?”

You giggle at his genuine puzzlement and it makes his breath quake. There’s something about the way you beam so dazzlingly while he’s making a fool of himself. Except, he saw you smile similarly at your boyfriend. Eddie can feel his temper ignite at the thought alone but that’s not the only source of heat. He’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of your radiance. Yet, he’s aware of the potential burn and consequences that may arise from getting too close.

Karie is tired of watching the spotlight be on you. She nudges Eddie and he grudgingly acknowledges her. “I’m going to go catch up with the Reynen twins.” At last, Karie has given up on doing her best to intimidate you.

“Tell them I say ‘hi,’ I guess.” Eddie’s mouth forms a straight line and he shoves his hands into his front pockets. When he looks back at you, joy returns to his face. Partially due to the buzz overtaking his nerves and because the wicked witch is gone. A silence hangs in the air while he thinks, God, she looks fucking incredible, but he forgets to say anything.

Your eyes land on the familiar necklace peeking out from beneath Eddie's dress shirt. The guitar pick dangles there, a symbol of his lifelong enthusiasm for music. “I’m glad to see you still play.”

Eddie sucks his teeth and flips the guitar pick between his fingers. “Uh- yeah, not so much anymore.”

“What, why not? You used to play every day.”

“I know.” Eddie murmurs, "Just been busy, y'know?" He’s making a feeble attempt to cloak the depth of his emotions. The timeline he recalls was the turning point when his love for playing began to wane.

Not only did Eddie lose his first love but you were his muse as well. After the split, music didn’t feel or sound the same. Sure, he listened to his favorite albums but to this day, playing feels meaningless. He tries picking up his Warlock on occasion but he never gets past strumming a chord before he gets too heavy-hearted and puts it back in its case.

Losing you immediately caused a rift between him and the other members of Corroded Coffin. Their disbandment was swift due to the altered dynamic. There was no passion and he had completely given up. As cold as it was for his bandmates to reciprocate his hostility, he did nothing to preserve his tight-knit friendships with them. Eddie had already lost the most important thing in the world to him and losing his buddies wasn’t going to hurt more than that.

“That’s a shame, you were so talented.” You shift your weight between the balls of your feet with a blend of shock and disappointment on your face. Feeling that this is probably the moment you should walk away, you muster the courage to give parting words. "It's been fun catching up, but I should get going." Your voice carries a tinge of sadness.

“Wait! I was thinking, uh- do you wanna go to The Hideout?” He licks his lips. “Like old times?” Eddie’s chocolate saucers search your eyes while twists the ring below his middle knuckle. “I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to.” Eddie is terrified that you’re about to slip through his fingers because this is his chance; this is what he’s been waiting for.

You bite the inside of your cheek at his pleading expression. “Are you sure? What’ll the missus think of that?”

Eddie dismisses your concern by blowing a raspberry with his tingling lips. “Pfft, I’m a grown-ass man. I can do whatever I want.”

“I don’t know,” Your mouth goes dry again at the thought of revisiting the watering hole that holds innumerable memories. It becomes impossibly difficult to deny him as his eyes reflect the light.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink,” He pouts.

You close your eyes and mull it over for a moment. The sound of Eddie anxiously tapping his knuckles together is enough to convince you. “Okay, fine.”

”That’s what I'm talking about!” he pumps his fists but then he pauses. “What about your beau?” Eddie motions to Scott who is still conversing at the table that you were previously sitting at. Buff blondie seems to have forgotten about your return.

You look between Scott and Eddie. “I’m here by myself.”

As much as he tries, Eddie fails to fight the cheek-aching smile that forms. His heart is thrumming so hard that he wouldn’t be able to stop it from bursting through his ribs if it went flying. “My mistake.” Eddie pulls his car keys from his back pocket and spins them around his index finger. “Wanna ride with me?”

Your mouth opens but instead of words, a squeak of agreement is all that comes out. You turn to walk toward the exit and without missing a beat, Eddie instinctively moves to your side, matching your stride as you make your way toward the exit. His smile is so deeply engraved on his face that he’s going to need to ice his cheeks later.

On your way out of The Hideout, Eddie holds the heavy metal door open for you. The clouds had opened up while you were inside and they’ve left the air dense with the scent of fresh rain. It mingles with the aroma of tobacco smoke drifting from the bar's door. In the street, puddles form small mirrors that reflect the pearlescent moon above.

You delved into conversation with ease and traded stories of the lives you’ve led since your last encounter. Tales of success and misfortune spilled forth, weaving your individual journeys into a tapestry of shared experiences. The interaction was a dance of subtlety, an unspoken agreement to move at a pace dictated by each other’s ever-growing willingness to explore. A brush of fingertips here, a gentle touch on the arm there—small gestures laden with hope.

Cars roll through flooded potholes and splash the curb with a wave of pavement fragments. The mist hanging in the air makes the streetlamps and neon signs glow. Eddie leans against the dampened brick and you echo his position, standing shoulder to shoulder. You frown when Eddie pulls a stray cigarette out of his breast pocket and balances it between his lips. “I kinda hoped you’d have quit.”

“I did for the most part.” He mumbles. As Eddie lights his cigarette, a wisp of smoke swirls lazily from the tip, blending with the haze of the earlier downpour. After taking a long drag and smoothly releasing, he looks at you. “I really only smoke when I’ve got a lot on my mind.” On the come down from his weed high, he’s combining nicotine and alcohol to combat the intense feelings of attraction stirring within him. It’s occurring to him that this night is coming to an end.

Eddie looks like he’s battling to stay in the present while actively seeping away. For a moment, you listen to the water drizzling off of the tattered awning and hitting the ground. Music escapes through the door as patrons go in and out of the bar. “So… Karie West, huh? How long have you two-”

“Don’t do that.” Eddie bites off the end of your sentence.

You turn to face him fully. “Don’t do what?”

Eddie huffs and flicks his cigarette. “Don’t bring her up. She’s the last thing I wanna talk about.”

“Okay,” You sigh barely above a whisper and glance away. The sting in your chest shoots to your fingertips at his sharp tone, not unlike the one he used that fateful day.

Eddie takes a shorter drag but holds it this time. He allows it to char the inside of his lungs before exhaling the plume of smoke. The events of the evening are rippling through his mind, the conversations and laughter seamlessly melding with the good memories he’s held onto. “I was gonna propose to you.” He states very matter-of-factly as if that isn’t a huge bomb to drop on you.

“Nu-uh.” You blink rapidly in utter disbelief.

“Yeah huh. I carried the ring box on me for like three weeks.” At this point, he can’t tell what’s what. Either his emotions are so strong that he can’t feel his toes or the booze, nicotine, and traces of weed are causing him to short-circuit. “But then I found out about-” Eddie stops himself, unwilling to relive it out loud. He flicks his cigarette and brings it back to his mouth.

“Wow,” There’s that stabbing sensation in your chest that you know all to well. Tears flood your vision because what could’ve been seems better than the life you wound up living without him. Due to the way you’re dodging his eye contact, he fails to see how glassy your eyes have become. You sniffle, your nose reacting to the drop in temperature and your emotions running high. The weight of disappointment settles heavily as you grapple with his statement. “Did you give it to her instead?”

Eddie tosses his cigarette to the pavement and stomps it out. “Fuck no,” His laughter is accompanied by a shake of his head as he entertains the absurdity of the notion. The very idea of such a fate makes his stomach churn; the mere thought could induce physical sickness. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then why are you with her?” You wish you hadn’t blurted it out, but if he’s so miserable then why does he stick around? Considering what you went through, you know damn well that Eddie isn’t afraid to leave when something no longer serves him.

He adjusts his back against the wall which causes the change in his wallet to jingle. “It’s complicated.”

Your persistence to know the truth causes the tears to spill over your waterline and drag streaks of mascara down your face. “Do you love her? Is that why?”

Looking into your eyes right now brings him right back to that day and he’s watching you shatter all over again. “Absolutely not.” The insecurity in your tone is obvious enough that Eddie picks up on it. He loses his train of thought in knowing that there must be a reason behind you asking that particular question. Eddie looks down before meeting your gaze again.

“D-Did you love me?” You nibble your bottom lip and watch the way his expression softens. At the time, it felt like he did but with all of the overthinking you’ve done, your view of the past has been distorted.

He can’t tell if he’s breathing right now, you look so beautiful with the streetlight reflections turning your tears into gems. “Did I love you?” Eddie chokes out, “Of course I did. I never stopped.”

Your lips part a sliver as your brain begs for more oxygen to cope. To soothe yourself, you begin picking at your cuticles but you can hardly feel the pinch.

“You were everything to me.” As Eddie steps closer, his scent overtakes you. His hand trembles as he swipes at your dampened cheeks. “I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he whispers, “Every day, every night, you were constantly on my mind.”

You’re frozen in place, fidgeting ceased as you stare back. You gulp at the way his hair flies behind him in the brisk twilight gust. Eddie takes your hands and the heat of his warms your own. A sense of intimacy flows through you, interlacing the past and present. “I thought about you too.” You look down at your joined hands, watching his fingers rekindle their connection with yours after so many years apart.

You trace the lines of his palms with your fingertips. It's as if your hands remember each other, relearning the contours and textures that were once so familiar. Eddie's eyes remain fixed on you, his gaze dripping with tenderness and longing. He guides your hands to rest on his collarbones and you can feel the strength of his body through his shirt. He gently caresses your ribs and slides his hands down to your waist. You respond eagerly by stepping closer and your navels touch.

His bated breaths mirror yours, both of you caught up in how it’s as if the universe has conspired to bring you back together. Eddie can’t bear the distance much longer. He rests his forehead against yours and it creates a bridge between your souls. You share the air, recycling each other’s breaths. The hovering of his lips causes your heart to pound against your ribs. But as his lips draw closer, you find yourself compelled to stop him. “Wait.”

Eddie pulls back ever so slightly to provide space for your voice to be heard. He can tell exactly what you’re thinking. “I don’t want her, I want you.”

You look away, feeling conflicted. Eddie guides your chin back to his and he strokes your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Meanwhile, his other hand applies comforting pressure to your hip. He studies your face while you lean into his touch. “I need you, Apple. I don’t wanna lose you again.”

His mind begins to race when he’s met with nothing in response, fearing that exposing his heart to you isn’t enough. After his words have soaked in, Eddie notices the shift in your expression, and relief rids him of the fear of being rejected.

“You won’t,” You hum and breathe as deeply as you can.

Both of your eyes fall closed and your lips brush with hesitance. It’s you who caves first; your lips interlock, pillowy soft, and sweet with a boozy burn. The kiss breaks. Both of your chests heave and your eyes remain closed. The briefness has you weak in the knees but your hold on his shoulder has tightened to keep you upright. Eddie tugs you impossibly closer and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. He has to make this count.

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat and his nose presses into the plush of your cheek as he deepens the kiss. It’s both a declaration and an apology, conveying everything that should’ve been said a long time ago. Your movements are slow, intentional, and the definition of pure bliss. There’s no rush or urgency, just the desire to savor each other. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck and your fingers gently entangle themselves where they belong. The nine-year gap between the last kiss and this one evaporates.

When you pull away to catch your breaths, aching smiles overtake your features. On the day of the fight, you saw nothing but indignation in his eyes. And now, all that you see is the promise of forever.

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yaeggravate · 3 months

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Unraveling Princess Fischl

So I recently finished studying Princess Fischl in a lab and the results I got were kinda crazy.

