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crystalflygeo · 6 months

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Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader-

cw/tags: This chapter has no smut but still contains highly suggestive themes and sexual implications. Mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. fem!reader suffers with self-worth and bad memories, including past insults and abuse.

notes: After so long finally part 2!! EEEEEEEE I am so excited but also so nervous pls ;w; like if you want the first part can be read as a standalone and have a "happy ending" but now I am committed to the emotional roller coaster, A/B/O dynamics and LONG BURN PINING so yep >:3c hope this does justice to everyone's expectation tho. And hope you like it and accompany me on this tale hehe

As a lil sidenote brackets [] now indicate past actions/words and bad memories, regular italics for emphasis, inner thoughts or the little pinyin I sprinkled here (which btw is taken straight from genshin wiki so...).

<- Part 1.

Being precious all of the sudden was… different.

Your hand subconsciously kept touching your bonding mark, as if to make sure it was still there, to soothe you.

After a quick meal just between Zhongli and you, consisting of some soft rice buns and delicious minced meat packaged inside a crispy pastry shell, you were then offered some new clothes. It was much more elaborate and certainly more layered than anything you’d worn before: a long skirt and flowy sleeves in a silky soft fabric, beautifully embroidered and hastily modified to make a hole for your tail to slip out. A sash keeping everything in place while accentuating your figure. You immediately loved it although it felt a little heavy and restricting.

Now, you quietly follow Zhongli as he leads you around the palace. He’s back to his former fully-human appearance, wearing an elegant attire, and everywhere you go, people bow at him and cast curious silent glances at you. It was rather unnerving.

It’s fine, you are used to being stared at, judged. You hold your tail up close for comfort.

The place is huge and you quickly get lost trying to map it out in your head, simply following along until you reach a large room with a few simple beds scattered around. Bookcases and cabinets stacked the walls, filled with all sorts of books, papers, jars and things. A pungent smell present in the air.

A green-haired man leans over a desk, glasses perched on his nose as he frantically scribbles some notes. What seems like powders and plants litter the space around him, along with a few more glass containers, incense, and a tea set with a steaming fresh cup.

“Baizhu.” Zhongli’s voice calls and you stiffen a little, hearing it again after a while of silence. It is still warm and deep but with a more reserved and regal tone like when he first met you.

The green-haired man (a Beta, you recognize) looks up and blinks in surprise, then smiles brightly and says some words you do not understand, you shuffle in place.

“Yes, this is her.” Zhongli replies. “I will ask you to speak in in common tongue so she can understand as well, I don’t want to unnecessarily unnerve her.”

Well, that is… very considerate. It eases you a little.

“Of course, your majesty.” He turns to you, his eyes were a bright amber, also with slitted pupils. Was it common in liyuens? “My name is Baizhu, the royal doctor and apothecary, pleased to meet you, empress.”

Empress?!

“E-Empress?!” You can’t help but blurt out.

“Why of courssse.” A high-pitched voice hisses and you almost jump when a white snake peaks her head from her coils at the desk, staring up at you. “You’re mated to hisss majesssty the emperor, sssso, it would be underssstood you’re now the empresssss.” Her split tongue flickers.

Baizhu chuckles. “Changsheng, be nice.”

You don’t know what to answer, mostly because you’re still reeling from the fact that you’re apparently now an empress, and because there’s a talking snake.

Liyue is weird…

“I decided to bring her here exactly because of that.” Zhongli turns to you and suddenly holds one of your hands, softly, staring at you with such affection it makes you melt. “Darling, would you let him check your bonding mark for a moment?”

You’re a little nervous, but it is not like you can refuse… right? You nod quietly.

Baizhu approaches and examines your neck and you fight the urge not to flinch or growl. No Omega likes it when a stranger is so close to such a sensitive spot. He hums and tilts his head but doesn’t touch you. “It seems it’s already healed due to her illuminated beast blood but the scar is present. I’d say the bond has been properly established, congratulations your majesty.” He smiles warmly.

A grateful bubbly feeling creeps up your chest. Properly established. So, it’s true.

You feel Zhongli’s hand squeeze yours lightly and look down at it, then back up at him. “Thank you, Baizhu. I will not keep you any longer. We still have a lot to do and I’m sure you do as well.”

Baizhu bows at him (at both of you, you realize) and then you’re on your way. Not before hearing the snake’s hissy whispers again

“A fine yin, hm…?”

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

This is… your new home.

Zhongli shows you around some of the areas in what he called the “inner court” of the palace complex. Everything is so… large and open and lavish it has your head spinning, your eyes darting in every direction trying to take in all at once, walking fast on your new clothes. He guides you along the dining hall, a small temple, crosses through an enormous main hall where he explains audiences are held, and then a gorgeous outer garden that completely takes your breath away.

The wooden gilded architecture in golds and reds, the fresh wind and gentle sun. All sorts of new sounds and smells. The painted walls and high ceilings. The new plants and flowers. The chatters in a different language… everything is so distinct from the desert.

You soak in the new environment. Inhaling deeply.

It is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Finally, he guides you to another room, it looks similar to the nest room where you’d first been at, but larger. It is sparsely decorated with a large and comfy looking-bed, a desk, mirror and a small table with a couple chairs and a tea set. It smells nice enough.

You peek up at Zhongli.

“This will be your room.” He explains.

…What?

“We kept it simple for now but you are, of course, free to furnish and decorate it however you’d like. It’s close to my own room and anything you might need.”

Wait what?

Your ears lower down and you seem to deflate a little, disappointed. “H-Huh? But… I-I won’t be sleeping with you?” You ask softly.

Mated pairs sleep together, don’t they? They share living chambers and mix their scents together to symbolize their union. That’s what you’ve always been told. You are to always be near your Alpha, at his beck and call, warm up his bed and be ready to please.

Maybe things are different in Liyue? Or maybe it’s because he’s an emperor. Master didn’t tell you anything, so maybe you are just making a fool of yourself right now on your-

Zhongli clears his throat and looks at you a little surprised “I simply thought you’d be more comfortable having your own space, we… don’t really know each other very well yet, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Impose? As in order? But he’s your Alpha! “B-But I want to! Please! I-I mean… I thought that since we’re b-bonded…” You mumble shyly.

His cheeks turn a little pink, you like when that happens, he looks a lot less serious. He cups your cheek and you inhale looking up at those gorgeous golden eyes. “My dear dragoness. I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything you don’t want to. I know you were raised… differently, I cannot claim to understand your experiences, but listen to me: you are safe here.” He says the last part slowly, enunciating each word. “No one will scold you or punish you, least of all me. I want you to be free to speak and choose what you want.” He sighs. “Though I know it’ll be difficult...”

Furnish, impose, free… you don’t know any of those words.

But no punishment, to choose what you want, to be safe… it sounds surreal even.

What do you want?

His eyes soften at your nervous silence. “Let’s try this… do you really want to share my room, or would you like to stay here? I won’t be upset if you do.”

“I…” Your tail curls around you. “I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.” You mumble.

“Then it would be my honor, however, this room will stay ready if you change your mind, alright?” You glance around at the room again, and nod. “Now that that is settled, I have one last thing to do. I need to introduce you to a few very special people before I leave to-”

“Leave?!”

You didn’t mean to yelp like that.

“J-just to do my duties, I am not leaving you, I promise.” He corrects, a little taken aback. “I am sorry my dear, but as much as I’d like to spend every moment by your side right now, I have a few pressing matters to tend to. I know you’re nervous, everything is new and scary and overwhelming but I promise I’ll leave you in good hands and be back as soon as I can.”

You nod, now feeling a little embarrassed at the whole ordeal. You’d been feeling so at ease with his presence, showing you around, listening to his voice name and explain everything you saw that you’d almost forgotten. “You’re the emperor, I’m sure you’re very busy. No need to worry about me, I’ll behave, my lord.”

He frowns a little at that but says nothing, and you choose to say nothing else either.

Going back to the main hall, you immediately spot three people lined up looking at you with a mix of the already expected curiosity and excitement. One of them in particular immediately catches your attention, he’s an Alpha and you can’t help but feel a little nervous…

“Allow me to introduce you, these three are my most loyal and closest council members: Ping, Ganyu and Xiao.” Zhongli gestures at them and all three bow lightly. “Like you and I they all have the blood of xiānshòu, and you can ask them for anything should you need help or have questions. I hope you learn to trust them and feel at ease.”

You nod quietly, still a bit fixated on the other Alpha.

“Xiao, or general Alatus, is one of Liyue’s strongest, most resilient and skilled warriors. He usually keeps guard at the palace to ensure my wellbeing and now yours as well, if you ever feel danger call out his name and he’ll come.”

Ah, did they notice you were staring…?

With a gesture of his hand Xiao manifests a gorgeous Jade spear, crystalline green shards reflecting light as he taps it by his side, standing firm, you flinch in surprise. “My spear shall now serve you too, empress.” His eyes too are golden and sharp, filled with a certain rigidness and determination you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you, Xiao, dismissed.”

Xiao hums quietly and promptly disappears in a burst of black and green smoke, you stand there a little startled, your hand clings to the brown fabric of Zhongli’s sleeve.

“He might be an Alpha as well, but I promise you he’ll cause you no harm.” Your alpha murmurs softly towards you.

“O-okay…” You squeak, a bit embarrassed.

“Ganyu here is one of the most reliable people in the palace, perhaps the entirety of Liyue. Everything of importance reaches her ears and passes through her eyes. She’s able to organize meetings, events, report, compile information and assist every negotiation and decision of this palace with stunning efficiency. She too will help you with anything you need and might be in charge of a little logistics regarding you settling in for the next few days.” Zhongli smiles.

The young woman with long blue hair and… horns? chuckles and blushes a little. “Your majesty, you're too kind, I merely love doing my job.” She puts her hands together and beams at you, sunset eyes bright. “I’m so honored to meet you, rest assured I’ll take care of anything you need. I hope you feel comfortable and welcome at the palace!”

That sounded like a lot. You weren’t used to people coddling you like this. You didn’t want to give anyone trouble or work. “T-that’s alright, thank you.”

“Now, Ping is probably going to spend the most time with you, she’s very knowledgeable in culture, history and the inner workings of the palace amongst other things. She has graciously offered to teach you liyuen and anything else you’d be interested in.”

Unlike the other two Ping has a certain calm aura to her, contrasting Xiao’s seriousness and Ganyu’s excited energy. You can tell she’s a gentle old soul as she approaches you with a soft wrinkled smile and graying hair.

“Don’t worry young empress, while Lord Morax here is regrettably busy with a work-packed schedule,” She gives him a playful side stare “You and I will have some fun. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She takes your hand and pats it comfortingly. It’s kind of an awkward gesture for you, but you still welcome the warmth and good intentions.

Zhongli chuckles quietly. “In that case, I’ll leave you in her care and see you at night for dinner, alright?” He seems to hesitate for a moment but then cups your face in his hands and places a soft kiss at your forehead. The unexpected gesture has you blushing scarlet and your heart speeding up like crazy. His thumb brushes at the scales under your eyes, so affectionate in the smallest ways… “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine, yes?”

You stare at his golden eyes, the red lines, his handsome face framed with dark hair, his serene smile.

You don’t like this. You don’t want him to leave. The idea makes you uncomfortable.

But it’s not like you can say no.

You nod.

“Thank you, Ping.” Both of them exchange a glance and then he turns to the blue-haired woman still in the room. “Ganyu, if you will.”

“Right away your majesty!” She scurries after him, talking quickly in foreign tongue while both walk away.

You stare after him for a moment longer.

“It’s a little difficult, isn’t it?”

You quickly turn back to Ping and then look down, ears folding back.

She laughs softly. “No need to be ashamed dear, it is understandable that you are unsure with all this, it’s a lot of changes for such a short time and you bond is still fresh, but let’s take it easy.”

Your hand brushes at Zhongli’s bonding mark again. “O-Okay…”

“Are you hungry? Tired? Perhaps you want to rest a little?”

You want to scurry away to your mate’s room and curl up there, that’s what you want, but…

“Um, aren’t you… going to train me?”

Ping blinks a little taken aback “Train? Oh! Teach?”

Same thing.

“Well, yes. I did offer, but only if you’re feeling up to it young empress. You can take your time, we don’t have to start right away. And like I said, take it easy, it's only your second day here.” She explains. “You won’t be absorbing any information if you are uncomfortable and jittery like this.”

“S-sorry-”

“No need to apologize at all. Now tell me, is there anything you’ve seen or heard today that you’re curious about, anything you want to do?”

What you want…

You think back a few hours earlier. The infirmary, the small temple, the grand hall, and…

“The garden.” You speak. “Can we go outside and see?”

Ping smiles brightly. “Of course! I’m sure there are a lot of things there that will catch your interest and cheer you up.”

Your tail sways a little after you as you follow the old lady along the corridors.

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

The garden is breathtaking.

More than a garden it feels like a whole different world. Bright and exciting and colorful, full of life. It reminds you of an Oasis, but just… more!

A grand pond with multicolored fishes and a couple of turtles sunbathing. Walk paths made of stone, plants everywhere you see: in trees with vibrant yellows, oranges and all shades of greens, in flowers with soft colors and small petals, in thick bushes. The light filters through the leaves and there’s the soft tweets of small birds.

“It’s… so pretty!” You exclaim happily.

“I’m glad you think so. Gardens like this are carefully cared for and preserved to impress, but they also represent beauty, abundance a sense of harmony.” Ping explains as she is now the one following after you, skipping along the path. “These trees you see are sandbearers, and that one is a ginkgo tree, you can tell the difference by the shapes of their leaves.” She points at each one and you follow with your gaze, picking a small leaf from the floor, golden and fan-shaped.

“Ooh…”

“See those smaller fishes? They’re goldfishes. The bigger ones are kois.” She gestures at the animals freely swimming around. Some of them are huge!

“What do they eat?” You blurt out.

“Well, usually algae and wheat. We can get some another day and you can feed them.”

“Really?!”

“Of course.”

“Oh! Is that a koi too? It’s so… long and pretty.”

“Ah, that one is a golden koi. Lord Morax has a few of them here. They are also called Jīnchì Jiǎlóng or ‘false dragons’ you know? For the small horns and long bodies. They do resemble your tail a little, don’t they?”

You move your tail forward and stare at it, then stare at the serpentine fish.

“Yes, sort of… Jin chi… jia long.” You mumble.

“Here, I think you’ll like these ones. Come with me.” You eagerly follow after Ping as she rounds the pond and guides you towards a few red bushes. They’re dotted with pink round flowers. “These are silk flowers, Nícháng-huā, usually harvested to make clothes, but there are many special ornamental variants and between us both, your dear mate has a weak spot for these so he has quite the collection.” She chuckles.

“Orna…metal?”

“Ornamental, it means mostly for decoration.”

“Oh!” Suddenly you feel dumb, you’d thought for a second that was a liyuen word too. “I’m sorry… I don’t even know common tongue very well.” How could you even expect to learn liyuen?

“No worries, dear, learning a new language is a daunting task, it takes a bit of work every day. If you keep learning, using and practicing words, you’ll get there.”

You smiled softly. Ping was so… patient and supportive.

So much different from…

[You have to try harder.]

[Tch that is not good enough.]

[Are you stupid?!]

[Useless omega.]

You looked at the budding silk flowers and blinked. Once. Twice. Why was your vision blurry now? What was this feeling?

“Oh, oh young empress please don’t cry. It’s alright” Ping’s alarmed remark helps you understand. She fusses over you. “Are you ok?”

You wipe at your tears and smile, a genuine bright smile.

“I’m fine.”

And this time, you truly mean it.

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

After a rather fancy bath (the kind of like you used to take before being presented to Alphas, with bubbles and scented oils...) and a good dinner Zhongli and you headed over for his chambers for the night. You couldn’t help but be a little… nervous.

This is stupid. He’s your Alpha.

He’s been nothing but kind to you.

What if he wants to… d-do things?

Then you’ll do it. He’s your mate. It’s your obligation.

You were the one who chose this anyway.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, anxiety creeping up your chest. Were your fingers trembling? Was the room suddenly cold?

As expected, the bedroom was quite matching his style. Golds, browns and a bit of red and black here and there. Dragon imagery adorning some of the walls, a tea cabinet with a small table and shelves filled with all sorts of trinkets from precious stones and books to a beautiful fan and a tea set.

And then there was the bed.

A large canopy bed, enough to probably have your body and tail fully stretched across and still fit in the mattress, beautifully decorated and filled with fabrics and pillows.

The scent of Zhongli’s Alpha pheromones was definitely strong.

He yawns and runs a hand along his forehead, combing along his hair before pulling out the clip on it, letting his long dark locks spill free. He takes off his robe revealing his naked torso and you jolt.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

You undress as well into your light sleeping clothes and gingerly slip into his bed, curling up around his pillows, surrounded by his scent.

His.

You are his.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-

“Darling, is everything alright? Are you uncomfortable?” He asks concerned, climbing on the bed as well and reaching out to touch your arm. You squeak. “You’re… terrified, what’s wrong?” Then Zhongli’s eyes widen a little. “Oh. The scent… I completely overlooked that, my apologies. Is it too strong? Are you ok? Should have given you some things earlier for you to scent and include them here. This is no good…” He rambles a bit to himself as he sits up and crosses his arms thoughtfully.

You stare at him, anxiety still surging through your veins but now mixed in with confusion.

“Would you like to sleep in the other room we prepared for you instead?” He sighs.

“I… t-this is… you… would just let me leave?”

Zhongli tilts his head slightly, now he looks confused.

“I promised you that the room would be available-”

“So, you don’t want to mate?”

Silence.

He stares at you for a moment as you grip at the bedsheets, still tense.

His eyes widen as realization settles in.

Ah. The pink dusting in his cheeks is back.

“Y-You thought that… no! My dear, no, no, no…” He coughs into his fist awkwardly. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea. A-As I said before I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. No Alpha will force you to do anything you don’t want. Not even me. And you don’t have to feel forced to do things you don’t want to, either.”

You look down. Although you feel slightly more relieved.

“I want to stay here. A-and if you want to, I’ll service you, my lord. I was just… nervous, sorry.”

“I assure you there is no need for any of that.” He says softly. “Here.”

He pulls the covers and slips them over you both, lying down facing you but still keeping a little distance. You do the same, curled up face to face with him.

He’s so effortlessly handsome.

And kind.

And you like him.

But he’s still an Alpha.

“Is this alright? We’re just going to sleep, I promise.” He brushes some hair away from your face.

You nod.

“Is there… anything you want to talk about or ask me?”

You... don’t know.

You shake your head.

“Hmmm. Want to share about your day? What were you up to with Ping?” He gives you a playful smile. Suddenly he feels less like an imposing strict emperor, or like a scary Alpha. He’s just your Zhongli.

“She… showed me the garden. I wanted to see.”

