#inspired by ever after (1998)

[carolmunson]

you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

[sl-ut]

you should probably leave

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel is enamoured by his new neighbour, but old patterns will always be his downfall.

warnings: UNEDITED, slight age gap, slight smut, implied unprotected piv, protected piv, swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurity, angst, reader is given a birthday (she's a sag like me)

words: 10.8K (my longest fic to date)

date posted: 14/03/23

part two

(inspired by you should probably leave by chris stapleton)

OCTOBER 12, 1998

The weather was something that she was unsure if she could ever get used to. For her entire life, she had spent the entirety of the late autumn months dreading the first snowfall of the season before lugging out her extensive collection of knitted sweaters and fur-lined boots. Instead, her little archive of winter clothing was left in a cardboard box in her childhood bedroom, along with the majority of her other belongings that she had not brought with her on her grand adventure–if you could even call it that. 

The University of Texas at Austin had not been her first choice of school, or her second, or third; she actually had never even imagined going to school any further than a few hours from her hometown in Pennsylvania, and yet there she was, standing in front of her brand-new home, sweltering under the harsh Texan sun as she struggled to unload her packed car all on her own. Well, to call it her home would be a pretty tight stretch, as well as to label it as “brand-new.” 

The small bungalow-style house had caught her eye on a flyer in the grocery store, a listing for one female roommate in a cul-de-sac not too far from the city. It wasn’t exactly her dream home by any means, with an ugly yellow exterior and a kitchen that could certainly use an updating, but it she had recently been forced out of her own apartment due to her previous roommate preferring her boyfriend to live their with her instead and it was the nicest of the few places within her price range that would also accommodate the mutt she’d rescued during her first year. All things considered, it was quite literally perfect for her situation–plus her new roommate seemed to have been at least more considerate of her boundaries than the last, which gave her some hope that things might actually work out. 

Y/n grunted at the weight of the box, cursing herself internally for enrolling in school and owning so many textbooks as she lugged it up the front steps, dropping it just inside the door. She couldn’t help but grimace as she glanced up, meeting the watchful gaze of Manny, his furry little head tilting curiously–likely wondering why she was making so much ruckus and interrupting his nap. 

“Lazy ass,” she muttered under her breath at him, kicking the box to the side before trudging back out the door.

The next few boxes were filled with clothes and shoes, fortunately for her spine. She hauled several out, dropping each of them to the pavement of the driveway carelessly as she wiped at her sweaty forehead, apparently too enthralled in the work to notice the beat up truck as it turned into the neighbouring driveway.

“Hey there,” she turned to find a young man, his hair combed back to expose his effortlessly charming face to her, “You need a hand?”

She glanced down at the boxes at her feet, “I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

A young girl appeared at his side, wide eyes peering over at the older female curiously. The man shrugged, puffing out his broad chest as he moved. Y/n almost laughed at how obvious he was being, only seconds after meeting her. The man gave off the impression that he had always thought fairly highly of himself, probably the quarterback of the high school football team, maybe even involved in the armed forces–the navy, she was betting. He crossed the barrier between the two driveways in two long strides, extending his hand out to her as he came closer. 

“I’m Tommy,” he flashed her a grin, his accent coming out thicker than it probably would have normally. He glanced over his shoulder, motioning for the young girl to follow him into the neighbouring yard, “This is my niece Sarah.”

Y/n smiled politely, shaking his hand lightly, “Hi, I’m Y/n. I guess it’s nice to meet some of my new neighbours.”

“Well, Sarah, here, is your neighbour. Me, I live–”

“What happened to Stephanie?” Sarah interrupted, “I didn’t know she was moving.”

Y/n turned her attention to the young girl, “She isn’t, we’re just living together now.”

Sarah’s mouth formed an ‘o’, the gears visibly turning in her head as she formulated her next question, “Are you guys dating?”

“Sarah!” Tommy choked on his spit, “I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay,” Y/n chuckled at his response before turning back to the young girl, “No, we’re not. I guess she just didn’t wanna be living here all on her own anymore.”

Tommy’s shoulders relaxed, the mortified expression leaving his features in favour of one that she might have even considered relief. He shook his head at his niece, giving her a hard stare, “I’m sorry about her. I figured that she would have some better manners by now–my mistake.”

Sarah swatted at him, a pout appearing on her lips as her brows furrowed. The girl didn’t quite understand how the question may have been taken with offence by some, and was quite miffed by her uncle’s insult. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Y/n affirmed, “I think it’s actually a good thing that she knows about that kinda stuff.”

Tommy glanced down at the boxes, clear discomfort appearing on his features, “Alrighty then, how about these boxes?”

Y/n gave in, offering Tommy one of the heavier of the three boxes, while shifting the smallest and lightest to the young girl, who had been adamant in helping out. She instructed them to just drop the boxes to the floor by the door, not looking to take up much more of their time. 

A loud gasp escaped Sarah, her wide eyes falling on the mutt, who had appeared to have been equally as excited to see her as he rushed over, tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail flapping wildly. Sarah squealed when he barrelled into her, a fit of giggles leaving her mouth as he brought her to the ground and began to cover her face in slobbery kisses.

“Manny!” Y/n groaned, grasping the dog’s collar and pulling away enough for Sarah to sit up off of the floor, “Sorry, he’s just convinced that everyone wants to be his friend.”

“I’ll be his friend!” Sarah beamed, reaching out and squishing the dog’s face in between her palms, “I mean… Can I?”

Y/n shrugged, “As long as it’s okay with your…” She glanced at Tommy for help, unsure about Sarah’s parentage situation. He’d already made it clear that he did not live next door, but had never explicitly stated who did.

“You’ll have to ask your dad, Sarah,” He chastised her, “Anyway, we should get out of your hair now, let you settle in.”

Y/n nodded, “Yeah, thank you for the help, though.”

“No problem, ma’am,” He winked, southern charm on full display as he stepped out onto the front step, “Anytime for a pretty girl like you. C’mon, Sar.”

Sarah begrudgingly offered the needy pup one more affectionate squeeze before following after her uncle, leaping off of the step and bounding across to her own front yard. Tommy paused, hand resting on the railing of the step and giving it a firm shake. His lips pursed into a line as he let out a small huh as the bannister shifted out of its place, then back in under the pressure. 

“Yeah, Steph said there were all kinds of little things wrong with the place,” Y/n noted, “But hey, if it’s got four walls and a roof, it’s good enough for me.”

He chuckled at her, shaking his head, “You know, my brother and I are contractors, we could come over and help you fix things up if you guys wanted.”

She hummed, “I’ll mention it to Steph. Wouldn’t wanna just start making changes to her house while she’s not here, would I?”

Tommy hummed, “‘Spose that’s true. Anyway, I should go see where she ran off to, but I sure hope I’ll be seeing you around.” He shot her a cheeky wink before jogging back over to the neighbouring yard, leaving her and Manny among the mess of boxes in the entryway. 

Y/n huffed, glancing around at the mess, then at the furry little beast at her feet, who waited patiently for her to begin offering him her love and attention. She rested her hands on her hips, shaking her head softly, “Well, let’s just get this done, boy.”

– – –

Joel grunted as he clambered in through the side door of his home, sighing in relief as he slipped out of his heavy work boots and dropped the armload of groceries onto the kitchen counter. He could hear the TV on in the living room, drowned out by Sarah’s yell of a greeting. He rushed to put away the groceries, sticking the brown paper bags in the recycling before stepping into the dimly lit sitting area. 

Tommy was reclined on the couch, slumped into the worn leather like a pile of mashed potatoes as he balanced his can of Budweiser on his bent knee. He nodded to his brother briefly as he lifted the beer to his lips, hardly taking his eyes off of the football game on the screen as Joel plopped down next to him. The older brother leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to Sarah’s head so as to not disturb her as she worked on her homework on the coffee table in front of the couch before finally copying his brother’s position.

“The hell took you so long? You left the site the same time I did, and I had to go pick this shithead up from school,” he playfully kicked at Sarah’s leg, “plus I helped your new neighbour move in.”

“Supermarket was a zoo,” Joel moaned as he ran his palm flat over his face, then furrowed his brow, “What new neighbour?”

Tommy nodded his head back in the direction of the mustard yellow house, “Chick next door got a new roommate.”

“Uncle Tommy was flirting with her,” Sarah chimed in, not taking her eyes off of the math textbook in front of her.

Joel rolled his eyes, “Now tell me why I’m not surprised.”

Tommy shook his head, taking another large gulp of beer, “I know what you’re thinking, but this girl’s different. She’s not from ‘round here. Not sure where, but she’s got an accent. Canada, maybe.”

“You know what a Canadian accent sounds like?” Joel scoffed, knowing that his brother was prone to drawing his own conclusions. 

“Well, no,” Tommy frowned, “But I imagine it might sound like that. Doesn’t matter, I think I’m gonna ask her out.”

Joel grunted in response, turning his eyes to the game on the screen.

“She wasn’t flirting back,” Sarah grinned up at the two men, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her father’s growing smirk and giggling as his own laughter came tumbling out. Tommy kicked her again, only this time with a little more force, “What? You invited yourself over there and were all,” She puffed her chest out and deepened her voice, “Anything for a pretty girl like you.”

Joel rested a palm on his belly as he shook with laughter, his other hand landing on the top of his daughter’s head affectionately as Tommy crossed his arms, sulking. 

“I think she was flirting back,” he argued.

“She wasn’t,” Sarah reaffirmed.

Tommy leaned forward, “Now how the hell would you know anything about flirting, huh? You been doin’ a lot of it at school?”

Her face burned in embarrassment, sputtering for a response, “No, that’s gross!”

Joel frowned at her, shaking his head in feign sternness, “You better not be. Otherwise I might need to break out grandpa’s old hunting rifle.”

She didn’t utter another word, simply gathering her things in her arms and rushing off to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her as the laughter of her father and uncle followed her every step.

OCTOBER 17, 1998

Just under a week had passed since he’d first caught wind of his new neighbour, and Joel had yet to even see this woman. He’d noticed the new car in the driveway, and he’d picked up on the presence of the dog fairly quickly, especially after he’d caught Sarah tossing some of the vegetables from her dinner over the fence for him. Joel hadn’t paid it much mind, he was far too busy to be concerned with some young girl who didn’t seem to be causing much issues. 

He’d had words with Stephanie several times in the past; once for blatantly smoking pot on 

her front step when they were heading out for the day, then for leaving her garbage bin too close to his driveway, causing him to back into it and scratch the paint on his truck, and then once more when she’d had a little get together that ended up lasting until 4am, when the police arrived. He would normally have called himself a narc for having the party shut down, but it was keeping Sarah awake and the door had been shut in his face when he went over to ask politely. 

The day had been long, and normally he would have refused Tommy’s invitation to head over to one of the local dive bars, but after dealing with the shit-show that had gone on at the job site that day, he really needed a drink. Sarah was out of the house, anyway, having slept over at a friend’s house, so there was quite literally nothing keeping him away.

“Brother’s night, my ass,” Joel grumbled into his glass, glancing over to the corner booth, where his brother had joined a pretty brunette, leaving Joel to himself at the barside. He waved at the bartender, motioning for another top-up of his whiskey. 

A figure appeared at his side, leaning onto the bartop to call out to the bartender. Joel glanced over, his eyes raking over her radiant side profile in awe. He shot his gaze back to the glass of amber liquid in front of him, then briefly over to the girl once more. His eyes narrowed in on her pursed lips, noting how her brows furrowed in frustration as the bartender migrated to the other side of the bar. She turned to him suddenly, and Joel whipped his head back around to ensure that he wouldn’t appear to be some creep–though he was positive he certainly had been.

“Is it always like this here?” She asked him, tilting her head. “I swear, I’ve gone to three different spots along this bar, and buddy keeps looking in the other direction.”

He cleared his throat, “You not from around here?”

She smiled sheepishly, “Is it that obvious?”

Joel chuckled, “Just a little. You gotta get his attention, be firm. Here,” he tucked his index finger and thumb into his mouth and let out a loud whistle, nodding at the bartender as he rushed over. 

“Two vodka crans, please,” The girl smiled prettily at the bartender, then scoffed as he turned to begin pouring the drinks, “Shit, I guess I could stand to learn a thing or two.”

“It comes with time,” He frowned, realising that he may have implied that he was at the bar every other night, “I mean, not that I’m–”

She touched his arm softly, electricity running through her fingertips and into his bicep, “Hey, I’m not here to judge you if you’re not here to judge me, heh?”

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak once more when another figure appeared at her side. His smile dropped, taking in the sight of his next door neighbour, probably one of the last people he wanted to see on his night off.

“What the fuck is taking you so long–oh,” Stephanie narrowed her eyes at the older man, who simply turned and took another long swig of his whiskey, “Hello, Joel.”

“Stephanie,” he drawled, “How you doin’ tonight?”

She smirked at him maliciously, “Fine. Y/n, this is the guy I was telling you about.”

Oh, this is Y/n, he thought to himself, suddenly understanding Tommy’s instant interest in the girl. 

“All good things, I hope,” he sighed into his glass.

She shook her head, “Oh, just that you’re the neighbour from hell, and that you’re a narc.”

Y/n tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, visibly uncomfortable at the confrontation. His eyes fell to her mouth at the movement, wondering what it might feel like to take that same lip in between his own teeth. 

“You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Steph,” he huffed, praying to any god that would listen that she hadn’t completely turned Y/n against him.

Stephanie sneered at him, grasping one of the drinks from the bartop and stomping off, leaving a thick tension over the remaining two. Joel met Y/n’s gaze once again, noting the visible embarrassment on her face as she began to laugh slowly.

“Sorry about her,” She laughed nervously, “For the record, I know that she’s a little dramatic.”

“‘T’s fine,” Joel grumbled, swallowing the last gulp of whiskey, “You ain’t gotta apologise for her, she can feel however she wants about me.”

Y/n chuckled, a genuine one this time and Joel couldn’t help but carve the melodious sound into his memory, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He nodded, accepting the soft handshake that she offered, “So I’ve heard.” He noticed the slight furrow of her brow before he clarified, “I’m Sarah’s dad.”

Realisation crossed her face, “Oh, Sarah! She’s a real sweetheart.”

“Yeah, she is,” he smiled softly at the complement, “She sure likes you, and I’m assuming that it’s your pup that I’ve caught her feeding her broccoli to?”

Y/n giggled at him, “Huh, I’d noticed that he was especially gassy lately. Here I was thinking it was something in the water.”

Joel let out a loud laugh, then realised that he had not actually introduced himself, “Shit. Sorry, I just–” he coughed, “I’m Joel.”

“So I’ve heard.” She repeated to him, clearing her throat before turning to gaze at him through her lashes with a soft smile, “So Joel, is this seat taken?”

– – –

Y/n had not expected to have enjoyed herself quite so much when Stephanie forced her to go to the grubby little saloon, feeling incredibly out of place among all of the southerners. She had been hesitant to leave Manny on his own so soon after moving in, but the last thing that she had wanted to do was get on Stephanie’s bad side so early on. Then, she’d stumbled upon the devastatingly handsome man sitting all on his own at the bar, and her tune changed drastically. 

She sat on that stool for the better part of two hours after Stephanie had fucked off, leaving them to become acquainted with one another. Joel had offered her another drink, which she accepted under the terms that she would buy the next round, and against his better judgement, he found himself doing a shot of tequila with her as well. She smirked to herself when she took note of the flush that had crawled into his cheeks, and how cheerful his dark chocolate eyes looked under the dim lighting of the bar. 

Y/n had noticed Tommy in the corner booth, and how he had been blatantly pressing his southern charm onto the brunette under his arm in the very same way that he had to her, which made her feel much better knowing that he couldn’t possibly be that upset about her doing the exact same to his brother. 

Her hand had come to rest on his knee, leaning across to invade his personal space animatedly as she spoke, her own cheeks flushing each time that he grinned or laughed at her words, and she had lost count of the amount of times that she had rubbed her thighs together or considered smashing her lips to his. 

Tommy appeared at his side, clutching his shoulder in his firm grasp, “Hey Joel, you think you’re ready–oh, hey, Y/n.” His cheeks had turned red, one hand self-consciously rising to rub at his cheek, where the stark red lipstick stain had once acted as a trophy and was now an admission of guilt. Tommy pursed his lips, “Wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

She shrugged, “Steph forced me out.”

He nodded awkwardly, unsure of how to save himself in this situation. 

Y/n turned her head, catching sight of her roommate’s drunken attempt to seduce the bouncer before turning her attention back to the older of the two brothers, squeezing his knee once before sliding off of the stool, “Speaking of, I should probably leave, she’s gonna get us banned from here any minute now. It’s been nice, talking to you, Joel. See you, Tommy.”

Both men watched as she disappeared into the crowd, eyes trailing after her figure longingly.

Tommy huffed, “You think I still got a chance?”

Joel’s shoulders shook in a drunken fit of giggles, lifting his own hand to proudly show off the nine digits that had been marked into his skin, “Nope.”

Tommy’s jaw dropped, clear disappointment on his features before it was quickly replaced by pride, “Well fuck, brother. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

OCTOBER 31, 1998

Y/n wiped at the sweat on her brow, breathing picking up in delight as she turned the corner and the blinding yellow house came into sight. The sun had already begun to set by the time that she and Manny had set out on their evening walk, now settling low on the horizon and casting a golden hue to the world below it as Manny tugged on his leash, obviously also desperate to escape the heat. 

A loud honk sounded from behind her, muffled slightly by the music playing over her bulky headphones, drawing her attention to the dark pickup truck as it sped past, Sarah hanging out the back window with a grin on her face as she waved dramatically. Y/n chuckled at the young girl, allowing Manny to lead her into a faster pace as they grew closer to their house.

She slid the headphones down to rest around her neck, pressing pause on her walkman as Sarah rushed towards them. The girl paid very little mind to the woman holding the leash, instead dropping to her knees and reaching out for the excited dog’s face, laughing as he began to lick enthusiastically at her cheek. 