As a disclaimer, I do this just for fun. I like connecting dots and solving puzzles. But I'd rather you draw your own conclusions. In this post I will try to dissect the mysteries surrounding the Prinzessin. And you really can't talk about Fischl without including Kaeya. I've even got a surprise guest star for you.

WARNING: this post is VERY long, click on that Read More at your own risk, otherwise you'll be stuck scrolling forever.

For simplicity's sake Princess Fischl will be referred to as Fischl while playable Fischl will be demoted to F.

PART 1: MIDSUMMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

Most of this will use the books Legend of the Shattered Halberd and Flowers for Princess Fischl as a source. These books are authored by someone named Mr. Nine. The books are published by Yae Publishing House. So keep in mind there's a non-zero percent chance Mr. Nine is actually just a certain Nine-Tailed Fox.

F's alternate outfit is called Immernachtstraum. This is a reference to Shakespeare's play Midsummer Night's Dream. In German the play is called Ein Sommernachtstraum. So you can see the similarities (Immernachtstraum means Eternal Night's Dream.)

Kaeya is in part based on the Indian changeling prince from the same play. The character Oberon, the Fairy King, is the french derivative of Alberich. The play itself is basically about people getting into Shenanigans so absurd it might as well be a dream. Oberon and his wife Titania are actually key players in quite a bit of different media… But as much as I want to delve into that, this isn't a Kaeya post.

Just remember for now that Titania is the Fairy Queen.

In the book Flowers for Princess Fischl, there is a mention of a Sommernachtgarten. It is described as a Domain possessed by someone highly skilled in the magical arts. Sommernachtgarten seems to have existed in Teyvat. The domain Midsummer Courtyard, which has the Thundering Fury set, tells us the Sommernachtgarten was buried underground.

The domain is located in Starfell Valley. It's nearby Starfell Lake and Starsnatch Cliff. Starfell Lake is said to have been formed by a fallen star.

Fischl is also equated to a star that fell down. Notably, in F's birthday letters, and in Legend of the Shattered Halberd.

Birthday Letter: Day of Destiny… On the day of a sacred star's descent from the depths of the night sky into this realm, I, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, have asked Oz to cross the ocean and bring, me exotic treasure.

LotSH Vol. 1 The story was that an iron meteorite had fallen from the sky five or six years ago, and convention dictated that as nature's treasure it belonged to the imperial family.

Starsnatch Cliff is the only place where Cecilia flowers grow. These flowers have a triquetra shape, which is similar to Kaeya's passive talent Glacial Heart. Kaeya has been featured with these flowers in his birthday arts, and even invites the Traveler to go see the flowers with him.

Alice: With enough bombs placed in proper positions, even huge cliffs like Starsnatch would crumble into dust in a second. With flatter terrain, Mondstadt would surely look much nicer. But that unctuous Cavalry Captain rejected my proposal instantly. He even asked me to stay away from Starsnatch Cliff.

Furthermore, when Alice proposed to blow Starsnatch Cliff up, Kaeya denied her request and warned her to never go near there again… Starsnatch Cliff also overlooks the Nameless Island which is shrouded in mist and invisible on the map.

菲谢尔 = Fischer = Fischl

Fischl's name might be a reference to the Fisher King from Arthurian legends. One name of the Fisher King is Amfortas. In the game Anfortas is the name of the Knight Marshal of the Schwanenritter; he's thee Alberich who stepped up as Regent King when Irmin was indisposed.

Perhaps Fischl was the original "Fisher King" and the kings who came after her, like Irmin and Anfortas, fulfilled her role. …But this would imply Fischl was once the ruler of Khaenri'ah. That would be crazy, right? Right, guys?

PART 2: THE PRINCESS OF JUDGEMENT

When I was analyzing the 8-pointed star, I discovered these 8 points could actually correspond to the Guardians of the Eight Directions in Hinduism.

For some reason, ascension gem stones are named after Hindu gods (with the exception of Electro). This isn't the case in the original Chinese naming however.

Still, I tried to mix and match the gemstones to a direction.

North: Kubera, The God of Fortune -> GEO

South: Yama, The God of Justice and Death -> ???

East: Indra, The Lord of Heaven and God of the Weather, Sky, Rain, and Storms -> ELECTRO

West: Varuna, God of the Seas, Oceans, and Rain -> HYDRO

Northeast: Ishana, God of Birth, Death, Resurrection, and Time -> DENDRO

Southeast: Agni, God of Fire -> PYRO

Northwest: Vayu, God of the Winds and Air -> ANEMO

Southwest: Nirṛta, God of Death, Sorrow, and Decay -> CRYO

Hydro (Varunada), Pyro (Agnidus) and Anemo (Vayuda) gems already have the same names as the Hindu gods so that was easy. The Electro gemstone Vajrada is named after a sword but it belongs to Indra, God of Weather, Rain and Storms.

That just left me with Cryo (Shivada), Geo (Prithiva) and Dendro (Nagadus). Ishana is the God of Birth, so I'll assign him Dendro. Kubera is the God of Fortune which is Geo because Mora.

Now Cryo is a bit puzzling, because it's named after Shiva, who in Java and Bali Hinduism is actually the direction in the center. Some crazy implications here for our buddy the Tsaritsa because Shiva is the God of Destruction within the Trimurti, a trinity of deities. The other two are Brahma, God of Creation and Vishnu, God of Preservation.

In Java Hinduism, Brahma and Vishnu would correspond to the directions Zenith (South) and Nadir (North). Whether this is hinting at something about the nature of the Tsaritsa is unclear. When you see Three Deities you think Moon Sisters, right? However, we can't rule out the possibility that Genshin decided to mix these deities up. Let's just spare ourselves the headache for now and forget about this. This is a Fischl analysis after all.

So instead, let's have a look at the Cryo gemstone's original name in Chinese. The stone is simply called Grieving Ice.

哀叙冰玉: Grieving Ice

Since Nirriti is the God of Sorrow, I decided to assign them Cryo. Now we are left with one deity, Yama: The God of Justice and Death. Well, it can't be Hydro, because we already assigned them to a God. So it has to be someone else.

Fischl's title is the Prinzessin der Verurteilung. Which translates into Princess of Judgement. According to Legend of the Shattered Halberd and F's voicelines, Fischl's role was to act as a judge.

More About Fischl: I To condemn the guilty, to sanctify the just, and to draw all castaway dreams into the embrace of the infinite Immernachtreich. This is the birthright of the Prinzessin der Verurteilung, and her burden. None may gainsay it.

What's interesting is that Fischl uses magical arrows to shoot down the "enemies of fate".

About Us: Shooting Down the World Beast Should this world, like a beast prowling in the night, covet your dreams, then I, Prinzessin der Verurteilung, shall fell it with my ensorcelled arrows of judgment!

Feelings About Ascension: Intro My magic arrow cries out my holy name as it streaks through the night, praying that the violet lightning of retribution shall strike the enemies of fate down from the skies!

On the 8-pointed star, there's an arrow pointing upwards. Kaeya, Clothar and Halfdan's stars on their outfits and even F herself have the arrow pointing downwards.

The achievement you get when you find this door is called "Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here". Which is a reference to the entrance to Hell in Dante's Inferno.

The Immernachtreich is described as a place where all things will eventually flow into. Immernachtreich literally translates into Eternal Night Realm…

Flowers for Princess Fischl: Phantasmagoria Every good, bright and noble thing must eventually fall to inexorable entropic destruction, and the final destination of the universe is the realm-in-waiting of the Prinzessin, Immernachtreich. This is the fate of all worlds, of the universe, and all who live in it.

In the Immernachtreich Apokalypse, Leon calls Fischl the Soteria.

Soteria means salvation, preservation. It's used as an epithet for Persephone and Hecate. Persephone was forcibly made Queen of the Underworld, and Hecate is also known as the Goddess of the Underworld and Witchcraft…

Look, I don't want to claim Fischl was the secret 8th Archon or anything, because lest we forget Khaenri'ah was a godless nation who would've been Fischl's enemies. But why then would Khaenri'ah have this giant star referencing the 8 deities as their emblem in the first place? Seems a bit counterintuitive. I don't have the answers for now, and perhaps the 8th "archon" was simply Irmin. Or maybe it's not even representing a god but an element or a direction.

Regarding Oz, he is a not so subtle reference to Odin/Irmin but is also a reference to the Wizard of Oz. In the first book, it was revealed this wizard was literally just some guy pretending to be powerful. Eventually Oz starts working as an advisor for the true ruler of Oz, Princess Ozma, who is the inspiration behind Fischl. We'll get back to that later.

This Oz's full name is Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs. OZ is actually short for Oscar Zoroaster. Zoroaster is referenced in Flowers for Princess Fischl.

In a distant causality, if the philosopher Zarathustra was not chosen, then the opera writer would have gained victory in the contest over the will of the world.

This does make you wonder if Irmin really was the true ruler of Khaenri'ah and if he even existed the way we believe he did. Perhaps Fischl got Irminsnapped and now everyone believes Irmin was always the One-Eyed King.

Of course this is all my personal speculation and I could be way off here.

Wait, before we move on to next section, I want to point out something that always gets ignored:

Kaeya and Mona, when they cast their bursts, summon the same 8-pointed star. This is unique to them alone. Could there be a connection between Khaenri'ah and witchcraft? Or is either Kaeya or Mona an outlier?

PART 3: HEXENZIRKEL

In the trailer Mage's Teaparty, there are eight witches shown. However, we only know the names of six witches, and there is a chair missing at the table.

There is a slideshow where the figures of the eight witches are shown, minus Andersdottir who is represented by the book The Boar Princess.

Observe the witch on the broom and the little witch. The design of the little witch is similar to the design of a famous fictional character who got pulled into another world: Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz books.

Dorothy is illustrated as having twin tails and wearing a farm girl dress. Dorothy's character was influenced by the character Alice, from the Wonderland books.

Originally I assumed Alice Genshin might be based on book Alice. However, it's the Narzissenkreuz quest that's based on the Wonderland books and Mary-Ann who takes the role of Alice.

With that in mind, could Alice Genshin actually be more of a Dorothy inspired character instead?

Now, Dorothy had a very good friend, called Princess Ozma. Ozma seems to be the inspiration behind Fischl.

So who is Ozma? I only have the Wiki to go on because I'm not about to read 40 books, but by the sound of it, Ozma is the current ruler of the realm of Oz. She is the daughter of a human king and a Fairy Queen. Her mother Lurline was the one who created Oz and turned it into a Fairy country.

Ozma took it one step further and separated Oz entirely from the outer realms making it invisible to outsiders. Everyone who enters Oz never ages.

If you're an F main I'm sure you know by now Fischl created another universe and founded paradise.

Now I want you to take a look at the witches portrayed in these circles. There are two witches holding a sphere. In F's cutscene from the Summertime Odyssey event, she is also holding a sphere which contains the Immernachtreich which you can see in the header image of this post and below.

You might think a glowing sphere represents a crystal ball to scry in, but that poses a problem since known prophet Barbeloth is probably represented by the witch holding a waterdrop, which is Hydromancy. So the glowing sphere might not necessarily mean a prophetess.

As for the identity of the other witch with the globe, I believe this could be Alice, since she was the one who created the domain/dreamscape of the Veluriyam Mirage. It could also be Rhinedottir who is creating something in a flask.