“Ah, the royal garden has many fascinating sights and it’s a beautiful landscape to retreat to and ease one’s mind. I had the feeling you’d be interested.”

“There were so many beautiful things. She taught me about the silk flowers, nícháng-huā. And all the trees and fishes and birds.”

“Oh? Are these your first words in liyuen, my dear?”

You giggle. “I… suppose they are. She also showed me your turtles Jiàn and Fù and told me what their names mean, they are so cute. Oh! And we saw the liúlí bah… bai… bǎihé! I sang to them and they bloomed! It was... amazing.”

“I see. Not everyone can achieve that, I’ll admit I’m quite hopeless at singing.” He chuckles “What more did you learn?”

Feeling much more content and at ease you continue retelling all the new things you had experienced and the vocabulary you had learned including how to introduce yourself and some greetings and basic words. Talking for what felt like hours until weariness and sleep claimed you both.

Zhongli simply listened and stared at you, captivated. He seemed content as well.

It made you happy.

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

For the next couple of months, you established a sort of routine.

You’d wake up early alongside Zhongli, even though you didn’t need to, you simply enjoyed having some morning tea and breakfast with him. Afterwards he’d go tend to some of his official duties and you’d stay with Ping Lǎolao, learning more and more each day. By now you could even follow some basic conversation (provided the other person didn’t speak too fast) although reading and writing was still extremely difficult.

You’d expressed interest in some gardening and even headed to the kitchens to prepare some food by yourself. The maids claimed there was no need for the empress to do such ‘menial tasks’ but as an Omega you pride yourself in certain things, and cooking for your Alpha was something you’d yearned to do.

You were overjoyed when Zhongli praised your Jade parcels.

You’d always have lunch with him and some days he’d accompany you for a stroll or you’d stay at his study for some leisure time, or even at some meetings. It had been a little unnerving at first but you also knew it was important to know others and be known in the council, as well as understand Liyue outside of the palace walls. After all, you are an empress now.

At night, you slept close to him. The initial awkwardness of sleeping at opposite sides of the bed soon traded for a much cuddlier approach, often with you curled up to Zhongli’s chest or him spooning you, tails often intertwined together. The bed and the entire room now have a mix of your combined scents, like true mates.

And so, life was good…

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

You’re slowly pulled out of your sleep as Zhongli stirs in the bed. You grumble a little and yawn, already missing his warmth. It was so pleasant…

“Good morning, my dear dragoness.”

“Morning…” You mumble, not opening your eyes and instead blindly reaching for his pillow to hug and cling to. “Can we stay for longer?” You whine.

“You definitely can, but I have to go.” He kisses your forehead “Rest, my dear.”

You pout but say nothing. Squeezing at the pillow and burying your face in it.

It smells so good…

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

“Hmm… is it warmer today?” You wonder aloud as the maids help you up with the layers of your hanfu. The clothes still hot and heavy in contrast to what you used to wear at the desert, but today seemingly more so… the sash feels more constricting than usual. “I-I think I’d like to wear something a little lighter… if possible.”

“Of course, your majesty, no problem.”

You smile at them, grateful.

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

Sitting at Zhongli’s study room you practice some basic liyuen calligraphy while he seemingly goes over some important documents. The silence is comfortable and a warm cup of Qixing tea steams at both desks. Yet, something keeps bothering you.

You huff lightly, scratching and picking at the scales of your tail, irritated with the uncomfortable feeling. Why is it so itchy? A couple of them fall off, revealing new glossy ones underneath.

“Ah…” So that means…

You stop for a moment. The feverish feeling, scents being stronger on your nose, the urge to nest and cling to your mate.

Hmm… part of you is a little excited. And yet, there is fear.

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

“You have quite the appetite today, dear. Eat slowly, the food won’t go anywhere.” Ping chuckles as you practically pick a little of every dish while still trying to keep some modicum of elegance. Chopsticks weren’t that easy after all.

“Yes… I think… I think it’s my pre-heat hormones.” You sigh before munching on a shrimp ball.

Your heat…

Your first heat with Zhongli. With any Alpha to be honest. You’d always had to endure them on your own (Master couldn’t have you get pregnant) and they were excruciating and debilitating, crying out for days with your skin burning and itching, trying to sate yourself with your fingers and humping pillows. But now… you’re happily bonded.

Would it… feel good again?

Like, that first time you two mated…

You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Excuse me?”

“Hm?”

You’re brought back to reality to see Ping staring at you seemingly a little alarmed.

“Pre-heat? Young empress, are you going into heat soon?”

“Y-yeah? Probably um, tonight…? Or tomorrow.” The onsets are always so quick, and your cycle has always been more or less stable.

The elder places her chopsticks down. “Have you told Lord Morax?”

“Um. N-No, not yet. But… m-maybe he already caught on...” You tilt your head.

…Right?

Then again even you took a couple of days to identify the signs, and now for sure you were at the brink of it. Maybe he’ll mate you tonight…

Hm… how will Zhongli react to your heat scent?

You have to do your best!

[Be a good omega.]

Ping stands up, her expression still gentle but with a sort of urgency to it, your instincts catch the feeling she’s worried about something.

“I have to inform about this, please stay here dear.”

Now you’re nervous. You nod slowly.

Why does it feel like you did something wrong…?

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

After that, things get… chaotic.

It’s only a while later that you find yourself at the infirmary. Ganyu and Zhongli are also there and everyone’s anxious pheromones in the air do not sit well with you (subtle as they are, your nose is hyperaware right now).

“I’m sorry the symptoms are already settled in. At this point it is simply not feasible to give her suppressants, she has to go through this heat.” Baizhu says, looking troubled.

Feasible? Suppressants? More unknown words but…

Is there something wrong with your heat?

Ganyu scurries off and Ping starts talking with Baizhu on the other side of the room. You cling to Zhongli’s robe, trying to soothe yourself with his presence but his scent is… agitated.

You whine to call out to him. You’re scared.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Zhongli pulls you close, cupping your face again, staring straight at you. “No… no my dear dragoness, of course you didn’t, it’s just…” He steels himself searching for the right words, it doesn’t ease you in the slightest. “We didn’t expect your heat so soon. I should have known, noticed… I’m sorry.”

Why is your alpha apologizing to you? That is ridiculous.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“It’s… not the right time.”

You’re so confused.

Don’t Alphas like it when Omegas are in heat? Soft, pliant, warm, needy and ready to breed.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do this…” He says. “And… you could trigger my rut, you could end up pregnant. I don’t want to… scare you, or hurt you. It’s much too soon for us to share your heat. I thought we’d have more time for you to get acclimated to Liyue or…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. For the next few days you’ll be in a separate room, yes? No one will disturb you during your heat, I promise.”

“B-But then… I… what…?”

Alone?

“Usually omegas take suppressants, like a type of medicine, to stave off their heats so they don’t have to face these risks or suffer them alone, and then when they’re ready, when they want, they choose to share heats with their partners.” He explains.

“But I want to! I… I’ll be good!”

Zhongli sighs. “Darling you are good, you are precious to me. You don’t need to prove anything or do things because they are ‘expected’ of you.”

He’s not listening!

He asks you what you want. He says you can choose. But now that you tell him, ask him, beg him even… he denies you?

How come you’re always making the wrong choice?

Was it all a lie then?

“But I- T-then- Why-… YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!!” You yell, tears stinging in your eyes.

There are a few gasps and you see not only Baizhu and Ping, but Ganyu and some of the maids staring at you in shock. You cover your mouth, eyes wide at the sudden burst of fierceness and emotion.

You yelled at him.

You talked back.

You should be punished.

He stares at you, frozen like a statue for a few moments. You stare at him, pitiful, your eyes begging. A whimper leaves you and Zhongli lets out a shuddering breath.

Oh, your Alpha wants you, you know it.

"Please..." You mumble, voice so small.

"I'm sorry my dear, it's better this way." His hand moves towards you, to cup your face again or brush at your hair you're not sure, but he stops himself before you can find out. He sighs, averting his gaze and looking conflicted, and then turns around.

This is your punishment.

"It'll be just a few days, you'll be well-cared for. This is for the best." He says sternly, voice pinched.

And then he leaves.

Your heart shatters.

Everything is a blur after that. You’re gently guided along towards an empty nest room, the same one you'd first met him at, there are some things with both your scents on it but they feel sterile, washed anew.

Your hands start trembling. Your eyes start to water. Your lips quiver. Your throat feels tight, choked and dry. Your body feels feverish, hot and restless.

Zhongli rejected you.

“Your majesty please calm down."

[Useless.]

[Moron.]

[Whore.]

You could no longer breathe, hear nor see. You feel like you're drowning, unable to process what just happened. Your mate…your precious mate…he…he…

He abandoned you.

“Your majesty…?"

You scream.

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months

Text

Discretions and Devotions

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1.2k

A/N: Decided to make this a mini series, in terms that the chapters will be short, but still entertaining since the idea of this makes me giggle. (Gender Neutral Reader btw)

Part 1: Hangovers and Hickies

Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan was on the case.

Obviously, something was going on between you and Spencer. That much he could deduce. But to what extent? For how long?

Since he needed these questions answered, he would require backup from his favorite girl.

“Enter and be known.” Rang out from behind the door when Derek knocked on it. He swung the door open and closed it behind him.

“Babygirl. Put your detective cap on.”

Garcia swiveled around in her chair and raised an eyebrow.

“I think Y/n and Reid are sleeping together.”

Garcia’s eyes lit up. “What’s your proof.”

“Well, Y/n came in today with a hickey and was completely hungover. Then Spencer brought in McDonald’s and Dunkin as a hangover cure—“

“They could’ve just texted one another Derek, you know that he’s completely smitten and would’ve just taken it upon himself to cure their hangover…”

He shook his head. “Let me finish. Then Y/n said that it was Reid’s fault that they ‘were like this’. Plus, both of them are wearing scarves or sweaters with neck coverage…”

Garcia's mouth dropped open. “No…”

Derek nodded and crossed his arms. “And Reid started blushing because of whatever Y/n said, but then ran away before I could ask him any questions.”

“Oh, so they’re sleeping together.” Garcia nodded along with Derek.

“Exactly, but they won’t say anything about it.”

“I love you, but no. If this was the first time, why would they want to talk about it at all, but….If this has been happening for a while then it’s a secret. And I always uncover secrets” Penelope stood up, and all but stomped out of her bat cave and down to the bullpen, where you were feeling much better, having eaten some greasy foods to combat the headache.

“Where’s the fire?” You looked up as you saw Garcia headed over to you.

“Are you sleeping with Reid?”

“Woah. First off. Don’t go screaming that question in the middle of the bullpen.” You crossed your arms. “Second, who said I was?”

“You’re deflecting. So it’s true?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pen. I said that it was Reid’s fault I was drunk last night. But that’s where that ends. One of his papers just got nominated for some award and we went out to a bar to celebrate. I’m a good friend. And then, somehow, I had a bunch to drink, which caused me to flirt with some guy, and then take him home and uh….he went a little crazy with the whole hickey thing so…” You raised your eyebrows. “Can I give you any more information to give to Derek or is that enough.”

“Hm.” Garcia's lips twisted slightly as she looked you up and down, trying to decide if you were telling the truth.

“Garcia I love you but can you profile me at a different time, I have a consultant call in five.”

She sighed but nodded. “This isn’t over.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” You grumbled and turned back around to your computer.

————————————————————————

You were able to avoid conversations with Garcia and Morgan for the rest of the day, which was nice considering you didn’t really want to talk about your sex life in the bullpen for anyone to hear.

Especially since the opposite party would be within earshot.

But that didn’t stop Garcia and Morgan from trying their damndest to get you or Reid to talk. At some point during the day, you were sure you saw Derek corner Spencer into a closet, which ended poorly since clearly he was not given the answers he wanted when you saw Spencer walk by earlier with a smug look on his face.

You decided to leave about half an hour earlier since you came in early. It worked out nicely and you were able to enjoy the walk to the subway by yourself, listening to your music and enjoying the fresh winter air.

The peace was interrupted when someone sat directly next to you causing you to look up with a pissed-off look on your face, that quickly melted into something a lot happier.

“Hey, you. I thought you were going to stay late today.” You smiled up at him and kissed his cheek. He shook his head and took your hand in his.

“I was but then getting chased around by SSA Tweedle Dee and Technical Analyst Tweedle Dum made me want to leave as soon as I could. Then I decided on it when Derek cornered me in the bathroom. Plus you left early and I’d rather spend time with you.”

Your eyes widened. “The bathroom?”

Spencer nodded and rolled his eyes.

“They’re persistent, that’s for sure.” You grumbled.

“Well, considering how long it took them to figure out that the possibility of us being together was real, I think we’ll be okay.” He murmured, kissing your hand.

“Those two could leave no rock unturned and still find nothing but sand.” You snorted.

Spencer laughed and squeezed your hand.

“I mean.” You sighed. “Today was a close call. Not that hiding is a bad thing or anything, like I know we’ve talked about it a lot, but still sometimes I get worried about if we’re ven doing the right thing or—“

“You’re starting to sound like me.” Spencer laughed softly, cutting you off. “But I get it. We slipped up.”

“We?!?! Excuse you. I think you mean you slipped up. You went a little crazy on the neck there Spencer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I could slap that stupid grin off of your face Doctor Reid.”

The two of you looked like two good friends, maybe something more if an eagle-eyed observer was searching for it, but nothing more. It was a science the two of you had perfected in case you were spotted together by someone from the team, or really anyone that was willing to snitch to them.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to cover for much longer though. If Derek suddenly remembers how good he is at his job then we’re fucked.”

“Royally.” You agreed and rested your head on his shoulder.

The two of you sat like that for the rest of the ride, only moving to get off at your station.

You and Spencer took your time walking home, even though it was cold out. The sun was shining, which was rare enough as it was, which made you feel a bit better. Eventually, you made it back to your shared apartment where Spencer put in the code to get you both into the building.

You and Spencer were a minimal PDA couple, not because your relationship wasn’t very well known, but because neither of you felt the need to be overtly touchy with one another.

But today, with the sun, and the enjoyment of the fact that Spencer was home earlier than promised got to you. And before you entered, you kissed him softly on the lips, enjoying the feeling.

This was your fatal mistake since at that exact moment, one Emily Prentiss drove by and saw the whole thing.

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vidalinav · 4 months

Text

Stu(died): Chapter 6

Summary: Finals week and Cassian’s birthday

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

I don’t know if anyone really follows this anymore or if anyone even remembers what happened last chapter, but... I finished this chapter. Nesta’s a bit aggressive in this one btw.

Nesta will blame it all on these godforsaken holidays.

That’s why she goes to Cassian’s family dinner and stays through the night, because the cheer has her in a chokehold and she can barely gasp a no. That’s why she behaves nicer than she is. That’s why she doesn’t bother arguing when his mom asks what they are to each other. Tutor x Student? This is not a fanfiction!

It must be the lights, the cheer, the joy that regrettably seeps into her skin and drowns her in glitter. That’s why Nesta stays and talks in a voice so soft she can barely recognize herself. She looks in the mirror, too, that day to see if the difference in her persona is a tangible thing, something that she can turn on and off like the bathroom light switch, but all she sees are fake reindeer ears and snowman pajamas.

Who are you?

So, Nesta decides that an alien who likes Christmas and being well fed has inhabited her body. And it’s an alien that kisses Cassian that night.

The real Nesta would never do such a thing.

The real Nesta is a professional. Strictly business. Cassian is a student and tutoring is her job, and she contemplates this as she watches him across the table, biting at a pen. What if he makes a mistake, she thinks. Pens over pencils?

He leaves teeth marks on the cap, and she wonders what the alien sees in him. A guy who leaves all his mistakes on paper. He’s left-handed too which makes it worse. All the ink is smudged, and his palm is a Smurf level of blue.

Cassian doesn’t care. Cassian doesn’t care about anything.

Then why did he give you a gift? Why did he invite you? Why does he stay?

The alien speaks and it’s decidedly in Cassian’s favor.

“So,” Cassian drags, “I know you don’t like going out. Or at least you prefer to be staying in, but I thought we could do something next Wednesday.”

Cassian taps his pen against the table in way her heart has repeated every time she thinks of that night. The christmas lights. The warmth in her chest. The soreness in her arms because they were wrapped so tightly around him.

But Nesta does what she does best, dismissing him with a simple shrug of her shoulders, giving nothing away. Because there is nothing there. She’s his tutor.

“Wednesday’s a school night.”

“You’re in college,” Cassian counters.

“And college is still school,” Nesta says, shaking her head a little too abruptly.

Everything feels abrupt. Wrong. The oddity of the movement has her scrunching her nose. Why is she nervous suddenly? That must be what this feeling is. Apprehension. Danger. A terrible need to hide. She doesn’t feel this way decorating the tree at his house, not even meeting his family. No, in fact...

She feels like she belongs there.

Nesta doesn’t even belong here, in this body, sitting in this room, watching this boy-man-child-person rattle the table with his jostling knee, playing drums with writing utensils.

So, Nesta breathes in a disgruntled sigh, and raises her chin like a bad habit.

“I’m busy Wednesday,” Nesta says, her voice final, like she’s ending an essay and hitting submit. Grade me harshly, she thinks, but this is business. This is education. This is forward thinking.

It will be better this way, she thinks. But like many other times before, Nesta isn’t sure who this is better for. It’s all muddled up in her brain, because this is what Cassian does. He confuses. He distracts.

And Cassian never stops prodding like he should. In fact, he leans back in his chair, a certain smirk on his face meaning he’s ready to negotiate. Dinner and movies and after session snacks and walking her home and buying her books. It’s always that smirk and sometimes it’s a soft, gentle smile right after she agrees, breathless and bitter that he convinces her so easily.

It’s an indecent look. One so confidently sure of himself that Nesta’s sure she’s not staring at the same Cassian.

Her heart pounds in her chest and Cassian, the alien, smirks. “Well, I was hoping you could find someone to cover your shift.”

“And why would I do that?”

There it is. Cassian smiles and it’s reminiscent to a holiday. Glee inducing. Glitter infested. Green and red and bright, retro lights. Trees taller than she is and warmth. Warmth to chase away the bitter frost.

He leans his head in his palm and he smiles as he places the pen behind his ear, chewed up cap and all.

“It’s my birthday next Wednesday,” he says as if Nesta doesn’t already know. She does. She knows too much about him. She’ll blame it on that forgettable freshman year, the semester he sullied his name and ruined their chances of... friendship. He did this to himself, she thinks.

Cassian leans closer, a covetous whisper of his words like he’s keeping some secret. I’ll share this with you, she reads from his tone.

Share this with me, the alien agrees.

“I want to spend it with you. I thought we could see a movie.”

Because she’s been talking about wanting to see one--or rather complaining that she never has the time.