“Hi,” her gaze rose to find Joel as he rounded the bed of the truck, hand resting on the top of the tailgate as he tried his best to look casual, “sorry, this one never shuts up about that dog.”

Y/n smiled at him, warmth flooding through her cheeks. She’d only actually spoken to Joel a handful of times since that night at the bar, mostly simple greetings while Sarah occupied herself with Manny. Joel was too awkward of a person to try anything with Sarah present, and Y/n was too compassionate to question him about why he hadn’t bothered to call yet in front of his daughter. 

Y/n shrugged, “To be fair, he never shuts up about her, either.”

“Oh did he tell you that?” The man asked, brows raised playfully, “I didn’t know you spoke dog.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me yet, Joel,” She smirked at him, “Oh, happy Halloween, by the way.”

“Right,” Joel raised one hand to stroke his hairy chin, “Yeah, you too.”

Sarah glanced up from Manny’s pleading brown eyes, “Dad forgot.

Joel sent a sharp glare to his daughter, then smiled sheepishly at her, “Not too concerned about a holiday that’s got nothing to do with me, anyway–this one decided she’s too cool for trick-or-treating with dad this year.”

“Oh don’t feel too discouraged, I gave my dad the boot when I was even younger.”

“See?” Sarah pressed, glancing back at her father, “You don’t even like Halloween, I don’t get why you’re mad.”

Y/n widened her eyes and clutched her chest dramatically, “What do you mean, you don’t like Halloween? It’s like, one of the best holidays!”

Joel rolled his eyes, “Oh don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

She pursed her lips, “And just when I was starting to like you, Miller.”

His eyes met hers, curiosity pooling into the dark mocha irises as he considered her words. He almost appeared apologetic; could he feel guilty about not calling her? Y/n did her best to not appear too shaken by his lack of contact–she hadn’t expected anything from him the next day, but after two weeks and still no call? She’d taken that as a sign that he’d been a tad too drunk when he had been so shamelessly flirting with her, and that he had no intentions of ever pursuing anything. 

Y/n was thankful when Sarah interrupted the pair, preventing her from spiralling into a nervous breakdown from her own inner monologue, “What are you dressing up as?”

The woman shook her head with a mischievous smirk on her lips, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see when you come knocking at my door, huh?”

“No big plans?” Joel tilted his head, “I figured that roommate of yours would have you out on the town.”

She shrugged, “Steph’s out of town. Something about the drinks and the guys being stronger. Looks like it’s just gonna be me and my little guy here,” she gently clapped a hand against Manny’s side, “Well, us and a selection of horror movies.”

Sarah stood up, leaning into her dad’s side with her elbow, “How convenient, my dad will also be home alone tonight.”

Joel dropped his head in embarrassment–just leave it to Sarah to blatantly play the role of her father’s wingwoman. He refused to meet Y/n’s amused gaze, ears burning as Sarah continued.

“And he totally loves horror movies. He watches them all the time.”

“Oh really?” Y/n did her best not to burst out laughing, enjoying the sight of both Joel’s embarrassment and how confidently Sarah was trying to talk up her own father. She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to not make it too obvious how much she actually wanted to invite him to join her, but she didn’t want to display too much interest in him if he genuinely had none in her, “Well then maybe he should head to Blockbuster before all of the good ones are rented.” 

She raised her brow at him, signalling to him that it was his turn to make a move, as she would not be making any more. He nodded at her, red flooding his cheeks as he tried to muster up the courage to discuss the clear tension between them. 

Y/n smiled politely at them both, then glanced down at the heavily panting dog at her feet, “Well, I better get this guy out of this heat. See you guys in a bit, then?” She led the dog past them, glancing back over her shoulder, her lips pursed as she watched Sarah poke at her father’s side sharply. 

The young girl smirked at her dad knowingly, remaining silent, though the expression on her face made her thoughts very clear to the man. She scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “Christina’s sister is so right; all boys are stupid.”

The man scowled at his daughter, watching in silence as she moved around him without another word, disappearing through the front door without so much as another glance. Joel scoffed, shaking his head at her, and wondering how the hell his nine year old could be so goddamn right about the situation. 

– – –

Joel wiped his hands anxiously across the expanse of his thighs, attempting to rid himself of the nervous sweat that had collected in his palms as he stood on Y/n’s front step, mustering up the courage to finally knock. 

“The fuck am I doing,” He cursed to himself, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his face. 

Y/n was younger than him; not by a lot, but they were still in very different stages of their lives. He wasn’t willing to admit that he genuinely did like her, and considering that she was still a young woman and still in college, he wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for with him. Was it just some quick fuck that she wanted? Joel wouldn’t be opposed–hell, he was ashamed that he’d imagined such a thing more than a few times since meeting her–but he wasn’t sure if he could jump into bed with her and then move on with his life, nor could he expect her to be willing to just pick up the role of step-mother to his little girl. 

Joel had woken up on October 17, hungover as hell and struggling to recall any of his memories from the night before. He’d forced himself out of bed much earlier than he would have liked, needing to pick Sarah up before her soccer game. The man had stumbled his way into the shower, blindly going through the motions of bathing himself as the warm water slowly began to remove the fog from his mind. It was then, as he had reached out for his bottle of body wash that he noticed the smudge of blue ink on his skin, and then jumping in surprise at the memory of the beautiful woman who had given him her phone number–the woman who had him laughing like he hadn’t in so long and blushing harder than he thought possible–the woman who he hoped was now lying peacefully in her bed next door, preferably all on her own. 

The few times that he had seen her since then, he had thought about apologising for not calling and telling her the truth of what had happened, despite his embarrassment. He wanted to ask for it again, but every time, Sarah was there, making a fuss over the little pooch that never seemed to leave Y/n’s side. He wished that he were more confident in himself, more willing to speak to other women even if his daughter was there, but he simply would never be able to look at the young girl again if Y/n were to reject him. 

“Shit,” He swore loudly as he turned to rush off of the step, instead booting one of the carefully carved jack-o-lanterns onto the pavement of the driveway and watching in horror as it shattered on impact. 

“Joel?” He froze at the sound of the door creaking open behind him, smiling bashfully at the young woman as he did his best to not appear too guilty. Her eyes fell from his flushed face to the mess of orange at his feet, a surprised chuckle leaving her lips, “Damn, you really do hate Halloween, huh? Enough to come over here and start destroying my decorations, anyway.”

He sputtered for an answer, “I–it was an accident, I just knocked it off by accident on my way out–”

“Your way out?” She questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorframe, “So what, you were just loitering on my front step?”

He scoffed at her, “I was actually on my way to apologise, but if you’d rather I just get lost…”

Y/n raised a brow inquisitively, “I’m listening.”

“I just–I’m sorry for not calling,” Joel admitted with a sigh, debating whether or not it would be best to explain exactly why, “For what it’s worth, I would have if I hadn’t washed it off by accident.”

An amused expression crossed her features as she mulled over his explanation, “You…washed it off?”

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “I did.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were trying to decipher whether or not he was being truthful, “Okay.”

His gaze shifted from side to side, uncertain as to what she meant, “Okay?”

“Okay,” She affirmed, “So what time did you wanna come over tonight?”

Joel swallowed the lump in his throat, “Tonight?”

Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the butterflies that slammed at the lining of her stomach and threatened to erupt, “Tonight. You said it yourself, Sarah’s gonna be gone all night, so would  you rather be home alone or come over? Otherwise, I’ll just be here by myself, scared and in need of a devastatingly handsome cowboy to protect me from Michael Myers.”

Blush spread across his cheeks, his hands coming up to rest on his hips, “I don’t know about ‘devastatingly handsome’, but I think I could handle some asshole in a mask.”

She grinned at him wickedly, “That’s what everyone thinks, but I guess we’ll see tonight, around eight?”

“Eight.” He confirmed, then glanced down at the mess at his feet, “And sorry about your pumpkin.”

“It’s alright,” Y/n smirked, “You’ll just have to work extra hard to make it up to me.”

– – –

Joel anxiously adjusted his shirt, frowning at himself in the window of her front door. Despite dismissing Sarah’s teasing by claiming that this was in fact, not a date, he’d taken her advice in showering the moment that he had gotten into the house. 

He was aware that she was flirting with him, but until he had gotten out of the shower, towel sitting low around his waist as he wiped the steam away from the mirror and took in his shaggy appearance, he had not been at all concerned about what activities the night might lead to. Staring at his own reflection, nervousness quickly began to settle into his bones.

He had made quick work with the clipper, shortening the length of his facial hair after several weeks of negligence and leaving his lower face to be covered by a light stubble. He put a little more effort into his hair than usual, running a thin layer of gel through it while noting to himself that it was probably time for a haircut. He even took things a step further, dabbing a few drops of some woodsy cologne onto his skin; the bottle had gone untouched for two years, having been a Christmas present from his mother.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Sarah asked as she appeared at his side, face painted to resemble a circus clown, “I knew this was a date.”

“It’s not a date,” He argued, doing his best not to jump in fright at her appearance, “Shouldn’t you be out on the town by now, Ronald McDonald?”

“You showered, put on cologne, and you’re bringing candy? It’s a date.” Sarah listed, “And I’m Pennywise, by the way. Christina’s sister is coming to pick me up soon. She says that guys always dress up when she goes out with them because they want her–”

Joel grunted, glaring at his daughter, “I want you to stop hanging around Christina’s sister.”

Sarah ignored his comment, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Joel glanced down at his outfit–a clean pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that he’d probably gotten out of a beer box or something, “What’s wrong with this?”

“What’s right with it?” 

Joel considered his parenting style for a moment, wondering if he would be free of this headache if he had spanked his daughter once or twice in her life. Sometimes he forgot that the girl was only nine years old with how intelligent she was and how much more mature she seemed in comparison to other kids her age. 

“It’s not a date, Sarah.”

She rolled her eyes, “It could be. Come on.”

Sarah rushed past him, leading him into his own bedroom as she began to dig through his closet. She frowned with almost every piece that she picked out, tossing them behind her recklessly and ignoring her father’s scolding for the mess that she had quickly created. 

“Hah!” The girl pulled out an egg-plant button down and shoved it into his grasp, “I knew you had to have something that wasn’t that ugly.”

He grunted at her, but didn’t reply out of respect for her brutal honesty as he quickly shed himself of the worn t-shirt he’d previously been wearing in favour of the one that Sarah had chosen. Now, as he stood at her front door and internally decided for himself that this was a date, he couldn’t help but thank God for his daughter’s awareness.

Finally, after tugging at the hem of his shirt, he raised a fist and knocked heavily on the door. Joel choked on his own saliva when she appeared in the window, smiling sweetly at him when she pulled the door open. She had already changed into a pair of black yoga pants and a sky blue shirt that exposed just a tasteful amount of her midriff. 

“Hi, again,” she breathed, a smile forming on her face, “You look nice, purple is definitely your colour.”

Joel burned, “I–thank you. Sarah picked it out.”

Y/n turned to the girl, who had already ushered the dog up onto the sofa with her, “Well she has a clear eye for style.”

“She definitely thinks so, that girl damn near harrasses me about my clothes everyday.” Y/n laughed out loud, Joel’s ears tingling at the melodious sound, “You look great, too.”

Y/n beamed down at her outfit, shrugging to herself, “Thanks, I thought about keeping my costume on but I wasn’t entirely sure how much you would be into Strawberry Shortcake.”

Joel chuckled at her, glancing down at the object in his hand, “I brought beer, by the way. Wasn’t sure if I should bring anything, or if you even like–”

Y/n reached out, snatching the six pack from his grasp, “Ever the gentleman, cowboy. So, you coming in?”

– – –

The house was filled with laughter, both having nearly finished their first beer as they shared stories freely. Halloween played quietly in the background, though neither of them paid too much attention. Y/n did her best not to physically melt when she felt Joel’s arm drape across the back of the sofa behind her, resisting the urge to tease him for attempting to cover it up by faking a dramatic yawn. 

She brushed her fingers along the top of his thigh, smirking to herself as she watched his leg slowly shift closer to her, though he didn’t address the affectionate touch. He spoke to her softly, and made an effort to hold eye contact with her as he did to–she was starting to feel some guilt about the conclusion that he’d drawn about him after he’d failed to call her. Her own gaze continuously fell to his lips as he spoke, and she was sure that he had noticed by the way that his lips began to curl confidently. Her heart hammered in her chest, wondering how much longer she would need to wait before he finally made a move.

Joel, however, was wondering exactly how he possibly could make a move. While feeling confident around her, there was no way to escape the fact that he hadn’t been on a date in at least a year, and he could count the amount of women he’d slept with since Sarah’s mother on one hand. At various points throughout the night, he had considered leaning in to kiss her, but had successfully siked himself out each time. The first time, he’d been interrupted by the pooch who had been jealous of his owner’s attention being focused elsewhere, though he could only blame every other time on his own insecurity.

“Do you want another beer?” Y/n asked as he swallowed the last gulp out of his can, “Or I have wine and pop?”

“Pop,” he scoffed, chest rumbling with quiet laughter.

She raised her hand and slapped his pec as she stood up from the couch, “Fine, you don’t get anything.”

He laughed, watching as she disappeared into the kitchen and shamelessly admiring the shape of her backside in the darkness of the dimly lit living room. He sat there for a few moments, staring at the movie in discontent, sighing as he ran his hand over his face and murmured a nearly silent fuck it, and following after her. 

“Is it too late to apologise and get that beer?” 

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smirking as she shrugged coyly as she turned and leaned her back against the front of the refrigerator and holding the perspiring can out in front of her, “You’ll have to come get it yourself.”

Joel crossed the small room in two long strides, stopping as the can met his chest, though he paid it little mind as she stepped away from the fridge, pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips. He froze for a second, stomach clenching at the soft touch. 

“Sorry,” Y/n whispered, though her tone betrayed how unapologetic she truly was, “Was that okay?”

He didn’t respond, quickly taking the beer out of her grasp and tossing it onto the counter as he cupped her face, capturing her lips with his and pressing her back against the fridge once more. She smiled against his lips, fingers bunching in the material of his plum coloured shirt and tugging him even closer. 

His lips were chapped against her own, the telltale sign of a busy man who hadn’t been too concerned with his physical appearance up until now, though she could not picture another kiss that she had received in the last several years that would even compare to Joel’s. 

One of his hands fell, fingers splaying around her waist as he pressed even closer, parting his lips as he felt the tip of her tongue prod at the seam and allowing her to seek out his own. He moaned at her taste, fingers wandering to her hip and hesitating, almost as if he had been asking for her permission to move even lower. She grasped his hand, guiding it around to cup her bottom.

Pulling away for air, she giggled softly and fluttered her eyelids open to find him already staring at her with blown pupils. One of her hands slid up his chest, tugging at the collar of his shirt before her fingers trailed over his patchy beard affectionately, “I don’t know if this is too soon, but do you wanna move to my bedroom?”

Joel chuckled at her, squeezing her cheek through her yoga pants, “Lead the way.”

– – –

Joel worried that he might have gone into cardiac arrest as he struggled to catch his breath, back slouched against the headboard as Y/n slumped flush against his chest. The cotton sheets pooled around her hips as she continued to move softly, working them both through the aftershocks of their climaxes. The man sighed in appreciation as her lips continued to slide against his jawline and leave gentle kisses in their wake, her fingers still lost in his dark curls.

Joel’s own hands squeezed her hips as she finally slowed to a stop, helping her slide off of him and smirking to himself at the whine she let out at the loss of contact. She shifted, moving out of his lap and curling into the cool sheets on the bed next to him.

“How was that?” He panted, “Have I done enough to make up for lost time?”

She grinned at him, her own chest rising and falling with her slowing breaths, “I think I recall doing most of the work, actually.”

“Bein’ on top doesn’t mean you were doing any work, sweetheart, I think we both know that.” His eyes fell on the digital alarm clock on her bedside table, grunting to himself as he took note of the late hour, “Shit–how the hell is it ten-thirty already?”

She glanced over to the clock briefly, then back at him, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Staring down at her nude form, guilt began to eat away at him as he began to slide off of the mattress and begin gathering his clothes that had been scattered around the room. 

“Are you leaving?” His back was turned to her as he pulled on his jeans, though he could only imagine the look on her face from the emotion that dripped from her voice; she was disappointed, facing the reality that she would be abandoned after doing something so intimate. 

“I mean…” Joel coughed, “Yeah, I should probably leave. Gotta work early tomorrow, and Sarah’s got soccer practice, and–”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to regain her modesty, “I get it.”

Joel couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d done this. She seemed disheartened, but not entirely surprised at his decision to head out, as if she was expecting this time to be different from the others–as if she was expecting Joel to be any different from the other shitty guys she’d met since moving to Austin.

“Darlin’,” Joel cooed, coming to sit at the edge of the mattress and cupping her face in his large palms, “It’s not like that. I want nothing more than to stay the night, but I know that I won’t sleep a wink tonight if I do.” His thumb stroked her bottom lip as her mouth slanted into a small, saddened smile. He leaned in, pressing three kisses to her lips, each one longer than the last before pulling back, “Can I get your number? I promise I won’t ask for a third time.”

Y/n smiled at him, kissing him once more before snatching a pen off of the bedside table and scribbling on his hand, “You won’t get it if you ask for a third time, Miller.”

MARCH 12, 1999

Y/n sighed blissfully, gnawing at her lip to prevent any moans of pleasure as Joel worked himself into her over and over, his hips meeting hers with slow, meaningful movements as he did his best to keep both of them quiet. Joel wasn’t normally one for booty calls, though he had hardly seen her in the past few days and couldn’t resist when his mind had wandered while in the shower–and for the first time in what felt like decades, he could rely on the help of soft, feminine touches rather than his own fast and rough tugs. 

Her thighs shook, teeth biting into the pillow beneath her face as she pressed her hips back against him and arched her spine in pleasure. She met his thrusts enthusiastically, fingers winding into the sheets tightly. 