So Orb = Domain/Realm/Creation

Furthermore F's specialty food is Die Heilige Sinfonie, which has a Magic Hexagram painted on top… (Die Heilige Sinfonie translates into The Holy Symphony.) As mentioned before, the Sommernachtgarten could only be created by someone with great magical powers…

Magic Circles is Ceremonial or Arcane Magic, and according to a note left by Master Ruggiero in Bravais' study, Arcane Arts originated from a pre-Remurian civilization.

So someone must have taught humans magic. Might sound obvious, but it begs the question of WHO?

PART 4: FREYJA

To answer this question we need to dip our toes into Norse mythology. As you know, Odin is Irmin.

There was a war between two groups of gods: the Aesir and the Vanir.

Eventually they had enough and decided to exchange hostages as a peace offering. The goddess Freyja, originally part of the Vanir, joined the Aesir which would be Odin's group. As a sacrificial priestess, she was the one who taught the Aesir dark magic, which included seeing into the future. The implication here then is that Odin was taught black magic by Freyja.

This magic is known as seiðr. Seiðr is derived from *soi-to- which means rope/string. The distaff, a tool used for spinning wool, is associated with dark magic. There are images of women riding distaffs as a broom, similar to a witch riding a broomstick. To quote the Wiki: "In any case, the string relates to the "threads of fate", that the Nornir spin, measure, and cut. " Wait, that sounds familiar:

F, joining the party voice line: The threads of your fate lie in my hands!

Scholars suspect Freyja is the same person as Gullveig who was involved in the Aesir-Vanir war. Gullveig was attacked by the Aesir with spears; she died and was reborn three times. When Fischl tried to visit the Kingdom of Eternal Twilight she was also attacked by its people and "shed her blood on the sacred emblem" whatever that means. It was Oz who saved her, pledging his loyalty to her.

Freyja sometimes is conflated with another goddess named Frigg. There has been much debate whether or not these two goddesses stem from the same deity. Frigg is part of the Aesir and usually Odin's wife.

I mention this because in the book Hex and Hound, one of the characters is named after Frigg: Nottfrigga. This book is about two twin witches sharing the same body. In the book we find out that they were the daughters of a powerful witch, but witches are unable to keep more than one offspring of the same generation. This led to Nottfrigga's twin sister Magdalene eventually dying, and her using magic to sustain her sister inside a magic bracelet.

In Norse mythology, Nott is the personification of night. Nott's father is named Narfi. This really got my attention, because Fischl's full name is Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort. (Fischl of the Castle in the Sky Narfidort.)

In the Hexenzirkel teaser, every witch is represented by a teacup (or in the case of Andersdottir, an inkbottle) but the saucer next to Nicole's teacup is empty. Since this saucer belongs to the same teaset this could mean one of the missing witches is Nicole's twin sister or a relative.

So what could Fischl's role be in all this? Perhaps she's one of the twin sisters, or their mother. Perhaps she's even an ancestor. ...Or completely unrelated to them and I'm full of shit.

PART 5: THE HARBINGERS

F's theme shares a leitmotief with the Fatui Harbingers theme.

F's theme: Sieh an, mein Sommernachtgarten! Signora's theme: Saltatio Favillae

Obviously this means Fischl is Capitano.

Composers don't do these things by accident. This is hinting at something. Either Fischl is connected to the Harbingers, was/is one of the Harbingers, or she is indeed the Tsaritsa.

Which is not as crazy as it sounds.

In Legend of the Shattered Halberd, Fischl possessed someone else's body. And if she is Freyja's equivalent, who died three times, then it's possible she could've been reborn as someone else. In the book, it was Mir who summoned Fischl into Weiyang's body and sacrificed his eye to appease her. Pierro is working for the Tsaritsa and has his right eye covered for reasons unknown. Having been a royal mage who would have had access to Khaenri'ah's restricted library, perhaps it was Pierro who summoned Fischl into the Tsaritsa's body.

The Tsaritsa is collecting the seven Gnoses, Fischl had to collect seven of the nine Ominous Swords to repair the Divine Halberd, which would be herself. She already had two of them in her possession… Could also be that the Tsaritsa is trying to revive her. This would imply Fischl is the Third Descender. Since she came from another world, this is not impossible.

The Fisher King, Fischl's possible namesake, was struck with a wound that could only be healed by a "pure fool" who would ask him the right question. ...Fatui is Latin for fools. If the Tsaritsa really is/is possessed by Fischl, then creating an organization of fools starts to make sense: the fools are her saviors.

This could also connect to the empty 10th seat within the Harbingers. The vacant spot could be a reference to the Siege Perilous, which was an empty seat reserved for the one successful in obtaining the Holy Grail by way of saving the Fisher King.

Usually this is accomplished by Percival, who later finds out his mother is the sister of the Fisher King. In the story, Percival keeps failing to return to the kingdom of the Holy Grail since it is an otherworldly place. Does that not remind you of Kaeya trying to find Khaenri'ah but failing halfway through?

Going back to Princess Ozma, an evil witch cast a spell on her that turned her into a little boy named Tippetarius. This was done to prevent Ozma from ascending to the throne. Tip was unaware of his true identity until he was transformed back into Ozma.

tippet /tĭp′ĭt/ noun A covering for the shoulders, as of fur, with long ends that hang in front.

As noted in The Marvelous Land of Oz, Chapter 23, Tip has brown colored skin.

…Kaeya, blink twice if you need help.

As a staunch hater of things that don't make sense, I highly doubt this means Kaeya is Fischl; the game would never go there. Perhaps being "Fischl" is simply hinting towards the fact that he will become one of the Fisher Kings.

That would certainly explain this random hangout ending.

Now, here's where things get really crazy.

Remember Anfortas? The Knight Marshal of the Schwanenritter who took over as regent after Irmin became indisposed? At the time of writing, Anfortas's fate remains unknown.

As said before, Anfortas is the name of the Fisher King in Arthurian legends. Fischl's name might've been a nod to that.

But it gets weirder.

T.S. Eliot's poem The Waste Land combines Arthurian legends with the legend of the Fisher King. In it, he associates the Fisher King with the tarot card Three of Staves.

The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

…We have seen this symbol somewhere before. On the constellation wheel of the Fatui Harbingers. By process of elimination this constellation belongs to Il Capitano.

👏🏽👏🏽CONGRATULATIONS CAPITANO YOU ARE KAEYA'S NEXT TOP GRANDPA 🎉

Kidding of course, but I doubt this is a coincidence. This doesn't necessarily mean they are the same person, maybe Capitano simply mindmelded with Anfortas. It's a fantasy game, everything is possible at this point.

Wait a minute… three nails, three deaths… Uhhh maybe Fischl really did turn into Capitano.

👏🏽👏🏽CONGRATULATIONS CAPITANO YOU ARE PRINCESS DIANA'S NEXT REINCARNATION 👸🏼

PART 6: THE THIEF AND THE MAGE

Alright, for this section I want us to keep in mind the following things:

Fischl is a fallen star

Fischl may have been a mage

Fischl could be connected to Irmin and thus Khaenri'ah

The play of the Veluriyam Mirage is written by Zosimos. This play stars Kaeya as a Thief, Klee as a Mage and Idyia as a last minute heroine added to the story.

You see, Zosimos originally wanted to write a story based on rumors he'd heard about a thief and a mage. This means the play might not be entirely fictional. The problem is that Zosimos combined Idyia's backstory with the story of the Thief and the Mage, making it hard to tell which bits belong to Thief's story.

We know at least that Alice was the mage who helped Idyia. But what about the Mage who helped the Thief? Who was she? Could it have been Alice or someone else?

For that we need to consider the character Kaeya was playing. It's unknown who he is, but if Klee was playing her mom then it stands to reason Kaeya must've been playing someone connected to him. Before you get excited, this does not necessarily mean someone related to him by blood. Could also just be someone from Khaenri'ah. Heck, we don't even know the gender of the mage, for all we know they could've been a man.

Now, the soundtrack that plays during Kaeya's part is called Towers of Afrasiab. This name has come up before. In the play of Kaeya's hangout, the character he plays opposite of is called Frasiyav. The location of the Khaenri'ahn door is called Hangeh Afrasiyab.

I personally suspect Afrasiyab is either Irmin or the founder of Khaenri'ah.

Afrasiyab is a character from the Persian epic, the Shahnameh. Afrasiyab lived in an underground iron palace held up by hundreds of columns. (If you look at the architecture in Hangeh Afrasiyab, you'll see little reliefs of men holding up a ceiling above them.) Afrasiyab lacked the divine royal glory known as Khvarena and was obsessed with obtaining it. In the play they say Frasiyav lost because he lacked the blessing of god…

I mean it can't get any more obvious than that. So this could mean the dude from Kaeya's hangout was Irmin. Which does raise a bunch of questions, such as who is the identity of the Prince in this play? And why were they at war?

Should be noted in the hangout's play, Frasiyav offered hostages as a peace offering. Kind of reminds me of the war between the Aesir and Vanir… Also, Kaeya's character Prince Qubad is based on Siyavash who eventually married into Afrasiyab's family…

Towers of Afrasiyab then could refer to Khaenri'ah. In the Veluriyam play, the Thief is also from a dark realm. I hesitate making the assumption that this guy is Irmin or Kaeya's pirate grandpa so I will refer to him as simply the Thief.

In the play, the Thief witnesses a shooting star falling from the sky and follows it. However, what he finds is not a star but a young woman. Well, we know Fischl was also a star that fell down. And we know Fischl visited the Kingdom of Eternal Twilight and got bodied for her efforts. Oz took her under his wings and saved her life.

If the Thief encountered the Mage this way it would explain why the Mage helped him as a way to repay him. Perhaps the Mage taught him Arcane arts or helped him protect the "Dark Realm", who knows?

If this Mage really was Fischl and the Thief someone connected or related to Kaeya it would explain why Fischl and Kaeya seem to be connected.

About Kaeya F: His nature is obscure, his fate a mystery, and his speech a vexing tapestry woven of both fact and fiction… Perhaps he and I share the burden of mystical sight…

About Fischl Kaeya: Hmm? You think Fischl having one eye covered is very fitting given her title of Prinzessin der Verurteilung. Hahaha, if that's the case, that must also make me a descendant of some kind of former royal lineage, no?

Furthermore, in Legend of the Shattered Halberd, Fischl's partner in crime, the man who summoned her, is named Mir. This is a reference to Mimir, the severed head from Norse mythology who acted as an advisor to Odin.

Mr. Nine states Fischl was attracted to Mir… and that Oz was more of a familiar of Fischl.

In Wagner's opera Der Ring des Nibelungen, Mimir is known as Mime, the brother of Alberich.

....😮‍💨

Well, I have to say, even after all of that, I am completely stumped. If anyone knows what's going on, let me know, because I for one would love to know WHAT'S GOING ON FOR ONCE. GIVE IT UP FOR KNOWING WHAT'S GOING ON

#genshin impact #princess fischl #kaeya alberich #lore bytes #.txt

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honey-beann · 7 months

Note

🐾

🐾 - Pet names

Thanks for the drabble request, anon! I hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing something this lighthearted :)

Also I totally went over the word count here but since it took me less than an hour I've decided no one can question or judge me about this >:)

Honeyed Words (I'm Yours)

rk boys (Nines, Connor, Sixty) x Reader

Word Count: 1,849 (yeah... I know)

Leaning forward against the back of Hank's sofa with your arms folded over one another, you couldn't help but roll your eyes and fight back a sigh at the sight of the movies that Gavin, Tina, and Chris were saving to tonight's potential watch list.