Cassian leans back as if he’s ready to hear her terms, but Nesta holds her breath. She tries to will her heart to stop sounding like drums. She swears she can hear it get louder, a whole orchestra sitting in her chest.

I hate movies sits right on her tongue, but that alien squanders the thought. Oh no, the alien thinks, you want this. The alien is joyous. The alien likes this attention.

So it’s no wonder when the alien takes control, pushing that ridiculous need to panic outside of her body.

“What movie?” it asks.

Cassian’s eyes widen and he shoves his notebook away as if it’s blocking his view. “You agree?”

“I didn’t agree,” Nesta says, defensively, “I asked what the movie will be.”

But Cassian shakes his head. His hair is neatly tucked behind his floral scrunchie and a few curling wisps of black escape at his neck. Regrettably, she feels a strange urge to grab at the straying piece and tug.

But she hates that scrunchie. She hates his hair that’s never neat. She hates the indecent way he walks through this earth as if already knowing who he is. Where is his confusion? Where is his fear?

“We can see any movie you want, but I think you’ll want to see that horror movie coming out.”

Nesta scoffs, “You hate horror movies.”

“I don’t hate you, though,” he quips, his lips tucking up fondly. A little comically. A little too neat and nonchalant. A little too calm and self-assured.

Maybe an alien is inhabiting his body. One side of his lips is raised and his eyes are a rich shade of amber in this library light, and she wonders... are you flirting with me?

I hate you sits right on her tongue, so immediate she almost says it aloud.

Only the alien stops her from spewing the words. Rip if off like a Band-Aid, she argues. Then he can hate her and go find a new tutor and she’ll never have to see him again. The alien doesn’t like that thought at all. She feels her stomach drop at the thought, dipping like she’s racing down a hill.

Maybe she’ll puke and this will all be over with.

But if he does get a new tutor, someone else will have to tap at his notebook five hundred times and sigh this one, Cassian! Someone else will have to keep him focused and resist his bribery, his negotiation, his eyes and his hair and his voice.

“This one, Cassian,” she hears herself tiredly sigh, when he looks back to his homework a little too lost to have been paying attention this whole time. “Anyways, I can’t get it off. I need two weeks' notice for things like that and Janie won’t cover for me. She’s going back home after her last final.”

Cassian frowns and Nesta ignores how that expression makes her feel. She is tired of feeling, she decides. “I’ll still see you that day, right?”

He sounds desperate. Likes she’s ruined his hopes and his dreams. Nesta refrains from telling him that his work ethic will do that for him.

“We have a tutoring session in the morning. As is my job.”

“You’re job... Right...” But Cassian merely nods, instead of arguing like she thinks he might. “I’ll take it,” he says, seemingly content with the bare minimum she gives.

But the alien inside of her sits back, wound tight and ruthless... it is not satisfied with bare minimum.

It is not tired of feeling.

The house is warm, but Nesta’s face is still red. There seems to be a permanent state of cold that’s been permeating her body and it’s not another of bout of sickness that would have her regrettably missing Wednesday. Her nose is cold to the touch and her feet, though covered in enough socks to be safe enough as shoes, are freezing. She looks in the glare of the microwave and even there she can see it.

She looks like fucking Rudolph.

And yet, instead of lying in her bed, smothering herself in blankets, and turning on the space heater that may or may not light her room on fire, she is in the kitchen, trying not to put her head in the stand mixer.

“Woah,” Emerie says, dropping her towel where she pats at her wet hair. Nesta sighs before facing her loving, but judgmental friend. What will she say at her flushed cheeks? “Are you... baking?”

“No,” Nesta answers quickly, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you see? I’m trying to get the mixer to knock some sense into me.”

“Well your head might be too big to fit in that bowl,” Emerie jests. “Have you tried the emulsion blender and the big pot?”

Nesta only sighs, her gaze moving across the endless about of mixing bowls. Is this what hell feels like?

“Hmm,” Emerie says, “you’re doing your lovesick sigh. Must be serious if you’re baking and sighing. Anyone I know?”

Emerie gives her a pointed look, one just as indecent as Cassian’s smile.

Cassian. Cassian. Cassian.

Cassian who can’t get out of her head.

But instead of replying, Nesta straightens her stance and runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the ponytail. Get it together, she repeats to herself. “Nothing’s serious. I just wanted dessert is all.”

“You’ve never touched a whisk a day in your life.”

Nesta scoffs, “that’s not true. I licked the batter off of it the last time you made cake, remember.”

“I do actually,” Emerie nods wistfully. “That was good cake.”

She moves to inspect the counter where Nesta currently rests her head in defeat. There’s flour and eggs and milk and oil. Sugar and baking powder, and there’s too many bowls for Nesta to know what to do with. Who needs this many bowls? What person decided they needed 15 plus bowls in their pantry?

“You have flour in your hair, you know.”

Nesta shrugs, “casualty of war.”

“Ahh, must be about someone I know then. You only start mentioning war when you’re too busy fighting your feelings.” Emerie chuckles at the seemingly clever thing she says, but Nesta doesn’t find her words so amusing.

“I have no feelings,” Nesta answers immediately. “In fact, I don’t even want make this cake anymore. I’m tired, actually.”

“I mean... it is exhausting hiding from the truth.”

Nesta glares up at her friend, but Emerie only smiles wider at her look. Of course, she’d have friends who found her glares endearing. How inconvenient, she decides. Next time, she’ll pick friends who hate the same things she does... or have no friends at all.

But that thought makes her chest ache, so she dismisses it quickly.

Emerie points to the mixture of melted chocolate. “For Cassian right? When is his birthday again?”

Nesta sighs, lowering her head once more on the counter.

“December 16th.”

“So you’re dating now?”

Nesta scoffs, wondering how Emerie reaches that conclusion. But Emerie merely points to the spoon covered in a fluff of butter and sugar, as if that will convince Nesta of how ridiculous she seems.

“No we’re not,” she remarks sternly.

“Nesta... you’re baking a cake.”

“I like cake.” Which is true. It’s her favorite dessert. She happens to be lucky her younger sister lives hours away, or she’d eat it every day. As is her right.

“Okay,” Emerie shrugs simply. “Then you’re baking a cake when you have a final tomorrow and you could be studying.”

“I’m taking a break! Aren’t you the one always going on about self-care?” Nesta can’t help but wrinkle her nose, grumbling about being reminded of her impending doom. Because she does have a final tomorrow. A final she could be studying for if not for the fact that a frat boy has her in a chokehold.

Take your fucking cake and be done with me, Nesta thinks violently.

Emerie waves a hand, “That’s to Gwyn. To you, I say there’s a hunky boy that follows you around like a lost puppy, and you are under no obligation to like him but...” Emerie’s words hush to a whisper and she puts her hand to her lips as if keeping a secret.

Everyone with their fucking secrets!

“I think it’s clear that you do.”

“No,” Nesta dismisses, shaking her head. “Negative.”

“Denials not just a river in Egypt,” Emerie sings.

“What about Egypt?” Gwyn inquires. The door shuts abruptly and Gwyn sets down her bag of books with a loud thud. Emerie tuts, because it’s obvious she’s been studying instead of taking a break like she’s been trying to encourage.

Gwyn doesn’t take a break for anyone.

And neither does Nesta... usually. Neither does Nesta always and it doesn’t matter if this class is an elective that was never really that hard, she should be studying to make sure without a doubt she doesn’t miss one problem.

But Emerie doesn’t goad at their friend, instead she takes a piece of chocolate off the counter and raises it to her lips. “I was just telling Nesta here that's she’s obviously infatuated with our nosy neighbor. Why else would she be baking?”

“You’re baking?” Gwyn questions, thoroughly astonished. “What 18th century novel have we set foot in where you’ve suddenly gone domestic? Is this what love does?”

Gwyn blinks and for a moment Nesta doesn’t know what to do with that expression, but then Gwyn is moving to the couch, picking up the bag of brightly colored balloons. “Is this what the bat is for? You told me it was for your sister.”

Emerie’s brows furrow and she looks to Nesta confused. “Bat?”

She means the stuffed bat that Nesta picks up at the giftshop Gwyn sometimes works at, near the hospital. Nesta volunteers there so... what can she do? It’s just there and Gwyn is laughing while she blows up balloons, telling her that she gets a 30% discount on all the things and suddenly Nesta is grabbing the black toy. It’s a heating pad just like her lobster.

It doesn’t make any sense, but Nesta also buys a card. It’s the alien!

Happy birthday, you old bat, it writes.

Nesta grimaces, but when she looks up at her friends, she throws up her hands. “We’ve known each other for two years! It’s just a friendly tutoring gift. Like good luck with the semester, thanks for keeping me employed. Hope you fail again soon. It means nothing!”

But at her outburst--which is a little too high-strung that even Nesta blinks at her own antics--Emerie backtracks. Emerie fiddles with a spatula on the counter, turning it over and her voice gentles into a soft tone, all placating like she’s a child.

Great... now she’s hysterical.

“You know it’s okay if it does mean something. You are allowed to like someone. It’s a perfectly okay thing to do... and it’s just as well if it is or if it isn’t Cassian.” Emerie places her hand on Nesta’s arms and Nesta tries not to shirk in on herself.

This is what she hates. She can feel it like a lump in her throat. The feeling of being seen, watched, peeled away layer by layer as if she means to rip off her skin and discover all the secrets Nesta hides. She hoards them away like a little dragon and her gold. What will they do once they find it, she fears. How will they ruin her?

Danger. Danger. Danger.

She feels unsafe. Nesta shakes her head, her face feeling hot and she wants to go to her room, except that’s the cowards way out and she can’t be seen like a coward. She’s a bad bitch. She feels nothing.

“I say this because I want you to know that we love you whether you date this man or not. Whether you date anyone or not.”

Gwyn shrugs though her lips don’t raise comfortingly like Emerie’s. She’s rather upfront as she says, “we love you so much that we’ll threaten his favorite part if he hurts you. I know several ways we can make it look like an accident.”

Nesta laughs a short sound. “So do I,” she says, softly, suddenly tired.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emerie waves, “we can help hide the body and all that jazz... but can we also help with this cake? Do you want help with this cake?”

I want you to stop looking at me, Nesta thinks.

“I wish Cassian had never come into our lives,” she answers, though she doesn’t know how honest her words are or what they actually mean.

Nesta lays her head on the counter, contemplating the emulsion blender and that giant pot Cassian had made her soup in. She wonders if flour is as hard to clean as glitter or if it will stay on her face and her clothes for a little bit longer, evidence of her crime.

But Nesta concedes to the offered help. If she ropes Emerie and Gwyn into this then at least she’ll have someone to blame when Cassian inevitably starts asking questions.

“It’s a little misshapen,” Nesta says and it is. At best, it reminds her of the one from Harry Potter--massive letters spanning the entirety of the cake. But at least, she spells all the words correctly. It could have had an entirely different name on it, too, which Nesta contemplates doing more than once as she frosts.

Cassian looks to the cake like it’s made of pure gold and any mentions of Caspian, Callum, Carlos, and Cade fall off of her tongue. Because C.A.S.S.I.A.N is written in big, bold, blue lettering, just like the corners of her notebook when she absently scribbles.

Cassian lights up somehow when he smiles, and his lips are wide staring at the chocolate. The hazel shine like a warm cup of tea and she can see all of the amber swirls. Rich cinnamon. A baker’s dream. A reader’s paradise.

He is the embodiment of the word cozy... just like being in the library, surrounded by all these books.

But these feelings are made up of lies, she tells herself, and his face makes her want to puke. At the very least, she’s starting to feel nauseous and she wonders if Cassian can tell. She practices schooling her facial expressions in the mirror to look aloof and she hopes the hour has done her well, because her cheeks are starting to feel warm.

She looks red, looks dire and distressed in that mirror. She looks like she is going to fail a test--has already failed it and there’s nothing to do to save her grade. She’s being dramatic, Nesta keeps repeating to herself, but the words do nothing to make her seem calm.

She doesn’t think she seems calm now, but Nesta will keep telling pretty lies. She’ll keep swallowing them, pushing past the lump in her throat. She’ll fill her stomach with something that soothes.

“You made this?” Cassian asks.

Nesta shrugs, trying not to fiddle with the sleeves of her sweater because she can help the movement. She’s in control of her body and she always has been. She is a stronger bitch than this.

And a cake is no big deal, she reminds herself. She can make cake for anyone, even herself. If Nesta wants cake, she can make cake and she can eat the entire thing in one go. She could even take back this one and run.

But Cassian gathers his arms around the base of the cake as if wanting to tuck it to his chest, and suddenly she remembers the thought from freshman year. That he must give good hugs.

Nesta recoils, tucking her arms across her stomach.

“I almost don’t want to eat it,” Cassian notes lightly.

Nesta startles in her seat.

“You have to eat it,” Nesta demands, forcefully. She’s been staring at that cake every time she opens the fridge and it takes every bit of willpower not to say to hell with Cassian and eat it herself. She’ll be damned if he doesn’t let her eat some of it. Isn’t that what Emerie keeps saying last night? That she can make her cake and eat it too. That it will be her reward.

“I made it for you,” she argues and she can feel her face getting hot. “Why wouldn’t you eat it? Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“Bad luck? Like a fortune cookie?”

“Bad luck like a curse. You don’t eat it and you don’t get your birthday wish.”

Cassian’s lips raise lightly, slowly, schemingly. “I get... a birthday wish?”

Nesta pauses, hearing how the words sounds. They sound childish and stupid. This will ruin her street cred’. She’s not going to be the smart one anymore. She’s the stupid one. The one who makes up things that don’t even make sense.

“But you have to know...” he trails off, shaking his head as if it’s obvious.

Nesta refrains from yelling get on with it as she asks, “know what?”

Cassian squints, his gaze focusing on her face, curious but apprehensive all at once. Cassian laughs, but the sound is short. Almost scared.

“So, when we were in freshman year, I had a whole day planned about how I wanted to spend my birthday. My family had plans too, they were going to come up and take us all out to dinner. Do it big. Fancy steak house and... I don’t know, go carts or something. They said it was my first birthday away from them and they wanted it to be special.”

“Okay.”

“I told them to stay home, because I wanted to spend it with you.” Cassian gives her a knowing look, but Nesta doesn’t know anything, so she keeps quiet, leaning on every word. “In my mind, it would have probably been dinner too, the seafood place that’s a bit out of town, and maybe the bookstore because I figured if I could get you into a bookstore, you’d start talking about your romances and I could play down the fact that I was nervous as hell and I didn’t know what to say.”

“You were the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with. It’s like... I met you and it was only you from then on.” Cassian shrugs, lightly, and Nesta watches as he closes his notebook, with an air of finality. As if to say studying is not as important as you. As bold of a claim as it is.

“So you have to know, Nesta. The only wish I have is you.”

The only wish I have is you.

The words replay in her mind and Nesta can feel her face getting warm. Her chest feels different. Nausea, maybe... so Nesta, stares at the textbooks instead of looking into his eyes.

She snaps her fingers quickly. “I think you’ll understand this chapter more if I can find this textbook I’ve been meaning to give you. I’m going to go check.”

“Right now?” Cassian asks, astonished.

Nesta shrugs, nonchalantly. “No time like the present.”

“Nesta...”

But she moves, swiftly from the table and into the aisles, willing herself to not look back--hoping upon hoping that he will leave her alone.

Cassian follows her with a soft call of her name. “Nesta...”

“Nesta,” Cassian speaks, hushing his tone to not disturb the one or two other students they pass along the way. Nesta doesn’t know how far she’ll go, but she’s hoping she’ll make it to Australia by Tuesday... or at least deep enough for Cassian to give up, inevitably resigned to the fact that she won’t be distracted in her pursuit. Just ignore him, she thinks. “I don’t need a textbook right now. You don’t need a textbook.”

“I think your grades would beg to differ.”

“Did something I say bother you?”

“Your entire being is bothering me,” Nesta scoffs.

“Bothered how?”

But Nesta keeps moving, her head straight and her gaze straight ahead.

Cassian grabs her arm, a strong but gentle pressure. Nesta eyes the touch, startled by the fact that she doesn’t immediately shrug him off. “Tell me so I can make you feel better.”

“As if you have so much control over me,” she says, though she still doesn’t shove him away.

“No, but you have control over me,” Cassian says, loudly. Nesta gives him a dirty look for speaking so loudly in the quieter part of the library, and he looks apologetically at her. Then he rolls his eyes, smiling fondly as if to say see. “I want to please you, to make you happy... and I thought I was doing a horrible job until that kiss.”

“Don’t bring up that kiss,” she said, loud and outraged and also furious that he has her yelling in a library.

“Why?” Cassian goads, pushing the conversation forward, which is so unlike him to do. “You kissed me, remember.”

“You invited me to spend Thanksgiving with your family, and besides you didn’t push me away.”

“Oh no, I wanted to kiss you.”

Nesta crosses her arms, giving him a look that means there will be no arguing with her. “Well you shouldn’t.”

But Cassian’s lips raise, undignified and stupid. “In fact I want you to kiss me again.”

He moves closer to her and Nesta takes several steps back. He’s as tall as she remembers, and there’s no comforting table or textbooks that stand between like a barrier. She supposes she could grab one from the shelf and chuck it, hope it meets his face. She can run. She can transfer schools.

But that would disrespecting the books and that thought has her clenching her impulsive fists. He’s tall and he smells good. Pages and pillows and soft sheets. Something like fresh air. Something a little darker with more muted notes. A little like getting lost in the woods.

A little like being found.

Cassian looms over her and for once he doesn’t back away and Nesta doesn’t assert space. He raises his hand, his palm gently, hovering close to her skin... waiting to see what she’ll do if he gets close. Nesta closes her eyes and Cassian trails a thumb down her lips as if tracing a map.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” He asks, his breath so soft against her cheek.

She can feel the books against her back and it reminds her of romance novels. Cassian and her in between stacks, sneaking in dark corners for clandestine meetings. Anyone could see them. Her boss could see her. The tutoring monitors could crawl up to the fourth floor and shout, this is what we pay you for? But no one is here. It’s only Cassian, and his hulking frame. That red sweatshirt spilling across his chest.

Nesta glares, crossing her arms. She hums, and she’ll say it’s to make him wait, but it sounds much too wanton--a deep groan in the back of her throat.

“That’s not a yes,” he muses.

“This is coercive,” she says, kicking her foot. “We’re in a library,” she seethes.

But he smells so good, and he hovers over her just right. The perfect height to be pinned against bookshelves. It almost seems sacrilegious. Would that damage the books, she thinks. What if they push against it so hard, each shelf falls over like dominoes? There would be no hiding what they’ve done, then.

Cassian smirks as she thinks, that dimple in the corner of his mouth shining on his face and she wants to place her thumb there... She wants his lips on hers. His body on hers. His hands skimming across her skin like he’s tracing words on a page.