“Shit,” She gasped, “Joel, I’m gonna–”

“I know,” He rasped, “Shhh baby. Let go, I’ve got you.”

She didn’t hold back, allowing the white hot pleasure to run through her veins, muffling her cries in the plushness of the pillow. Her walls clenched around him, gripping him for everything that she could manage as he fucked her through it, head rolled back in pleasure as his own orgasm teetered over the edge. His fingers tightened around her hips, hauling her back against him a few more times before his seed painted the inside of the condom. 

His hands slid up from her hips, one pressing on her back to force her to lay flat against the mattress while the other cupped the soft flesh of her belly to roll her over. Joel took in her figure, eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort before dropping to her breasts; the man was absolutely entranced by the shape of her breasts, eagerly pawing at them during makeout sessions and suckling at them with the utmost love and desire as he fucked her. She smiled at him tiredly, hooded eyes admiring his own figure as he slipped out of her, sliding off of the bed and disappearing into the ensuite. 

When he returned, he wore a pair of black boxers and carried a maroon washcloth in his hand, carefully parting her legs and sliding the cloth through her folds, puffy and sore from his touch. He whispered an entirely disingenuous apology as he pressed lightly against her abused clit, chuckling to himself as she jumped. Tossing the cloth aside, he settled into the mattress next to her, sliding an arm around her waist and tugging her into his side, sighing in relief at the physical contact. 

The rising sun had slowly begun to peek through the blinds, filling the room with a soft glow in the aftermath of the third round. Y/n glanced at the clock on the far wall, sighing to herself as reality settled into her bones. She hadn’t intended on staying so long, especially after how eagerly the both of them had initiated the first round, having allowed herself to remain at his side until she felt his member begin to grow against her thigh once more. Now, after taking him inside of her three times over the past six hours, she knew that she would eventually need to get up and leave–a habit that they both had and hated when they were finished. 

She pressed careful kisses into his flesh, lips moulding to the sweaty skin of his shoulder and neck affectionately while her palm rubbed circles into his firm chest. Joel nuzzled his head into her hair, his own lips pressing to the crown of her head as he, too, appreciated the afterglow. 

Y/n’s body and heart screamed at her as she finally pulled herself away from him, hopping out of the bed and collecting her clothing from the floor. Joel watched her with sunken eyes, his attempt to remain stoic as he easily recognised what she was doing proving fruitless.

“You don’t–you don’t gotta go just yet,” he called to her, desperation lacing his voice, “Don’t gotta be at the site till eleven tomorrow–”

“Today,” she corrected, “And that’s in seven hours. Besides, I don’t wanna fall asleep and risk having to run into Sarah. I should probably leave.” 

He nodded slowly, continuing to watch her as she dressed and fixed her appearance, preparing herself mentally and physically for her four A.M. walk of shame. Joel wanted to call her back to bed again, to convince her to stay with him and promise breakfast in the morning, but instead watched helplessly as she disappeared into the dark hallway, and closed his eyes disappointedly at the sound of the front door closing behind her.

JUNE 2, 1999

Golden rays of sun peeked through the blinds, trailing up the length of the bed with each passing moment before finally gracing over the soft skin of the woman next to him. Joel laid in his bed as still as possible, one arm around her shoulders to keep her flush against his chest, savouring the intimate, domestic moment before it would eventually come to an end–it always did.

The alarm clock flashed the time tauntingly at him, as if mocking him for wanting to keep her there for much longer than he knew he could. This was undoubtedly the latest she had stayed in his bed; it was nearing six A.M. and she had yet to stir from her deep slumber. 

His eyes trailed the length of her bare back, his fingers pressing gently at the indent of her spine as he pushed her body impossibly closer to her and bathing himself in the feeling of her nude body against his own. Joel resisted the urge to shake the growing ache out of his leg as pins and needles crawled up the length of his limb, too afraid to move and wake her–he knew what would come once her eyes had opened, as she had done it countless times now. 

It was the twitch of her fingers against the soft flesh of his belly that alerted him to her growing consciousness, nails following the pattern of hair that covered his abdomen softly, drawing a quiet moan of delight from the man beneath her. He felt the curve of her lips against his shoulder, turning his head to meet her eyes as they fluttered open.

“Morning, cowboy,” Her throat was dry and her voice was scratchy, but her words still held the power of causing an eruption of butterflies in his gut. 

“Morning,” He leaned closer, the tips of his nose brushing her own before she swatted him away, covering her mouth self-consciously and mumbling something about morning breath. Joel chuckled at her, moving her hand away and planting a soft, closed-mouth kiss against her lips. 

Her smile grew, hazy vision flickering around the sun-lit bedroom as realisation dawned on her, “What time is it?”

Joel’s own smile faltered as he cleared his throat, glancing over at the alarm clock again, “Five-to-six.”

“Shit,” She groaned, a hand settling on her forehead, “I should probably leave. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

Joel shook his head at her, “You ain’t got nothing to apologise for. I like having you here.”

She pecked his lips again, fondness creeping through her at the man’s admission, “I like being here. But I should go before Sarah wakes up.”

Joel caught her arm as she moved to crawl out of the bed, “Stay.”

“What?”

“Sarah knows you’ve been coming around and leaving early in the morning.” He told her, thumb smoothing circles against her wrist, “She says she’s happy for me, but she said that she won’t approve until you start bringing that damn dog of yours over here when you come.”

Y/n chuckled, her eyes growing a thin red rim along her waterline, “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to stay. Every damn night you spend here, you go rushing out like this is just a quick fuck, but I think we both know that it’s a lot more than that. Just come back to bed, please.”

Y/n shook her head at him, glancing over at the rising sun through the blinds in contemplation before she finally shrugged, crawling back into the bed and settling against his naked form with a sigh, her hand resting on his chest as she massaged small circles into his sweaty flesh. Both of them relaxed into one another, enjoying the silence of the early morning and dreading the unavoidable fate of the alarm going off in the coming hour.

NOVEMBER 27, 1999

Y/n tapped her nails against the hardwood of the tabletop rhythmically, doing her best not to make her dissociation too clear as her friends and family chattered back and forth. Her mother was busy on her left hand side, sharing dozens of her favourite childhood photographs to Y/n’s friends with a fondness that only a mother could have, while the seat to her left was empty. The watch that she’d received as a gift from her parents sat on her wrist, the time ticking away as grief settled in her stomach, the realisation that he simply wasn’t coming eating away at her pride.

Her birthday was not something that she generally liked to celebrate, but knowing that her parents, siblings, and a few members of her extended family had orchestrated a trip to visit and celebrate with her had her counting down the days, especially after she had convinced her unofficial boyfriend to join them for dinner at one of the nicest wallet-friendly restaurants in Austin. Now, as she sat silently and watched as her friends laughed and cooed over possibly the most embarrassing photos of her while picking at their slices of birthday cake, her mind only wandered to where exactly he was, and how much more fun she would be having if she were warding him off of any of those photographs–especially all of the ones from her junior high years. 

She hadn’t had the chance to speak to him at all that day, having woken up after he had already left for work and dropped Sarah off at school. At the time, Y/n had smiled to herself, thanking him mentally for allowing her to sleep in on her birthday, though she was beginning to wonder if she should have taken the lack of birthday wishes as a sign. 

She actively avoided Stephanie’s gaze, wanting to escape the oncoming I told you so, and made as little eye contact as possible with her mother, who watched her sympathetically, and her father, who silently raged over the presence of the empty chair. Y/n now felt embarrassed over how much she’d actually gushed over the man to her family before dinner, wondering if maybe she was more invested in him than he was in her. After all, he had yet to officially ask her to be his girlfriend, despite the fact that she and Manny had taken up residence in his home at least four nights a week and that she had been included in more recent movie nights with him and Sarah. 

Maybe she was reading into it too much–something must have happened. Something happened to Sarah, or maybe Tommy had been locked up again. There was no way that Joel had forgotten her birthday, there was simply no way.

– – –

Joel’s feet ached, crying out in pain with every step and sighing in relief as he finally kicked off his heavy boots. The crew that he’d brought on for his most recent and highest paying job to date had given him hell that day, leaving him aching for nothing more than a hot shower and a peaceful night at home with his best girls. He hated having to tack on extra hours to his day, but not arriving home until after ten was something that he would have to deal with in order to finish the job, and he was hoping to save up to take Y/n and Sarah on a little getaway for a weekend in the near future. 

The kitchen was dim when he stepped in, and he was somewhat surprised when he discovered no plate of food left for him in the microwave, nor was there a pan of leftovers in the fridge. Instead, there was a single empty carton of a microwavable dinner on the counter along with an empty can of Pepsi. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he shrugged it off, though he had grown accustomed to Y/n bringing dinner over and making sure that it was ready for him on days that he worked late. 

Soft footsteps rushed down the stairs, Sarah rounding the corner with a wide grin on her face as she held a small piece of paper in her hands. 

“Hey babygirl,” Joel kissed her head softly as he moved into the living room, even more confused when he did not find Y/n curled up on the couch with a stack of her textbooks, as she so often did while waiting for him to return. 

“Hi dad,” Sarah’s smile dropped, glancing back into the entryway in confusion, “Where’s Y/n? I made this card at school today but I figured I’d wait until after you guys came back to give it to her.”

The blood in Joel’s veins ran cold, his heart skipping a beat at the sudden realisation of why his house appeared to be so void of his girlfriend, “Fuck.”

“Dad?” Sarah’s wide eyes narrowed, all too used to her father’s undiagnosed case of short-term memory loss, though he had never ever forgotten something like this before.

“Shit,” He swore again, snatching his keys off of the counter and rushing to jam his feet back into his uncomfortable boots, “Sarah, go to bed. I’ll be back later tonight.”

The girl watched helplessly as her father raced out the door, tears welling in her eyes as she stared down at the happy picture she had pasted into the card and frowning as she feared the worst.

– – –

Joel arrived at the restaurant just before eleven. He knew it was a long shot, as the reservation was for seven-thirty, which he had purposefully written down and stuck to the fridge so that he would not forget. The few remaining staff inside shook their heads in pity at the man, quickly coming to understand his situation as he rushed inside, asking about the reservation with a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. 

His shoulders slumped as he parked in his driveway, trudging across the lawn into the neighbouring yard and knocking firmly on the door. He waited a few moments, cursing quietly as he got no response and knocking again. 

His frown deepened when the door swung open, a fuming Stephanie standing in his way. Her face burned scarlet, fists clenched at her side as she took in Joel’s pitiful appearance. She took a step forward, joining Joel on the front step and closing the door behind her. 

“The fuck do you want?” 

“Where’s Y/n?” He asked, ignoring her bluntness.

“She doesn’t wanna talk to you,” the girl sneered at him. “It’s one thing to stand someone up, even to forget their birthday, but to embarrass her like that in front of her family?” She scoffed, “you know, I warned her about you, but I took no pleasure in being right. You should have seen her tonight, barely spoke at all.”

The metaphorical knife in Joel’s gut twisted at her words, the fist clenching the bouquet tightening even further around the stems. He could picture her; all dolled up, chatting with her family as she eagerly awaited his arrival, her pretty smile dampening as time passed and eventual tears in her eyes as she realised the truth–he had forgotten about her. 

“Just let me talk to her,” he begged, “Please.”

Stephanie shook her head, “I think it’s best if you never show your face on my property again, Miller.”

“Joel?” Both of their eyes turned at the sound of Y/n’s voice, finding her peeking around the door curiously. “Steph, can you give us a minute?”

The woman sent Joel one final glare, patting her roommate on the shoulder before slipping back into the house. 

If the knowledge of what he’d done hadn’t been enough, Y/n’s appearance was the final blow to his gut. Her eyes were bloodshot, cheeks swollen and marked with visible remnants of tears. She wrung her fingers together anxiously, keeping her gaze lowered in shame as she closed the door behind her and turned to face him.

“Baby–” 

“Don’t.” Y/n interrupted, “Just explain.”

He sniffled, “I can’t explain it, or excuse it. We got held up at work, and I really need this job to be done and over with already. I’m so sorry, baby.”

She shook her head, lifting her sleeve to wipe at the underside of her nose, “You didn’t even say goodbye before you left this morning. Did you even remember at all?”

Joel bit his lip, “I’m sorry. Let me–”

“Joel,” Her voice cracked, “I love you.” His heart soared as she spoke those words for the first time, then shattered as she continued, “I understand that I’m not your first priority–that’ll always be Sarah and I can’t blame you for that. But, fuck, you suggested the restaurant, Joel. You spoke to my mom over the phone and promised her the best steak in town, and she sure seemed to like it, but you weren’t even there. I won’t ever be your first priority, but I can’t be your last, either.”

“Y/n–”

“I think my cousins liked it, you know.” She continued, wiping at her cheeks, “They’re the type to pray for your downfall, and I’m sure they were loving every second of the dinner once everyone realised that you weren’t coming. Hell, all I did all night was talk about how amazing you were, and then–” Y/n cut herself off with a quiet sob.  “You should probably leave.” 

“Don’t do this,” Joel cupped her face, dropping the flowers to the deck recklessly as he wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, “Tell me what to do. Hit me, yell at me, do something, but don’t ask me to walk away.”

She looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Joel felt hopeful that she might actually listen to him, though all hope was quickly diminished as he removed herself from his grasp, reaffirming her statement as she stepped back into the house.

“You should probably leave.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #hbo the last of us #Spotify

[aoiveaeart]

|| Once upon a time …

Catra just before walking into the Royal Ball, from the story I’m writing (x) inspired by the movie Ever After, a Cinderella Story (1998)

#catradora #my art #fanart #illustration #shera #adora #catra #shera adora #shera and the princesses of power #spop #ever after 1998 #ever after a cinderella story #au #another fairytale au #first part of the fic now available on ao3 #shera catra

[femmeprincessjulia]

Ranking Cinderella Adaptations Based On How Much I Want The Dress

(In my own personal opinion, these are just the ones I like the best.)

10. Cinderella (2021) : Everyone's hated on this movie enough, so I'm just going to focus on the dress. In theory, I could see what they were going for. If it was just a fitted bustier, a hip-hugging skirt and a bustle, then I think it would have succeeded. But it's just underwhelming. That's all it is. Underwhelming. 3/10

9. Into The Woods (2014) : There's not much to talk about with this dress. I love the color choice, and I think the way it moves is pretty. But it just feels too simple. I know it's a dress that isn't crucial to the plot or anything, but it's still just a little too underwhelming. But I do think the sleeves are cute. 4/10

8. Once Upon A Time (2011-2018) : I think my issues with this dress are similar to my issues with Into The Woods. It just doesn't have the "wow" factor I'm searching for. It's a beautiful dress, and I would certainly wear it. But it just feels like the most generic Cinderella dress. Blue, sparkly, princess-y. Still cute though. 4/10

7. Another Cinderella Story (2008) : I'm a sucker for a red dress, and I truly adore this one. The neckline isn't my favorite, but I love the layering and the ruffles. It's such a daring take for a Cinderella dress, but it's something I would definitely wear. It looks like it would be fun to dance in. 6/10

6. Cinderella (1950) : Yes, it's a classic. It's simplistic, but so magical. The scene where her dress changes is one of my absolute favorites of all time. In this case, I love the simplicity. It really makes her stand out. I dreamed of this dress so much as a kid. 7/10

5. Ever After (1998) : Maybe I'm biased, because this is one of my favorite Cinderella adaptations, but I do adore this dress. While the time period is not my favorite in terms of silhouette, this dress still feels magical and dreamy. Empire waists and a slender fit aren't my type, but I would wear it simply to feel ethereal. I mean, the EMBROIDERY? The WINGS? All gorgeous and stunning. 8/10

4. A Cinderella Story (2004) : Yeah, it's a very simple dress. But it's absolutely breathtaking. I want to get married in this dress. Something about it is just so angelic. I feel like it should be paired with wings too. The femininity in this dress is something I truly adore. 8/10

3. Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella (1997) : Is it costume-y? Yes. Is it made of two clashing materials? Yes. Would I sell my soul to the devil for the chance to wear this dress? Also yes. I don't care how cliché it is. The sweetheart neckline, the opera gloves, the little bustle in the back, it's all so cute and just feels like a little girl's princess dream. Plus, I love the shade of light blue. 9/10

2. The Slipper and the Rose (1976) : Shockingly, I haven't seen this film. But I truly should, because the costume design is absolutely gorgeous. It all takes inspiration from the rococo period. My bias takes hold again, it seems. Sure, it's a lot of frills and pink, but that's exactly what I look for in a dress. If I was going to a rococo ball, this is what I'd be wearing. 9/10

1. Cinderella (2015) : The almighty. The most beautiful dress to ever be created. The dress that lingers in my dreams. Nothing can surpass this dress. Words can't even describe how wonderful it is. I do believe this dress is the most magical of all. It is absolute perfection from head to toe. Scratch what I said earlier about getting married in Hillary Duff's dress. I'm getting married in Lily James' dress. 1000000/10

#i ponder cinderella dresses a lot #hopefully i'll be able to wear them #preferably while dancing with a handsome prince #that'd be nice #cinderella #cinderella 1950 #cinderella 1997 #cinderella 2015 #cinderella 2021 #into the woods #ever after #ouat #the slipper and the rose #a cinderella story #another cinderella story #princesscore #royalcore #girlblogging

[pr0serpinaa]

Favorite dreamy Fairytale/Folktale inspired films

Panna a netvor (Beauty and the Beast) (1979)

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

The Company of Wolves (1984)

Rusalochka (The Little Mermaid) (1976)

A Song of the Forest: Mavka (1983)

The Red Shoes (1948)

Ever After (1998)

Morozko (Jack Frost) (1964)

Labyrinth (1986)

Ashik Kerib (The Lovelorn Minstrel) (1988)

#I didn't like Legend as much as I thought I would but maybe I need to rewatch it #maybe I'll do a full list of other dreamy fairytale films and not just my faves #fairytale #fairytale films #panna a netvor #the thief of bagdad #the company of wolves #Rusalochka #mavka #ever after #morozko #labyrinth #ashik kerib #the red shoes

[augiewrites]

"unknown / nth" - richie jerimovich

summary: y/n reflects on their relationship with richie (inspired by hozier's unknown / nth)

pairing: richie jerimovich x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst, a lot of hurt with no comfort, reader and richie are toxic :(

a/n: i've been staring at this draft for so long idk how to feel

previous

The question kept ringing in Y/N’s head for days to come.