"All rom coms? Seriously guys?"

You scoffed, watching as Gavin all but sneered in response, turning slightly to face you as you continued.

"Come on dude, where's your Halloween spirit?"

You teased, nudging him with your knuckles gently as he rolled his eyes at your antics, clearly far less amused than you were.

"It's September 23rd, don't you talk to me about Halloween until the month is over."

Groaning, you flung your body to the side, pressing your spine against the back of the couch and extending your arms straight out to either side of you as you pouted exaggeratedly,

"C'mon Reed, do you have to be such a stickler for seasonal deadlines?"

Instead of responding, your coworker just flipped you off, opening his mouth to call into the kitchen where all three of your boyfriends and their familiarly gruff father figure were standing around like divorcees at a barbecue.

"Hey robo cops, could you please come get your feral creature before I put it down myself?!"

He shouted, a smirk crossing his features when you pulled away from the couch to glare at him, already hearing the familiar sound of slightly swishing fabric and nearly silent footsteps that signaled the oncoming arrival of one of your partners.

"Y'know Reed, if you're really so worried about her being feral, you could consider getting a rabies shot. You've been looking a little sickly lately."

Sixty countered easily in response to your coworker's previous quip as he flung his arm across your shoulders, pulling you against him with a slight smirk.

You smiled at his easy embrace, nearly vibrating with joy as he kissed the top of your head, smiling down at you with that lopsided grin that always made you feel so giddy inside.

"Oh fuck off bullet brain, you're the one who let her do three shots of tequila tonight, don't act like I'm not allowed to be annoyed by her weird ass antics."

Sixty hummed in response, clearly feeling no urge to argue as he began guiding you towards the kitchen.

"C'mon Sugar, lets get some real food in you hmm?"

He purred against the shell of your ear, instantly lighting your cheeks on fire both with his proximity and his use of one of his favorite pet names for you, which never failed to give you butterflies.

As you grew closer to the dining area, he pressed gently on the small of your back to urge you past the threshold, though clearly you were a bit more tipsy than he'd realized, because you absolutely would've toppled over if not for the pair of familiarly strong hands that caught you by your shoulders.

You looked up slightly, taking in the sight of pale arms dotted with freckles that were barren of sleeves all the way up until just above the elbow, kept in place solely by the incredibly thorough job this individual had done while rolling them upward.

And that could only be...

"Nines."

You breathed out softly, feeling yourself melt a bit as you looked up into his eyes.

After well over a year of affection from all three of your partners, you just never got used to the way they all looked at you, or the sweet and familiar things they would call you in favor of your name.

And speaking of...

"Well hello there, Darling."

Nines spoke gently, quirking a brow at you in minor amusement as he looked you over for any signs of injury just in case he'd missed something during your brief fall.

You felt your cheeks grow warmer as the sound of his affectionate pet name for you passed his lips, making you melt even further beneath his persistent gaze.

"I uh, got kicked out of the living room."

You explained quietly, watching as Nines tilted his head slightly in response before looking towards Sixty, who shrugged before taking a few steps closer and placing his palm on top of your head affectionately.

"Gavin wasn't impressed at her input regarding tonight's films of choice. I figured if she was being that disruptive she likely needed something to eat. Isn't that right, Sweetheart?"

You blushed harder as yet another pet name passed his lips, but nodded nonetheless, hoping they hadn't noticed just how much you enjoyed it when they spoke of you so sweetly.

Of course, they had long since noticed your reactions, in fact, it was almost a bit of a game now to see who could get you to blush the hardest with affectionate nicknames alone.

Not that they would ever tell you that.

"Is that so?"

Nines questioned gently, his hand raising to your face to push a stray hair of yours behind your ear before his thumb and index finger trailed down to your chin, which he caught with ease between the two, tilting your face upwards to make sure you were looking at him as he spoke.

"Have you been up to no good, Little one?"

He all but purred, making you squeak a bit in response as you attempted to find words that just wouldn't come.

Thankfully though, you did have one saving grace, and his name was Connor.

"Are you two tormenting her again?"

He asked as he stepped away from the stove, wiping his hands off on a nearby dish rag before he moved closer to you, offering his open arms for you to all but leap into, happy to have the opportunity to hug the one android who you hadn't gotten the chance to be affectionate with since before you'd even arrived at the house earlier.

Sixty scoffed at Connor's question, but Nines simply gave a dismissive hum, leaning back against the counter and watching as you nuzzled against his predecessor's chest with a content sigh.

Meanwhile, Connor glared at his successors with mock disappointment, hoping to appease you and your childish attitude (tipsiness) by offering them a fake scolding.

"You both know better, look at her, she's being perfectly good tonight."

He said pseudo-sternly, smiling down at you with a grin that immediately left you breathless the moment that you looked up and took it in.

God, why were they all so damn beautiful?

At the sight of your eyes meeting his own, Connor leaned down to kiss your forehead, bringing one of his hands up to palm your cheek lovingly as he did so, stroking is softly with his thumb all the while.

He continued this in silence for a few moments before giving you yet another reason to attempt melting into the grout marks in Hank's kitchen floor.

"Don't you worry about them Honey, they're just being difficult because they want to see you squirm."

You swallowed thickly at the familiar and yet still immensely impactful nickname, which never failed to make your heart leap in your chest.

"O-okay."

You whispered, watching as Connor nodded in satisfaction at your response before guiding you back into the waiting arms of your other two android partners, who were watching you with marked amusement.

"I'll bring dinner out to you in just a few minutes."

Connor murmured against the back of your head as he pressed another gentle kiss to it.

"I was thinking you could go pick a comfy spot in the living room for all of us to sit together while you wait though. Does that sound alright, Baby?"

He asked gently, taking you by surprise yet again with his use of another pet name that made you feel like you were left gasping for air.

Still, you managed a floundering nod in spite of yourself, and followed Nines and Sixty out into the living room, where they helped you make a rather comfortable seating area on the floor, one that consisted of two huge bean bags, several couch pillows that no one was using, and at least four big blankets, one of which was for you to lay under.

And with that, the seating arrangements were completed, and all that was left to do was actually use them, which with how dizzy you were beginning to feel from the tequila earlier, was something you were quite eager for.

Nines chuckled as he took a seat a bit further back on one of the beanbags, spreading his legs apart for you to sit in between as he held himself up on his palms so that you could lean against his chest.

This was a fairly normal position for the two of you, but even so, it made your heart race as you felt his firm chest press against your back, solidly holding you up without any issue.

Still, even with this added distraction, your persistent urge to celebrate the upcoming holiday had you complaining to Gavin once more about his list of potential options, although this time you were hoping that at least one of your loving boyfriends would consider helping you out.

Sadly though, they seemed far too amused by your insistence to actually say anything, instead choosing to press gentle kisses against your head and the back of your hand as they laid the blanket over you wordlessly.

"Aww c'mon you guys, do you really wanna watch any of this junk?"

You asked, motioning towards the screen with a grumble of annoyance.

From the left of you, Sixty chuckled and raised your knuckles to his lips without a word.

Nines on the other hand, did speak up, placing a kiss to your cheek just before he did so, a certain level of amusement to his tone that had you squirming between his strong legs.

"I couldn't care less about what we watch, Sweetling."

He murmured against the shell of your ear, immediately causing you to shiver.

"And honestly, I think these are all movies Connor has mentioned wanting to see. Don't you want to make him happy?"

He teased, running a finger up and down your cheek as you nodded almost dreamily, sinking into his touch as if your body were suddenly weighed down by bricks.

"Y-yeah, sure, okay."

You said quietly, hearing Nines hum from above you just as Connor came out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of food to offer you, Hank hot on his heels with a large bowl of popcorn for him and the other couch users to share.

You dug in immediately, not paying any attention to the movie choice debate until it was basically over, and by that point, you were already so sleepy that you hardly realized anyone was talking at all.

Drowsy and more than a little bit intoxicated, you sighed contentedly as you moved to squeeze between Nines and Sixty, allowing Connor to rest his head upon your lap as you played with his hair all the way up until you lost consciousness entirely.

Yeah, okay. Maybe rom com movie nights weren't so bad after all.

I hope you enjoyed this little drabble fic! If you want to request one for yourself feel free to check out this post :)

masterlist

AO3

#drabble requests #blurb requests #dbh x reader fluff #dbh connor x reader oneshot #dbh nines x reader #dbh sixty x reader #dbh x reader #dbh pet names

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layce2015 · 8 months

Text

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Death Takes A Holiday

Masterlist

"No, no, no, you're right, it's definitely weird....Okay, Bobby, thanks." Sam said into his phone as I was typing away on my laptop and Dean was messing with the jukebox. "What's up?" I asked Sam as he hangs up and Dean comes over and sits down.

"Bobby found something in Wyoming." Sam said. "A job?" Dean and I asked, in unison. "Maybe." said Sam as Dean takes a bite of his burger. "Small town, no one's died in the past week and a half." Sam said and I give him a confused look.

"That so unusual?" Dean asked. "Well, it's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch." Sam explains and I type on my laptop and do some story search in Wyoming. "Capped in the ass?" Dean asked and I found what Sam was talking about.

"Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter." I paraphrased as I read the article while Dean keeps eating. "And he's not a doughnut?" Dean asked, muffled, as his mouth was full of burger. "Honey, don't talk with your mouth full. It's not attractive." I remarked, not looking at him as I continue to read the article, and I hear Sam let out a small chuckle

"Locals are saying it's a miracle." I added as I look over at the boys and see Dean swallowing the bit of burger that was in his mouth. "Okay." he said. "It's got to be something nasty, right? I mean, people making deals or something." Sam said and I consider this for a moment.

"You think?" Dean asked Sam. "What else would it be?" Sam asked. "I don't know." Dean said, shaking his head. "With our luck it could be anything." I said. "All right." Sam said as he grabs his bag and I shut my laptop and put it in my bag. "Get that to go." Sam said to Dean, nodding at his burger.

Dean looks down and doesn't move. "Come on." Sam said as he and I stand up, picking up our bags. But Dean doesn't move except to continue to chew his food as he takes another bit.

"What?" Sam asked as he swings his bag over his shoulder. Dean looks up and keeps chewing, then glances away and back. "Sure you want me going with you?" he asked Sam with a sneer and I frown. "Why wouldn't I?" Sam asked. "I don't want to be holding you back or nothing." Dean spat.

After the whole deal with the siren, it's been like walking on eggshells with these two and here I am, trying to keep the peace as best as I can. "Dude, I've told you a hundred times, that was the siren talking, not me." Sam said, exasperated, but Dean still glares up at him.

I sigh at this then said. "Dean...do you regret on not killing me when you got back from Hell?" Dean's eyes widen at this since I threw what he said to me in his face. "No, of course not. I told you I didn't mean it!" Dean said. "Okay...you didn't mean it, I get it. You were under the siren's spell. And so was Sam, so he also didn't mean what he said. So...Can we please get past this?" I asked him and Dean stares at me then looks down and puts down the burger.

"Yeah, we're past it." He grumbles and he brushes off his hands.