If she touches him first, he can touch her. If she only says yes, then she can taste him again. She looks to that floral scrunchie. She’d be able to pull on it, pull at his hair and hear his groans and finally find out what they sound like outside of her conspiring imagination. The ones hidden so deep, she thinks no one will ever find them.

Nesta looks to his eyes, but they’re much too bright. She can see herself in them, all flushed. Interestingly enough, she doesn’t look frightened. She looks ready... wanting... waiting... eager.

Nesta can’t help biting at her lips. “Books make me weak,” she mutters to herself. A fatal flaw.

“Oh I know,” Cassian says, smiling. “But I'm not going to kiss you unless you expressly tell me yes. I’m not going to kiss you, unless you want this, Nesta.”

So, Nesta pushes at his shoulders.

It only takes a tap before Cassian is pulling away as if nothing happens at all, here between bookshelves. Is that disappointment in his gaze or does he just assume she will say no? He doesn’t appear perturbed. If anything, it seems expected. Or perhaps he’s a gentlemen and he does mean what he says.

“Back to Gauss’s law it is,” he says, softly.

But Nesta is strangely disappointed by that.

She can imagine following him back to the table where they’re tucked away in a space that is reserved for those who want to talk and study. Not the quiet area where she usually studies by herself. They go back to the table now and they’d pass blow up mattresses and every once in a while a student in a dinosaur costume would roam the hall as someone else films them from behind. Just like every true finals week, when students become so tired facts turn into fiction.

Right now though, there’s no one in sight. It’s quiet and strangely calm and… the alien grasps Cassian’s hand because Nesta is tired here between shelves.

Finals week lunacy has sunk in completely, she thinks. She can barely recognize herself at all as she stares at her flushed face in the gleam of his eyes. It’s no wonder she’s contemplating how sane she truly is.

Cassian swallows, she can see the bob of his adam’s apple, but his gaze is open and warm and he’s wearing her favorite sweatshirt she could just wrap herself in. If only he wrapped his arms around her.