What are we? I mean, we’re friends, right?

Y/N didn’t know if they could be friends with Richie. He had been breaking their heart for as long as they could remember.

1995

The flashing lights and thumping bass was giving Y/N a headache. They never thought they would hate senior prom so much. 

It wouldn’t be so bad—Y/N thought, bringing a cup of spiked punch to their lips—if Richie hadn’t run off to god knows where with Mikey.

Richie wasn’t a bad boyfriend, per se, but their relationship wasn’t always conventional. Hell, they didn’t have a label until nearly a year into their relationship, when some jock hit on Y/N right in front of Richie. He started a fight with the boy—one he wouldn’t have won if Mikey wasn’t there—but he made one thing clear: Y/N belonged to Richie, and Richie belonged to Y/N.

A small smile made its way to Y/N’s face at the memory, but fell quickly when they remembered their current situation. It had been thirty minutes, and there was no sign of their date.

With a huff, Y/N shoved their unfinished cup into Fak’s hand—Y/N didn’t care to know how he snuck in to the function—and headed for the gymnasium doors.

If Richie was going to run off into school with Mikey, then Y/N would run off altogether.

They made it halfway across the parking lot before rapid footsteps approached and they heard a yell of, “hey! Where are you going?”

Y/N halted against their better judgment, letting Richie catch up to them.

“What’s up? Where are you going?” Richie’s hand found Y/N’s waist as he tried to catch his breath.

Y/N was disappointed, but not surprised. Richie had a track record of fucking up without realization—it was just something they had to accept when they got involved with the boy. 

Y/N continued walking, letting Richie’s hand drop. “I’m going home, Rich.” Richie scoffed and started following once he realized his partner was serious.

“What do you mean you’re going home? I thought we were having a good time?”

“If we means you and Mike, then yeah. I’m sure you were having a good time.” It was uncharacteristically cold for May, and Y/N shuddered as they rubbed their bare arms.

Richie draped his tux jacket over their shoulders without skipping a beat. “C’mon, we just had some business that needed taken care of.”

“Well what about me? Don’t I deserve to be taken care of?” Y/N couldn’t even look at him as they continued, “I swear, you should just leave me and marry Mikey. You’d probably be a lot happier.”

“Hey,” desperation seeped into Richie’s tone as he lightly gripped Y/N’s arm, bringing the two of them to a halt. “I’m here now, why don’t we just take two on this shit and try having a good time? Together.”

Y/N finally met Richie’s eyes, “We’ll have a good time, but for how long? Huh? How long before you ditch me again? You always do this, and I always just go along with it.”

“I don’t always ditch you.”

“Oh really? What about homecoming? The holiday party? Last weekend at Little Greg’s? I can go on.”

Richie guffawed, flailing his arms out.

Y/N continued forward, “I’m going home. I don’t know why I expected anything else from tonight.”

“Y/N—wait,” he caught up to them again, “at least let me take you home. You’re not walking alone this late.”

They ignored him and kept going.

“You either get in the car or I’m walking right behind you the whole way there.”

Y/N walked the whole way home, only acknowledging his presence to hand him his jacket before closing the door firmly in his face.

They were back together by Monday.

1998

Three years. It was the longest Y/N and Richie had ever gone without breaking up.

Y/N had taken a gap year after graduation before making the decision to attend a university in Nowhere, Pennsylvania. The couple had gotten pretty good at the long distance thing—call schedules, risque polaroids crammed into letters, Y/N spending all breaks and long weekends in Chicago, and Richie coming to them when he could pawn his weekend shifts onto someone else.

It worked at first, but the relationship was strained once Y/N finally began to settle into their new life. Their classes got more demanding, trips home were more infrequent, and they were down to one biweekly call if they were lucky.

Y/N should have seen it coming, but Richie should have had better timing.

Y/N was on a plane to Chicago two hours after their last final was handed in, and the pair was nearly inseparable for the two weeks leading up to Christmas. Everything seemed fine—perfect, even—and Y/N was so happy to finally have their man right there, in the flesh.

Against their better judgment, Y/N found themself at the Berzatto Christmas dinner. It was loud and multiple fights had broken out throughout the evening, but Y/N had gotten through dinner relatively unscathed.

That was, until Richie pulled them into an empty room.

“I think we should break up.”

The melody of loud conversations and playful scuffles throughout the house fell deaf on Y/N’s ears as they felt the walls close in on them.

“Wh-what?”

“I just think we need some time apart, is all.”

“Time apart? Practically all of our time is apart.”

“Yeah, I mean…” Richie trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere but at Y/N. “I guess that’s part of the problem.”

Y/N didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now, not when they’d have to push through a crowd of the most overbearing people on the planet to make an exit. They cursed the hot tears flowing freely down their cheeks. 

“It’s not just on me to come here to you, you know. You never come visit me at school.”

“C’mon, Y/N, you know I work.”

“And I don’t? I’m constantly putting my life—my livelihood—on hold just so you’re not lonely for a weekend.”

“Look, I’m not trying to fight about this,” Y/N scoffed at Richie’s words, but he continued, “having you here has just been a reminder of how much I hate this long distance shit. It ain’t fair to me.”

“It’s not fair to you? You think it doesn’t kill me to not be able to be here with you?” Y/N hated how pathetic their cracking voice made them sound.

Richie’s eyes finally locked onto Y/N’s.

“Well, you were the one that chose to leave.”

Richie’s words sunk their teeth into Y/N’s heart, and they could feel a chunk being ripped out as they turned to leave the room without another word.

They were barely aware of their surroundings as they made their way through the house to the front door. Blood was pumping so loudly in their ears that they didn’t hear Sugar asking if they were okay or the harmony of Carmy and Mike assaulting Richie with varying versions of “what the hell did you do?”

Y/N grabbed their coat, but didn’t take the time to put it on before moving swiftly out the door and into the cold, letting its finite slam ricochet through the empty street.

Present

Y/N spent a lot of time thinking about all the things they wanted to say to Richie at that moment. They wanted to tell him about how the distance never made a difference to them—that they were just happy to know he was out there and they would be back home full time in just a few years. That they loved Richie—even being all too familiar with his bad side. That they couldn’t imagine a future without him.

Richie was a chapter of their life Y/N was never able to fully close. Over the years following the breakup, Y/N would visit home and end up in Richie’s bed more times than they were proud of. 

Y/N stopped coming home after Sugar broke the news that Richie and Tiff were engaged.

Even after all the years, Y/N could never find the courage to tell Richie how they truly felt about him. Even now, they could break beneath the weight of the goodness they still held for him.