"Now, you two said you were bloggers?" Jim asked us as the boys and I were sitting at his dining room table. "Yes, sir. Floored by the Lord dot com." Sam said. "All of God's glory fit to blog." Dean said, grinning, and I roll my eyes, slightly, at this

"Um. Some of the people around town are saying what happened to you was a miracle." I said to Jim. "It was. Plain as day." he replied. "How can you be so sure?" Sam asked him. "How else do you explain it? The doctors can't. There's a bullet in my heart, and it's pumping like a piston." Jim said.

"Well, how do you explain it?" Dean asked Jim, who hesitates. He looks over at his daughter, who was in the other room with her mother. "Look, honestly. I was nobody's saint—not exactly father of the year, either." Jim said. "Okay." Dean and I said, curiously. "But when that guy shot me and I didn't bleed a drop? I just knew the Lord was giving me a second chance." Jim said.

"That so?" Dean asked. "I had this feeling—like angels were watching over me." Jim said then he pauses and I nod at him. I wouldn't expect you guys to understand." he said. "Well, we'll just have to try." I said.

"You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?" Sam asked Jim. "No." Jim replied, confused. "Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?" Sam asked and Jim leans forward. "Who'd you guys say you were again?" he asked and the boys and I share a look.

"Never mind. Thank you for your time." Dean said as he gets up and leaves, Sam and I follow him.

That night, the boys and I were at the cemetery in front of a gravestone of a young boy, where we arranged five candles around a cloth, which had a pentacle drawn on it, that was spread over the grave. Sam puts a bundle of sticks in the center of the pentacle while Dean sits on another gravestone and flips through John's journal, I stand behind him looking over his shoulder at John's journal.

"You sure this is gonna work?" Dean asks and Sam and I look up. "No. But if his spirit's around, this should smoke him out." Sam said as he pours something into a bowl then Dean closes the journal.

"What?" Sam asked him. "This job is jacked, that's what." said Dean. "How so?" Sam asked. "You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse, hey, let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dropping dead. Good people." Dean exclaims and Sam stands up.

"Look, I don't want them to die, either, Dean, but there's a natural order." Sam said and I turn to him. "You're kidding, right?" I said, disbelieving. "What?" he asked. "You don't see the irony in that? I mean, Dean and I, we're like the poster couple of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death." I said. "Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" Sam pointed out.

"We're no different than anybody else." Dean said. "(Y/n) and I are infected with demon blood. You've been to hell." Sam said and Dean looks away. "Look, I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber, Dean, but you're not. Neither am I and neither is (y/n). The sooner you accept that, the better off you're gonna be." Sam said and I raise an eyebrow at Sam. "Ah, Joe the Plumber was a douche." I said and Dean chuckles and Sam gives us an exasperated look. "You two gonna help me finish this?" he asked and Dean stands up.

"Hey!" A voice shouts and we look towards the voice to see a man carrying a flashlight. "What are you doing here?" he asked and the three of us stand there like a deer on headlights.

"Just take it easy." Sam tries to assure the man as I glance at Dean. "What the hell is this?" The man asked us, angrily. "Okay, this—this—this is not what it looks like." I said, letting out a small laugh. "Really? 'Cause it looks like devil worship." the man accuses. "What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This—This is—this—this is, uh—" Dean stammers then he gives up. "I don't have a good answer." he said.

"We're leaving." said Sam. "You're not going anywhere." the man said and Sam and I frown as the man takes a few steps forward. "Ever again. Sam. (Y/n)." He said then he looks at Dean and his eyes go white. "Alastair." Dean said, shocked, as Alastair's eyes go back to human.

"I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy." Dean said. "Nah. Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife's still looking for him. It's hilarious. Anyway." Alastair said then he looks at me and Sam while I glare at the man, anger boiling in my chest.

"No time to chat. Got a hot date with death." He said and he flicks his hand and Dean goes flying across the graveyard and collides with the gravestone. "Dean!" Sam and I shout, panicked, and Alastair turns to me and I raise my hand to try and use my power but it only made Alastair stumble back a bit.

"A bit better but...still weak." Alastair said and he flicks his hand and I go flying and everything goes black.

*3rd Person POV*

"(Y/N)!" Sam shouts as (y/n) hits a different gravestone and collapses. Alastair turns to him and flicks his hand but nothing happens. Alastair tries again but again nothing and Sam smirks. "You're stronger, Sam. You've been soloflexing with your little slut?" Alastair asked him. "You have no idea." Sam growls then he flicks his hand and Alastair goes flying.

Sam raises a hand to exorcise him but Alastair flees the man's body. Sam drops his hand, surprised, and watches the smoke vanish.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I was sitting in a chair, my head leaned back, with a ice pack on my forehead and my eyes closed. Dean was laying on a bed also holding an ice pack to his head. Both of us dealing with probably the worse headache I've ever dealt with.

Then I hear the door opening and close then footsteps. "How you two doing?" Sam's voice asked and I let out a groan. "I'm in pain, that's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion." Dean grumbles. "Or the worst hangover ever." I groaned, jokingly.

"You guys want some aspirin?" Sam asked and I remove the ice pack off of my forehead and raise my head to Sam as Dean sits up. "No thanks, House." said Dean. "I think I'll be okay." I said then I set the ice pack aside then look up at Sam.

"So, demons, huh?" I said and Sam nods. "Yeah. So much for miracles." Sam said, upset. "And what the hell happened with Alastair again?" Dean asked Sam. "I told you, he tried to fling me or whatever." Sam said as he flicks his hand in demonstration as he goes over to the coffeemaker. "And it didn't work, so he bailed." he said and I raise my eyebrow at this.

"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time. Hell, he chucked me and I also have the demon blood in me." I pointed out and Sam turns to face me but pauses before answering. "Got no idea." he said then he turns back to the coffeemaker, then back to me and Dean when Dean starts speaking.

"Sam, do me a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me or (y/n) like idiots, okay?" Dean said. "What? Dean, I'm not keeping secrets." he said, a bit defensive. "Mm-hm. Whatever." Dean grumbles and I sigh.

"So, did you go back and q-and-a the dead kid?" I asked him, changing the subject, and Sam comes over to the other bed, holding up a thin notebook. "Didn't have to. Bobby called. He did some digging." he said. "And?" Dean and I asked. "He thinks I'm right. Local reaper's gone. Not just gone—kidnapped." Sam said.

"By demons? Why?" Dean asked. "Listen to this." Sam said and he reads from the notebook. "And he bloodied death under the newborn sky—sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured." he said. "Swanky. What the hell's that mean?" asked Dean. "Well, it's from a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations." Sam said.

"Which means what I think it means?" I asked him. "Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon—tomorrow night, by the way—you got yourself a broken seal." Sam said. "How do you ice a reaper? You can't kill death." Dean said, questioning. "I don't know. Maybe demons can. Where the hell are the angels is what I want to know. We could use their help for once." Sam said and Dean sighs. "It looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one ourselves." he said and I turn to him.

"What are we gonna do, just swing in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?" I asked Dean, a bit of sarcasm, and he turns to me. "You got a better idea, I'm all ears." he said and I shake my head. "Dean, reapers are invisible. The only people that can see them are the dead and the dying." I said and Dean thinks for moment.

"Well, if ghosts are the only ones that can see them..." he said. "Yeah?" Sam and I said. "Then we become ghosts." Dean said as he puts the icepack back to his head, smirking. "You do have a concussion." Sam said and I laugh. "Sounds crazy, I know." Dean said. "It is crazy." I said and Dean's smile grows. "How?" Sam asked him.

"I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you three are." Pamela said as we lead her into our motel room. "Well, Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes." Sam said as she feels around the counter then the chair. She turns around, lowers her sunglasses far enough to reveal white plastic eyes.

"Aw, that's sweet, grumpy." she said then she puts her sunglasses back. "What do you say to deaf people?" she asked and Dean looks down, I bit my lips while Sam looks uncomfortable.

"Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?" Pamela asked and I point at Dean as he raises a hand. "Yo." he said. "Of course. Chachi." Pamela grumbles and Dean turns to me and Sam and mouths 'Chachi?' Sam and I shrug.

"So, let's be clear. You want to rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world?" Pamela asked. "Apparently." I said. "Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?" Pamela asked as she folds her arms.

"Maybe, but that's where the reaper is, so..." Dean started to say. "So, it's nuts." Pamela said. "Not if you know what you're doing." Dean said. "You don't know what you're doing." Pamela pointed out. "No, but you do." Dean said and Pamela smiles a bit. "Yeah, I do. And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser crap." she said.

"Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one, watching Judge Judy, too." Dean said. "Nice. More blind jokes?" Pamela said, a bit offended. "You know what I mean. We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing." Dean said and pauses for a moment before he adds. "We need your help."

Later, Sam closes the curtains while Dean flicks closed a lighter and drops it on the table next to some of the several candles burning around the motel room. I bring one of the candles over to a bedside table, shielding the flame with one hand. Pamela is sitting on a chair between the beds. "Tell me something, geniuses. Even if you do break into the veil and you find the reaper, how you gonna save it?" she asked as Sam closes the curtains on another window. "With style and class." Dean replied.

"You're gonna be three walking pieces of fog who can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, hotshot." She said. "I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us." I said and Pamela scoffs a bit. "Yeah, well, they had plenty of time to practice." she said. "Well, then, I guess we got to start cramming." Dean said.

"Wow, three heroes. All right." She said and she pats one of the beds. "Lie down. Close your eyes." she instructs us.

*3rd Person POV*

Later, Sam was lying on one bed while Dean and (y/n) were laying next to each other on the other bed while Pamela sits in a chair between the beds. "Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis. Okay, guys. That's it. Showtime." Pamela said and he sits up as the room goes from full color to shades of blue.

"Well, nothing like shooting blanks. What's plan B?" Dean asked as he looks at Pamela but she doesn't respond. He looks at Sam, lying on the other bed, then on his right to see (y/n) laying next to him then over one shoulder at Sam and (y/n), standing.

Sam spreads his hands and Dean looks over his other shoulder at himself, unconscious on the bed. "Oh, I'm so feeling up Demi Moore." Dean jokes and (y/n) glares at him. "Fine, as long as I get to feel up Johnny Deep." (Y/n) said and Dean glares back at her and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"All right, so, I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow. Remember I have to bring you back." Pamela said and she stands and goes over to Sam. Dean and (y/n) watches her. "I'll whisper the incantation in your ear." she said and she leans over Sam to do exactly that. "You have got a great ass." she whispers and Sam grins.

"What'd she—" Dean started to ask and he looks over at Sam. "What'd she say?" he asked and Sam shrugs.

Later, the trio walk along the street, looking around. Everything is still shaded blue. A car goes past and a jogger goes right through Sam without noticing. Dean and (y/n) laughs as they watching her go. Then they turn back to Sam.

"That was wild." Dean said and Sam looks at him, incredulous. (y/n) shakes her head then Dean sticks his arm into (y/n)'s chest up to the elbow. (y/n) looks down at it, then up at Dean, unimpressed.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Dean asked, smiling. "Get out of me." (y/n) said to him. "Huh, that's something you've never said to me before." Dean said as he pulls his arm back and (y/n) narrows her eyes at him while Sam places a hand over his eyes and shakes his head. "Sam, remind me, when this is over, to slap your brother." (Y/n) said. Dean scoffs and starts to walk away. "Come on." he calls out to them and they follow him.

"Oh, man, we've been spooking this town for hours. No demons, no black smoke." Dean said as they walk up to a house and (y/n) looks up and to the right. "Hey. Three o'clock. Kid in the window." She said and the boys look up to see a young boy looking out an upstairs window at them.