So Nesta does the only sane thing, she can grasp, all thoughts of Gauss gone and instead, Nesta begins writing romances on his lips.

~~~~

Stu(died) Tagged List:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @unhealthyfanobsession @simpingfornestaarcheron @talkfantasytome @sayosdreams

Do they get together after this? ahahhahahhahauahaahhfa

no.

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #Stu(died)#vidalinav writes #vidalinav writes fanfic

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cowboydisaster · 1 year

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes

part VI: horseshoe overlook ii

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 13.3k

summary: you, Arthur, and Hosea find some important horses on your trek to a hunt gone-wrong. Away from camp, Arthur opens up, letting you peek through his point of view to his heart-breaking past. Dutch asks for your help.

a/n: chapter six! Arthur and reader find their heart horses, there's a lot of hurt/comfort too which we love. Oh and I spoiled a plot point to Jane Eyre, so sorry if you were planning to read it, but also it was published 176 years ago so maybe get onto that. Also the tuberculosis in Jane Eyre was just a coincidence, so don't fret. I plan on keeping Arthur tb free. Lastly, there is some good ol' fashioned 'talking about our feelings' in this chapter. We are opening up and talking about trauma, yay! BTW, series hit 50k this chapter! Anyway! Enjoy

warnings: animal abuse (seeing a horse that has been abused), mentions of former child abuse, mentions of infertility, all are described briefly, nothing graphic.

SERIES MASTERPOST

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo10300 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup

Arthur’s supposed to be on watch, and you’re supposed to be doing laundry. But he’s tired of staring at trees and you’re sick of cleaning beer and stew out of Uncle’s long johns, so here you are.

Technically, Arthur hasn’t completely abandoned his task like you have. You’re both sitting on a decent sized boulder, the one he always sits on during his guard shift, just off the trail into Horseshoe. But his eyes are not focused on the trees, instead they fixate on his journal, where he is sketching something on the ivory pages. You’re all too curious, again, about what he’s drawing, but he's positioned in a manner so the contents remain hidden from your nosey gaze. He hasn’t missed the way you subtly lean every once in a while, peering down your nose to try and see the pages. Each time he notices, a small smile tugs on his lip, and he pulls the journal a little tighter towards himself. Arthur’s carbine rests between you two on the rock, next to a little bag of candies that he had picked up when you were in town a few days ago. Currently, your nose is in a book, but you haven’t been reading it for a few moments, instead peeking over the pages at Arthur. It’s nice to get away from camp for a bit. The past few days you’ve spent doing house chores for Grimshaw. She was less than happy when you “Went to the saloon all day with the men” as she put it, those couple days ago. She made sure that you made up for the lost time, and you were stuck peeling potatoes for so long that your hands went numb.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shines brightly, and a warm breeze passes through the camp. Birds chirp, singing their tunes as they build nests in the trees above your head. A few rabbits have passed by, even a fox, filling up on food before the storm hits, another reason you’re avoiding your chores. Charles had warned everyone that by the look of the clouds, a big storm was coming, probably tomorrow. You’ll be damned if you spent the last nice day staring at Pearson’s apron or a laundry bin.

You watch as Arthur moves his eyes from the journal to the bag of sweets, and he reaches into it, pulling out a yellow candy. With an almost unnoticeable frown, he drops it back into the paper bag, and pulls out a red one. He seems satisfied enough with this choice, and he brings the little treat to his lips. It’s been so long since you’ve had the pleasure of candy, and you’ve gone and eaten nearly half the bag. You haven’t had money for pleasantries in a long while, not since your momma died anyway.

“You don’t like the lemon ones?” You ask, reaching into the bag and pulling out the one he had dropped back inside. You pop it into your mouth, eyes slipping shut in bliss from the sweet, tart flavor of the candy. Arthur looks up at you for a quick moment, scanning over your face with a chuckle before trailing back down to his journal.

“Nah, I like 'em well enough, but I noticed they’re your favorite. Didn’t wanna take all the good ones from ya.”

You smile, grabbing another yellow candy from the bag just as you feel the remnants of the last one finish dissolving. You missed hard candies. They weren’t exactly high on your list of priorities before joining the gang. You put your book down, a piece Marybeth had let you borrow. You’ve read it a few times, and you already know exactly what the pages entail. However, you don’t know what the pages of Arthur’s journal look like.

“Whatcha drawin’?” You ask, criss crossing your legs on the boulder. Arthur huffs a laugh, having expected this question.

“Nothin’ much, just somethin’ little.” Arthur whispers. You’re confused as he leans down towards the grass, plucking a dooryard violet from a little patch of the wildflowers. So many of Arthur’s actions throw you for a loop. He’s so… dynamic, constantly showing you new sides to him that you would never expect.

He unsheathes his hunting knife, quickly snipping the stem of the flower off. Now what really throws you off is when Arthur leans over, concentrated, and tucks the flower behind your ear. He adjusts your hair accordingly.

“There,” He whispers, settling back into his former position to admire you. “Purple looks good on you, well except when it's your cheek that's purple but-” Arthur jokes, nodding to your bruised cheek, and you laugh, shoving him a bit.

“I was just about to say that you’re goin’ soft, but now you’re makin’ fun of me. I guess things are back to normal.”

Arthur’s face turns to mock hurt, as he squints at you.

“I ain’t goin’ soft.” He chides.

You placate him, putting your hands up.

“Alright, whatever you say, Mister.”

With a smile, you pick your book back up. Arthur reaches into the bag of candy, pulling out a yellow one. Words need not be said as he mumbles to get your attention, and when you look up, he tosses the little yellow candy towards you. You catch it, tossing it into your mouth and thanking him. It’s quiet as both of you pick your books back up. It’s nice, with you both silently enjoying each other's company. You’re lost in the world of Jane Eyre, and Arthur lost in his journal. Every so often Arthur will peek up from his book, glancing at you for a moment before returning to his sketching.

You reach the bit of the novel where Helen is lying on her deathbed, finally succumbing to tuberculosis. This particular scene has been read and reread by you many times, but it still manages to choke you up. Helen is so brave in the face of death, so sure of the paradise that will await her. And poor Jane, another loss, another grief. You’re not sure what happens after death, but if there is an afterlife, you’re not so sure you’ll be on the pleasant side of it. Tears begin to prick the sides of your eyes as Helen speaks her last line to Jane, begging her not to grieve, beckoning her to find joy. Arthur eyes you curiously from the side of his eyes, wondering what about that little book has you so in your head. With a sigh, you finish the chapter and sniffle, placing the book down to take a breath. Arthur’s charcoal stills on the paper as he hesitates, a question on his lips.

“What's goin’ on in that head a yours? Tough read?” Arthur asks, gesturing to the little ruby colored book in your hands. You meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow, placing the book down on it’s opened pages to keep your spot.

“How about a compromise? I’ll tell ya…if you show me what you’re drawin.”

Arthur’s eyes turn dark with mock threat as he whispers, tone gravelly.

“Never.” He chuckles, and you sigh dramatically.

You both slip into a comfortable silence again, and you find yourself bored. You don’t feel like reading any more, and you’ve picked through most of the yellow candies, so in a futile attempt to distract yourself you toy with your spurs, flicking the rowel and watching as it spins. Arthur notices this, and he huffs. He’s noticed in the past few weeks that you’re always keeping your hands busy, always toying with something or other. He thinks back to when you were tracing constellations on his palm in the bath, and his head hangs low with some shame, and a pain.

“I uh- I been meanin’ to apologize…” Arthur mumbles, eyes fixated on his book.

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, what on earth does he have to apologize for?

“The other day in Valentine, in the bath house. I overstepped- or I misread the situation n’ Im sorry. Never meant to make you uncomfortable, Star.” Arthur all but whispers, a heavy feeling settling in his gut because he doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to push you away, and he is.

Immediately your heart sinks, you’ve been meaning to have this conversation, practicing your words when you lie awake at night, unable to sleep. But all the things you wanted to say slip from your mind.

“That wasn't… you didn't-" You mumble, at a loss for words. There's so much you could tell him right now, so much you could explain. But you don't. No, instead you shove it down, pulling that unbothered facade over your face that has been protecting you from heartache for years.

"We don't gotta talk about it, Arthur." You whisper, flicking the rowel of your spurs and avoiding his eye contact.

You can still see it though, as Arthur leans back, cocking his head with a downcast face. He wants to talk about it, but you can't.

With a sigh, you lay back against the rock, hands behind your head to look up at the clouds. As soon as your back hits the rock, Arthur sighs, humorously irritated.

"Dammit woman will you just- " Arthur chuckles, pulling you back up to a sitting position by grabbing your forearm.

"Just hold still for a minute, I'm tryin' to do somethin…" Arthur smiles because you're always moving, you can't sit still, and a moving model proves to be a difficult one.

You go back to your sitting position, and Arthur leans over towards you, adjusting the violet in your hair. Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion for a moment until you spot the little journal sitting in his lap, closed over his charcoal. Your eyes go wide, and your lips crack into a shocked smile.

Arthur leans back, picking the journal back up and opening it. For a few seconds his eyes run over the soft features of your face, and then he looks down to his paper.

"You're- You're drawin' me ?" You ask, perplexed, honored.

When Arthur glances up, seeing the look on your face, he gets nervous. He probably should have asked your permission first. He didn't mean anything strange by the drawing, and he doesn't want you to think that.

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, searching for words to explain, but falling short.

"Uh- yeah, I am. But I don't mean anything odd by it. I just like to draw things that I like or that I find- Well, I don't know, usually I draw things that I think are pretty. Like nature n' plants and uh…" Arthur rambles, terrified you're gonna think he's some type of pervert. A smile blossoms across your face, a full, genuine one. He's dug himself in with his words he realizes when you lean in toward him, voice quiet.

"...and me?" You ask, finishing his sentence. Arthur smiles crookedly, eyes on the paper as he responds.

"Yeah, like you."

You smile, content. Arthur continues sketching. The quiet scratching of charcoal on paper is the only reminder that he's still beside you as you slip your eyes shut, soaking up the last of the sun. You listen to his sketching, to his breathing, and the little sighs and chuckles he lets out when you move too much. He knows you can't sit still, it's just one of those little things about you.

After a while, the sketching stops, and you peek one eye open, glancing down at Arthurs hands. He sets the charcoal down, closes the book and then dusts his hands off of his jeans.

"You gonna let me see it?" You ask, turning towards him, adjusting the flower in your hair.

"I never really shown anyone this… My new one or my old." Arthur says, quietly.

"You don't gotta, it's okay." You reassure, sincerely. He's very closed off about the journal, and you respect that. Having one yourself, you understand the desire to keep it hidden away. Arthur thinks for a moment, looking down to the leather bound journal in his hands.

"Here," he whispers, opening it to the correct page and handing it towards you. You hesitate, not wanting to push him, but he nods for you to go on.

"It's just for fun, I'm not real good or anything." Arthur adds, always having a lesser opinion of his works.

You very gently take the pages from his hands, pulling the book towards you. You cover your gaping mouth in shock. Anytime Arthur has previously mentioned his drawings he downplayed them greatly. You should have expected this, as he always down plays his talents. But you had expected messy scribblings, doodles.

What Arthhr has created is beautiful. He intricately copied your face onto the paper, perfectly portraying you in his own style. His shading is perfect, contouring your face and the bright smile plastered onto it. He's drawn the violet, sticking out from behind your ear.

"Arthur…" You gasp, taken aback by his artistry. Next to the journal is a little note, accompanied by your name, spelled out in all caps, and a little drawing of the north star.

She joined me for my guard shift again. We was bored so I started drawing while she read something or other. She looked real pretty with that flower in her hair, oh and she likes YELLOW CANDIES.

Arthur blushes a bit, embarrassed that you've read his thoughts, but he knows you won't judge him for it. Make fun of him, however? Knowing you, you will. He chuckles, glancing up to your face.

A throat clears behind you both, and you jump, turning to see Hosea standing there. He curiously eyes Arthur's journal in your hands, eyes flickering between the two of you, knowing that you're the first person he's ever shown those pages to.

"How's your watch goin'?" Hosea asks, knowingly quirking a brow.

"Just fine, now whatchu need?" Arthur asks, gently taking the journal back and binding it up. Hosea is unshaken by Arthur's attitude, having dealt with it for nearly twenty years.

"Your horse. I'm heading to the stables to buy a new ride, but I need a way to get there." Hosea answers.

"Thought that was your horse there? Why don't you ride him down to the stables?" Arthur asks, gesturing up the slope towards the hitching posts to where a massive black shire horse resides. You don't recall seeing the beastly animal before, but then again you've been stuck with Miss Grimshaw.

"Yes, well I'm giftin' that bastard to you. He's a nasty son of a bitch, and I'm too old to be thrown. I nearly died a handful of times just getting him back here. I stole him from a fella on the road a few days back, now Karmas got me." Hosea says, angrily gesturing towards the stallion who is pinning his ears and pawing the ground impatiently.

"He can't be all bad. You know anything about him?" You say, eyebrows pulled together as you stand up, walking up the slopes to the posts. The two boys follow you.

"Well before I robbed him of his horse and his hunting map, me and this fella got to drinkin'. He was boasting about this damn thing, and said it was immortal. Apparently he was ridden by a bounty hunter before this, and got hit with more bullet shrapnel than you'd believe. Somehow he managed to stay alive. Fella was drunker than a skunk though, so I reckon you should take it with a grain of salt."

You stand back with Hosea as Arthur steps towards the uneasy animal. The horse stomps, ears pinned, and Arthur coos to him, hands up in surrender to the animal.

"That boys' always had a way with animals." Hosea remarks, watching as Arthur calms the shire enough to pet it. His hands meet the dark horse's neck as he shushes. After a few moments, the horse begins to calm. His tail stops swishing, his ears prick to the sides, listening to Arthur and his lip becomes loose.

"Real good, boy. Now don't go kickin me, I'm just gonna take a look, I ain't gonna hurt ya." Arthur coos, running his hand from the horse's front shoulder down to its hock and pastern. He whistles lightly, pulling his hand back up.

"Feller weren't lyin'. Legs are covered in old scars. It's a miracle he didn't die from infection or just get put down." Arthur says, patting the horse's croup before backing up, eyeing the horse from a few steps back.

"He got a name?" Arthur asks, and Hosea shakes his head.

"No, never given one." Hosea adds.

"Reckon I'll start callin you Balius, you're a strong one." Arthur says, moving back towards the horse and picking up his hoof, checking over the state of it.

"Balius…?" You ask, not sure why Arthur would have picked that name. It's beautiful, but foreign to you.

"Ah, Balius. An immortal horse, a gift from Poseidon." Hosea smiles, looking at Arthur and the horse.

"Arthur, he's a smart one. Too humble to show it often, I'm afraid." Hosea whispers to you.

You think back to Boadicea. Arthur must take some interest in history and mythology. You curiously watch him, seeing Arthur in a different light.

"Okay, I can take him off your hands. Go ahead and ride my Walker to the stables. Just board him there for now, I'll see how this big guy does." Arthur says, pulling an oatcake from his satchel and feeding it to a now calm Balius.

You glance to the unhitched horses, seeing your buckskin grazing with the other gang member's horses. He's a small thing, not much muscle on him and Colter certainly didn't help that fact. He's a good horse, but not what you need. You need something strong and quick, something younger.

"I'll join you, Hosea. I've been meaning to get a new ride for a while."

"I might as well go too, get him checked out by a stable hand. He's gonna need a different saddle. Boadicea's is still down in Blackwater and the saddle on the walker is a piece a' shit." Arthur pipes in. Hosea places a hand on each of your backs as he smiles, leading you towards the unhitched horses.

"I'm not sticking around, I'm afraid. Once I get this horse I'll be heading back up to ambarino for a hunt. I hear that there's a beast of a bear up there."

Arthur stops, hands on his belt as he raises an eyebrow.

"You want help with it? Y'aint so young no more, Hosea." Arthur asks, not wanting to overstep, but worried about Hosea's cough and age. Taking on a bear is hard for someone your age, let alone Hosea's. Hosea hesitates.

"Star's daddy was a gunsmith. Sure she knows her way around what we need and I can track better than you, let us go, as long as the lady wants to." Arthur adds, looking over to you quickly.

"Alright, suppose some company would do me some good up in the mountains." Hosea nods, glancing behind him at the horses.

"I reckon me and Arthur get these horses saddled up. I'll have Charles take the rest of your shift. Dear Star, why don't you go pack a bag, we may be away a few nights. Oh and check in with Dutch, he was asking for you. Tell him we're heading out for a day or two." Hosea orders around, and you nod, anxiety pooling in your gut.

"Dutch was askin for you?" Arthur asks, shooting a look at you and then Hosea. You nod, biting your lip.

"Yeah, said he wants to get to know me on a more personal level… Whatever that means." You mumble, and Arthur's face is drawn up in distaste. Without another word, you head towards your tent.

You wave at Jack on the way, noticing that Abigail and John are fighting again. You feel bad for the boy, caught up in this life. You ignore the hungry cries of the O'driscoll, tied to a tree on the other side of camp. Dutch is a fool for bringing him here. With a sigh, you part the canvas to your tent, drawing the flaps closed behind you. A little wooden box rests on your bedside table, a gift from Tilly after you'd done her a favor. You pick up the wooden box, hand resting in the lid, and yet you hesitate to open it. You know it's not gonna be good, maybe enough change for some canned goods, but not a horse, which you need.

Frustrated, you slam the box down harder than necessary. Your hand grabs an old saddle bag from under your cot, and you move to your wardrobe.

You don’t have a tent kit, but you do have a bedroll, so you grab it and stuff it into the bag alongside a few pairs of jeans and some underthings. Damningly, you forget to grab your coat, leaving it stuffed in the bottom of your wardrobe.

Once your bag is packed you can no longer ignore the wooden box that is haunting you. You sit down on your bed, picking it up and holding it in your lap. You pull the lid off, looking down to a measly five dollar bill. It's not chump change, but it won't help you with a horse. It's the last of the money you have from stealing in Tumbleweed. You hope that with the gang you'll never have to live like that again. You were barely making it, never knowing where you were gonna get a meal or sleep. Anytime you needed to purchase something you had to steal. And now here you are, thinking about how in the hell you're going to steal a horse.

You pluck the bill from the box, fold it over and stick it into your satchel.

"Can I come in?" A voice says from outside your tent. It's Arthur, and instinctually you smile.

"Sure c'mon."

Arthur steps through the flap, coming over to your bed. You scooch over and he sits down beside you on your cot.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asks, taking his hat off and placing it on the cot. You sigh, closing the box and putting it back on your table.

"I still feel like I'm just runnin." You whisper, noting the double meaning of your words.

"From what?" Arthur asks, no judgment in his eyes.

"Everything," You huff, "Myself mostly. My past, my feelings. Just robbing and killing and lying to survive. I'm stuck back in Tumbleweed, Arthur. I have no money, I have nothin' to my name. I need a damn horse before this one up and dies on me but I can't even afford the cheapest one. I'm gonna have to steal a damn horse." You sigh, running your hands through your hair, plucking out the violet and twirling it between your fingers. Arthur rests his hand on your knee, and you look up to his ocean eyes.

"Star, you got the whole gang now, okay? You don't gotta watch your back now, cause we all got it." You nod, knowing he's right and feeling better for it.

"I'll help ya get a horse, c'mon." Arthur says, patting your knee for good measure before standing up and placing his hat back on.

"I'm not lettin you buy me a horse." You bite.

"Marybeth caught word of a train job. You come rob with us, n' get your cut, you can pay me back." Arthur says. You know he would never actually ask you to pay him back, he's only offering this to make you feel better.

Arthur extends his hand out to you, and once you take it, he pulls you up to your feet. He grabs your packed bag from the cot, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Alright, go check in with Dutch, I'll get your horse loaded."

Arthur holds the tent flap open for you, and once you exit he files out behind you. You go your separate ways then. Dutch's large tent seems to rise over the others, intimidating you. But you strengthen your resolve, walking towards it with purpose.

Just as you reach to pull the canvas aside, Molly pushes through the flap, knocking into you and pushing you to the side.

"I'm not blind, Dutch! I know what you're doing! You won't even TOUCH me anymore because you’re thinkin about her!" Molly yells, and her voice pierces the ears of everyone in camp. She points her finger at him, seething with rage before grunting loudly.

"You're delusional. Again." Dutch says, rolling his eyes, frustrated.

Molly flips him the bird before stomping off. Dutch only watches her go with distaste.

"Sorry, I didn't intend to interru-"

"Nonsense. I'm sorry. Miss O'shea has been… difficult as of late." Dutch says, clicking his tongue against the room of his mouth. He comes beside you, placing his hand on your shoulder and leading you into his tent.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you've been avoiding me?" Dutch asks, groaning as he rests down into his chair. Everything about the man is dominating. His stature, his stance, his words. He demands respect, and those who don't give it to him receive a bullet. Naturally, with you being you, you test his boundaries. Arthur trusts Dutch, but he gives you an odd feeling.

"Why would I avoid you?" You chuckle, watching as some of the charisma bleeds from his eyes. He gets off on being frightening, and you've just insulted his resolve.

"Hmm." Dutch squints at you, unsure if you're just ignorant or if you're intentionally pushing his buttons. He grabs a cigar from the pack on his desk, placing it between his lips.

"I only came by to tell you that Hosea, Arthur and I will be off on a job hunting for a few days. They asked me to let you know."

Dutch nods, holding a match to the candle on his table until it lights before bringing the lit match to his cigar. He makes you wait, lighting the cigar, slowly inhaling and then releasing the breath of air.

"Okay… I hope you haven't forgotten about our little chat. I've got plans for you. As soon as you return, come see me. We've got a lot to talk about."

You dip your head in understanding, and turn to exit.

"And miss?" Dutch calls after you, and you stop, turning on your heels.

"Hmm?"

"Do be careful on that hunt. Be a real shame if somethin' scratched up that pretty little face." Dutch says, and your stomach rolls as you exit.

You try to quell your anger, try to be the bigger person. Dutch is the one person who you cannot piss off. Your tongue gets you in trouble often but you won't let it leave you without a home. You move through camp, Dutch's remark playing through your head. The boys are waiting for you at the hitching posts, and they see your rage from a mile away.

"Miss Star, what is it?" Hosea asks, checking his girth to make sure it's tight before climbing onto Arthur's horse.

"It's that prick." You snap, finger directed at Dutch's tent.

"What's the fool gone and done now?" Hosea asks, grabbing the reins and adjusting in the saddle.

"Dutch? He botherin you?" Arthur asks, glancing between you and Hosea.

"Oh I can handle it just fine. Miss O'shea don't seem to be handlin' it so well though. Bastard makes her cry and then two seconds later starts tryin' to flirt with me." You growl, climbing into your saddle. You follow Hosea, cantering out of the Overlook.

"He tried to flirt with you?" Arthur growls.

"This isn't new for Dutch. He finds something shiny, new, and he wants it. Happened with him and Marybeth too, but I shut that down quick." Hosea yells back.

"He knows better. I'll have a word with him when we get back." Arthur hisses, disappointed.