It was like a cruel joke that their lives were aligning again. Y/N had to fight the hope blossoming in their chest—it never did them much good with Richie, anyway.

~~~

feedback is appreciated!

#richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #richie the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fic #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 2: "Oeillets, coquelicots et saphirs"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: The Royal Academy of Art was your dream, and you were finally there. Even though the main purpose was to get your portrait painted by the artist of your choice—whose charm drove you to that decision—, you took the opportunity to make it your first day of Art School.

Word count: 2.4K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

"Lady Y/N, are you aware of what could happen if you get caught?"

You sighed. "Antoinette, I appreciate your concerns, but nothing will happen."

"Nothing will happen until it happens, the less protection you have, the more careful you must be… And with your father gone, who is going to take care of you?"

"I can take care of myself, I don't need a man to protect me," you answered, wondering why you didn't change her as your maid before. She was the voice of consciousness in your life, was what your father had said when you considered it first. "The only thing a man is good at is being the epicenter of every problem that has ever existed. Forgive me for only wanting one of those hideous beings to be worthy of me."

Antoinette snickered. "Love… you talk about it all the time, do you not? Once you fall in love, you will change your mind and make some sense."

"I do not need a man I am in love with, perhaps loving in a non-romantic way… As long as I can trust him with all that I have, all that my cousin's life is not long enough for him to touch, I think it would be enough."

"You might as well find that man in Art School and he will not like you if you look like another man."

You laughed. "I cannot marry an artist! Lady Carrington advised me not to, and I must follow her recommendations. Also, I will be saying that I have a twin who happens to be an elegant, dazzling, funny and beautiful young lady."

"Anything you say, my Lady." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm so excited!"

She curved her lips, internally not hating it entirely. Deep down, she admired your determination and the way you always end up making the most out of every difficulty.

Astounding was the way that a situation triggered your impulsiveness. On this particular occasion, a conflict at the Château made you send a letter to your godparents, steal clothes from your cousin—who is strangely your same size—, and run away to England. Antoinette knew she could not do a thing about it and that her job was to comply with your every wish.

"Are you ready, dear?" Lord Carrington asked as he saw you reach downstairs.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "What will we do today, Lord Carrington?"

He shook his head in amusement. "I will accompany you to a classroom full of our most promising artists and have one paint you… Then, I shall leave you to explore the Academy by yourself, I am certain that you will have the time of your life."

The widest of smiles shone on your face as you hurriedly followed him to the carriage.

Your path was full of chit chat, nothing too interesting as your mind was set on your plans for the day.

When you arrived, you could not do much but look around, mesmerized.

Since you were a child, you wished to go to school, to university, and while your father used to indulge in your ideas and wishes, there were certain things not even a duke could have done.

He did hire a different educator for each of your diverse interests: languages, art, literature, history, astronomy, music, fencing, or archery. He taught you himself how to manage the winery, your properties, your fortune, a thing or two regarding mining, and the value of every single thing in life.

There were life lessons, advice, and love every day you spent together, and you would always be thankful for that.

When you finally got to the classroom, you encountered about half a dozen gentlemen in a semicircle, painting a woman sitting naked in the center of the circle.

You looked to another spot, any, as your only way to show respect to her.

"Will they… paint me like that, too?" you asked your godfather, and he chuckled.

"Do not even consider that idea, dear. It will be a portrait of you just the way you are right now."

You snickered nervously for a moment.

"Look at their work, my Lady," he ordered. "Then, pick whomever's you like best and we will have him painting you."

You did as he told you, lying eyes on a particular man. His work was interesting, remarkable even.

You correctly guessed that he was new to the Academy as his strokes lacked perfect precision. You did not care.

You did not look at any other's work, you just decided that was the man who would paint you. There was just something about him and about the way your heart jumped when he locked eyes with you for the first time.

So you made a gesture at Lord Carrington, who dismissed the model and every other artist in the room, leaving only you, him, the artist you chose, and your maid.

"Mister," Lord Carrington called for his attention, not knowing his name he just opted for the safest option. "Here is my goddaughter, Lady Y/N. She picked you to paint her portrait."

"I… Yes, of course, Lord Carrington."

He nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

You smiled at the unknown man with those glorious ocean eyes. "I am Y/N, enchantée."

"Benedict," he stopped himself when he noticed you didn't say your surname or present yourself with any title. "Are you French, my Lady?"

"Oh, what gave it away?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I have no idea, you look like someone who loves to walk through des rues de Paris. It could also be the accent, or perhaps introducing yourself saying enchantée, that is very French."

"You also speak French in Monaco, Belgium…"

"Are you Belgian or…"

"No, but still."

Benedict laughed, putting aside the halfway painted canvas of the naked woman, and taking an empty one. "So, French?"

"Yes, French."

"The color of your dress is one of my favorites," he commented with a smile, looking at you attentively as he mixed paints to come up with the perfect shade. "And the jewels contrast perfectly with everything."

The apricot orange silks of your dress did contrast perfectly with the necklace, gold accompanied by diamonds and carrying the bluest sapphires brought directly from the Americas.

"Almost as if I had chosen it on purpose knowing I was going to be painted by a skilled artist."

"I am flattered, my Lady."

You smiled, seeing as he started painting you. "You can call me by my name when no one is around."

"You as well." he agreed with a lopsided grin.

Slightly crooked teeth formed a smile that resembled the waxing crescent moon.

"So, Benedict… How long have you studied in the Academy?"

"Just a few weeks," he replied. "Does my poor experience show?"

"I picked you, and not precisely for your charm," you answered with a flirty smile. "Okay, perhaps I did! But I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

"How could I possibly have charmed you with a single glance?" he questioned with faux confusion.

"You underestimate yourself, it seems."

"It's part of my charm, if you must know."

He was the most enchanting individual you have ever encountered, and during the hours filled with fun small conversations in which you got to know each other, you regretted everything you told Antoinette about men.

It was wonderful that he never asked you for anything private, as if he knew which questions you would answer or not in advance.

"Do you come from a big family?" Benedict asked.

You shook your head. "Not really."

"Siblings?"

"Uh… one, my twin," you rushed to answer. "You?"

"Seven."

You gasped. "Seven?!"

"My parents used to have a lot of spare time or so it seems."

"I can't imagine how difficult it must have been to give birth and raise eight children!"

"It was hard work, I am sure."

"You looked like you were trouble, were you not?" you joked.

"What is there in me that screams trouble?" Benedict inquired, pretending to be offended.

"Everything, I should know."

He hummed. "What does that even mean, Y/N?"

"Make a guess."

"I could never."

"Then live under the shadows of ignorance, Benedict."

You both laughed, but as soon as you noticed his eyes locked on you, you returned to a neutral look.

"Wait, go back to that smile!" Benedict pleaded, and after a few seconds, you managed to. "That surely is a smile worthy of my first portrait."

"Oh, am I your first?" you questioned funnily, ignoring Antoinette's knowing look she threw from afar.

He chuckled loudly. "That sounded terribly not lady-like. Never say anything as such in front of Lord Carrington."

"I will take the advice," you answered. "But does it bother a gentleman like you?"

"On the contrary, I find it quite diverting."

"That is good since I said it to you."

He was finished, it took him a few hours, but you would approve of a conversation as such to last days, even. "It's done, come here."

You ran to him, looking at the painting he did of you smiling happily, which was uncommon for a portrait in the current days.

"It is perfect." You smiled, being closer to him than you had anticipated.

He smirked, and you could not help but melt under his glance. "I am glad you liked it."

"I, uh… must go, but you know what? I will have my brother find you and befriend you. He will study here."

"Are you artists, too?" Benedict asked.

"Uh…, no, not really," you answered. A lie. "He is the talented one, an artist if you have ever seen one, though not formally educated. And I am more inclined to literature."

"I believe you and my sister would be an insufferable pair."

You laughed. "Are you calling me insufferable? How disrespectful of you!"

"My apologies," he excused himself jokingly, standing up. "I hope I see you again, Lady Y/N."

"I hope so, too." You curved your lips.

He nodded and left you alone in the classroom.

"My, my…" Antoinette shook her head. "Not even a day has passed and you will have to eat your words."

"I will not eat anything, I was just being respectful."

"Respectful? Introducing yourself with only your Christian name is not respectful in the slightest, my Lady!"

"Oh, do not make a fuss out of this… One day people will introduce themselves with only their names, so I am just… a lady ahead of her time."

Antoinette sighed at your impertinence, giving you the clothes she carried in the suitcase. "Get changed before anyone comes in."

You did so, taking off your dress firstly and undoing the small, neatly combed, bun in your hair after. The corset was still on, and you took a piece of fabric that was in the suitcase and wrapped your cleavage with it. Antoinette helped you, and even though you could not properly breathe, you were happy.

Your cousin's attire fit you well enough, and you had at your disposition a pair of shoes your size. The diamonds and sapphires in your collarbones were quickly discarded, and ended up in the deepest pockets.

You tied your hair in a slipshod low bun, looking at Antoinette with a smile.

"Hello!" you exclaimed with a more grave voice and a sharper French accent, making her snort. "I am Mr. Voclain, enchanté."

"I am not sure men introduce themselves or, in general, act that way."

You clicked your tongue. "How would I know?"

"You live with one."

"My cousin does not count."

"How does he not?"

"He just doesn't, Antoinette, stop asking me questions!"

She sighed annoyed. "Clean up your face, you look like a woman."

You wrinkled your nose and did as you were told. "Go hide somewhere until I am done, alright?"

"Wait, that is not how a man stands!"

"It's not like I want to attract a lady's attention," you murmured. "Nor a man's."

Antoinette gave you a pointed look. "What is your name, my Lord?"

"Is it not too ambitious to call myself Lord?" you asked, rehearsing the masculine voice you would have to use. Antoinette shook her head. "Alright, I am Lord…" you paused for a few seconds, not knowing what your name would be until it occurred to you. "Antoine Voclain!"

"Antoine?"

"Antoine as in my loyal maid Antoinette who always supports me without complaint," you explained sarcastically. "Aren't I a handsome gentleman?"

"Do not get too confident over there, remember the things you said about them."

"Well, I am one of them now, so count me as a hideous being, too."

Antoinette was your age, a year or two older if anything. She acted as if she had twice that experience in life, a thing she took from her mother, who was your Mama's maid. Antoinette's mother was initially against you leaving for London, but knew there was nothing she or anyone could do or say to stop you from doing whatever was the thing that you pleased.

She sighed and left the classroom on her way to the carriage, leaving you in there alone with only your suitcase next to you.

There were all sorts of things. You arranged in a vase many flowers you found: carnations and poppies. The blue of the sapphires would contrast with the red hues of the flowers, but you kept the necklace only as a guide in your hands. You took fruits as well so you could eat meanwhile, not caring for their actual purpose.

You did not realize when the classroom got full of other men who joined you in painting the flowers on each of their individual canvases.

Different techniques and colors could be seen, though yours shone brighter as it came from an unfamiliar face with no formal artistic education.

Once you were finally finished, your hands and arms and even your face were stained of paint, you looked around and noticed the many other men who had joined you. You saved the jewels in your pocket again and did not leave until the 'Bourgogne' signature was there.

No one asked questions as you left, if you got a glance or two it would be saying too much. You walked out of the classroom and paced for a couple minutes until you saw a bathroom miraculously empty.

You cleaned yourself until there was no trace of paint in your skin, then left and looked for an empty classroom for more than you are willing to admit. Once you finally did, you got changed and quickly ran through the halls to try to find your godfather.

"Lady Y/N, why the hurry?"

"Oh, Lord Carrington… I was looking for you!" you exclaimed, fixing your hair.

"Shall we return home?"

You nodded eagerly.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction

[broken-clover]

One (Semi-obscure) Fact About Every Guilty Gear Character

I like trivia. And I like Guilty Gear. Being a series that’s been around for the better part of two decades, it’s only natural there’s some details that are less known about. So I wanted to make a silly little compilation about that, inspired by ‘One Obscure Fact About Every Total Drama Character’ by voiceunderthecovers on Youtube. 

As the title suggests, I also specifically did my best to pull out facts that may be less known even to fans of the series, so ideally there’s no ‘Sol is based on Freddie Mercury’-tier stuff here. I tried to find something interesting for everyone!

Characters are listed in order of their first playable games

Missing Link

Sol Badguy- Sol was originally meant to be voiced by actor Koichi Yamadera rather than developer Daisuke Ishiwatari, but given the developer's budget at the time, he would have been too expensive to afford

Ky Kiske- While Ky has been consistently voiced by Takeshi Kusao for the entire series' run in Japanese, he has been given a different voice actor for every dubbed game for both the English and Korean versions. This means that Ky has had seven official voice actors in total, making him among the highest of the cast alongside Testament

May- May is one of only a few characters in the series to have a tattoo, and only one of two where it is not implied or indicated to be magical in some way, alongside Potemkin's barcode

Potemkin- Several of Potemkin's moves across games reference Hinduism. Strive's 'Garuda Impact' is named after a birdlike demigod that acts as a mount for Vishnu, while Xrd SIGN's 'Trishula' is named for a divine trident-like weapon wielded by the god Shiva

Chipp Zanuff- According to prototype and side materials, Chipp is 22 years old as of Missing Link.

Faust- Possibly to go along with his nature of being a doctor with the desire to treat anyone he comes across, Faust's blood type is O, the universal donor

Axl Low- Axl claims the specific date he desired to return to was May 14, 1998. This is the same date that Missing Link was released in Japan

Millia Rage- According to her Xrd SIGN story mode, Millia's favorite flower is the Easter Lily

Zato-1- Based on his abduction dialogue in Strive, Zato believes in aliens

Kliff Undersn- Despite being removed from the Wii version of XX Accent Core, along with Justice, both their names and endings remain in the game's code. They also both contain original art that had never been used up to that point

Testament- The twin demons that Testament summons in Strive are the same singular familiar they possessed in prior games, simply named ‘Succubus,’ possibly split into two entities similarly to Ramlethal's familiar Lucifero

Justice- In Missing Link, Justice was voiced by Arc System employee Takuya Morito, who also voiced Chipp

Baiken- Baiken was initially a difficult character to include in the series, as due to being an amputee, it brought up issues with compliance standards at the time

X

Anji Mito- one of his aliases, Hirasawa, was actually planned to be his name during the start of X's development

Venom- During the winpose where he spins his cue, it is able to interact with any remaining balls that are still set up nearby

Johnny- Johnny is implied to have a close history with Gig, the main antagonist of the DS spinoff game Guilty Gear Dust Strikers

Jam Kuradoberi- In Blazblue, Litchi Faye-Ling's theme 'Oriental Flower' is a remix of her X theme, 'Babel Nose'

Dizzy- In the Guilty Gear XX Burst Encyclopedia, full-bodied sketch concepts exist for her wing entities, Necro and Undine. It is unknown currently if the designs were ever meant to be implemented into the game or if they were simply unused concepts

XX

Bridget- Bridget’s usage of a yo-yo as a weapon was inspired by a world-class yo-yoer that Daisuke Ishiwatari knew during the development of XX

Slayer- In SIGN, Slayer is shown to be able to control his limbs even after being severed

Zappa- In his Accent Core character art, Zappa is drawn with six fingers on his right hand. This has never appeared before or since, and is likely just an error. However, in some circles, six fingered-hands are viewed as spiritually significant

I-no- Her main guitar weapon, 'Marlene,' closely resembles the real-life Starplayer TV model manufactured by German company Duesenberg. One of her design inspirations, Sheena Ringo, owned a similar guitar, which she referred to as 'Dietrich.' Collectively, both may be a reference to German actress Marlene Dietrich

Robo-Ky- In #Reload, Robo-Ky is unique in that he has two separate standard match themes, with a day version and a night version depending on what round is occurring

Overture

Sin Kiske- In all of his playable appearances, Sin has never been depicted wearing socks

Izuna- Despite often being assumed to be a kitsune due to his foxlike ears, it is implied through his story in the Overture Original Material Collection that Izuna is actually a tsukumogami made from a hairpin

Dr. Paradigm- Prior to Strive bringing back several actors from SIGN, Paradigm was the only character to have a consistent dub voice, retaining the same actor in SIGN that he did in Overture

Raven- The portraits used for his non-playable appearance in XX are traced from the illustrations used in the side novel Lightning the Argent

Xrd

Bedman- He shares his voice actor with the character Marth from the Fire Emblem series in both his original Japanese and English dub voices, Hikaru Midorikawa and Yuri Lowenthal respectively

Ramlethal Valentine- Ramlethal is the only Xrd Valentine to not be associated with a holiday

Elphelt Valentine- Elphelt is the only playable female character depicted wearing earrings. There are more playable men in Guilty Gear that wear them than women.

Leo Whitefang- The PS3 console version of Xrd SIGN contains unused prototype art for an alternative version of Leo's character portrait

Jack-O Valentine- Similarly to Elphelt and Ramlethal, Jack-O is mechanically unusual as a character, in her case due to her servant-summoning mechanic. It is often believed that this is a reference to the tower-defense style gameplay of Overture, where the original Valentine appeared.

Kum Haehyun- Haehyun only speaks with her own voice during her outro animation. All of her other dialogue is spoken through her mech

Answer- Possibly as a way of properly proportioning the third lens of his glasses, Answer's model contains a second nose above the first. This was left in place and simply made invisible rather than be removed in the final version

STRIVE

Nagoriyuki- Though he was teased in the very first trailer for Guilty Gear Strive at EVO 2019, he remained unnamed for almost a year until his official trailer was released along with Leo’s in July 2020

Giovanna- Despite it being her debut game, across the entire script of Strive's story mode, Giovanna only has 22 lines of spoken dialogue, totaling 157 words overall. For reference, Sol speaks more than that during his first 10 lines

Goldlewis Dickinson- Along with Bridget, Delilah, and the Valentines, Goldlewis is one of the few characters who canonically has a sibling

Happy Chaos- In Baiken's Strive DLC trailer, an error occurs near the beginning where during a brief pan along the character's name, a trait consistent along all of the Seaon 1 DLC trailers, it erroneously reads as 'Happy Chaos' rather than 'Baiken.' It is unknown how this mistake occurred or made it to the final version, though it was fixed by the next installment, as Testament's trailer lacks this error

Delilah- Her English voice actor, Jessica DiCicco, voiced another adolescent telekinetic, Franke Athens, in the cult classic game Psychonauts

That Man- With his full name being given as Asuka R. Kreutz, he is one of only two characters to be given a middle initial, alongside Bedman

#i spent way too much time on this #I'm not sure how I feel #I'm just hoping to god I didn't fuck up on a bunch of these #I tried to do my research #guilty gear #everyone #OP back on her bullshit

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: HP Festival of Stars (Part 2)

HP Festival of Stars 2023:

Can I Be Yours? by Wanderingfair - E, 2 chapters - “Stop stalling.” She laughed. “Right.” he confirmed, “I’m off to have a dastardly time bashing around Londo- oh, wait, no, I’m off to go meet the gold-digger Mum set me up with,” he snapped. “I get those two confused all the time.” “Go,” she urged, tucking her mouth into the sleeve of her jumper to hide her smile. “I’ll be up reading when you get home.” “You’ll be asleep on the library sofa and we both know it.” He winked, before closing the door. OR Hermione is forced to watch her best friend Draco Malfoy go on dates and finally confront the fact that she doesn't just love him, she is in love with him.

Draco Malfoy's Five Step Plan to Being Forgettable by OneEqualTemper - E, one-shot - Five times Draco said, “New year, new me!” and one time Hermione said, “But I like the old you.”