"Am I crazy or is he looking at us?" Sam asked. "It's 'cause we've seen him before." Dean said and Sam turns to Dean. "We have?" he asked. "Newspaper. Cole Griffith, the last person to die in this town." (y/n) said as Cole flickers and vanish. The trio share a look.

Mrs Griffith, Cole's mother, opens the door to a bedroom and comes in, looking around. "Cole?" she calls out as she wraps her bathrobe tighter. "It's Mom. Your dad thinks I'm crazy. Are you here? A picture frame fell over. I could have sworn it was you, baby. Are you still here with me?" she asked while a soccer ball is sitting on the dresser. It starts spinning and she stares it. Then the ball flies past her and bounces off the door. Mrs Griffith puts her hands to her head.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaims and she leaves the room, going through trio. Cole was standing by the dresser and he throws more balls.

"Stop! How are you doing that?" Dean asked him and Cole looks at him. "Who are you?" Cole asked the trio. "Relax, Cole. It's okay." (y/n) said, soothingly. "How do you know my name?" Cole asked her. "Look, this isn't gonna be easy to hear, but...you're—dead. You're a spirit. Us too." Sam explains and Dean and (y/n) glance at Sam.

"Yeah, thanks, Haley Joel. I know I'm dead. What do you want?" Cole asked, sarcastically. "We just want to talk." (y/n) said to him. "About what?" Cole asked.

Later, the trio and Cole were sitting in the kitchen while Mrs Griffith pours herself a glass of vodka and takes a sip. COLE is leaning on the wall watching her. The Winchesters and (y/n) were sitting at the table whole Cole was leaning against the wall, watching his mom.

"I was outside all morning. They tell you to be careful when it's cold." Cole said as he looks over at the trio. "Cold air can cause an asthma attack?" Dean asked and Cole nods, shrugging. "But then I was in my room. It happened so fast. I called out for my mom, but nothing came out. Everything started spinning, and then I was just standing there, looking down at my body." Cole said as he leans on the table.

"And that's when you saw the man?" Sam asked him. "Creepy old guy in a black suit. He wanted me to go with him, but..." Cole stops and looks over at his mother. "I didn't want to go." he said and (y/n) looks over at the brothers. "Reaper." she whispers and they nod then (y/n) turns to Cole.

"How'd you get rid of him?" she asked the kid. "I didn't. The black smoke did." Cole said. "Black smoke?" Dean asked with a confused look. "It was everywhere. I hid in the closet, and when I came out, it was gone, and so was he." Cole explained and Dean leans forward. "Do you know where the smoke went?" Dean asked him. "No. But I know where it is." Cole said.

Suddenly, the lights start flickering causing Cole to jump. Dean and (y/n) look up while Mrs Griffith looks around. "They're back." Cole said, fearfully. "Who?" Dean asked but Cole vanishes.

The trio look around just as a blast of wind hits them in the face. Something white and human-shaped goes through the room and up the stairs. "Another reaper." Sam said and they get up and go to the stairs.

"Hey! Hey! Wait! We need to talk to you!" Dean calls out to the figure. A woman descends the stairs: it's Tessa. "Dean." she greets and Sam and (y/n) glance at Dean, who is still confused.

"Do I know you?" Dean asked and Tessa nods. "We go way back." she said.

Tessa goes into the kitchen, the boys and (y/n) follow her, and she turns around. "You don't remember me?" Tessa asked Dean. "Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time I heard a girl say that...You're gonna have to freshen my memory." Dean said then Tessa steps forward, reaches up, and pulls Dean down into a kiss.

(y/n) was shocked by this and glares at the woman then clears her throat and Tessa pulls away. "Sorry, it's the only way he'd remember me." She said and Dean stares at her for a moment. "Tessa." he said, his voice full of recognition. "That's one of my names, yeah." she said.

"So, you do know her." (y/n) said the Dean. "From the hospital after the accident." Dean said. "The accident with Dad?" Sam asked and Dean nods. "So, this is the reaper that came after you." (y/n) said. "Yeah." Dean said and Tessa turns to look at Sam and (y/n).

"Well, this was fun." She said then she turns back to Dean. "Now, if you'll excuse me—" she said as she moves to turn away but Dean stops her. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, you can't—you can't take the kid." he said. "Why?" she asked him as she turns to him.

"Demons are in town, that's why. They've already snatched your reaper pal. The kid knows where." Dean said. "So?" Tessa said. "So, you should shag ass. For all we know, they could try and snatch you, too." (y/n) said to her. "Except that this town is off the rails." Tessa said as Mrs Griffith comes out of the dining room, picks something off a side table, puts up her hair, and leaves.

"And someone has to set it straight." Tessa said. "Yeah, we understand that, but these are special circumstances." Dean tells her. "What? Your whole angel-demon dance-off? I could care less. I just want to do my job." Tessa said, annoyed.

"Right, yeah, and, look, we want to help you do your job. So, if you would just bail town—" Sam tries to explain but Tessa shakes her head. "No." she said, firmly. "Well, then, could you hold off until we fix this? Please." Dean said and Tessa sighs. "All right, but just so we're clear, when I start reaping again, I'm starting with the kid." she said

"Understood. (Y/n) and I'll find him." Sam said and he and (y/n) turn to go upstairs. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. What—What are you gonna say to him?" Dean asked them as they turn to him. "Whatever we have to." Sam said and he and (y/n) leave up the stairs while Dean and Tessa watch them go.

Sam and (y/n) enter Cole's room and look around then Sam noticed Cole was sitting inside the closet. "This all must be pretty overwhelming, huh? Pretty scary, too." Sam asked as he sits down next to the open closet and (y/n) kneels down to Cole.

"The worst is my mom." Cole said. "Must be hard seeing her like this." (y/n) said and Cole leans out of the shadow. "She's always coming in here, talking to me, telling me how sad she is. I knock some stuff over to let her know I'm here, but...she only gets sadder." Cole said. "Well, you might want to ease up on the flying soccer balls." (y/n) said, chuckling a bit.

"I'm not telling you where the smoke is." Cole said and Sam thinks while (y/n) frowns. "Hey. What if I told you that if you helped us, you wouldn't have to leave here? Ever?" Sam suggested and (y/n) looks over at Sam. "What about the one downstairs?" Cole asked him. "Tessa? Oh, she wouldn't bother you. No reaper would. You could just stay here with your family for as long as you wanted." Sam said and Cole looks at him, surprised.

"You can do that?" He asked Sam. "Yeah, you bet I can do that." Sam said. "You swear?" Cole asked and Sam hesitates. "I swear." he said and Cole looks over at (y/n), as if to confirm what Sam said. And (y/n) nods.

"I'll tell you, life is funny." Tessa said as her and Dean hang around the kitchen. "What do you mean?" Dean asked her. "You and me, together again." she replied. "Are you—are you making a move on me? Cause I gotta tell ya..." he started to say and Tessa shakes her head at him. "You're the one that got away, Dean. You'd be surprised how little that happens to me." She said and Dean looks down.

"Can I tell you something between you and me?" Dean asked her. "Who am I gonna tell?" she asked with a chuckle and he nods. "After our little, uh, experience...for that whole year, I felt like I had this...hole in my gut...like I was missing something. I didn't know what. Do you know what it was?" he asked as Tessa listens.

"It was you. The pain of losing my father and (y/n). I just...I wish I had gone with you for good. But I guess things are different now." Dean said. "What? The angels on your shoulder?" Tessa asked and Dean turns to her. "So, you know about that, huh? Well, hey, don't get me wrong. I mean, most the ones I've met are dicks with wings. But still...You know, I've done things. Horrible things. And someone upstairs still decided to give me a second chance. It just makes me feel...I don't know." he said and Tessa hums at this until they hear someone clearing their throats.

They look over to see Sam, Cole and (y/n) standing at the doorway. "Hey, guys." (y/n) said and Tessa looks over at Cole. "Hey, Cole. I'm Tessa. I'm not going to hurt you." she said and Cole looks between Sam and (y/n).

"It's okay, Cole. Just tell them what you told us." (Y/n) said to him, calmly, and Cole looks over at Tessa and Dean. "I saw the black smoke at my funeral." he said and Sam and (y/n) glance back at Dean.

"At the cemetery?" Dean asked. "At the funeral home. It was everywhere." Cole explained and the lights flicker, making everyone look around. "You doing that?" Dean asked Tessa. "No." she replied as the front door opens. Black smoke pours through, filling the house. Everyone ducks as it pours over them.

When it is gone, everyone looks around only to see Tessq is gone. "Tessa!" Dean shouts and Sam looks at Cole. "Cole, you okay?" he asked the young boy, who nods.

"Well, how the hell are we supposed to fight that?" Dean asked, angrily. "I don't know. Learn some ghost moves?" (y/n) suggested. "By tonight? Yeah, sure. I'll meet you back at Mr. Miyagi's." Dean said, sarcastically, and (y/n) rolls her eyes while Cole asks. "Who's Mr. Miyagi?"

Later, Dean, Cole, Sam and (y/n) stand on the porch as Dean was staring at a miniature windmill. "It's not gonna move if you don't concentrate." Cole points out. "I am concentrating." Dean said and Sam and (y/n) raise their eyebrows.

Dean lets out a breath and glares and the windmill turns a quarter turn. "Ah, here we go, baby." Dean said but the windmill stops and Cole looks at Dean. "You pull a muscle?" he asked and Dean turns to him. "All right, Yoda, let's see what you got." Dean said and Cole looks at the windmill.

It starts spinning and doesn't stop then the porch swing starts swinging and the wind chimes start chiming. Sam and (y/n) laugh a little. "Dude! You are so Amityville." Dean compliments and Cole grins. "This isn't even the good stuff." Cole said.

He takes them into the living room then he punches Sam in the stomach, making Sam fold over. "See? If you want to hit something, you just got to get mad." Cole said as Sam straightens up. "Yeah, got it." Sam said. "Huh? Really?" (Y/n) said then she turns and slaps Dean across the face.

"OW! Sonofabitch!" Dean exclaims, placing q hand over the cheek (y/n) slapped, and Cole laughs. "What the hell?!" Dean asked (y/n). "For the comment you made earlier and for the kiss you had with Tessa." (Y/n) said, chuckling a bit, then she looks over at Cole and winks at him.

Cole laughs then turns to Sam while Dean stares at (y/n). "Fine, okay, I deserve that." He said. "Damn right, you do." (Y/n) said.

"Dude, I'm not gonna do Fight Club with a twelve-year-old." Sam said and Cole whacks Sam in the face. Sam then shakes it off. "All right, cut it out." Sam growls. "Make me." Cole said and he takes another swing but Sam blocks and swings back, Cole vanish.

Dean, Sam and (y/n) look around then Cole reappears out of reach. "Whoa, you got to teach us that." (y/n) said and Cole smiles.

The walls of the funeral home were covered in glowing blue diagrams, mostly six-sided figures, some in circles and some in squares, all with lines through them and squiggles inside the triangles thus formed. Dean, Sam and (y/n) are across the street to the building as pedestrians go by.

"This looks like New Jack City. Can nobody can see this?" Dean asked. "Maybe it's demon invisible ink. Only see it in the veil." Sam suggested. "Any idea what it's for?" (y/n) asked. "We'll find out." Sam said and they head to the funeral home.

The trio enter the building and Sam goes one way around the stairs, Dean the other way and (y/n) turns around and sees something.