"No. I've got it." You respond.

"Don't mind him, hard as it may be. Lately he's been nothing but greedy when it comes to women. He's downright disrespectful, demeaning… Annabelle would be ashamed." Hosea shakes his head.

"Annabelle?" You ask, never having heard the name before. You turn in your saddle to look at Arthur.

"She was Dutch's fiancé. Got killed by Colm O'driscoll." Arthur mutters, an old pain resurfacing.

"She was a sweet girl. She was good for him, too, and kept him in line. Along with young Arthur over here. He and John were a pair of fools when they were kids. She was always badgerin' them." Hosea chuckles at the memory.

"Nah, that was mostly Bessie. John used to steal my damn cigarettes all the time. Course that was my fault. God knows little Johnny Marston couldn't do no wrong." Arthur chastises.

"Oh be quiet, Arthur. We all knew you were sneakin them to him. Along with the booze."

Your eyebrows are pulled together in confusion as the two bicker, and you laugh.

"Yeah well gettin' the kid drunk was the only way to shut him up." Arthur explains.

"Wait-" You laugh, "You all knew each other when you were kids?" You ask, trying to piece together the timeline, picturing them all younger.

"We brought Arthur in when he was only a boy, about fifteen if my memory hasn't lost me. Our first stray, our unruly son. For a long while it was just me, Dutch and Arthur. But then I found Bessie and Dutch, his Annabelle, and then eventually we took in John." Hosea explains, trotting over the railroad tracks into the auction yard.

You can't help but chuckle, the thought of their younger years is a sweet idea. They really are a family, you can see that now

"How did you end up with them? How did you end up doin' this?" You ask Arthur and then Hosea, spurring your horse.

"I was just a kid, livin' on the streets for a long while, stealin' to get by. The city weren't kind to me. After a few years I decided to get away, take my chances out in the woods. I needed a horse to get away from the city." Arthur explains as you slow your horses, riding towards the livery. Hosea chuckles, and you can't help but smile, wondering where this might be going.

"So one day I'm sittin' on the sidewalk beggin' for spare change. See these two horses hitched outside the gunsmith, real fine horses. Saw a white one, knew it'd be quick and strong, just what I needed."

You chuckle, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Get up close to it, no one's lookin' so I throw myself up into the saddle."

Hosea is smiling brilliantly at the memory, as if he's back in the same setting.

"That horse threw me faster than you could blink an eye. I'm layin' there on the street like a fool, feelin' sorry for myself when suddenly these angry lookin' outlaws peek over me, lookin' down at me in the mud."

"And that was where we found him." Hosea laughs.

You make a note to ask why Arthur was alone at such a young age. Your heart breaks at the idea of him, just a kid, begging for money in the streets. You've heard amongst the laughter of the gang that The Count won't take anyone but Dutch, and Arthur appears to have been the first to test that theory. You trot past the butcher's, making your way towards the stables. Once again, you pass the peculiar one armed man posing as a veteran. You nod to him lightly as you pass, and he smiles in return.

"We can fill you in on old stories during our trek up the hills. There's a lot of goodones, especially about Arthur here." Hosea chimes, dismounting from Arthur's walker in front of the livery.

"Great." Arthur says, sarcastically elongating the word.

You slide down from the buckskin, forgoing your eyebrows as you hear commotion on the other side of the closed stable doors. A horse shrieks, whinnying with fear as thumps sound out against the door.

"Just grab her halter!" A man yells, and the stable doors shake from an apparently hard kick to them.

"I can't! She won't settle, goddamnit she's goin' through!" Another man screams, and suddenly the door cracks and is pushed open.

A beautiful Palomino mare pushes through the door, terrified and angry. You jump back out of the way with a gasp, almost getting trampled by her.

"Star, get back!" Arthur yells as the horse rears up, crying out with an ear piercing whinny.

"I got her!" One of the stable boys yells, swinging a lariat over his head. He releases a coil as the rope flies through the air, landing around the mare's neck.

The rope only seems to terrify her more, and she drags the poor stable hand who's heels drag in the dirt, trying to pull her in by force.

You know that there's no way he could possibly force this horse to do anything. She's tall, lean and strong. Her piercing blue eyes are a symbol of her ancestors' spirit. She's a force to be reckoned with, an open flame, you can tell from just a glance.

"Stop! Stop- you're scarin' her!" You call to the boy with the rope, handing your buckskin's reins to Hosea. You walk towards the spooked mare as she rears, hands placed up to placate her.

"Be careful, miss, please. She's dangerous. Wasn't taken care of properly by her last owner n' now she don't trust men. Maybe she'll take to you." The man calls.

You look to her sides, to the scarred over wounds on either side of her stomach where spurs have dug in harshly, and to the sores on her mouth from where a torturous bit has been yanked far too often.

"Oh you poor girl." You coo, taking a step towards her.

Arthur shifts behind you, wanting to just grab you and pull you backwards. But he knows by now not to question you. You can handle your own. Still, it doesn't help his anxiety as he glances at Hosea.

The horse is locked onto you. She has stopped rearing, but she snorts and huffs, prancing and snorting nervously.

"Drop the rope." You order the boy, but he hesitates, stuttering.

"I- I can't, I shouldn't. She'll run off again, and my boss-"

"The lady wasn't askin', now drop the damn rope." Arthur orders from behind you, and your lips crack into a small smile, grateful that he has your back, that he trusts your sometimes insane decisions.

The kid obliges, immediately dropping it to the ground. Your fingers are crossed, and much to your relief, the mare stays put.

Her crystal blue eyes are locked onto you, separated only by the thick, long white forelock that covers part of her face. Her golden coat is broken up by a thick white blaze, and she has four tall white stockings.

"Easy there girl, I'm not gonna hurt ya." You whisper, inching towards her. She stomps her right hoof, ears pinned back. You stand still, waiting for them to pop back up before you continue.

She has a presence about her, something deeply human about those eyes. There's a sense of understanding in them, a clarity that you find only in the rarest of beasts.

"She's got that affinity for animals too, huh?" Hosea whispers to Arthur, looking between you and him.

Hosea notices that Arthur doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge the older man because his eyes are locked onto your back, watching as you approach the mare. Arthur is looking after you with a small smile, a glint in his eyes that Hosea hasn't seen in so long. He doesn't remember the last time he's seen Arthur with so much… life in his eyes.

"She's incredible ain't she?" Arthur whispers back, eyes glued onto you as he speaks. Hosea brings his hand up to Arthur's shoulder, offering it a light squeeze.

"She sure is, son."

Oblivious to their conversation, you shush to the horse, calming her down some. No one moves save for you, not wanting to interrupt this moment, lest the mare run off again.

"That's a good girl, see I'm friendly I swear it." You whisper, smiling as the horse stands steady on her feet, ears coming forward curiously towards you. Holding your breath, your fingertips reach out, inches away from her pale nose. She snorts, sniffing at you, gauging your intentions.

At the same time, you move towards each other, and your fingers brush against her soft coat. At first the mare hesitates, but after a second she leans into your touch. You laugh, petting under her forelock. When you turn around to show Arthur what you've done, you find him sweetly looking over you, eyes bright, proud.

You gently reach and grab the rope from her neck, using it to lead her back towards the stables.

"I ain't never seen nothing like it miss! She just- she just calmed right down for ya!" The stableboy says excitedly as you lead the mare back inside, followed by Hosea and Arthur with the other horses.

Hosea and Arthut deal with their horses, selling, buying and stabling while you chat with the stable hand.

"Can I help you with anything? Seein as you helped me out." The young worker asks you as the older one helps Hosea pick out a ride.

You hold the mare's rope in your hand, scanning down over the other stalls. There's a dappled standardbred, a silver turkoman, a roan nokota, a morgan… nothing that catches your eye.

You turn back towards the mare at your side, then to the stable boy.

"I want her." You say, no chance of compromise in your voice. The stablehand looks at you oddly.

"You- you want her? Miss I don't think that's such a good idea, she ain't right in the head!" He explains, but you've found your resolve, and you are going home with this mare, one way or another.

"You turnin' down a customer?" You bite, raising an eyebrow at the boy and purposely drawing his attention to his boss. Surely the owner won't appreciate his hand turning away a paying customer.

"No! No of course not, ma'am!"

"That's what I thought. She have papers?" You ask him, and he turns around with a sigh.

“Yeah she got papers.”

You nod, satisfied with the response.

“She’ll be nine hundred n’ fifty, miss.” The boy says, handing you your papers and your gut sinks. $950? Quickly coming up with an idea, you smooth your face over with a small smile.

“I'll take her for fifty.”

The boy laughs, snorting at your attempt at a bargain.

“We already lost enough money on this horse. You can have her for nine hundred.”

You squint, eyeing the man up and down.

“Seventy five.” You bite.

“I'm sorry lady, that just ain’t happenin’. This is one of the nicest horses we’ve had, and I can’t just hand her to you for nothin.” He says, chuckling as if you’re crazy.

“You sure about that? This horse nearly killed you.” You lean back on your heels, eyebrows raised, “You said she don’t like men, right? If I walk away now are you even gonna be able to lead her to a stall?”

The boy glances between the horse and you, and the mare pins her ears at him, biting out as if she wants to rip him apart. He sighs loudly, running a hand over his face before looking back to you.

“Four hundred.” He offers you, and you squint, releasing a little of the mare’s lead so her bites and kicks towards the man land a little closer to his face.

“Two hundred.” You bite, and the man rolls his eyes.

“Listen, lady, my pa will kill me-” He starts but you interrupt him. Hosea and Arthur have already checked out and boarded their horses, and they watch you with amused chuckles.

“You’re startin’ to piss me off mister! Would you rather your pa kill you, or this horse? Cause the more you continue to irritate me, the looser this rope gets, and, the lower my offers get. Now, let's try that again. I’ll take her for one hundred.” You bite, leaving go of some more rope and the man has to back up to avoid the mare’s pinned ears and kicks.

“Jesus! Fine, a hundred works. Just, get her away from me.” The boy yells, and you pull her rope back in towards you, calming her down with a very satisfied smirk on your lips.

Arthur pays the man the hundred dollars, and you switch saddles from your buckskin before stabling the horse. Arthur picks out some carrots for everyone’s new horse’s and before long the three of you are walking out satisfied, with three new rides. You stop outside of the stables as everyone mounts up. Hosea had purchased the turkoman, and now he swings a leg over it with a very satisfied grin.

“So we all got new rides, eh?” Hosea chuckles, waiting for you and Arthur to mount up.

“It seems so.” Arthur chuckles, watching as you comfort your palomino before getting up into the saddle. She feels nice to ride, got solid feet, and she doesn’t buck or fret. You pat her neck once you’re in the saddle, and then signal to the boys that you’re ready to head out.

“This one should do me good. Got nice bloodlines, a good age.” Hosea says, waiting for Arthur to mount up.

“What about her? You pick out a name yet?” Arthur asks, pointing lightly towards your horse for a moment. You frown slightly.

“No. I ain't much good with pickin’ names out truthfully, maybe somethin’ will come to me eventually.” You mumble

“Awe, well ya gotta pick somethin’ out. Horse as fine as that needs a proper name… She’s a spitfire for sure. You gotta find a name that fits her spirit too.” Arthur explains, placing a foot into the saddle and swinging a leg over. You hum, thinking.

“Well what would you name her, Arthur?” Hosea asks, turning his horse around to butt in a little.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was just thinkin-”

“C’mon, what would you pick? Tell me.”You interrupt his ramblings and Arthur looks down at his saddle horn.

“I guess I’d call her Athena. War, wisdom, beauty, sure seems to fit her description.” Arthur says, looking the mare over. Hosea smiles a bit, as do you because you can’t believe he’s hidden this apparent interest in mythology from you. First Balius, now Athena? He’s so complex, you smile.

“Athena” You test out the name, liking the way it rolls off your tongue, and even the mare’s ears prick up when you say it.

“Athena it is…” You whisper, smiling as you lean to pet the mare's neck. Arthur chuckles, watching the two of you.

“We best be on our way then, by the time we get up there it’ll be good huntin’ hours.” Hosea calls out, trotting up the road. You and Arthur follow after him, making a triangle formation up the main road. You all pass the building that's half built, and you notice they’ve made some more progress, as wooden beams stick up, framing the roof. There's a ‘coming soon!’ sign plastered out front.

“Say what are they building there, anyway?” You ask, watching as the workers carry cut beams and tools.

“A blacksmith I hear, some real peculiar feller. They say he's real… imaginative. Sounds to me like he’d be better off in a city, but he liked the ‘quaintness’ of Valentine.” Hosea pipes up from ahead.

“He’s… imaginative?” You ask, unsure of the creative limits to Blacksmithing of all things.

“They say he makes decorations, jewelry, all kinds of peculiar trinkets and the like. Alongside regular stuff, of course. He makes tools, and the odd bits are more of a side gig.” Hosea explains, trotting around the bend past the sheriff’s office.

“Strange…” You mumble, glancing back at the building one last time before it disappears behind the sheriff's office.

“Where exactly we headin’?” Arthur asks, spurring Balius into a canter now that you’re all out of town.

“A little stead, called O'Creagh’s run. Beautiful hunting up there, but it’s a bit far.”

“Let’s ride, then.” Arthur responds, and you all push your horses into a gallop. You use vocal cues, not wanting to touch Athena’s sides with your spurs. She responds well, and within no time you’re all galloping back up north.

— — — —

A few long hours later you finally arrive. O’Creagh’s run is a beautiful little place, with wildflowers, grassy hills and a glass-clear pond with massive fish swimming through it. As you ride past, you see a man in a boat, fishing over the waters.

“Just a bit further, we can leave the horses up ahead off the road.” Hosea says, veering from the road and trotting up a small hill. Big boulders stick out of the ground in places, and you maneuver Athena around them.

Hosea leads you to a little opening, and he slides down from his horse.

“Why don’t you grab that gun? And whatever bullets you see fit. We’ll let dear Arthur here shoot the bastard.” Hosea chuckles, pulling out a map and looking it over for a few moments before nodding.

“Alright this is the place to start lookin.” Hosea says as you pull the springfield rifle from your saddle, loading it with express bullets.

“And what exactly are we lookin’ for?” You ask, never having hunted before.

“Bear shit, tracks, fur, blood, anythin’ really.” Arthur answers, patting Balius before coming towards you.

You nod, falling into step with Arthur as you both follow Hosea. The three of you walk around for a long while, scanning the ground, slowly inching around. You see nothing but rocks, grass, leaves, and sticks. Arthur has noticed that you sigh loudly every few minutes, kicking a rock or a stick out of your way as you grumpily walk around in search of anything.

“Arthur, this is boring as hell.” You whisper out of earshot from Hosea. Arthur chuckles lightly, rubbing at his stubble.

“You won’t be sayin’ that when there's a half ton beast comin’ at you.”

“If we ever find it that is.” You huff, crossing your arms as you follow the men. After a few minutes, Hosea stops, waving you both to come over.

“Bear dung here, fresh.” Hosea explains, looking over the pile.

“Never thought I’d be glad to hear it…” You mumble under your breath.

“How close you think, Arthur?” Hosea asks, looking up to the younger man.

“I reckon he ain’t far. See a few tracks here,” Arthur points in the direction of the disturbed trail. “They disappear up here, it splits off into two trails.”

You look at the two trails. One wraps around the side of the hill, and the other continues through a valley. You’re tired of standing around, walking slow and looking at bear shit, so you nod, walking through the valley.

“Where you goin?” Arthur asks, gesturing to you with furrowed brows. You turn around, slowly walking backwards to yell at him.

“Goin’ to find this thing!” You holler back, and Arthur sighs, telling Hosea to go with you while he searches the other trail.

You wait for Hosea to catch up to you, chuckling as Arthur stomps up the hill in the other direction.

“I don't mean to question your thought process, but what's your plan if we do come across this bear?” Hosea asks as you pull your rifle around into your hands.

“Well I guess I’ll shoot it. N’ if that don’t work, you go get Arthur, or we run, I don’t know.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders lightly, “Wasn’t this your idea?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah but now that we’re actually here, I’m wondering if this was a bad idea.” Hosea huffs, and you crack a smile.

You walk the trail for a while, not really seeing much for about ten minutes. Just as you're about to turn around you see something on the grass up ahead. You jog up to it, crouching to the ground.

"Hosea, I found a fish! He's eaten most of it, he can't be far now." You chime, looking at the fresh blood and teeth marks.

"Uh, Star?" Hosea calls your attention, barely over a whisper. Slowly, you turn around.

Hosea is standing facing away from you, frozen in a statue-like stance. About forty feet down the trail stands the largest bear you've ever seen in your life. Its face is scarred, an eye is missing. On all fours this bear is as tall as you, and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Don't move." Hosea whispers, as the bear inches forward. You can't help it, fear taking over as you stand up from your crouch.

You take a step backwards, and your boot squishes right down onto the fish. The slip surprises you. Instinctually, you gasp, pulling your foot back away quickly with a yelp.

The bear's ears prick forward at your noise and motion, and he roars, spit flying from his mouth as he charges.

"Oh SHIT!" You scream as the bear charges straight forward. Quickly, you pull your rifle around and fire. You hit the bear in the leg, and then in the shoulder, and you curse your shaking hands. The bear charges for Hosea, but as you continue trying to shoot it, it switches direction, coming straight for you. You gasp, pumping bullets into it, missing some, hitting random areas and grazing it in others. It will not go down.

You cry out as the bear gets closer, firing once again before it runs into you, a paw against your chest as it knocks you to the ground. Your rifle is knocked away from your hands, and lies uselessly far away in the dirt. Your heart pumps rapidly as the bear roars in your face, ready to tear you to pieces.

You quickly reach down, unsheathing your knife as the bear's claws against your chest push down painstakingly. Your ribs ache from the impact of hitting the ground so hard, but you can do nothing about it as you plunge your knife into the bear's chest. It yelps, snarling and growling as you pull the knife out, sinking it back in until the bear falls to the ground at your side with a yelp.

You pant, chest rising and falling rapidly as you lay on the ground. Your eyes slip closed as you drop the knife to the ground.

"Am I dead?" You whisper, peaking an eye open, relieved to see the setting sun.

"Oh my God, Star, are you alright?" Hosea calls out from his position backed against a tree on the ground. You ask yourself the same question, noticing that it hurts when you breathe, your ribs ache and there are some scratches against your collarbone where the bear had dug his claws in, but other than that you're okay.

"Think so." You hum, just as Arthur approaches, sprinting down the grassy patch.

"What in the hell happened?" Arthur yells, glancing between you and Hosea and the bear, dead at your side.

"We found the bear." You whisper, placing a hand over your ribcage and hissing.

"The bear found us." Hosea corrects, standing up from the ground with a sigh.

"I'm sorry dear girl. I wouldn't have brought you up here if I would have known." Hosea says, feeling guilty.

Arthur comes over to the grass where you are lying, and he sits down beside you.

"You alright?" He asks, seeing where a deep patch of blood soaks through your shirt. It's not yours, but he's sure you're hurting somewhere.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just let me lay here for a minute n' feel sorry for myself." You whisper, breath coming down from its heightened pace as you slip your eyes closed.

"I'm afraid my age seemed to have slipped me. I ain't as young as I used to be and it shows. I'm shaken up beyond repair, think I'll return to camp to lick my wounds." Hosea chuckles, "You folks comin' with?" He asks.

Arthur glances down at you, noticing the way you cling to your ribs. You shouldn't be riding, it's probably best that you rest for the night.

"We'll set up camp here, be back in the mornin'. She should just rest for now." Arthur responds, and you're relieved for it. A few hours' ride home does not sound fun, and besides, you packed a bag in case.

"Okay." Hosea smiles, "I'll see you kids then, be safe."

Then Hosea directs his attention to Arthur.

"Take care of her, son."

With that, Hosea leaves, whistling for his new horse and trotting off into the night with it. Once he's out of the trees, Arthur looks to you.

"C'mon, I'll set us up a camp. Looks like that storms finally comin' in."

You think back to what Charles had said about the rain, and peek up to the evening sky, colored with black clouds.

Arthur pulls you to your feet and you groan, before he whistles for the horses.

"I'll get you settled then get that bear." Arthur hums and you nod.

Arthur starts a little fire a ways away, getting it set up with his percolator and an iron cooker. Once it's set up nicely, he goes back to skin the bear. You grab your bag from Athena, rolling out your little bedroll on the grass before sitting down on it criss-crossed. The night is cold, and you dig through your bag searching for your coat.

You groan, realizing that you must have forgotten it at home. Rain starts to drip down quietly, just a sprinkle, but it's enough to chill you to the bones as you bring your knees up to your chin.

"Why ain't you got a coat on? You're shiverin'." Arthur points out, walking back toward you with a pelt and a bundle of bagged meat in his hands. His eyebrows are drawn together as he comes forward.

"I forgot it."

Arthur chuckles, setting his things on the ground beside the fire before going towards Balius.

"Course ya did." He chuckles pulling something from his saddlebag before coming up behind you. You crane your neck up to look at him as he drapes a coat over your shoulders. It's tan with a warm wool interior, it's warm, and you wrap it around your body as tight as you can, shivering.

The coat is so big on you, it swallows you up, and you relish in the warmth. But the most intriguing aspect of it is the scent. The coat smells just like Arthur, like gunsmoke and tobacco and something else so indescribably him that you dig your frozen nose into the fabric.

"Don't you got a tent…?" Arthur asks kindly, worried over you. He places a few cuts of bear meat over the cooker on the fire, eying you as he does.

"Hm hm" You mumble, shaking your head no.

"Why didn't you say somethin'? Here let me put mine up, you can sleep in there for the night." Arthur says, checking to make sure the bear meat won't burn before he starts gathering the materials to build your tent.

"Why don't you change into a fresh pair of clothes. Your shirts covered in blood, that can't be helpin' your chill. N' you can check for any cuts that need bandaged up." Arthur suggests, down on one knee across the fire, stabbing the beam supports into the wet soil.

"I ain't just gonna strip down right here. Especially not with you right here." You point out. Arthur stands up, tying together the posts.

"Get changed. You're freezin' to death n' you're worried about a gaze when we're in the middle of nowhere." Arthur chuckles, shaking his head at your stubbornness. You look down at your ruined clothes, blood spattered across your torso from stabbing the bear in the heart whilst he was right over you.

"Fine but you better not peek." You say, standing up and walking over towards Athena.

"Star-" Arthur sighs, laughing, "I ain't gonna peek."

"Good. Cause if you do peek I'll have to kill ya," You smile. "No man's ever laid eyes on me indecent before, and that sure as hell ain't changin' now." You mumble, not even thinking about your words. Arthur however, stiffens, hands stilling where they were pulling the canvas over his tent. His shoulders tighten and he swallows thickly. No man…? Ever…?

He coughs, awkwardly.

"Alright well, uh. Hurry up." He mumbles, putting all of his focus onto the tent and forcing himself not to turn around.

You take his coat off, letting it fall to the grass. Arthur counts the pieces of clothing as they fall, flinching each time a new piece hits the ground. It seems to be forever until you're undressed, but eventually you stand naked in the night. You're facing away from eachother. And if he did turn around, he would be met with your exposed backside… but he won't. He's a gentleman and he's made a promise that he intends to keep.

You stand bare facing Athena, digging through your saddlebag as a slight panic starts to creep up your neck. The rain has picked up, coating you in a cold, yet glistening wet. You dig through the bag, realizing that you hadn't brought a shirt. You were so worried about Dutch and money that you didn't bring the most basic of necessities. You shiver, covering your breasts with your hands.