happy xmas (war is over) by riddikulus_puff - M, one-shot - December, 1998. Thousands are devastated and still mourning the losses from the Second Wizarding War, now came along the celebrations regarding the Muggle tradition that had moved through into the Wizarding World. Many were holding on to others for support, yet Hermione Granger felt horribly alone. Wasn’t Christmas supposed to be a happy time surrounded by family and friends? A one-shot for the 2023 HP Festival of Stars Fic Fest Inspired by the song ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over)’ by John Lennon

Crystals in the Snow by JessicaLovejoyAO3 - T, one-shot - no summary

Open Last by nissasxnotes - T, one-shot - no summary

In A Sky Full of Stars (I Think I Saw You) by InAStarlessSky - G, one-shot - “There’s a solution for that.” As if to prove the truth of his statement, he divests himself of the heavy wool coat he’d been wearing up to that point and drapes it over one arm. He then extends his hand to her and says, “Come here, I want to show you something.” She hesitates a moment, as though expecting deceit. He only smirks and gives a small shake of head. “I won’t bite, love. Come.” She approaches, still shivering despite herself and stops only when she reaches his side. “Serpents do have fangs, Draco.” “And lions have claws. What of it?” Or the one where Hermione steals an invisibility cloak and Draco has a surprise to show her.

Christmas in September by MsPolaPotter - T, one-shot - One heirloom brings Hermione to the love that she had deserved all along.

The Holidate by likelyunfinished - M, one-shot - “I don’t want to be your bloody holidate ever again. I want to be yours instead.” “Mine,” she smiled. “Yours,” he kissed her then, and it was the first of many Christmas kisses to come. In which Hermione Granger needs a fake-date to her Christmas party only to be reminded that old feelings never fade.

Everything Gold Can Stay by charingfae - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy would give all the money in his vault for a chance to woo Hermione Granger. And he very nearly does. Year after year, he gifts her the most perfect, thoughtful, elaborate Christmas presents. So why in Merlin's name does she keep getting mad? One of these years, he's bound to get it right. Isn't he? Draco paused and drank in her radiant expression, her wisdom, her never-ending quest to make everyone in her sphere of influence better—all the individual components that added up to the mathematically impossible sum that was Hermione Granger. “I don’t agree with that. I’d argue that the things we love never stop being special. Not for a moment, Granger.”

Naughty or nice, Granger? by Dramioneinkdrinker - E, one-shot - Hermione sat down next to Theo. “What’s the game?” The three of them froze, staring at her like she was a boggart. Hermione cleared her throat, nodding to the game of cards splayed in front of Malfoy. Blaise was the first to recover. “Eh, we’re doing a holiday variation of King’s Draw.” Malfoy considered her. “Have you ever played?” “It’s like the muggle game truth or dare,” Blaise explained. Hermione ignored the way her stomach dropped. Shit. She held a palm out to Malfoy, who held the deck. “What’s this holiday variation?” A slow smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “We call it naughty or nice.” OR Where Hermione Granger decides to act like a normal teenager.

A Running Start by sundayviolet - T, one-shot - Hermione and Draco disagree with the DMLE’s assessment when their mutual friend and coworker, Theo, is poisoned. Alone at Hogwarts for Christmas, they must work together to find the truth. With their favorite buffer in the hospital, the two grow closer and finally admit what’s been long in the making.

All the Baubles by hermionejean99 - T, one-shot - Draco and Hermione are late twenty-something best friends, established in their careers. Draco asks Hermione to help him shop for his mother and his new mystery girlfriend while spending the day in Muggle London.

You and Me, Forevermore by Goldenbucky - G, one-shot - The one where Hermione chooses to go. And where Draco chooses to stay.

This fest is ongoing.

#hpfestofstars #fests/exchanges/challenges #dramione

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Hello librarian ! I really appreciate the work you and I was wondering if you could help me once again. Do you know of any 8th year fics where Harry is severely mental scared / suffers from a mental illness due to the traumatic events of his life ? Thank you sm for you help have a great day/night 🥰

Hello! Your holds have arrived!

I went ahead and opened this ask up to include any 8th year fics where Harry or Draco are struggling with mental health, PTSD, or trauma. If you enjoy these fics, be sure to check back next week for part two of this rec list!

Eighth year + Trauma

Who We Are At Night by @stargazing-enby (708 words, rated M)

“Just… hold me. Please. That’s what I need.”

Text Message by @drarrily-we-row-along (1,204 words, rated T)

The 8th Years get cellphones as part of their muggle studies class. Draco didn't really listen to the instructions, but was pretty sure he'd figured everything out.

What He Needed by @phoebe-delia (2,205 words, rated M)

Harry and Draco are tasked with fixing the Room of Requirement after the war—but one day, the door vanishes and they can't leave. Oh no! Whatever will happen when two former rivals-turned-awkward friends are stuck in a small space together for a night?

Tangled Up in Midnight Memories (and you) by @ronbinary (8,870 words, rated T)

In which Hogwarts brings in a Mind Healer they all desperately need, inter-house unity inspires socials, the eighth years turn socials into games of truth or dare (Thank you, Pansy), and dares turn Draco into Harry’s.

Golden Daffodils' Sea by @laudh8 (11,840 words, rated T)

The months after the Battle of Hogwarts are sunny and beautiful, even though it feels like the sky should be falling around Harry. He tries to get through grief while fixing Hogwarts, capture some Death Eaters, return to his last year of school and befriend one Draco Malfoy. However, he’ll have to realize grief is not the only thing he has to fight now that he came back from death.

Edificabo by DoubleApple(18,663 words, rated E)

Numb and exhausted after the war, Harry returns to the only real home he’s ever known. Hogwarts needs help, too.

Nice Things by aideomai (22,052 words, rated M)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

A Dented Old Street Sign by @orphanghost (27,425 words, rated M)

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (84,562 words, rated E)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy.

Things only get worse from there.

where all veins meet by @saxamophone (146,114 words, rated E)

It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now? His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum. As they keep running into each other, Harry sees that Malfoy is different, and he wonders if he can be someone else, too.

Featuring rumpled band shirts, poker games everyone hates, fumbling sex, and a Harry going a little mental over how wands even work.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Reading!

#drarry fic rec list #drarry rec list #drarry fanfic rec list #drarry fic recs #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #draco malfoy x harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #harry/draco #draco/harry #harry potter/draco malfoy #draco malfoy/harry potter #drarry fanfic #eighth year + trauma #drarry eighth year + trauma #drarry eighth year

[princesssarisa]

This… out of curiosity

Do you know the different meanings of the name of Cinderella's Stepsisters?

Charles Perrault's Cendrillon

Javotte: A nickname for Geneviève, which means "of the race of woman," "woman of the family," or "white wave."

(Perrault only reveals the older stepsister's name in one scene, not the younger one's.)

Rossini's opera La Cenerentola

Clorinda: “Youthful” or “greenery.”

Tisbe: Unknown; it’s a name from Greek mythology.

Massenet's opera Cendrillon

Noémie: “Pleasantness.”

Dorothée: “Gift from God.”

The 1947 Russian film

Anna: “Grace” or “favor.”

Marianna: A cross between Mary, meaning “bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved,” and Anna (see above).

The Let's Pretend radio adaptation

Flora: “Flower.”

Isabella: A form of Elizabeth, meaning “My God is an oath.”

The Disney version, animated and live action

Anastasia: “Resurrection.”

Drizella: Probably a variant of Drusilla, meaning “little strong one.”

The 1955 film The Glass Slipper

Birdena: “Little bird.”

Serafina: “Fiery one.”

The 1957 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Portia: “Pig.”

Joy: Self-evident.

The 1965 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Prunella: “Little plum.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald.”

The Muppets' Hey, Cinderella!

Mona: “My lady.”

Lisa: Derived from Elizabeth, meaning “my God is an oath.”

Rankin/Bass's Festival of Family Classics

Fatima: “To abstain” (though it serves as a play on “fat,” because she is fat)

Leania: Probably derived from Helen, meaning “light” (though it serves as a play on “lean” because she’s scrawny)

The 1969 Czech film

Katerina: “Far off” or “pure.”

Dorota: "Gift from God."

The 1973 Czech film Three Wishes for Cinderella

Dora: “Gift.”

The 1976 film The Slipper and the Rose

Isobella: “My God is an oath” (see above).

Palatine: “Of the palace.”

The 1978 African-American adaptation Cindy

Olive: "Olive," of course.

Venus: "Love."

The Faerie Tale Theatre adaptation

Arlene: “Honor” or “eagle.”

Bertha: “Bright.”

The Grimm's Faerie Tale Classics adaptation (English dub)

Phoebe: “Bright.”

Griselda: “Gray battle.”

Stephen Sondheim's musical Into the Woods

Florinda: "Flower."

Lucinda: "Light."

The Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child adaptation

Margarita: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald” (see above).

The musical A Tale of Cinderella

Moltovoce: “Much voice.”

Seppia: “Squid.”

The 1996 Burbank Animation version

Nellie: A nickname for Ellen or Helen, meaning “torch” or “light.”

Melba: Derived from Melbourne, Australia. Melbourne means “mill stream.”

(Their names are inspired by the famous Australian opera singer Nellie Melba, whose birth name was Helen Mitchell and who took her stage name from her home city of Melbourne.)

The anime series Cinderella Monogatari

Catherine: “Far off” or “pure.”

Jeanne: “God is gracious.”

The 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Minerva: “Intellect.”

Calliope: “Beautiful voice.”

The 1998 film Ever After: A Cinderella Story

Marguerite: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Jacqueline: “Heel-grabber” or “supplanter."

Gregory Maguire's novel Confession of an Ugly Stepsister

Iris: "Rainbow" or "iris flower."

Ruth: "Friend."

Margaret Peterson Haddix's novel Just Ella

Griselda: "Gray battle" (see above).

Corimunde: Possibly a variant of "Clarimond," meaning "shining defender."

The Shrek franchise

Doris: "Dorian woman."

Mabel: "Lovable."

The 2000 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Grace: Self-evident.

Joy: Self-evident (see above).

The 2000 British TV film

Goneril: Unknown meaning.

Regan: "Little ruler" or "king's child."

(In case anyone didn't know it, their names are taken from the evil sisters in Shakespeare's King Lear.)

The Simsala Grimm adaptation

Agatha: “Good.”

Beatrice: "One who blesses.”

The novel and film Ella Enchanted

Hattie: A nickname for Harriet, meaning “home ruler.”

Olive: Self-evident (see above).

The 2004 film A Cinderella Story

Brianna: "High" or "noble."

Gabriella: "God is my strength."

Malinda Lo's novel Ash

Ana: "Grace" or "favor" (see above).

Clara: "Clear" or "bright.

The 2010 Märchenperlen adaptation

Clothilde: “Glorious battle.”

The 2011 Sechs auf einen Streich adaptation

Annabella: "Grace and beauty."

The 2013 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Gabrielle: “God is my strength” (see above).

Charlotte: “Free woman.”

Alma Deutscher's opera

Griselda: “Gray battle” (see above).

Zibaldona: Possibly derived from Zebada, which is derived from Zebadiah, meaning “God has bestowed.”

Betsy Cornwell's novel Mechanica

Piety: Self-evident.

Chastity: Self-evident.

Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Bad Cinderella

Adéle: “Noble.”

Marie: “Bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved.”

The 2021 Sony/Amazon film

Narissa: “Sea nymph.”

Malvolia: “Ill will.”

#cinderella #fairy tale #cinderella's stepsisters #name meanings

[hooked-on-elvis]

"HARBOR LIGHTS": The first song ever taped by Elvis Presley (officially)

PICTURES: [1-2] Elvis Presley, December 27, 1954. Photo by Lou Lowery.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elvis had paid for two private sessions at the Sun Studio, when he would cut two acetates with the songs "My Happiness" and "That's When Your Heartache Begins" — the actual date is not certain but it happened sometime in 1953 — and again Presley would go back to Sun Studio on January 4, 1954, to record "I’ll Never Stand In Your Way" and "It Wouldn’t Be The Same Without You," all ballads.

"In fact, he sang very little but ballads, and to the untrained ear, we now know, he sounded like plenty of other local C&W singers. To Marion [Keisker], though, there was something there — a stronger yearning? A deeper passion? A greater determination? Whatever it was, she wanted to keep an eye on it; after the kid had made his acetate she made herself a note: “Good ballad singer. Hold." — Ernst Jorgensen on "Elvis Presley: A Life In Music"

A while after the private recordings, on June 26, 1954, Elvis was officially invited to a recording session at Sun Studio. A phone call was made by Marion Keisker (Sun Studio's secretary), and soon after that Elvis walked back in the studio and he started the official recordings singing in the same familiar way, not venturing in something out of extraordinary. Nothing came out that was really interesting to tape, but still certain there might be something good ahead, a while after that Elvis came back to Sun Studio once more and that's when the ballad called "Harbor Lights" was covered by him.

The song was originally recorded by Roy Fox & his Orchestra with vocal by Barry Gray, in London, on January 29, 1937. You can listen to the original record of the tune below.

Elvis recorded "Harbor Lights" on July 5, 1954, during his first commercial recording session.

According to Ernst Jorgensen, it may have been the first song Elvis recorded. The first song put on tape. The order for the official recordings during that session at Sun Studio would have been, "Harbor Lights" and "I Love You Because", nothing that really caused a big impression on Sam Phillips, but then during a pause from the recordings, Elvis, Scotty Moore and Bill Black were just joking around, having fun playing Arthur's Cudrup tune their own way, without even realizing they were doing something that finally got Sam Phillips really excited about. That's when "That's All Right" came to be and then, during the same session, there was "Blue Moon of Kentucky", both songs, as soon as released, instant hits by this new Memphis guy with a funny/weird/unique name.

Opposite to the hits "That's All Right", "Blue Moon of Kentucky" and even the ballad "I Love You Because", Sam Phillips considered the recording of "Harbor Lights" unworthy of release, according to Jorgensen once more, because "they couldn’t get the Hawaiian-inspired pop song right" (Look at Hawaii being there for Elvis since the very beginning of his career... in a certain way. Interesting). In 1976, tho, RCA released the master of "Harbor Lights" on the LP "Elvis – A Legendary Performer, Volume 2", for the first time.

I don't know about you but this is surely one of my all-time-favorites Elvis song. ♥ Thank God it came to the light of day.

MASTER (TAKE 3):

Music by Hugh Williams (the pseudonym of Austrian composer Will Grosz) and lyrics by Northern Irish songwriter Jimmy Kennedy. Elvis recorded the songs during studio sessions for Sun Records between July 5–6, 1954, in Memphis, Tennessee.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SOME OTHER TAKES:

TAKES 1-2 and 3/MASTER

TAKE 4:

TAKES 5-8:

LPS/CDS WHERE THE TUNE CAN BE FOUND:

Elvis - A Legendary Performer, Vol. 2 (1976); Greatest Moments in Music (1979); The King of Rock’n’Roll – The Complete 50’s Masters (1992); A Golden Celebration (1998); Sunrise (1999); Today Tomorrow and Forever (2002); Elvis at Sun (2004); A Boy From Tupelo (2012) - FTD; For LP Fans Only (2018) - FTD.

PICTURE: Elvis and The Blue Moon Boys (Bill Black and Scotty Moore), in 1954.

Sources: "Elvis Presley: A Life In Music" by Ernst Jorgensen and Peter Guralnick; Wikipedia; www.elvis100percent.com.

#elvis #elvis music #elvis presley #elvis history #marion keisker #sam phillips #sun records #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis fandom #50s elvis #Youtube

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Malcolm Clark

Published: Jul 18, 2023

The LGBT movement is beginning to behave more like a religious cult than a human-rights lobby. It’s not just the Salem-like witch hunts it pursues against its critics. It’s also its flight from reason and its embrace of magical thinking.

This irrationalism is best illustrated by its recent embrace of the term ‘two-spirit’ (often shortened to ‘2S’), which in North America has been added to the lobby’s ever-growing acronym, meaning we are now expected to refer to – take a deep breath – the ‘2SLGBTQQIA+ community’.

The term two-spirit was first formally endorsed at a conference of Native American gay activists in 1990 in Winnipeg in Canada. It is a catch-all term to cover over 150 different words used by the various Indian tribes to describe what we think of today as gay, trans or various forms of gender-bending, such as cross-dressing. Two-spirit people, the conference declared, combine the masculine and the feminine spirits in one.

From the start, the whole exercise reeked of mystical hooey. Myra Laramee, the woman who proposed the term in 1990, said it had been given to her by ancestor spirits who appeared to her in a dream. The spirits, she said, had both male and female faces.

Incredibly, three decades on, there are now celebrities and politicians who endorse the concept or even identify as two-spirit. The term has found its way into one of Joe Biden’s presidential proclamations and is a constant feature of Canadian premier Justin Trudeau’s doe-eyed bleating about ‘2SLGBTQQIA+ rights’.

The term’s success is no doubt due in part to white guilt. There is a tendency to associate anything Native American with a lost wisdom that is beyond whitey’s comprehension. Ever since Marlon Brando sent ‘Apache’ activist Sacheen Littlefeather to collect his Oscar in 1973, nothing has signalled ethical superiority as much as someone wearing a feather headdress.

The problem is that too many will believe almost any old guff they are told about Native Americans. This is an open invitation to fakery. Ms Littlefeather, for example, may have built a career as a symbol of Native American womanhood. But after her death last year, she was exposed as a member of one of the fastest growing tribes in North America: the Pretendians. Her real name was Marie Louise Cruz. She was born to a white mother and a Mexican father, and her supposed Indian heritage had just been made up.

Much of the fashionable two-spirit shtick is just as fake. For one thing, it’s presented as an acknowledgment of the respect Indian tribes allegedly showed individuals who were gender non-conforming. Yet many of the words that two-spirit effectively replaces are derogatory terms.

In truth, there was a startling range of attitudes to the ‘two-spirited’ among the more than 500 separate indigenous Native American tribes. Certain tribes may have been relaxed about, say, effeminate men. Others were not. In his history of homosexuality, The Construction of Homosexuality (1998), David Greenberg points out that those who are now being called ‘two spirit’ were ridiculed by the Papago, held in contempt by the Choctaws, disliked by the Cocopa, treated by the Seven Nations with ‘the most sovereign contempt’ and “derided” by the Sioux. In the case of the Yuma, who lived in what is now Colorado, the two-spirited were sometimes treated as rape objects for the young men of the tribe.

The contradictions and incoherence of the two-spirit label may be explained by an uncomfortable fact. The two-spirit project was shaped from day one by complete mumbo-jumbo. The 1990 conference that adopted the term was inspired by a seminal book, Living the Spirit: A Gay Indian Anthology, published two years earlier. Its essays were compiled and edited by a young white academic called Will Roscoe. He was the historical adviser to the conference. And his work on gay people in Indian cultural history – a niche genre in the 1980s – had become the received wisdom on the subject.

Roscoe’s work had an unlikely origin story of its own. In 1979, he joined over 200 other naked gay men in the Arizona desert for an event dubbed the ‘Spiritual Conference for Radical Faeries’. It was here where he met Harry Hay, the man who would become his spiritual mentor and whose biography he would go on to write. The event was Hay’s brainchild and was driven by his conviction that gay men’s lives had become spiritually empty and dominated by shallow consumerism. For three days, Roscoe and the other men sought spiritual renewal in meditation, singing and classes in Native American dancing. There were also classes in auto-fellatio, lest anyone doubt this was a gay men’s event.

To say Hay, who died in 2002, was eccentric is to radically understate his weirdness. For one thing, he was a vocal supporter of paedophilia. As such, he once took a sandwich board to a Pride march proclaiming ‘NAMBLA walks with me’, in reference to the paedophilia-advocacy group, the North American Man / Boy Love Association. Hay also believed that gay men were a distinct third gender who had been gifted shamanic powers. According to Hay, these powers were recognised and revered by pre-Christian peoples, from Ancient Greece to, you guessed it, the indigenous tribes of North America.

For years, Hay had been experimenting with sweat lodges and dressing up in Indian garb in ways that would now be criticised as cultural appropriation. Despite this, Roscoe took Hay’s incoherent thesis – that gender-bending and spiritual enlightenment go hand in hand – and turned it into a piece of Native American history.

Unsurprisingly, given its provenance, Roscoe’s work is full of holes and lazy assumptions. To prove that two-spirit people combine the feminine and masculine spirits, Roscoe searched for evidence of gender non-conforming behaviour among the Indian tribes. The problem was that he had to mainly rely on the accounts of white settlers who had little understanding of Native cultures. And even when he didn’t rely on those sources, Roscoe still jumped to the wrong conclusions.

Take, for example, the case of Running Eagle, ‘the virgin woman warrior’ of the Blackfeet tribe, whom Roscoe was the first to label as two-spirit. As a girl, she rebelled against the usual girl chores and insisted on being taught how to hunt and fight. She became a noted warrior and declared she would never marry a man or submit to one.

Of course, none of this really means that Running Eagle was two-spirit, or that the tribe she hailed from was made up of LGBT pioneers. It merely shows that the Blackfeet were smart and adaptable enough to recognise martial talent in a girl and were able to make good use of a remarkable individual. Nevertheless, Roscoe’s description of her has become gospel and Running Eagle is now endlessly cited as an example of a two-spirit.