In the open space in the middle of the room, there is a square with triangles on each side to form an eight-pointed star, with squiggles at each point. Lying in the figure are Tessa and an old man in a suit, presumably the first Reaper. "Boys!" (Y/n) said in a whisper and her, Sam and Dean come for a closer look.

On the far side of the reaper trap is a Man standing guard. He has not seen the trio and Dean turns to Sam and (y/n). "Dude, check me out." Dean said and he takes a few steps forward and vanishes. He reappears behind the man and taps him on the shoulder; when the Man turns around, Dean punches him in the face.

When the Man straightens up and takes a swing, Dean is gone. The Man looks around: he and the Reapers are the only ones visible. A hand taps the Man's shoulder; this time it's Sam who punches him then (y/n) reappears on the Man's other side and punches. Dean reappears and knees the Man in the chest. The man scrambles away but Dean kicks him.

The Man hides behind the coffin on the dias, the trio follow him up. "You know, this ghost thing, it's, it's kind of rad." Dean said as another man comes out from behind a curtain, carrying a chain and making pained noises.

The first man scrambles over the coffin and out of the way. The second man pulls the chain tight and hooks it to a candle stand. "It's iron." (y/n) said as the man lets go of the chain, his hands are smoking. The trio look around just as the chain surrounds them.

A third man comes into the room. "Boys. Lady. Find the place okay?" the man asked and his eyes roll white...Alastair.

Alastair walks up to the chain as his eyes return to human and oe of the demons hands him a shotgun and leaves. Alastair checks the shotgun, then aims at Dean and fire, disintegrating him. "Rock salt's not so much fun anymore, is it?" Alastair said while Sam and (y/n) glare at him.

"Alastair. You bastard." Dean growls as he reappears. "Well, go on. Why don't you try some of your mojo on me now, hotshot?" Alastair asked as Dean glances at Sam and (y/n), who were both fuming.

"It's hard to get it up when you're not wearing your meat, huh?" Alastair said, smiling. "Go to hell." Sam spat at him. "Ah, if only I could." Alastair said and he turns away, crossing the room. "But they just keep sending me back up to this arctic craphole." he said.

"To kill death?" (Y/n) asked. "No, to kill death twice. It takes two to break a seal. I figured another one would show up, though. They're like lemmings." Alastair said then he pumps the shotgun and fires, making Sam disintegrate. Alastair comes back up to the chain, pumps the shotgun and fires, making (y/n) disintegrate.

"By the way, it's, uh, good to see you again, Dean." Alastair said as he walks up to Dean. "You can shoot us all you want, but you can't kill us." Dean growls as Sam and (y/n) reappear. "Ah, that so?" Alastair asked.

Back at the motel, Pamela is still sitting in the chair between the beds with Dean's, (y/n)'s and Sam's bodies, when something creaks in the room. Pamela looks around and stands up then goes over to the door, bolting and chaining it. A window is open, the curtain blowing.

Alastair is holding a scythe, turning it over in his hands. "Anyhoo..." He said as the boys and (y/n) watch him. "Moon's in the right spot. The board is set. Let's get started, shall we?" Alastair asked, smiling. "You're gonna kill a reaper with that? It's little on the nose, don't you think?" Dean asked him. "Is it? An old friend lent it to me. You know, he doesn't really ride a pale horse? But he does have three amigos." Alastair said as he goes over to the Reapers.

"And they're just jonesing for the apocalypse." He said as he kneels next to the old man Reaper. "It pays to have friends in low places." Alastair said and he grabs the Reaper by the collar and hauls him up. "Don't you think?" Alastair asked then he puts the scythe behind the Reaper's neck.

"Hic cruor messorius, illud sigillum, quod luciferem reverendum obstringit, aperiat ut resurgat!" Alastair chants then pulls the scythe, a White-blue light appear. Alastair lowers the dead Reaper to the floor then straightens up.

Sam looks up and see that there's a chandelier hanging above the reaper trap. Alastair steps over the dead Reaper and grabs Tessa by the shoulder, holding the scythe to her neck. Sam glances between Dean, (y/n) and the chandelier.

"Stop!" Tessa shouts as she was awake. Dean, (y/n) and Sam all stare at the chandelier and concentrates as Alastair said. "Hic cruor messorius illud sigillum, quod luciferem reverendum obstringit aperiat ut resurgat!"

Pamela closes the window and goes into the middle of the room, then approaches a curtain. "I know you're here. What's the matter, you reeking son of a bitch? You afraid of a skirt?" Pamela asked and she rips back the curtain: it's the shower curtain, and the bathroom is empty except for Pamela.

She leaves the bathroom but there is a demon waiting just outside. She senses him and runs to Sam, leaning over him. "Vis, vis, vis!" she said just as the demon grabs her and drags her up. Pamela kicks at him and he grabs her ankle and hauls, kicking the chair away. "Son of a bitch!" she shouts.

As Alastair finishes his incantation, the chandelier shakes then falls and lands on a corner of the reaper trap, breaking it. Tessa vanishes and reappears at the candle stand and unhooks the chain. "Bye-bye." Dean said to Alastair and he, Tessa, Sam and (y/n) vanish.

Moments later, Tessa, Dean and (y/n) appear out on the street outside of the funeral home but Sam doesn't appear. "Where's your brother?" Tessa asked as they look around. "(Y/n) and I will go find him. You get out of here." Dean tells her.

Pamela and the demon fight until she gets loose of the demon and leans over Sam. "Animum vult decipi, ergo—" she whispers but the Demon grabs her and throws her across the room, knocking over candles and the coffeemaker. Pamela sits up just as the Demon pulls out a knife and stabs her in the gut. Sam sits up as the demon pulls out the knife.

"Pamela!" Sam shouts and he raises a hand and flings the demon against the wall. Sam stands and exorcises the demon with his mind and the host slumps to the floor. Sam turns to Pamela and crouches down to her level and Pamela begins to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked her. "I can't die—not in this town." she said as she takes her hand away from the injury, there was no blood. "Pamela—" Sam said. "Quit your worrying, grumpy. How about you make me a drink, huh?" she said to him. "You need a doctor." Sam said and Pamela shakes her head. "Make me a drink, Sam." she said and Sam swallows.

"You don't think Pamela is having problems and that's why Sam is gone?" (Y/n) asked Dean as they walk along the alley, looking around. "You can't run." Alastair's voice said and they look over and see him standing in the alley.

"Dean." Alastair said and Dean stops then pushes (y/n) behind him as Alastair smiles. "Not from me. I'm inside that angsty little noggin of yours. Maybe I should show your little girlfriend what you did." Alastair said as he starts to advance on them, (y/n) grabs Dean's arm.

But then a Blue-white lightning strikes him and he vanishes. "What the hell?" (Y/n) said as Dean looks around. "Guess again." a familiar gruff voice said. Dean and (y/n) turn around and see Castiel standing behind them. "What just happened? You two and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory." Castiel said.

"Well, no thanks to you." Dean spat. "What makes you say that?" Castiel asked and (y/n)'s eyes widen at what he was inferring. "You were here the whole time?" she asked him. "Enough of it." Castiel replied and he looks away.

"Well, thanks for your help with the rock salt." Dean said, sarcastically. "That script on the funeral home—we couldn't penetrate it." Castiel explained. "That was angel-proofing." Dean said.

"Why do you think I recruited you, (y/n) and Sam in the first place?" Castiel asked as he looks between the couple. "You recruited us?" (y/n) asked. "That wasn't your friend Bobby who called, Dean. It wasn't Bobby who told Sam about the seal." Castiel said.

"That was you?" Dean asked and Castiel looks down. "If you want our help, why the hell didn't you just ask?" (y/n) asked him. "Because whatever I ask, you guys seem to do the exact opposite." Castiel said.

"So, what now, huh? The people in this town, they just gonna start dying again?" Dean asked him. "Yes." Castiel said. "These are good people. What, you think you can make a few exceptions?" (Y/n) asked Castiel. "To everything there is a season." Castiel said. "You made an exception for me." Dean said and Castiel pauses then looks at Dean. "You're different." he said.

"Dean? (Y/n)?" Tessa's voice said and they turn and see her. "I could use your help." She said and Dean and (y/n) look back and see Castiel is gone.

Back at Cole's house, Mrs Griffith was looking at a memory book. There is a picture of Cole, age 3, and a lock of his hair. She turns the page; there is a photo of her with Cole as a small child. Cole watches her as she cries.

"Hey, Cole." Tessa said and Cole startles and turns around. Tessa is there, wearing a white dress instead of the jeans and black jacket of a moment ago. Dean and (y/n) are behind him.

Cole looks at them then glares at (y/n). "Thanks for nothing." He spat and Dean looks down. "I'm sorry, Cole." (Y/n) said, apologetically.

"Look at her, Cole." Tessa said as she nods at Cole's mom. "Do you see how unhappy she is?" she asked him. "That's why I want to stay with her." Cole said as he looks at his mom. "As long as she can feel you, she'll be in pain, because she can't let go." Tessa said and Cole looks up at her. "Because you won't let go of her." she said.

"Why won't anybody tell me what's on the other side?" Cole asked her. "Maybe nobody wants to ruin the surprise." Tessa said and Dean and (y/n) look away. "That's not an answer." Cole said in anger. "She won't answer you, Cole. Reapers never do. But trust me. Staying here is a whole lot worse than anything over there." Dean said.

"Why?" Cole asked. "Because one day, your family will be gone, and there'll be nothing left here for you. It's okay to be scared." (y/n) said to him. "I'm not scared." Cole said, firmly. "We're all scared. That's the big secret. We're all scared." Dean said and Cole looks between them.

"Are you two coming?" he asked and Tessa looks down. "Oh, I'm sure we'll be there sooner than you think." Dean said and Cole looks back over at his mother. He unfolds his arms and walks toward Tessa. She hugs him, closing her eyes, and he melts into her, vanishing in white light. Mrs Griffith looks up and for once she doesn't look sad.

"Look out for that boy." Dean tells Tessa. "Both of you look out for yourselves." Tessa said. "What do you mean?" Dean asked her. "I've been around death from the get-go. You know what I see most? Lies. "He's in a better place." "At least they're together now." You all lie to yourselves, Dean, 'cause like you said, deep down, you're all scared. Stop lying to yourself, Dean." She said.

"What?" Dean asked as (y/n) furrows her brow. "The angels have something good in store for you. Both of you actually. 'Cause I'm pretty sure, deep down, you two know something nasty's coming down the road. Trust your instincts, guys. There's no such thing as miracles." Tessa said.

"What are you saying?" (Y/n) asked her but she doesn't respond as she disappears.

Pamela sits on the edge of Dean's and (y/n)'s bed, one hand to the stab wound, leaning on the other. "Imum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis." she said and she gets up to move to the other bed. Sam gets up to help her. "Hey, we just got to talk to Tessa, that's all. Get her to hold off reaping till we get you better." Sam tells her. "I'm pretty sure she's started up again." she said as blood pours our over her hand.

Dean and (y/n) take deep breathes and sits up. Pamela takes a drink as Dean and (y/n) look at her then sees the blood. "What happened?" Dean asked. "Guys, where's Tessa?" Sam asked them. "She's..." (y/n) said but stops as Pamela takes off her sunglasses. Sam's eyes widen then he looks over at Pamela.