"Arthur…?" You ask, sounding so coy and small, it's foreign to your ears.

"Everything okay? You decent?" Arthur asks, swallowing thickly.

"No! No, I didn't… I didn't bring a shirt." You say, quietly.

"Oh… Go ahead n' take one from my bag. It'll swallow you up, but be better than nothing." Arthur answers, finishing the tent as the rain picks up. He makes an obvious attempt not to look at you as he turns around, grabbing the meat from the fire and taking it into the tent.

"Just come in here when you're ready." He hollers from inside.

You go over to Balius, leaning up on your tiptoes to reach into the shire's bag. Your fingers brush against a soft cloth, and you pull out a neatly folded jade green shirt. It's long sleeved, it'll be warm and it smells like him. You smile, pulling it over your bare body. The shirt comes down to your mid thighs, and the top buttons are undone three holes down, leaving a little of your chest exposed, including three scratches from the bear along your collarbone. You frown at it, pulling his coat back on before reaching for your undergarments and sliding them up your legs.

Your jeans are destroyed, muddied and caked in fur and blood. You don't bother to put them on, knowing they're garbage. Instead you opt to just wear the shirt. It covers you enough, and you prefer sleeping without pants anyways.

You grab your saddlebag, running through the rain until you break through the tent flap, finally escaping the cold water.

"Jesus, cold huh?" Arthur laughs at the way you've barreled into the place. He has turned the whole floor into a bed, as there's not much room. The two bedrolls beside each other take up the whole floor. Arthur sits up, two plates in his hand, and he holds one out to you.

"Frozen." You whisper, sitting on your knees and wrapping Arthur's coat further around you before taking the plate from him. He's cooked up the bear, seasoning it with some oregano and thyme, and you smile for it.

"Maybe if you were wearing pants, ya wouldn't be so cold." Arthur chuckles, forcing his eyes away from the glistening rain on your thighs.

"Yeah well I don't want to." You bite, getting an idea, "Oh! Arthur, I brought rolls!" You chime, digging through your saddlebag until you find the little dinner rolls. You hand him one, and he lifts it up in a little toast.

"Thanks, look, we're havin' a proper dinner." Arthur chuckles.

"Yeah for once."

You eat and chat, enjoying each other's company for a long while. The rain on the tent roof is comforting, and the thunder that usually frightens you doesn't seem so bad now that you're with him. After you've both had your fill, he puts the plates away. You're still shivering, and Arthur's too big shirt slips down over your shoulder.

His eyes flicker to your exposed shoulder, and you go to pull the cloth back up but he knocks your hand away.

"You didn't tell me he scratched you." Arthur mumbles, eyes flickering up to your own as you shrug your shoulder away from his touch, covering it again.

"Just a scratch." You whisper, looking down to the sore wound.

Arthur slides forward, chest towards yours, so close that your knees touch.

"Let me salve it." He whispers, and you look up to his crystal blue-green eyes.

"It aint a big deal, Ar-"

"Please." He urges, eyes locked onto yours as you nod your head lightly.

He reaches into his bag, pulling out the same little tin of poultice that he'd used on your thigh in Colter.

"I use this on you far too much. You oughta be more careful." Arthur whispers, and his breath floats down to your skin, warming you and causing a chill to run over you at the same time.

He gently takes the collar of your shirt, well his shirt, and pulls it down to expose more of your chest and collarbone. You shiver, not from the cold, as he runs his finger alongside the scratch with feather-like lightness.

"Steady." Arthur chuckles, a sound you're familiar with and he applies some salve to your cut. It's so intimate, another thing that's becoming familiar with Arthur, which terrifies you.

To calm your anxieties, you instinctually trace your fingers over the scar on your right thigh. Arthur notices, and he brushes your fingers away from your leg gently.

"Still botherin' you?" He whispers against your skin. You shake your head, ignoring the way his fingers rest on your thigh.

"N-no, just a habit I guess." You stutter, rendered speechless. Artgur focuses his attention back to your collarbone, neatly covering it with the poultice.

His lip quirks halfway up in a smile before he continues.

"Didn't know if you was gonna make it down here after Colter. Thought that fever was gonna do you in." He mumbles, thinking about all that you’ve overcome. Your eyes are downcast, watching as his hand applies the salve to your scrapes. He finishes with your collarbone, and closes the tin up.

“I didn’t know if any of us were makin’ it down from Colter.” You admit, watching as Arthur pulls the shirt back up over your shoulder.

“I'm worried about Lenny,” Arthur sighs, “wherever he and Micah ended up. And I hope Sean is safe for now till we can get to him.”

You nod, thinking about Sean stuck down in Blackwater.

“Yeah, me too. Javiers’ down there with Josiah now. Charles should be heading down in a day or two to help him scope out the town.” You whisper, sighing before tying your hair up and lying down on your bedroll. Arthur hums, watching as you turn towards him on your side, curled up in a ball inside his coat. He chuckles, lying down on his own bedroll beside yours. He lies on his back, hands on his chest, thinking. You’re shivering still, even with his coat. Arthur takes his hat off, fully laying back while keeping an eye on you. He notices that your eyes are far away, your breathing slow and concentrated.

“Caught up in that head again. Whatcha thinkin’ bout?” Arthur asks, crossing his ankles as he intertwines his fingers over his stomach. You hum with a sad smile, drawn out of your stupor by his words.

“My parents… My past.” You admit, pressing one hand against the ground and propping your head up with the other.

“After I shot that creditor I thought I’d never stop runnin from the law. There was so much blood on me, I thought I’d never wash it off.” You whisper, sighing and biting your lip to stop it from trembling. Arthur turns onto his side, mirroring you by propping his head up so you can talk face to face.

“I guess I haven’t yet. I still got blood on my hands.” You frown. Arthur nods, looking down at the space between the two of you.

“Was he the only man you killed before joinin’ us?” Arthur asks, and your lip trembles.

“No… After I left, I was nothing. Just a shell of a person, cared for nothin’, for no one. I was so damn angry. I killed bounty hunters, lawmen. I killed-” You choke on a sob, shoving it back, “I killed people that hurt me, n’ people who tried to hurt me.”

Arthur doesn’t speak, listening to your story. He wants to know how you’ve become so hurt, so afraid of feeling.

“God, my parents would be disappointed if they could see me now.” You chuckle, humorlessly. Arthur’s eyes slip shut with some pain, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your eye with his thumb.

“Now Star, that ain’t true.” Arthur coos, heart breaking at your tears.

“Oh, it is. My daddy was anyway, when he was alive. You’d never come across a stricter man, in his later years anyway. Didn’t let me get away with or try nothin.” You huff, “Didn’t stop me from tryin’ though.”

The wind howls outside, and you shove yourself tighter into your coat.

“Tell me about em.” Arthur asks, and you’re surprised by his curiosity, furrowing your brow, but continuing nonetheless.

“They were in love, truest love you’d ever see.” You smile, and Arthur sees the sparkle in your eyes while recounting your childhood. “I was their only kid, their little miracle.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pull together, and you rush to explain.

“You see, the doctor said momma couldn’t have children n’ that's why she started callin’ me Star. She wished on em’ every night for a baby… Here I am.” You say, smiling sweetly and toying with the blanket of the bedroll. Arthur concludes that you’re right. You are a miracle. You had to have been made from some divine intervention, you're too perfect to be otherwise.

“She was feistier than me, even. I know where I got it from. N’ daddy was grounded, level headed and smart. They kept each other balanced. It was all near perfect… till momma got sick that is.” You mumble, looking up to Arthur. He’s smiling down at you, a warmth in his eyes that is piecing together the background of who you are. You blush, realizing that you’ve explained everything about yourself, and asked him nothing.

“What about you?” You ask, “What was your childhood like?”

Immediately Arthur’s smile falters, and he lies back on his back, sighing. You’re afraid that you’ve overstepped, or upset him, but after a moment he opens up.

“Nothin’ good.” He mumbles, a dark edge to his words. You leave yourself as an open ear, ready to offer him the same comfort that he’s provided you. You want to know about his parents, his life. Hell, you want to know everything about him, as long as he’s comfortable telling you. He has so many layers, so many contradictions. You’re curious as to where they’ve all derived from.

“Momma died when I was just a kid, smallpox. After she passed it was just me and daddy. He was a cruel bastard, the type who enjoyed the pain he caused. See, I was more of his punchin’ bag than his kid. He made me steal for him, made me kill for him. I knew what would happen if I didn’t listen to him. Not that it mattered, nothin’ pleased him.” Arthur sighs, running his hand over his face.

“Don’t talk about him much…” He whispers, afraid by how much he’s just opened up to you, afraid you’ll push him away.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry.” You whisper, hand resting on his forearm. You want to say more but what else can you say?

“Daddy was never kind, never good. He hurt my momma too, even when she was sick. My momma was good. She deserved so much better than that piece of shit. I wanted to protect her so badly. Was just a kid, n’ I wanted to kill him, Star. I saw what he did to her and…” Arthur’s fist clenches involuntarily, “I wanted to kill him.”

You’re at a loss for words, shocked and aching for the trauma he must have gone through. And just being a kid, he never felt sorry for himself. He just wanted to protect her. It speaks volumes about his personality, and you see pieces of that hurting little boy in Arthur today.

“I ran away once, few months after she passed.” Arthur admits, looking up at the ceiling of the tent.

“Just a boy, only eight or so. I didn’t get real far. He found me, made sure I never ran away again. He knocked some teeth out, just baby ones.” Arthur adds, as if that somehow makes it better, “even broke one of my goddamn ribs.”

“Arthur–” You interject, tears pooling in your eyes. He offers you a little smile, letting you know that he’s okay to continue.

“I never ran away again, not till I saw him swing. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me standin’ at the gallows, knowin’ I wasn’t gonna do anythin’ to stop it.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, and you want to hug him, to hold him, to do anything to take this pain away from him.

“I walked up to the gallows when it was over, picked his hat up from the mud. I wear it to remind myself who not to be… I know it's in me, I got his blood, his rage.”

You glance to Arthur's hat on the ground, seeing the meaning behind it. For the first time since he’s started talking, Arthur looks at you. There are unshed tears in his eyes, ones that you wish you could wipe away.

“How can you look at your wife, your boy, and wanna hurt them?” He asks, searching your eyes for some answer that you cannot provide. He inhales, forcing those tears back.

“He was a sick man,” Arthur growls, an anger coming over him, “I never would have hurt my son, Star. Not ever.” He hisses, and you sit up on your bedroll, eyebrows pulled together.

“...Your son?” You ask, and Arthur curses, head in his hands.

You cross your legs, looking to him with no judgment, only worry.

“Yeah, I had a boy… Isaac was his name.” Arthur starts, eyes slipping shut. He wants to tell you, wants to explain everything, but it's too much.

“Can we-” Arthur sighs, looking up to you with so much pain in his eyes that your heart shatters.

“Can we just lay here for a bit? I wanna tell you everything, I do, but it's a lot, all at-” Arthur rambles, voice quiet. He stops when your hand finds its place on top of his own.

“It’s alright, Arthur.” You say, sincerely. And you take his hands, pulling him up to a sitting position. To his surprise, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his head to rest on your good shoulder in a hug.

“S’okay.” You whisper against his hair as Arthur snakes his hands around your waist.

“I'm so sorry, Arthur. You didn’t deserve any of that pain.” You reassure him, but he brushes it off.

“I was alright. All over now-”

“Don’t. Don’t downplay your pain, it doesn’t work. I should know.” You whisper.

You both stay like that for a while, neither onr of you wanting to pull away. Arthur is feeling more vulnerable than ever, but he trusts you more than anyone. He knows you’ll keep this between the two of you.

"You're nothin' like him, Arthur. Nothing." You whisper, and Arthut nods, finally hearing the words that he's needed to hear for so long.

After a few more minutes, Arthur pulls away, resting down on the bedrolls and patting the space beside him. He's just a little closer to your side than he was before. He wants to thank you, to explain that you've helped him in so many ways, saved his soul time and again, broken down the walls around his heart, but he's not sure how.

You smile as you lie down next to him, soothed by the rain. Your hands are in between each other, resting on the blankets. After a while your heart beats faster, feeling his fingers brush against your own. Slowly, as if testing the waters, his hand moves closer to yours, until you both mutually intertwine your fingers. You smile as he runs this thumb over your knuckles. You’re the first to fall asleep, but even then, Arthur doesn’t pull away. The two of you are wholly comforted by each other's presence, just not quite sure how to show it.

— — — —

The next day, you arrive back at camp feeling better. There's a weight off of your shoulders, having cracked away another one of your layers before Arthur. He feels relieved and more afraid all the same. He had told you more in one night than he’s told anyone. Even Hosea. Still, he doesn’t regret it. He’s glad to know that some of the dark conversation is over, and he can breathe a little easier now that it’s no longer weighing on him. As you dismount, hitching Athena, Arthur moves past you, tapping your arm with a little nod. You smile, just taking the mare’s saddle off as a loud voice calls to you from the otherside of camp.

“You’re back!” Dutch hollers, arms outstretched as wide as the smile on his face. You turn to him, still wearing Arthur’s shirt alongside your old jeans. Dutch doesn’t miss this, and his eyes glance from you to Arthur in his tent, wondering exactly what you and Arthur got up to on your getaway.

“I am.” You say with a sigh.

“Good, now come with me.” Dutch says, and you know there's no room for argument as he leads you through camp to his oversized, white tent.

“What's this about Dutch?” You ask, irritated, as he holds the canvas up for you to walk under his arm into his tent. He enters after you, sitting down in his chair, propping a leg up on a wooden crate.

“Everyone seems to be saying good things about you…” Dutch hums, looking over your body, sizing you up, to see where he can best play you like a damn chest piece.

“That’s… good?” You somewhat ask, completely unsure of where he’s going with this. He leans back, the front feet of his chair tipping up into the air as he squints at you.

“Why haven't you been on a job yet? A real one?” He asks, and you scoff.

“I was on a job, with Arthur and Hosea, but you kinda threw a hitch in that plan when you blew up a goddamn boat.” You bite, harsher than expected. His tongue darts out over his lips, dark eyes scanning you over.

“Marybeth got word of a train, sneaking through Lemoyne in the dead of the night- filled with rich passengers. It’ll be cruisin through virtually unprotected.” Dutch emphasizes the last word, a dangerous glint of power in his eyes as they flick up to you. He seems to have pieced together where he wants you, he's found a play for you to work for him.

“I want you there.” He says, pointing at you, at your brows pull together.

“Alright…”

“A lot of these boys- they’re good boys- they can shoot, and they can steal. But you? You’re a schemer, a player. I can see it in those eyes. You’re like me, like Hosea. We could use your head out there.” Dutch speaks as if his plan is coming together.

“And I’ll get a cut?” You ask, making sure this isn’t charity work.

“Of course.” Dutch responds. You nod, thinking it over.

“Alright, whens it comin’ by?” You ask, and Dutch smiles at your eager attitude.

“Few weeks. Talk with John and Arthur. Come up with a plan, do as you see fit.” He explains, and you nod, moving towards the exit.

“Oh and miss?” Dutch calls after you, and you turn around.

“Do make me proud. I'm not a man you want to cross.” Dutch warns, and you crack a smile, nodding at his attempt to frighten you.

“Sure thing, Dutch.” You respond, and he sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking over you.

“That attitude. I would say it's not ladylike, but I've always been attracted to women with spitfire like yours.” Dutch says, voice almost as low as the glint in his eyes. You bite your tongue for a moment, adjusting your weight to your other foot, and cock your head.

“Molly know you’re sayin’ things like that, Dutch?" You hiss, and Dutch’s smile falters. His stare becomes menacing.

“Molly and I are done-” He starts, and much to his growing rage, you interrupt him.

“Yeah I can see why.” You snap at him. His face turns red with anger as he stands up, and the chair scrapes loudly from how quickly he gets out of it. He comes straight up to you, towering over you, but you don’t back up.

“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?” Dutch growls, and you only smile sweetly, looking up to him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Dutch. I thought you liked women with ‘spitfire’ like mine.” You hum, watching as he steps back, shocked and insulted. You chuckle, parting the canvas of the tent.

Causing the gang leader to hate you is probably not a great idea, but you can’t help it. He needs to be humbled by someone. And it's funny. He sits on his high horse, in his castle-sized tent, ordering everyone around while reading, listening to music and smoking cigars. You laugh at the contradiction in his philosophy. He is exactly what he swears to destroy: an overseer, a power hungry fool. Satisfied with your little victory over Dutch, you settle in your tent, pulling out your journal.

It's been a busy few days. Got a new horse, Arthur calls her Athena. She is something special, by god. Beautiful Palomino, eyes blue as the sky. Took her up with Arthur and Hosea to catch a bear, but it nearly caught me first. Arthur and I stayed up there the night, it was real special. We talked a lot. He said things I'm sure he's never said before, and so did I. It was nice, having someone to talk to. I worry for him. There's so much pain in his heart, so much ache, old and deep. I hope that one day he can move on from it all, start anew. I guess I wish the same thing for me too…

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you

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qvincvnx · 1 year

Text

someone asked so i am going to tell you my secret tips and tricks for using google sheets to create vocab testers for yourself.

step 1: make a google sheet that has all your vocab in it. this is the part that takes the longest. depending on the language, i usually make different categories for parts of speech - so i make a tab each for nouns, verbs, adjectives, + other.

this is harder if you are taking a language with lots of multi-part vocab words, it's not as effective for me for e.g. latin/greek principal parts - it works best if there's one form you can supply

in the sheets themselves, usually have the first column for the chapter the word is from, second column for the word itself, third column for english definition, fourth column for anything special (irregular forms or usages, etc). like this! you can also personalize a little sheet by sheet (e.g. for nouns I need a gender column, whereas don't for verbs, etc.), but try to keep the first three columns consistent because it'll make it easier to copy them into a quiz sheet later.

the thing that's nice about doing this as a spreadsheet is in those kabob buttons in the top of each row. you can create a filter, and then sort A->Z for words in foreign languages (so right now you can see that one sheet is sorted alphabetically and the other one by chapter).

i also make another sheet for "quizzing" and i'll copy whatever I want to study into that doc. I usually only copy in the word/definition columns, and then you can select those words (make sure to get both columns, the words + their definitions!)

you can then do data -> randomize range in google sheets and it'll shuffle them into a random order. (btw - DO NOT DO THIS on your master list sheets, just on the quizzing sheet! you WILL accidentally forget to highlight a column at some point and completely fuck yourself. safer to keep a separate sheet for that.) that way you don't get stuck quizzing yourself in the same random order

you can then hide the column you don't want to see (so hide the english if you want to quiz your reading recognition/comprehension, or hide the foreign text if you want to practice producing in your target language) and guess in the blank columns. once you've gone through your list you can unhide the "correct answers" column and see how your answers match

i like this because it's pretty versatile - you can copy in e.g. ALL NOUNS and see how you do with them, or if you keep getting "words that start with a certain letter" confused you can sort all vocab alphabetically and just pull those out, or you can pull just the vocab from the last 5 chapters. you can decide to include all your little "irregular" notes and see if you remember those irregular forms as well or just make sure you can more or less recognize a word when you see it. and it's really easy to change what you want to look at on any given day.

i will also admittedly usually do this mixed manual/digital - i retain info much better when i handwrite it, so basically i use this to generate a vocab list and then i write out my guesses/answers on paper and then go back and compare to the spreadsheet. if that makes sense.

#studyblr #i guess?#there's probably fancier ways to do this but this is enough for me. lol

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jujutsukgojo · 25 days

Text

Boy on the throne

gangster sukuna x reader

Chapter One

Summary:

I told you before, didn’t I?” An intense feeling of dread enters the room. Your heart is beating furiously. All you wanted was to watch Shrek, not see this. Not see this dim room with a weeping man on the floor and two of Sukuna’s men behind him.

“I don’t give second chances.”

a/n: A oneshot follow up! btw, what would you do or think? Do you agree with the MC? tw: death, torture (?), fear, depression (?), if anything else let me know!

You do one last swipe of the red polish on your toe. Lately, you’ve been trying to perfect your nail polish skills. It's not like you have much to do lately anyways. You groan as a little bit gets past your nail and onto your skin. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door of your bedroom.

“Come in!”

Your little sister enters with stride. There’s a big smile on her dimpled face. She sports the new colorful dress she just got and has been showing it off. Ever since you’ve been under Sukuna’s protection, the two of you have been lavished with gifts and luxury. Clothes that are the latest trend, jewelry that fits your tastes and then some, and of course, all of the art supplies that you can think of. The only problem? No one is biting for your art.

Once again, you’ve been completely blacklisted. Not only that, but you rarely see Sukuna anyway. He always sends his lackeys to get you things or watch you. How many times did you suddenly turn around and see some guy making extreme eye contact with you. It’s unnerving and just…you can’t put your finger on it. What was the point of all of this?

You care about Sukuna; you appreciate what he’s done and continues to do. But this feeling won’t go away. Are you unhappy and are missing the boy in your art? You hope it’s not you believing that Sukuna, the boy that graced your canvas at any given moment, is gone. He’s not! You wake up and see him sometimes. His kisses are gentle and passionate. A testament of love that is still so foreign.

“I want a movie.”

You sigh and get off the bed awkwardly. Walking, you have your toes lifted up so nothing smudges. “Go to the room, I'll be there in a second.”

“You don’t know what I want to watch!” You turn around to see the little hands on her hips.

“Yes I do, trust me.” She looks at you suspiciously. “Alright...”

She squints their eyes and walks away slowly. You push her along. “Goofy.”

You sigh and look around for Shrek. It seems to be the current favorite in the house. Opening the case, you don’t find the disc. Well, you’re sure it’s streaming somewhere.

“Crap…” Now you remember why you bought a CD. It’s because you couldn’t find it anywhere, surprisingly. “That’s fine, I’ll just ask him.”

If anyone can find anything, it’s Sukuna. He’s got the nose of a bloodhound.

You sneak past your sibling who has their arms crossed, impatiently waiting. If you don’t hurry, you’ll never hear the end of it. You exit and go to the floor that you could have sworn you heard Sukuna mention today. It’s that floor. The floor you’re not allowed in at all. It’s his workspace, his domain, he says. It’s not something for you to worry about. Well, surely he can stop doing some papers or something for a second to help you.

You don’t see anyone in the hallway. As you approach the door, you get a heavy feeling. Like something trying to weigh your feet down so you don’t move another inch. You want to turn away and run like a rabbit before it’s too late. To run for your life and pretend you were never there, just like he said to.

No, it’s fine. It’s just paperwork, you repeat.

Without knocking, you open the door slightly to see someone on their knees in front of your boy. The guy looks so familiar to you. He has grey hair that is sectioned with rubber bands at the end. You spot the faint scars and what looks like staples on his wrists.

Sukuna sits on a chair that can’t be called anything less than a throne. It’s antique looking, grim and built with stones. He has his head in his hand and a devilish smirk on his face. One that you haven’t witnessed before.