This is a mind-numbingly reductive approach. It’s based on the presumption that what we think of as feminine and masculine traits are fixed and stable across time and cultures. It dictates that no Native American man or woman who ever breaks a gender taboo or fails to conform to expectations can be anything but two-spirit. This is gender policing on steroids.

The two-spirit term also does Native American cultures a deep disservice. It assumes that 500 different tribes were both homogenous and static. As journalist Mary Annette Pember, herself Ojibwe, argues, it also erases ‘distinct cultural and language differences that Native peoples hold crucial to their identity’.

In some ways, it is entirely unsurprising that the wayward ‘2SLGBTQQIA+’ movement has fastened on to two-spirit, an invented term with a bogus pedigree. Far from paying tribute to Native American cultures in all their richness, it exploits them to make a cheap political point. Harry Hay and his fellow auto-fellators would be proud.

==

"Two spirit" is a great way of fabricating an interesting identity when you don't have one. And you can scream at people as "bigots," but without the guilt of lying about your great-grandparents being descendants of Sacagawea.

The fake mysticism goes along neatly with the notion of disembodied sexed thetans ("gender identity") which become trapped between worlds in the wrong meat bodies.

#Malcolm Clark #two spirit #pretendians #native american #native american culture #noble savage #narcissism #narcissistic personality disorder #2SLGBTQ #gender ideology #queer theory #cultural appropriation #religion is a mental illness

[prrtnrr]

YAY TOOK EM LONG ENOUgh

Also oooh we getting any p5 ships? PEGORYU MAYBE

((im too excited to keep this to myself lol, i love the smt persona series if anyone was curious, but i wanna explore yosuke meeting all these persona users who came before his group and after his group. i think thats neat :) i been trying to think of a way to have them all meet without it seeming like im just throwing characters together, least i hope it comes off that way, im not super confident in my writing but goddamn if im not having a great time doing this. idk if anyone was as invested in the p5 flower child au as i was, but i was suuuper into it, tatsujun parenting means the world to me. cant wait to draw dilf tatsuya for p5 ships, i might! theres a couple p5 ones i think are cute like makoto/haru or pegoryu bc i have taste- now more insane ramblings under the cut bc i cant shut up

i do wanna say some ships i wont be doing so yall can see inside my twisted mind- * i dont ship futaba with anyone, shes so baby sister coded to me, i cant it feels illegal * im not a big fan of akechi lol and with the way im loosely following the plots of the persona games, akechis not gonna show up unless he was mentioned/flashback, bc... yk... he kinda... well thats spoilers but ykyk. also theres only room for one detective prince in my heart (naoto)

to round it off some fun plot points i wanna explore (feel free to add any thru asks too i think its fun to have this be collaborative) * Souji and Akira get velvet room time together, souji gets to chill in a nice limo, akiras always in jail, its goofy * ryuji, futaba, and ann bumping into rise and naoto walking around the central shopping district, ryuji goes nuts bc thats rissette, ann goes nuts bc thats rissette and the original detective prince, futaba makes a joke that theyre dating bc naoto and rise are walking closely and have matching necklaces, kanji shows up, kanji also has a matching necklace. ryuji falls to his knees and yells YOU CAN DO THAT????????? * i have a cute idea for Rise and Ann talking about their inspirations for how they both got into their lines of work, i think they have a lot of overlap * Haru and Yukiko talking about having to take over their family businesses, the stress of it, being grateful for having the opportunity but also resenting said opportunity * Kanji, Ryuji, and Chie training together, talking about why they train, how they become stronger to be able to protect ppl they care about (kanji with biker gangs for his mom) (chie fighting off bullys who pick on kids, and her exp with Takeshi from her slink) (Ryuji training to continue to protect the track team hes no longer part of) * Futaba and Yosuke talking about video games, yosuke becoming overwhelmed by just how much futaba knows about video games, new baby sister unlocked * ryuji and teddie almost get arrested, they hype each other up too much, dangerous combo * Makoto and Naoto have a law and order moment * Nanako and Futaba talking about dads :) an opportunity for Futaba to feel like someones elder while Nanako makes Futaba feel like shes the younger one. why is nanako so responsible. * hey yall ever remember that ken amada p3 is the same age as the p5 cast, they were all born in 1998, isnt that-))

#phooey #((this is interesting only to me but i do be saying words))

[costumeloverz71]

Drew Barrymore celebrates EverAfter's (1998) 25th anniversary with her co-stars Melanie Lynskey and Megan Dodds.

On The Drew Barrymore Show producer-host Drew Barrymore hosted a special 25th anniversary reunion for her film Ever After alongside three original cast members.

The 48-year-old former child star's team had 'about a week' to recreate Jenny Beavan's 16th century costumes for the nostalgic segment.

Drew - who starred as Danielle de Barbarac - enlisted Matthew Kilgore to create her Cinderella-inspired gold-and-peach embellished gown, and Deanna Bridges crafted her custom wings.

#drew barrymore #melanie lynskey #megan dodds #ever after: a cinderella story #the drew barrymore show #costumes

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Animorphs / Yellowjackets crossover?

• The night of the 25th Reunion of the Claremont High Class of 1998, Marco is waiting on the curb when Cassie’s car pulls up.  He looks the same as anyone else, tonight. Not like a movie star.

He pulls her into a firm hug.  Cassie holds on hard.

And then, shoulder-to-shoulder, the only two real survivors of the 1996 Air Penn disaster push open the doors and walk into their school’s gym.

• They’re not friends, not really.  But tonight they need this.  Marco because of the unsubtle glances of their former classmates, Cassie because of the whispered notes of concern as people watch her walk through.

“Where’s Ronnie tonight?” Marco asks, sotto voce, as they make their way to a table near the back.

“At home with Shelly.”  Cassie pulls out a chair for him, then for herself.  “I know kids are invited, but she didn’t need to be here.  T’Shondra?”

“Same story.”  Marco gives his public smile for a classmate’s husband who’s even now pointing and whispering their way.  “Out with friends.”

Before Cassie can say anything else, they both clock the woman approaching, a copy of Marco’s autobiography in hand.  Marco’s smile widens another inch, edging toward feral, even as he pulls out the pen.

• See, a while back, Marco was in a movie.  He got the role as a press gimmick, but he’d done pretty well with his minor part and there was talk of his getting a recurring role in an upcoming Netflix series.

• A while before that, Marco wrote a book.  The most-quoted review called it “a tell-all that tells none,” which isn’t even wrong.  There are plenty of anecdotes about his life before the plane crash, his life after being rescued 18 months later, and even a few isolated descriptions of their mock-prom and their pretzel-sharing system while out stranded in the mountains.  He cottons to having eaten an entire bottle of Rachel’s foundation when hungry enough, but that’s as scandalous as it gets.

• A while before that, Marco did a speaking tour.  It was half inspirational, half comedy show.  He perfected the art of answering questions without actually answering them.

When asked the worst thing he did to survive: “Breathing in Jake Berenson’s stank eighteen months out from his last shower, hoo boy.”

When asked how Rachel died: “Uh, hello?  There was a plane crash and we all spent a year and a half without real food?  You’re the one who bought tickets to this event, lady, you can’t tell me you didn’t already know that.”

When asked why Cassie claimed Rachel was alive until a few months before rescue: “Dude, I wouldn’t trust anything I said after all the isolation and hunger.  I went full-on Tom-Hanks-talking-to-a-volleyball out there, only my volleyball was a friggin’ rock, and let me tell you on the bad days my rock friend Mr. Balboa started talking back.”

When asked whether he’d left anything out of his book: “The shit bucket.  We do not speak of the shit bucket.”

When asked how David died: “Seriously, you did buy tickets for this event on purpose, right?  You are here to see guy-who-was-in-a-plane-crash voluntarily?  Because if this is, like, a hostage situation, then blink three times...”

• In retrospect, the crash itself would seem so clear.  Practically inevitable, as one Reddit commenter puts it.  It was a crappy charter plane that they’d booked last-minute because the commercial flight had been canceled for weather.  It was overloaded with luggage and equipment from the baseball team on board.  It had one pilot battling a long illness, and one who still held trainee status.  Rumors of a bribe to allow a too-fast inspection were never confirmed, but they were never denied.  Wing, meet downdraft.  Nose, meet mountain.

• For over a year, everyone assumed that was the end of the U.S.’s third-ever coed Little League team.  The news outlets ran beats of the same story: Rachel Berenson showed up to tryouts alongside her cousin, knowing perfectly well this was the boys’ team.  The unusually progressive coach let her at least give pitching a try.  She struck out five batters in a row.  She struck out a hell of a lot of other teams too, throwing a no-hitter that got her team into Playoffs and then giving them a shot at the Little League World Series.

Then the storm.  Then the crash.

The other girls on the team — Cassie, Collette, Kelly and Elena — got mentioned as well.  Sometimes the reporters even remembered there were boys, that Jake was their main slugger and team captain, that Aximili could clean up the bases on a hard hit and steal anything he didn’t bat in.

If you look long, you might even catch one of the broadcasts that remembers the pilots.  If you’re really lucky, you might catch the one segment — just one — that mentions Gafinilan and Mertil without immediately blaming them for their own deaths.

• Melissa was almost on that plane.  Nowadays she’s fond of telling people that: she missed being on that flight by a matter of sheer luck.  The Yellowjackets’ shortstop, she would’ve been traveling with them except she took a hard line-drive to the face less than a week before playoffs.  Concussed, barely able to see out of her left eye, she was forced to miss the rest of the season while Marco took her place.

“I was almost on that plane,” Melissa says, on the stage of their school gym, the night of the 25th Reunion.  She’s looking straight at Marco over the top of the mic stand.  “It was almost me.”

I was almost as famous as you get to be, it sounds a little like she’s saying.

“Never forget what we lost.”  Melissa clicks the remote in her hand and that stupid Goo Goo Dolls song starts playing.  Cassie feels Marco stiffen next to her as the first image of Rachel fills the projector’s 40-foot screen.

• Back then, Tobias shouldn’t have been on that plane at all.  He was just the coach’s son, just the pitcher’s nephew, just the batboy.  Not a Yellowjacket.  And yet.

• Back then, when Rachel swam awake in the first seconds after the crash, her whole body aching, Jake was crouched directly in front of her.  “Move!” he shouted in her face.  “Rachel, we have to move!”

She widened her eyes, trying to clear her vision.  Jake was filthy with ash and blood, blooming with red marks that would soon be bruises, and even over the ache of her whiplashed neck she couldn’t ignore the sharp pain of the seatbelt-jerk bruise across both hips.

“The plane” Jake shouted “is on fire—”

And that got her on her feet.

They moved so fast that the world would’ve blurred even without her battered brain: Cassie was the first person they ripped from a seat, then David.  Collette was bent up all wrong, body folded around the seatbelt in a way that made her scream breathless as Rachel dragged her loose.  They got Marco under both arms and heaved him out into the snow.  Jake got as far as grabbing Kelly, and then he jerked his hand back from cold bloodless flesh.  No time for discussion, with smoke thickening the air; they moved to Elena and shoved her out as well.

Tobias was the hardest of all, crouched over his father.  Coach Alan was upright in his seat, but he wasn’t breathing to disturb the smoke and didn’t react when Jake jabbed him hard in the eye.  Both arms around Tobias, Rachel dragged backward, holding him against her body until she was able to tip him onto the emergency slide.  She turned back to the nose of the plane.

Jake met her coming the other way.  He shook his head, pointing for the exit.

“Timmy!” she shouted, coughing.  “Craig and, and—”  Their basemen were all still up there, hidden in the opaque smoke.  She tried to shove past Jake, but he blocked the aisle.

“We have to go!”  He had to shout too, in order to be heard over the roar of the fire.

“Craig!” she screamed, fighting Jake, but he was shoving her backward.  “Liam!”

And then they were falling, down the slide, tumbling in a heap into the snow below.

Rachel punched Jake in the face.  The fuselage exploded.

• Then, the headcount over the next few hours contained more bad news than good.  Jake’s older brother, their third-base coach, was dead.  So was Tobias’s dad.  So was their chaperone Mr. Hamee.  Timmy, first base; Liam, second; Craig, third; Jesse, reserve.  All had been sitting together near the front.

No sign of the emergency beacon.  Collette, Pedro, and Elena all injured.  Enough bags of trail mix and pretzels to get them through maybe four more days out here.

It would’ve been five, but David was bouncing around the wreckage talking a mile a minute and pouring peanuts into his face.  "Do you guys see this shit?" he was shouting. "Like a movie! Like an action movie! It’s wild!"

“I think the bleeding has stopped,” James said quietly, where he and Cassie were bent over Elena.  There wasn’t blood anymore, but it’d been coming out of Elena’s ear.  There was no way that was good.

“We’re fucked.”  Marco said it first, staring at the burst-open fuselage.  “We’re totally fucking fucked.”

“They’ll find us.”  Jake spoke even louder than David.  “There’s a search party going as soon as any plane goes off radar, and...”  He pointed to the huge swath of downed trees the plane had destroyed in its last seconds of life.  “We’ll be easy enough to spot.”

Tobias had been sitting on the ground, staring into space, but at that he lifted his head.  “How far were we blown off course?” he asked.  “Do we have any guarantee they’re even looking in the right place?”

There was a long silence from everyone, even the injured and panicking kids.  Rachel broke it when she jerked the trail mix bag out of David’s hand, which was the second time in their first day that a conflict came to blows.

• Now, Marco drives through the night, after he leaves the reunion.  He didn’t have a drop of alcohol — paying for Tobias’s third and fourth trips through rehab turned him off the stuff — and his relationship with sleep has been somewhere between on the rocks and it’s complicated for the last two decades.  He keeps to the speed limit, making three left turns to be sure no paparazzi are following, and he keeps his eyes on the road.  Once he catches himself humming “Iris” under his breath, and in response cranks the car’s XM metal station to eardrum-damaging levels.

• Now, the sun’s coming up by the time Marco makes it to Seattle.  He checks his hair twice in the rearview mirror, smoothing it back and then ruffling it into an attempt at nonchalance.  The shop’s exactly where he remembers it being, the last six times he drove up here and lurked across the street without ever going in.

This time, he gets out of the car.

“Welcome to Wash World, how can I...”

The guy behind the counter trails off.  He’s a big man, full beard and long hair sprinkled with gray.  In the flannel shirt and fleece-lined jeans, he looks like a typical Seattle hipster.  Even the California accent fits.

“Hi Jake,” Marco says.  It feels like an understatement, all things considered.  It’s been fifteen years since he last spoke to his ex.

“You a customer?”  A small woman in a brightly-colored headscarf appears at Jake’s elbow before he can say anything.

“If you’re not a customer, you have no business here.”  A different woman, albeit with the same Eastern European accent, has emerged from behind Marco.  She crowds close to Marco, backing him away from Jake.

“Our Yakob has no business with anyone and you can have your shirts pressed or you can leave.”  The third of the Eumenides has gone so far as to pull the front door open and gesture.

Marco holds up both hands in surrender.  Cassie told him to call ahead, and apparently she wasn't kidding.

“Ms. Zivojinovic,” Jake says, to one of them.  Possibly to all three.  “There’s no harm.  He’s my brother.”

Marco’s eyebrows go up at that, but sure.  He won’t argue.  It’s simpler than the truth, and more likely to go down easy with this group.

The one closest to the door sniffs loudly.  “If he’s not a customer, I don’t care if he’s Jimmy Hoffa found at last.  He can —”

“I prefer to think of myself as Amelia Earhart.” Marco shrugs out of his 5000-dollar leather coat, dropping it on the counter.  “There, dry clean that.”

“It’ll take three to five business days,” the woman behind the counter says.  “You going to stick around for three to five business days? Or are you some fly-by-night, ne’er-do-well, love-and-leave...”

“He’s my brother,” Jake protests, louder.

“I have a brother,” the one by the door mutters.  “You have never met him, Yakob, and do you know why?”

Jake sighs.  “He is garbage?”

“He is garbage!  Would you like a receipt?”

Marco takes a second to recover from the abrupt turnaround.  “Yeah, I want a receipt.  How would I get my coat back without one?”

“If it comes to that,” one of the Misses Zivojinovic says ominously, “we will find you.”

• Jake extracts himself from the Eyrenies at last, promising to be back within the hour.  “Come on,” he says to Marco.  “There’s a café a few doors down.”

Marco follows until they’re just outside the plate-glass window, and then he stops.  “Good to see you, bro.”  He waggles his eyebrows at their reflections.

Turning, Jake follows the direction of Marco’s gaze.  He doesn’t laugh, but he does an almost-smile.  It’s obvious why Marco’s amused: Jake’s stopped growing at six-foot-three, two-fifty pounds.  Between that and the beard, they’ve never resembled each other less.  “I’m sorry,” Jake says.  “It was just...”

Marco flaps a hand in the air, dismissing this.  “Like I’ve never told someone you’re my cousin or team captain or very good friend.”  He doesn’t have a dead brother, so he’d never dare to pull out the line Jake just used, but he gets it.

It’s too cold to linger on the sidewalk without a coat.  Jake pulls open the door to the café, ushering them both inside.  Marco pays for their coffees and Jake lets him, because neither of them talked about it when it was Jake paying for Marco’s arcade passes and cheeseburgers.

“So the beard.”  Marco gestures, tilting the rim of his mocha latte.  “That’s different.  I had wondered how you’d managed to avoid notice all this time.”

Looking down, Jake fiddles with his paper cup of hot chocolate.  “I don’t own a phone or computer.  It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh, I’m sure and the Kindly Ones using the bodies of nosy journalists to compost their garden have nothing to do with it.”

Jake shrugs.  “They’re good people.  And they don’t watch the news.”

“Yeah,” Marco says.  “Speaking of which.”

All at once, Jake’s whole body goes still.  It’s the kind of tension, readiness for violence or flight, that Marco hasn’t seen since the last time he watched Jake drive a knife through the chest of a struggling rabbit.  “Something came out,” he says.

Marco shakes his head.  “Nothing like that.  Not yet, anyway.”  Lifting his butt halfway off the chair, he fishes out the scrap of paper Cassie gave him last night.

I know what you did.  I won’t keep silent unless you make me.  That’s all there is to the note, other than the rough symbol scrawled underneath.  It looks like an odd little insect: six limbs on an elongated torso, two extra eyes on stalks, a scorpion-like tail.

• Back then, Tobias was the first one to find the symbol carved into a tree trunk.  “Look,” he’d said, voice rising in excitement as he pointed up at it.  “Guys, look.”

“What is it?”  Rachel squinted at the symbol.  “Some kind of alien centaur-thing?”

“Who cares what it is?”  Tobias spun in a circle, looking for more marks.  “It wasn’t carved by a moose, I can tell you that much.  It’s a trail marking, or a property boundary.”

“People,” Rachel breathed.

“Exactly.”

They’d set off crashing through the woods before Jake could point out what a bad idea it was.  “Hello!” Tobias had been yelling, when they’d disappeared from sight.  “Hello, whoever you are!”

• Then, Cassie had watched them go, had watched Jake go chasing after.  It was probably safe enough, as long as they realized they could follow their own tracks back through the mud and slush.  Instead she went back to what she’d been doing: tearing their spare jerseys into strips to make bandages.  There were a lot of wounded, and not a lot of clean cloths.

Rachel and Jake and Tobias weren’t back when the sun started to go down, and she did her best not to worry.

“We should eat something, right?”  That was James, standing on a fallen tree to address them all.  “We should each have a small snack.”

That was one of the first moments when they looked around, hoping for an adult or at least someone with some kind of seniority.  One of the first moments they realized just how on their own they were.

“Yeah.”  Cassie spoke up then.  “We should.”

James became the one to divvy up the little bags, that first time, with Marco following as an informal enforcer.  (“Two hundred calories per bag of pretzels,” Marco said, “and we can get by on seven hundred a day.  We get a pretzel bag or half a trail mix apiece for three meals, and that’ll last us for five days’ worth of food.”)

“Hey,” Cassie said, sitting next to Ax.  She’d seen him peering close at the back of the bag of trail mix he’d been handed, frowning at the ingredient list for the chocolate candies. “You’re vegan, right?”  His family were religious, even if Tobias tended to eat meat.

He shrugged.  “It’s not worth insisting on right now.”

Gently, Cassie took the trail mix out of his hands and handed him her pretzels instead.  “It can still matter,” she said.  “For now.  We’re not giving ourselves up yet.”

Ax had smiled weakly at her, and selected a pretzel.  “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m not giving myself up.”  She leaned back against the log, chewing slow to make the M&Ms last.  “We’ll get through this.  Even if we have to walk back home.”

There was no answer.  Ax was looking at the plane, at the place where his brother’s body was unlikely now ever to be recovered.

“Ax...” Cassie said, feeling like a fool.