"Pamela, I'm so sorry." Sam said. "Stop." Pamela said, shaking her head. "You don't deserve this." Sam said. "Yeah, I don't. I told you I didn't want anything to do with this. Do me a favor? Tell that bastard Bobby Singer—to go to hell for ever introducing me to you three in the first place." Pamela said before she starts coughing.

"Take it easy, Pamela. If it's any consolation, you're going to a better place." Dean tells her and she turns her head towards him. "You're lying." she said and Sam looks at Dean. "But what the hell, right? Everybody's got to go sometime." she said then she beckons Sam closer.

"Come here." Pamela said and he leans in close. "I know what you did to that demon, Sam." she whispers and Sam's eyes widen in shock. "I can feel what's inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again." she whispers then she starts coughing again. She leans back against the headboard, a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth, then goes still.

"Pamela?" (y/n) said, worried, as Pamela's head slides down. "Pamela!" Dean shouts but she doesn't respond. Dean looks at Sam. "What did she say to you?" Dean asked him but Sam looks away.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

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punctuation-completionist · 2 months

Text

okay! percontation point/rhetorical question mark investigation has been done! i am putting this under a read-more because it's super long but if this causes accessibility issues please tell me lol (i don't remember if it does but i am trying to make my original posts more accessible so...)

tl;dr for anyone who doesn't read the whole thing, i basically just looked through some really old scans to prove the origins of the percontation point (and that sounds really boring but maybe it's interesting? it would be more interesting if progressive punctuation would email me back lol)

. ? ! , : ; ' " – — - · ... [ ] { } ( ) / < >

22/22

bonus:

⁂ * † ‡ ⁓ ~ & ⸺ ❦ ⸮ ‽

11/20

so basically, this is related to this post* i reblogged a bit ago because something about the graphic on it was bothering me... here's the graphic in question btw

[image id: a picture with nine punctuation marks in three rows of three. the first row has (from left to right) the acclamation point which looks like an exclamation mark with two stems pointing in sort of a v shape from the dot, an exclamation comma which looks like an exclamation mark with a comma instead of a dot, and an interrobang which is a question mark with an exclamation mark laid over it. the second row has the love point which looks like a question mark with two of the top parts put together to form a heart, a friendly period which looks like a period with a curved line underneath it, and an authority point which looks like an exclamation mark with a curved line perched atop it. the third line contains a rhetorical question mark which is a backwards inverted question mark, a doubt point which looks like a question mark with the top part shaped more like a cursive z, and a question comma which is a question mark with the dot replaced with a comma. end id.]

so, i've done a lot of research on irony punctuation throughout my days—whether it be to argue with a reddit comment or just for punctuation day reasons—and i would say i know a lot about irony punctuation (of which rhetorical questions fall under i guess? according to wikipedia at least)

so, that post was bothering me because the rhetorical punctuation mark i know is the percontation point (⸮) invented by henry denham in the 1580s & the mark used on the post was an inverted form of this

now, here was the easy investigation on who made this graphic. i already said so in the tags of the post, it was by progressive punctuation; they even have a specific page on their website with this information. now when i saw the rhetorical question mark they used, my first thought was, "maybe they're talking about a different rhetorical question mark" but then...

[image id: a screenshot from the progressive punctuation webpage on the rhetorical question mark. it says that the inventor is henry denham, it was invented in the 1580s, and it was invented in london. end id.]

see, so here's the real problem. they're citing it from henry denham when his mark doesn't look like that. so then i did the logical thing and tried to find where henry denham even printed this thing in the first place. and that's where the fun(?) part begins.

❦

so, i have a range in the time periods i'm looking for (⁓1580–1589) and i have a name (henry denham). first question: who's henry denham?

the answer isn't that interesting but it's contextually helpful. henry denham was, suprise suprise, a printer from england. allegedly he's iconic but the most i can find about him is that he's a printer and he invented the percontation point. one website (link) claims the use of the point to be from around 1575–1625 which is kinda not 1580s but. i don't know what the deal with that is. (if i figure it out, i'll explain it) and attributes it to either henry denham OR the translator anthonie gilbie (and denham was apparently his printer?? idk man this is a whole web of shit)

so, who's anthonie gilbie? firstly, the only things i could find were for anthony gilby and not some guy with a weird -ie but that's not really relevant because the guy is also a translator from 16th century england so like. i don't think that's likely they were two separate people. so, anthony gilby is a radical puritan who translated the geneva bible into english. the geneva bible is one of the oldest english language bibles, predating the king james bible by around 51 years so i guess that makes anthony gilby pretty important. shakespeare used it, cromwell used it, milton used it, it's a big deal. gilby only translated the old testament, another guy called william whittingham translated the new testament so that does narrow down the thing slightly

but also, i'm not reading the fucking bible again especially not in old english so. i want to narrow it down more.

and that means we're going back to henry denham ! yay! since the source i was using was the only one that provided anything at all on the origins of the percontation point, i went back to it to see what else it had to say. and what it had to say was that there were two examples, one was the psalms of david† (in roman font) and the other was a book called tragicall tales (in blackletter font). so with those being our only two leads, we have to follow them.

⁂

so i search up "psalms of david 1581" to see if i can find a scan. and the first thing i find is a 1581 enchiridion on the psalms of david (1st edition) that's 795$. yikes. luckily i don't think that's the one but that certainly did freak me out since it was from the same year and shit. anyways. the online geneva bible has 150 chapters of psalms so we'll just talk about tragicall tales first

now what the absolute f⸺ is tragicall tales? and to that i say. well. i don't really know.

except, jk i do apparently know now! tragicall tales was a novel written by a man called george tuberville‡ and published in 1587, and while i can't find any direct statements that it was denham that invented it, it is in blackletter font and printed the same year as the article said so... i think it's a safe assumption to make that this was denham's work. the next thing to do would be to find tragicall tales which i wasn't too excited for given the last time i tried to find a book for this it was almost $800 dollars.

but i struck gold. not only did i find a copy on archive.org (link), i also found a typed out version (link) but the punctuation there is badly transcribed in my opinion so. take what you will from it but. idk man i think i found the right stuff. so without further ado:

and while this is probably the oldest crustiest scan ever and also 400 pages long, i did find something! yay!

[image id: five screenshots from the internet archive scan of tragicall tales, each containing a backwards question mark aka a percontation point. end id.]

now, i know looking at this, it's kinda hard to tell what's going on due to the quality of the scan, typeface, and other stuff, but i'll break it down real quick. the percontation points here are after the words wife, fame/same (it's probably a long s but it looks more like fame if that helps), about, will, and wife again. i tried to get a few that have normal question marks in them to prove what i'm talking about (they're in the second, fourth, and fifth screenshots) you see em? cool, because my eyes might fall out of my face with how long i had to look for these. good lird.

but what about the inverted one? now, i did scour this as hard as i could and the closest one i could find was this

[image id: a screenshot from tragicall tales reading "la mia donna bella è buona". end id.]

but at the same time, the typed version has that as an è and not punctuation of any kind and while i don't agree with the typed version 100% i do think that makes more sense. so there. that's all we got out of tragicall tales. back to psalms!

❦

i was very excited to read this.~ (that's a snark mark btw. i was not) i already had to read the bible once recently for ... reasons? (i'm not super religious) and that was the new american bible not a fucking bible in middle english. so. this is somehow worse. and yet. i ended up trying my best to find it

now seemingly it slipped my mind that unless there was a scanned copy of an original it would likely not have the mark i was looking for because i looked for ages. it was a fucking nightmare. psalms sucks especially geneva psalms. but, archive.org came to my rescue yet again. and let me tell you. it still didn't help

firstly, the geneva bible looks like this.

[image id: a screenshot of a scan of the geneva bible. it has two columns of text along with notes off to the side and footnotes. it is written in middle english. end id.]

if you're lucky (?) the geneva bible looks like this

[image id: another screenshot of a different scan of the geneva bible with a similar layout but it is more yellowed and fancier. end id.]

yes, i looked at two different scans of the same book sue me. or don't preferably. but this did give me one clarifying idea of what i was doing wrong. the article i had referenced said that the question mark was in roman font. the main text of the geneva bible seems to be in blackletter. so i had to look in the side columns. and look in the side columns i did. and yet, that didn't seem to help any either (if anyone wants to look the first one is linked here and the second is linked here; i don't think they're in there though in hindsight)

and yet, there was one last place to search. the psalms of david truly opened and explained by theodore beza. a completely different text by anthony gilby (and his name has the -ies in it in the scans i can find of this so that's also a good omen) and it's still david psalms so i hunted it down. and great news

[image id: a picture of the first page of the psalms of david truly opened and explained by theodore beza. it has the translator listed as anthonie gilbie and printers listed as richard yardley and peter short. it is extremely brown and looks very old. end id.]

it's an even older looking book! (though to be fair, the geneva bible was older they probably just reprinted it more often) (i found it here if that's anything)

quick intro to people: theodore beza was a french calvinist who lived in geneva. he's not really important to this story. peter short and richard yardley were printers who worked for the stationers' company (aka the worshippers company of stationers aka the worshipful company of stationers and newspaper makers) and i will get back to that.

so now we're getting... somewhere? i mean, this book does have cool wood cuttings right?

[image id: a picture of a wood cutting of a man kneeling in front of a book, with light and a fancy frame. end id.]

but does it have percontation points?

[image id: a picture from the psalms of david truly opened and explained by theodore beza. it has two percontation points in it. end id.]

oh hell the fuck yes it has them. look at that! two of em right there! that solves that mystery. and i didn't even have to look at the geneva bible. but it's fineee <- didn't want to look at the geneva bible but whatever

but where's henry denham?

like first of all, the article i was using said "1581" for the psalms thing so either that's a different psalms with percontation points in it or something got screwed up because also... the printers are names on here and neither of them are denham, especially considering the book came out in 1590 and denham quit publishing in 1589 (or maybe 1591? it's unclear). they also confusingly say he was succeeded by short and yardley and while i can't find anything about yardley, i do know that denham also worked for the stationers' company so they were at least colleagues in the printing business . so this isn't denham is seems but also... he did make the percontation point in 1587 in the tragicall tales so i don't think it's a question of inventing it, that was probably still denham. there might be another psalms out there with percontation points in it but who knows? i really don't think we need more proof when we say that this -> ⸮ is the percontation point :}

⁂

so where the fuck did this other one come from‽ because if i know one thing it's that progressive punctuation has generally been right... so what's the deal with that?

of course i did the only logical thing and emailed them. i hate emails but i did it anyways. for you (if people don't reblog this just for the sheer effort i will be mildly saddened. here's a secret interpunct for you for reading all this shit. -> ·)

and of course, i didn't get an email back immediately which was disappointing. in fact, as i post this, i still haven't gotten an email from them (i waited like a week but if they do email me back i'll update you)

so anyways, then what did we learn if i never got an email back? how to do dumb research for a day and learn absolutely nothing new? i mean i actually kinda don't know how to conclude this now that i think about it. i guess we learned that henry denham probably invented the percontation point and that maybe we should start using it more often. and that you should check infographics you see online, i guess? maybe don't check them this intensely though because. that was a lot. :{

* don't you dare go harass the op i swear i will kill you if you do

† apparently these aren't by david according to most scholars but whatever

‡ unrelated as far as i am aware to tommy tuberville, a u.s. senator from arkansas. he seems to be kind of an asshole but i'm not from arkansas so i don't really have an opinion

#original posts #punctuation #okay i finally waited the seven days i promised hope this is interesting to anyone but me lol

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