“Even if we have to walk.”  Ax bit down hard on a pretzel.  “We will survive.”

• Then, Tobias had come crashing back later that night, still glowing with good news, to announce the hunter’s cabin he’d found.  “There’s a dead guy in the attic,” Rachel had said, as if no big deal, “but I doubt he’s using the place anymore.”

That first night in the cabin, Jake had gone up to the attic alone.  It smelled rancid, it had that horrible desiccated corpse watching from the corner, but it was the only place that had privacy away from the cold.

Marco followed, because it was what Marco did; he couldn’t help it.

“I got you, man.”  Marco had wrapped firm arms around Jake, had held him too tight.  “I got you.”

Jake had crumpled then, but only as far as his knees.  Only as far as burying his face in the juncture between Marco’s shoulder and his neck, their skin wet everywhere it intersected.  Disgusting, beautiful, whatever.

• Now, Jake agrees to pack a bag and go with Marco for the next few days, even though the Weird Sisters are clearly displeased that he’s conceding to someone who knows about his past.  He mumbles a greeting as they pick up Tobias outside a motel that’s really more of a flophouse, and keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk up the front steps to Cassie’s beautifully decorated front parlor.

• Now... “Hi,” Ronnie says to the others, in the kind of voice people use when they’re trying hard to sound casual.  “I’m Cassie’s husband.”

It’s pretty clear Tobias has been sleeping rough; he mostly stands in the corner staring at Ronnie.  Between his dad dying in the crash, what later happened to Rachel, and Ax’s disappearance, they all tend to agree that he has every right to be even more messed up than the rest of them.

More messed up is saying something — Marco knows why Jake kept the long sleeves on in the San Diego heat, he had Cassie calling him at 4AM last week claiming there were wolves in her backyard — but Tobias can’t help it.  They know.  It’s why Marco keeps paying for his rehab stints, why Cassie keeps offering her couch for him to sleep on.

“Jake.”  Jake becomes the one to shake hands.  “Thank you for having us.”

“So this... note.”  Cassie gestures to the scrap on the table.  “It could be nothing.”

“It could be Ax.”  Tobias, of course.  He has a tendency to ascribe everything from robocalls to weather patterns to Ax.

“Your relief pitcher?” Ronnie asks.

“Our friend,” Jake says, but there’s no sting to it.  “We haven’t seen him since...”

• Then, it’d been six weeks since the plane crashed.  Six lonely, cold, hungry weeks.  Marco was walking on eggshells around David, Collette around Rachel.  They’d eaten the last rabbit Tobias had shot, down to the skin, down to the marrow.  Ax, of all people, had quietly suggested taking apart the taxidermied deer head on the wall to boil the skin off that as well.

Jake had floated the idea of doing their own take on Prom because... because the date would soon be right.  Because they all had their formal outfits for the banquet anyway.  Because it was something to do.  Because they all needed a pick-up, with winter coming on.  Because they were about to be out of food, again.

Rachel had seized the idea with both hands, of course.  She’d gone wild with her makeup kit and the tatters of everyone’s formalwear, tying Jake’s tie and then — laughing at them, much-needed laughter — Marco’s and Ax’s and Tobias’s as well.  Cassie was in jeans because she’d already sacrificed her gown to make bandages, but she looked more comfortable that way.  Collette’s dye job was grown out several inches (she continued to insist she was a natural blond) but Rachel braided it so that the brown and gold wove together into a pattern.

They’d been beautiful.

• Beautiful or not, once they reached the torchlit clearing they’d stood around in silence for so long that Rachel was about to call the whole thing off.

It was James of all people who’d cleared his throat and started singing: “And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow...”

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,” Jake sang along with him, Rachel taking up the melody a second later, and by the time they were at the chorus, there were six or seven voices in the clearing.

“What?” James said, when he finished and everyone was staring at him.  “I’m only a badass thrash-punk six and a half days a week.”

That got another laugh, so very needed, from the clearing.  Pedro made a circling motion in the air, and James turned to look at him.

“Another?” James asked, flushing but looking pleased, and Pedro made a humming noise of agreement.

“Baby’s black balloon makes her fly,” James sang, game enough, “Almost fell into that hole in your life, and you’re not thinking ‘bout tomorrow ‘cause you were the same as me...”

Tobias held out his hand for Rachel, smooth as you please, and they became the first couple twirling across the clearing in each other’s arms, both still singing along.  But James had pulled Collette into his arms, he and Elena together holding her up.

And then Marco seized Jake’s hand.  Jake jerked back automatically, but Marco thrust up his chin and stared hard challenge into his eyes.  The kind of look Jake could never back down from, and Marco knew it.

Jake was a terrible dancer, but that was all right; Marco was a good lead.  And if anyone stared, if anyone whispered, then they were looking too hard at each other to know about it.

They’d all felt a little strange, floaty-headed and bobble-eyed.  James’s words slurred a little, and none of them were quite balanced.  But they were hungry.  That had to be it.

Time got vague.  Half of them could hear the music, even after James stopped singing.

• Then, there was a scream echoing through the clearing. Instantly Jake had a branch in hand, Ax producing the hunting knife. 

It was Rachel who emerged into the clearing, dragging David behind her by a fistful of his hair.  She threw him to the ground in the middle of their circle, driving a kick into his side.

“Tell them!” she shouted.  “Tell them what you just said to me!”

“Jake.”  David rolled to his knees, arms over his head.  “Jake, help me, she’s losing it!”

“Okay.”  Jake kept his voice level.  Anyone else, and he might’ve believed Rachel really had snapped from the stress.  But out here David had revealed a side of himself that scared Jake almost as much as the snow and the hunger.  He’d started talking about no rules ten minutes after the crash, and hadn’t stopped since.  “Why don’t you just tell me what happened.  Rachel first, then David.”

“He was talking big.”  Rachel spat.  “Trying to impress me.  And then he said...”  She leaned close to David, snarling.  “Tell them.  Go ahead.  Tell them.”

“David?”

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I was just, I was lying, okay?”  He hadn’t dropped his arms.  “I was just making it up, it was just a joke.”

“What did he say,” Jake said.

“He found the plane’s emergency beacon.”  Rachel’s fists shook, but her voice was steady.  “The first day.  He found it — and he smashed it with a rock.”

Jake felt his whole body go cold.  He’d been expecting something sexual, something pressuring and gross, but... but this...

A body slammed Jake on its way past.  Marco, screaming, wild with rage.  He’d taken off running at David, who’d dragged himself to his feet and sprinted into the woods.  Rachel was half a step behind Marco, and Tobias keeping up with Rachel.  No sign of James, or of Pedro, but there were more bodies out rushing through the trees after David.  David was crashing away, and then he was screaming, and then he wasn’t.

Wait, Jake considered saying.  Stop.  Only he didn’t.  He and Collette looked at each other, and they listened to what was happening in the clearing on the other side of the ridge.

• Now, Cassie pours them all coffees, examining each of their faces.  Marco’s unreadable under the makeup and big hair.  Jake looks healthier than she thought possible: full-faced, broad-bellied, laugh lines starting around his eyes.  Tobias is loose-skinned and skitter-eyed, but at least the track marks she can see all look old.  What do they think of her, she wonders, with broad hips and grey in her braids.

“Ronnie,” she says quietly.

He pushes to his feet.  “I’ll give you the room.  Nice to meet you all.”

This is a reason she loves him: that he understands there are things he’ll never understand.  That there are things she can only talk about with her boys, her fellow survivors.  Like how, her first hot shower after getting rescued, she orgasmed so hard it felt like a panic attack.  Like how she can’t stand the sight of supermarket meat, fragments of body parts sealed in plastic, but she’ll butcher and cook any livestock who die under her care.

But then, there are things the two white boys and the Latino movie star standing in her kitchen will never understand either.  Things only Ronnie can appreciate.

So Cassie’s been complete.  She’s been good, all things considered.

And now this.  One damn thing after another.

• Now, Tobias doesn’t care what they think about him when he says again, “It could be Ax.”

“Ax has been in a funny farm in Germany since I don’t know when,” Marco says.

“Switzerland,” Jake says, at the same time Cassie murmurs, “That’s rude.”

Marco rolls his eyes, smudged day-old eyeliner exaggerating the motion.  “Fine, Mom and Dad, he’s in a mental health facility in Switzerland.”

“Why would Ax blackmail us?” Jake asks, more pragmatically.

Tobias doesn’t have an answer for that one.  He looks away, out the window at Cassie’s sprawling backyard.  Seems like they only went two ways after rescue: soaring to success in politics (Cassie) and media (Marco), or going to ground.  Tobias self-medicates; Ax pays other people to medicate him.  Ax’s way probably works better, but Tobias’s is faster.

• Then, Jake had hiked back out to the site of the plane crash six months after it went down.  In case some remains of the signal beacon were there.  In case there was a bag of pretzels, a single solitary gummy bear, that they had missed.  In case...

Coach Alan’s body was the one he saw first.  Coach Alan’s skeleton, rather.  The flesh had been cut away in gouts and chunks, pulled loose from the limbs and torso to expose lengths of rib and femur.

Jake staggered back, hand coming to his mouth.  Craig’s body beyond looked intact, but.  He couldn’t— he couldn’t— Tom—

There was a crunch from outside, and Jake spun around, hot bile in his throat.

“Hi.”  James stepped into the fuselage through its torn-off front end, expression carefully neutral.  “I figured this conversation was coming sooner or later.”

“You.”  Jake looked from the stripped body — Ax’s brother, Tobias’s dad — to James.  “You...”

“I chose to keep my friends alive.”  James shoved his hands in his pockets.  “Just like Rachel did.”

“Don’t say that!” Jake snapped.  “David might’ve doomed us all, and Rachel didn’t have a choice.”

“We had a choice about eating him,” James said levelly.  “And we chose right, didn’t we.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again.  None of them had been in their right minds that night — something in the soup, something in the air.  That was a mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“Jake.”  James took a step toward Jake.  “We have to talk about this.  I know you’re hoping for rescue, and so am I.  But we have to make it that far, first.”

“We?” Jake said coldly.  “Where’s all this...”  Again he pointed at Coach Alan.  “Been going, James?  Because if any of it has made the communal soup pot, most of us haven’t seen it.”

“You’re right.”  James shrugged.  “I’ve been coming here, harvesting, and giving it to my friends.  Your little clique seemed fine with getting first crack at every rabbit Tobias brings back.”

Jake was shaking his head harder, ears ringing.  “We have to live with ourselves.  We have to act like human beings.  Not— not sharks eating their own.  If nothing else, we have to all be together on this.”

“I’m keeping my friends alive,” James said.  He took another step toward Jake.  The hunting knife was on his belt.  “I’m doing what it takes.”

Jake didn’t move.  “Listen to me!” he shouted.  “Listen to me, we are not doing this.  Or at minimum, we’re putting it to a vote, and we’re discussing it as a team.”

“Thanks, captain,” James said.  “But no thanks.”

Jake shoved him hard in the chest.  James stumbled, taking a step back.  “We keep everyone alive,” Jake snapped.  “We act for the good of everyone.  You want to lead?  Fine, lead.  But just because you’re hungry, that doesn’t mean you get to be selfish.  Call for a vote about what we do while we wait.”

“Hungry?”  The contempt was stronger now, twisting the corner of James’s mouth.  “Of course I’m hungry, you fool.”  He planted both hands on Jake’s chest, not shoving back, just applying pressure.

“So are they.  A vote—”

“Let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room here, Jake.”  James dropped his hands.  “The good of everyone is going to end with all my friends dead, well before yours kick it.”

Jake opened his mouth.  “That’s not—”

“Pedro’s my roommate.  Collette’s my best friend, and Elena’s with her.  I was...”  James pointed to the seat to his left.  “Sitting there.  Pedro next to me, Collette and Kelly across the way.  I’m supposed to be in the same boat as them.  And you know what they all have in common?”

Of course Jake knew.  Collette was paralyzed, Elena couldn’t see.  They weren’t sure how the hit on the head had affected Pedro, partially because he was having trouble talking enough to explain his symptoms to them.

“If it comes to a vote, to waiting for rescue, they lose,” James said.  “If we’re going to be all equal and civilized, then...”  He shrugged.  “My money’s on Cassie to be the last to starve.  That catcher’s bulk has served her well so far.  But maybe it’ll be Marco, since he’s smaller and needs less.  Heck, Tobias could probably provide for himself forever if he was only catching squirrels for one.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again.  “That’s not...”

“You’re trying to save your friends,” James said.  “I’m trying to save mine.”

• Now, Tobias leans against Cassie’s island.  “Guys,” he says, “there’s something you should know about Ax.”

He’s back stateside.  He reached out to Tobias a few weeks ago.  Something about a compound where a lot of people like them — damaged, not quite right — are gathering to support each other.  Ax has been talking to it, he said in that call, and wouldn’t say how.

“He said he can help us settle,” Tobias tells the group.  “He said he knows what it wants, and—”

“It.”  Marco’s whole face twists with the force of his sneer.  “It.  What, the fucking mountain?  Last I checked, we left that out in the Canadian Rockies where we found it.”

“Not the mountain,” Cassie says.  “You know that’s not what he meant.”

“Fine!”  Marco throws up both hands, drops them to his sides.  “Then it doesn’t exist.  The One is a fucknugget, just on the off chance it does.”

“Don’t think anyone said it wasn’t a fucknugget,” Jake says.  “But might still be worth to find out what it wants.”

• Then, Ax had known what Jake hadn’t said, what Jake had found — and not found — out at the airplane.

“The wilderness provides,” Ax said, because it was the only way to make sense of it all.  “The mountain has taken so much, and there’s nothing saying it won’t give something back occasionally.”

Jake stared in stunned silence, the small bundle of desiccated flesh limp in his arms.  Like a man who’d braced so hard for impact he had no choice but to fall when the impact didn’t come.

“Okay,” James said.  “Okay.  I’ll get some water boiling.”

• Then, it’d lasted another eight months.  What they’d taken from the airplane.  What they’d taken from David.  Tobias brought back a squirrel a week, sometimes two, sometimes even a pair of rabbits.  But two rabbits among ten people stretched to less soup than would fill an eight-ounce coffee cup, and squirrels stretched less than that.

• Then, at first thaw, Marco had been the one to suggest they hike for it.  A smaller team, a dash down the mountain and straight east as far as they could go.  East because it was easier to keep track of, with the sun rising nearly dead-on that way now that spring had come.  East, because they had to go some way.  East.  Until they found help, or until they couldn’t go further.

• Ax and Tobias made the first attempt.  Two weeks they’d been gone.  And they’d made it back to the cabin, eventually.  Barely.  They’d been limping, injured, so exhausted and hungry that their steps were a staggering line even as Tobias half-carried Ax to join the others.

“Fuck this,” Rachel had said, around the fire that night.  “Seriously, fuck this.  We’re not getting rescued, we don’t have the strength to walk out, and we don’t have anymore fresh meat.  We’re all slowly starving to death.”

“So what do you suggest?” Jake said, weary and hoarse.  “We sent Tobias because he can hunt, and Ax because...”

Because Ax knew more than anyone wanted to admit it was possible to know, about the whims of the thing keeping them here.

“You know.”  Rachel looked at Jake, fist clenched around the knife, teeth bared.  “You know.”

“We’re all still okay,” Jake said.  “We’re still—”

“We’re skin and bones,” she snapped.  “Our fucking teeth are falling out, Jake, and our nails are coming off.  James is dying.  Collette will probably go next.  We need to act, now, or—”

“No.”  Jake pushed to his feet, which took effort.  His knees hadn’t worked right in weeks.  “No.  We’re not discussing this.”

“Damn right we’re not.”  Rachel was on her feet as well, and she had Tobias’s gun in her hand.  Now everyone was standing, all shouting, Ax trying to pry the rifle away and Marco grabbing at Rachel’s arm.  She wrenched loose of them all, and raised the gun before anyone could react.

“We are not,” Jake shouted, “drawing lots!”

“Agreed.” And then Rachel swung the gun around, and she’d hooked the toe of her shoe through the trigger guard.

There was a gunshot.  So loud, that none of them heard her hit the ground.

• Cassie was the first to react.

Ax was crying, Collette too.  Marco was gagging like he’d throw up if he’d eaten anything at all this week.  But Cassie didn’t hesitate, grabbing the knife where Rachel had dropped it on the ground.

“We do not waste this sacrifice.”  She spoke loud, over everyone’s ringing ears.  She was crying too, but her teeth were bared.  “We do not.  Now, all of you, help me.”

• Then, they’d split up a second time.  James’s prediction was coming true: Cassie and Jake, Tobias and Marco and Ax, were the strongest ones left.  Cassie and Jake for their fat reserves before the crash, Marco for his small stature and slow metabolism, Ax and Tobias because they knew the most about survival.  They were the natural team to go down and east, down and east until they couldn’t anymore.

But Cassie stayed.  To cook, to be medic as much as she could.  To get the last of Rachel’s marrow where it could do some good.  Jake begged her to come, but Cassie had stayed with James and the wounded ones.

• Then, they’d walked, the four boys, for another month.  The tips of their toes had gone black, later to be amputated, as had the littlest fingers of both Jake’s hands.  Tobias had shot until he ran out of shot, had brought back a decaying fox that writhed with maggots and had boiled the maggots into a nasty stew because the fox itself wasn’t safe to eat.  Marco cried with hunger, and cried again with joy when Ax had come across the batch of fiddleheads.  He didn’t care who saw.

Ax cut himself, every night when they stopped.  He let blood he couldn’t afford to lose, and at some point Jake stopped trying to get him to stop.

Tobias settled for thanking the rabbits, the birds, the fox and even the maggots.  He thanked the fiddleheads and dandelions, when those were what they could find.

He thanked Rachel.

• It’d happened anticlimactically: the forest ended.  First on a clear-cut, then on a logging road, then on a suburban backyard.

“Who the fuck are you,” said the homeowner, when they stumbled and shuffled up to his back porch.  “And what the fuck do you want.”

He had a pistol on his belt, the kind that people who didn’t know shit about guns bought just to have.  He wasn’t shy about pushing his coat back to show it, but then there was the rifle slung back over Tobias’s shoulder.

“We don’t mean any harm, sir,” Jake rasped.  “We were in a plane cr—”

“Get the fuck off my lawn.”

Holding up their hands, they went.  Behind them, the guy made no secret about dialing 911 and loudly starting a conversation with the cops.

Good, Jake thought.  That was what they needed, anyway.

• Now, they drive, Cassie at the wheel this time because no one trusts Tobias and Jake claims not to have a license.  Tobias has the pair of coordinates from the text he received, and Cassie’s GPS app is wiling to take latitude and longitude as input.  Marco sleeps at last, but only because Jake is there.  (“Hold me,” he muttered, so soft the others can’t hear.  “I don’t know what’ll happen.”) Jake does as he’s told, and so nothing much does happen.

• Cassie finds the place easy enough, because although it doesn’t have an address as such, it does have a road.  Maybe Ax is up there, she thinks, looking at the gate.  Maybe it is.  Maybe just a bunch of hippies with soola root and too much spare time.  Maybe something a hell of a lot weirder.

“We doing this?”  It’s Jake, coming around the side of the car, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“I’m not right,” Cassie says bluntly.  “You’re not either.  But maybe we can figure it out, if we... I don’t know, if we listen carefully enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says.

“About?”  But she knows, and that’s why her tone is sharp even though she doesn’t mean it to be.

“That week.”

Cassie looks away.  She knows what week; they’ve had this conversation before.  “Let’s go, okay?”

• Then, it took a week — seven full days and nights — for the search party to find the cabin.  Jake had described its location the best he could, and Tobias even drew a rough map, but it wasn’t enough to narrow down an entire mountain range all that quickly.  One entire week, to find the other half of their party.  This, after over a month of walking to get out.

Collette was dead, by the time they got there.  James was dead, Pedro, Elena.  Only Cassie left.  She’d kept them going as long as she could, had stretched the meat and had resorted to boiling bark, boiling grass.  Boiling Collette, when it came to that.

It wasn’t enough.  She wasn’t enough.

Cassie didn’t talk about those weeks that she’d waited, or about what happened to the others.  She didn’t talk much at all, those first months back.  But of the survivors, she was also the only one to finish a college degree.  To get into vet tech work full-time, animal welfare activism on the side.

• Now, Cassie puts both hands on the right gate, and Jake on the left.  Her boots slip in the mud as she struggles for purchase, but Tobias is there shoving next to her.  Marco gets a shoulder next to Jake’s end, and together they force the door.

The plan was to load back into her car and go up the hill, but there’s a figure standing on the other side, backlit by the sun.  Ax.  Or someone who looks like Ax.  Or something who looks like him.

“You have done well, to come this far.”

#animorphs #yellowjackets #animorphs fic #long post #crossover #animorphs au #yellowjackets au #very long post #cannibalism #gore #character death #self harm #body horror #it's animorphs AND yellowjackets y'all #it gets grody #seriously long post #even by my standards #i recommend switching on auto readmores if you follow me