“I told you before, didn’t I?” An intense feeling of dread enters the room. Your heart is beating furiously. All you wanted was to watch Shrek, not see this. Not see this dim room with a weeping man on the floor and two of Sukuna’s men behind him.

“I don’t give second chances.” The man is dragged closer to him. No longer around the two other men, he desperately looks around and avoids Sukuna’s stare. The knife Sukuna was playing with slices the man’s chest so hard, he flies back. Blood pours out of the wound. You’ve never seen Sukuna’s strength like this. He’s lifted things for you but to be able to send a man flying with a flick of his wrist is crazy.

“Know your place, fool.”

Sukuna waves two fingers and the other men pounce on the injured. You hear screams that will never leave your ears.

I don’t give second chances.

Which one are you on now? Everything in you is telling you to run. But, if it were you, wouldn’t you want someone to save you? To at least attempt to? Shit, you don’t know what to do. How to even save this person. Call out Sukuna’s name and pray he’d tell everyone to stop isn’t possible. Since he doesn’t give second chances.

Suddenly, there’s a face in front of you. At the sudden appearance, you shriek and run. The elevator can’t come soon enough. Literally. Because right before it opens, you are dragged back to the room.

“Boss, look.” You are brought before Sukuna. He rubs his face with his hand. His very, very, scary hand. “What are you doing, (Y/n).”

You force yourself to look up. “I-I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

The man stops screaming. You aren’t facing him, just Sukuna who sees your horrified expression.

“Do you want me to take care of her like the rest?” The man who caught you asks. The rest?!

“No. I don’t care what happens to them, only her. Take her back. She better not have a scratch.”

When you enter the house and see your little sibling with their hands on her hips, looking at you accusingly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk! You left without me and didn’t bring Barbie as Rapunzel!”

That was the other movie you had in your hand. You could have avoided all of this if you picked Barbie as Rapunzel or with Rapunzel, whatever.

“Yeah, hold on.” You quickly get Shrek and place it in the player. She begins to protest at the movie. “Wrong one!”

You leave the room and don’t answer her questions. You shut your art room door and look around for any blank canvas. Tears stream down your face as you mix the paints. A dirty red, a fake white, and the darkest black spread along the canvas. You don’t know what it is yet. You’ll find out when you're done.

“What are you doing?” The voice cuts in. The brush stops mid stroke, not knowing where to go. You turn around to see Sukuna.

“Painting.” You whisper. You should’ve never left your sister! What’d he do? You didn’t hear anything at all, not even him coming in. You start to heave at the thought. Why couldn’t you have stayed with her? Better yet, grabbed her and got the hell out of here?

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Ha! Easy for him to say. After what you witnessed, you’re scared. The danger that Sukuna held wasn’t new to you. You remember the store, the deal that occurred right in front of you the day you first met.

You remember perfectly. So, you’ve always known. But seeing it firsthand is a new beast. You can’t stop hearing the man’s screams. Or the violence that was right outside the store on that fateful day.

Sukuna’s hands are over your ears and cover the sides of your face. He looks down at you softly. “Trust in me, sweets.”

“I’m scared.” He coos and brings you into his chest. He’s warm and broad. Welcoming, strong, and you want to believe this, safe. He smells like something warm and a little like his cologne.

“You’re safe with me, remember?” He lifts your chin and stares in your eyes. “Sweets-”

“You don’t give second chances,” He pauses. “How many chances have I used up?”

Much to your confusion, he laughs. “Oh love,” He places a chaste kiss on your lips. “Never change.” Sukuna shows you Barbie as Rapunzel and walks out the room. “I got the movie!”

Your little sister laughs so cutely at Sukuna’s find. You follow and see your little sister snuggled up to him. He beckons you over with his fingers. Nervously, you sit next to him.

Sukuna sighs and places your head on his chest. “Never worry when it comes to me, understand?”

“Even at the doctors?” The little one pops her head up and looks so worried. “Okay, at the doctor’s yeah. But everything else, don’t worry. Capisce?”

“Yep!” She goes back to her spot. He wraps his arm around you. “You?”

You nod. Still, he looks concerned. “You know you’re my girl, right?” You begin to soften at the words he’s spoken to you before. Much to Sukuna’s liking, you cuddle up to him, relaxing in his embrace. “I know.”

“Ahem!” The two of you look at your little sister whose arms are crossed. “Shush!”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “So-rry, sheesh.”

You smile at the sight before you. He’s so kind to her. She adores him too, always has. He kisses the top of your head. There’s a deep fluttery feeling in you, it happened before. When he’d let you put him on your canvas. Despite him being uncomfortable at times, he trusted you.

You take a deep breath and release it slowly. Yeah, you’ll be okay for now.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk #q

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bradshawsluvr · 8 months

Text

Roosters and Flowers

Chapter 1

Rooster x OG Fem Mitchell character <3 & Rooster x OG son character

Summary: the first day of the uranium mission !! Rooster and Maverick both realise Florence is in town as she also finds out that they are there too.

Warnings: none

A/N: Bradley is 30 btw Flo is 28 and Louis is 6 <3

“Mooomm…mommy” she heard vaguely as she tried to go back to sleep.

“Mommy get up” she rolled over to the opposite side the voice was coming from, but then she felt a little body jump on top of her.

“Come on mommy wake up” Louis giggled.

Florence groaned giving up, “Good morning Louis” she said with a yawn, but still smiling at her son.

“Good morning mommy” he smiled her.

although Louis looked strikingly like his father his hair was darker and he had his mothers hazel eyes.

“Why must you wake me up so early Louis, why not let your mother sleep” she complained bringing her son close and cuddling him.

Louis had seemed to naturally wake up everyday early just like a Rooster, something she cursed Bradley for giving him.

“But it’s not early mommy” he responded.

“Maybe not for you” she said back.

Suddenly the two heard Penny calling out, Florence got up holding Louis to her hip walking out her bedroom “Hey Penny” she said back walking down the stairs.

“Hey you two” Penny said smiling wide.

“I was just waking mommy up” added Louis randomly as his mother put him down.

“Oh really?” She said back.

Flo looked around, “where’s Amelia?” She asked.

“Oh she’s still asleep” she turned to Louis “I might need your tips on how you get your mother out of bed at a decent time Louis” Penny said ruffling up his curly hair, making him giggle.

“So what brings you here on a sunday Penny?” Asked Flo walking toward the kitchen, as the two followed.

“Well I actually need to talk to you about something” she said glancing at Louis.

“Yeah what’s up?”

“It’s about Pete…” Penny began “and Rooster”

Florence brows furrowed “They’ve both been called back to Top Gun”…

———————————-🪩————————————

Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw at the ripe age of 30 had lived his life with many regrets, despite achieving his dream of becoming a naval aviator just like his father he was never proud of some of the choices he made along the way.

He never really believed in fate or higher powers either; whenever he’d look back on his life he’d think what kind of higher power would put me through all this.

But as he sat there in the cafeteria on base surrounded by his fellow daggers, he thought maybe it was fate that had brought him to TopGun and maybe it was fate that made him look up at just the right time that she would be walking in.

There she was Florence Mitchell, he didn’t think it’d be possible but she seemed more beautiful then the last time he saw her.

That last time was one of his many regrets; leaving his Florence.

His flower.

So maybe it was in fact fate that brought the two of them together at TopGun during the same time.

———————————-🪩————————————

It was now the end of the day Maverick had now dismissed those pilots, he had made it through a day instructing.

However Pete was nervous, Pete was freaked by the fact that Rooster was at TopGun and he’d have to train him but what he did not expect was his daughter to be there too.

He wanted nothing more than to rekindle his relationship with the two.

Because of his decision to pull Bradley from the academy he lost his relationship with his little Mavey along the way.

And now here she was a grown women and a highly skilled nurse at TopGun he knew he must have missed a lot but this was a real kick to the guts.

So he made his way toward the infirmary towards her office in hopes to see her.

Eventually he arrived standing outside her office he knocked on the door, hoping she hadn’t left base yet.

“Come in” he heard her call out.

He opened the door to find her leaning on her desk flipping through some papers.

“Florence” he said in earnest as she looked up.

She looked shocked to find him there “Dad” she said back.

After a moment of then fiddling she finally said “um did you wanna see me about something?” She asked turning to put the papers down on her desk.

“Can’t I come see my daughter” he stated back.

“Dad” she rolled her eyes, “if we’re gonna do this at least take it seriously”.

“Fine. So how have you been?” He asked.

“I’ve been good” she answered with a hint of sarcasm.

“Mavey I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did, but if you just give me a chance to explain why I think it would really help” he finally explained.

She simply looked at him saying “alright then, so why’d you pull his papers” she asked “if you are really ready to tell me the reason now” she once again rolled her eyes.

“It’s because of Carole” that made Florence freeze.

“What do you mean”

“I mean” he took a breath “before she passed she asked me to do whatever I could to stop her son from entering the Navy. She told me that she knows what happened to Goose and doesn’t want the same fate for Brad” he said looking toward her.

“But wouldn’t she want Brad to be happy and do what he wants” her brows furrowed.

“Yes but she also couldn’t handle the thought of him having to go through the same thing as Nick” he said back.

Her brows somehow furrowed further “but that didn’t stop him”.

“I know” he said looking down.

She didn’t know why she did it but in that moment she just felt the need to hug her father for the first time in 12 years, she walked towards him and buried her head in his neck while she wrapped her arms around him.

He reciprocated the gesture after a moment.

“He doesn’t know”.

“Nope. He already lost his father I promised myself I wasn’t going to let him loose his mother to through hate”.

“So you’d rather he hate you that her” she pulled back looking towards him, he shacked his head.

“I’m sorry dad”

“Oh sweetheart you have no reason to be sorry” he rubbed her shoulder, “are we good?” He finally asked.

She also shacked her head.

“But um if we’re gonna be talking again there’s something you should know” she stepped back further and walked toward her desk.

“Mmh?”

“I…um have a son” she said reaching towards the photo of the two of them that had a place on her desk and handing it to him.

“Oh wow” he looked down at the photo, smiling softly “he has our eyes” he smiled at her.

“Yes” she smiled back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you sweetheart”, “it’s okay dad. Do you maybe wanna meet him?” She asked.

“Do I?” He laughed “of course I do”.

————————————————————————

Not much Rooster but that’s ok. Dm me to be added to the tag list :) if you want

Tag list: @rosiahills22 @hangmandruigandmav @shanimallina87 @abaker74

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun fic

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training4theapocalypse · 2 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 17. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, a little bit rough but, like, in a romantic way, author once again refusing to acknowledge she has a hand covering mouth during sex kink

Summary: At Seafarer's Beacon you feel stuck in limbo. McLaggen is determined to do something to give you purpose again.

A/N: I'm sorry I teased a little subby moment with McLaggen at the end of the last chapter but this chapter took so many rewrites because it turns out I don't have a dominant bone in my body so you'll need to pretend it happened off-screen. Anyway...

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar, (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

Chapter 17: Purpose

You spot a tiny white spatter on the t-shirt you’re wearing as you finish brushing your teeth before bed in the bathroom. It’s clean. Or at least was until your spearmint toothpaste marked it. Freshly laundered so it doesn’t smell like him in the way you’d prefer. The shoulders are too broad. The seams hang loosely around your arms. But the old Gryffindor Qudditch training top fits you like you’re wearing a piece of his soul.

“I’ve got toothpaste on your top,” you remark absently to McLaggen next door in the bedroom.

It’s not like you’ve said something profound but when McLaggen doesn’t reply it sticks out like a splinter. You often bat snippets of unremarkable things to each other, like two beaters at bludger practice. If he finds something useful from a book from his uncle’s collection, he just reads it aloud and says “I should remember that,” instead of writing it down. As if imprinting the words on you means he’ll commit it to memory.

But when he doesn’t fire something back, you open the bathroom door. He’s sitting shirtless in his plaid pyjama bottoms. Even though it’s the coldest Christmas Eve that you ever remember experiencing, your bedroom at the top of the lighthouse is warm. Heat from the hearth in the kitchen on the bottom floor rises the whole way through Seafarers Beacon, making everything feel warm and cosy. You tilt your head, waiting for him to lower the copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet but he doesn’t notice you standing in the doorway - he’s holding it so high that it’s covering his face.

“Are you still reading that?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

You glance at the white, frosty landscape outside the window as you wander over and climb into bed beside him, reading over his shoulder. The development he’s reading about isn’t significant - a short paragraph assuring the wizarding community that repairs to Azkaban are ongoing - but there’s a tiny quote from his dad that he read out to you this morning. And he’s been reading and re-reading all day, ever since his eyes first landed on it on the kitchen table while the rest of you were talking and buttering toast.

“I’m sorry you can’t see your mum and dad tomorrow.”

It’s not that you’ve been having an unpleasant time at Seafarer’s Beacon. But Christmas here has felt like a strained effort to replicate Christmas at home, or even, to some extent, Christmas at Hogwarts. Marietta has spent the past few days decorating the kitchen at the bottom landing of the lighthouse. Paper snowflakes whirl around the empty space in the middle of the empty space between the staircase spiralling around the outer walls and up the seven floors.

“It’s fine,” McLaggen says and clears his throat. “I’m okay.”

“It’s not fine.” You rest your hand on his arm and he lets the Daily Prophet fall to his lap, still staring at the small paragraph with his dad’s words. “I wish I could see my mum and dad too - it’s okay for us to be sad about it.”

He nods. “I know - I miss them. Especially after reading about Dad today. But this time of year makes me… I - I dunno. It’s complicated. I still haven’t really forgiven him for handing you over.”

“Cormac -” you hesitate. “- your dad… he did what he had to do. I forgive him for choosing to save you and your family over me - someone who’s practically a stranger. I mean, if I was in his position…?”

He presses his palms hard into his eyes. Usually so bright and green, tonight they’re bloodshot. “You’d really make a choice like that?”

“All I know is that right now, I’d do whatever it takes to keep us safe.”

“All of us,” he affirms, sitting up properly.

“Well… yes -” You say slowly. “But if it comes to it, what I meant was you and I.”

“Don’t talk like that. We’re all in this together.”

“Cormac, you had to choose between me and Eddie when you had to get one of us out of Azkaban -”

“That was different.”

“Every single time we’re faced with a difficult decision it’s different. It was different for you. Different for your dad. We’re in the middle of a war and that’s how war is.”

McLaggen tosses the newspaper aside. “I just wish we could do something. Something to win the war. I feel useless stuck in here.”

“I don’t think there is.”

Because you’ve already racked your brains. You and McLaggen have had this conversation several times already.

Both breakouts from Azkaban have rendered you almost completely isolated from the outside world. Now that Marietta and McLaggen are both assumed kidnapped, your insider knowledge of the Ministry has been shut off. With Krum and Davies here, you’ve got no idea what’s happening internationally. The only real source of information you have that isn’t Ministry propaganda is Potterwatch, and aside from reporting deaths and other swathes of bad news, they don’t seem to have much more information than you do holed up here.

“What about the snatchers they mentioned on Potterwatch? Couldn’t we go after them?” he asks.

“And what are we supposed to do with them? We can’t hand them in to the aurors. It’s not like they’re doing anything illegally - this is all Ministry sanctioned,” you remind him.

“I was more thinking along the lines of teaching them a lesson.”

“What? Like, kill them?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Nah just scare them - rough them up a little.”

“Cormac, we’re not gonna start dealing out vigilante justice. And especially not when half of us are Undesirables. It could go seriously wrong.” You tilt your head, feeling slightly worried that being so cooped up, being away from his parents and the rest of the outside world is making him want to behave recklessly. “And you’re supposed to be kidnapped, remember? If you’re seen outside again people will get suspicious. All we can do is wait,” you say softly, touching your lips against his bare shoulder. “Wait here and stay safe.”

He shakes his head. “We should be training. Like when Potter was in charge of Dumbledore’s Army. Duelling. Practising defensive spells. If we’re prepared then maybe, just maybe, none of us will have to make a difficult choice about who to save.”

You nod and rest your head on your white down pillow, looking at him as you lie on your side. “Let’s start the day after tomorrow. First thing on Boxing Day.”

“Yeah?” He cocks an eyebrow as if he was worried you’d think it was another bad idea.

“Yeah, it’ll give us something useful to do - I’m kind of sick of doing nothing.” You sigh. “Being here has made me realise how slowly time passes without Quidditch… I wish there was enough room to fly properly.”

Cormac rests his head on the pillow too, lying on his back and looking up at the curved, coral ceiling thoughtfully. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration.

“I could try to work out how to extend the perimeter of the Fidelius Charm?”

“You can do that?” You blink. Your heart soars at the idea that you might be able to feel the wind in your hair again.

“I mean, it definitely won’t be easy but - yeah, I think so. I’ll get it sorted if it’d make you happy. Who knows how long this war will last? You might as well have someplace to fly.”

God, he’s so sweet.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to. Instead you curl into the crook of his arm and you both drift off. You, wrapped in his arms as your dreams take you to the sky once more.

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

Training breathes new life into Seafarer’s Beacon. Everyone is invigorated by the opportunity to do something that isn’t just lounging around, existing. You’re Dumbledore’s Army, after all. You’re part of the resistance.

McLaggen and Eddie spend days working out how to do an extremely complex piece of magic to extend the perimeter of the Fideleus charm so you have space to fly. You think you could cry when you get onto your broom and fly properly for the first time since your mission to Azkaban.

Marietta gets to work transfiguring a scarecrow into a working duelling dummy and creating so many duplicates you feel like you’re facing a small army when you step into the garden one spring afternoon.

Cho scours the Daily Prophet - her curious intellect and keen eye for detail help her read between the lines to make sense of what’s really happening. She sends coded letters with her theories to Lee Jordan so he can confirm them with his contacts and inform Potterwatch listeners. You all huddle around the radio every other night and you squeeze her hand when Lee’s reporting follows her leads.

Katie and Leanne find that there’s more than just fiction in McLaggen’s uncle’s old bookcase and find an extensive collection of defensive spells and healing potions that can be used in combat. They forage herbs in the lighthouse’s magical garden and order rarer potion ingredients by owl post.

You, Krum and Davies, put everyone through flying drills until even Marietta is confident on a broom. Everyone practises casting curses while flying - it’s much harder to keep balance than it looks. When Krum finds out just how talented a Seeker Cho is, you can practically see little hearts forming in his eyes. When you toss an apple her way one day in the kitchen and she catches it one-handed without even looking, you think Krum might propose to her then and there.

Even as the months slip by, the Ministry is taking your threat about breaking into Azkaban again seriously. There have been no more Muggleborns sent to prison. And you tell yourself that as long as you’re here, and the Ministry knows you’ll retaliate, you’re doing something to help win this war.

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

“See anything?” asks McLaggen, one late May evening as the two of you finish clearing up the garden after duelling practice. You can hear the others in the kitchen having final cups of tea before bed except for Cho who had to run upstairs to wash her hair after you sent such a powerful disarming spell your way that she’d ended up flat on her back in the rather muddy vegetable patch.

“I think something might have cracked a window pane on the greenhouse?” You suggest as you wave your wand over a heavily battered and burned duelling dummy. “Reparo!”

“On it,” says McLaggen, wandering over to assess the damage. “...I can’t see anything” He calls from behind the greenhouse.

“I definitely heard something smash,” you say, frowning at a slightly squashed courgette in the vegetable patch and making a mental note to cast a protective charm over them next time you’re practising in the garden. “I hope it’s not one of the lighthouse windows.”

You follow the garden path around past the greenhouse to find McLaggen standing at the other side of Seafarer’s Beacon, pointing his wand at a window. Beautiful, warm light cascades across his handsome face. It’s late evening but the sun still hasn’t set.

“Found it. It was a window. Easily fixed though,” he says, lowering his wand and turning to face you. “You’re getting much better at duelling by the way. That last one with Cho was pretty evenly matched.”

“I’m just glad I’m not the worst anymore. I think I’m better than Marietta now. Maybe Eddie too - on a good day.”

“Not everything has to be a competition,” laughs McLaggen before kissing the top of your head and pulling you into his chest.

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re winning. You’re the best at duelling,” you grumble, although you’re not jealous. The thought is a comforting one, you think as you close your eyes and inhale his dark, spicy scent.

“No, I think Krum is probably the best,” says McLaggen thoughtfully.

You look up at him. “Y’know when I first met you, I don’t think you’d ever have admitted someone was better than you at something,” you tease.

He chuckles softly. The garden hums with the sounds of nature as McLaggen holds you to his chest and stares out at the amber sky as the sun sets over the sea, interrupted only by the distant echo of laughter from the kitchen from inside - the unmistakable noises of the others joking together before they retire to bed.

“Thank you for doing all this,” you tell him. Just being on a broom has - ironically - grounded you. It’s made everything feel alright again. And now that you’re spending every day outside in the fresh air and every night insight surrounded by your new found family, the shadows of Azkaban have long left your face.

“It wasn’t just me. Eddie helped with the Fidelius Charm -”

“Not just the Fidelius Charm. For giving us all purpose again. And somewhere safe to stay.”

“It’s my Uncle’s house -”

"You know -" you cut across him, " - when you volunteered to apparate home with Mary Cattermole, I was furious with you because I was scared." Your eyes meet his green ones, finding the warmth and strength that’s become so familiar. "But I should have expected it from you. You always go way beyond what any ordinary person would do in that sort of situation. And I mean, for goodness sake, who else out there can say their boyfriend got them out of Azkaban?"

McLaggen exhales in an embarrassed sort of way and turns his head back from the window. “It’s not - I mean when you say it like that it sounds much more impressive than it is. I’m just doing what anyone else would do. ”

"Most people would save their own skin.” You put your hand directly above his heart, feeling it beating through his chest. "That fact we’re all still alive isn’t because of this lighthouse. It's because of who you are,” you tell him fiercely.

You look up at him, bathed in the warm light from the sun against the backdrop of the whitewashed lighthouse. He looks down at you with an oddly reminiscent look on his face.

“You’re more like yourself again.”

You nod. The past few months have made you feel like you’re the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain again. You love getting to fly with Cho and Davies again. It’s just like old times. But you never dreamed you’d be flying with Viktor Krum, never mind have him actually take direction from you when you yell mid-air about flying formations for combat.

Cormac curls a finger under your chin and kisses you. You link your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close to him. Everything slots together perfectly. Well, almost perfectly - you need to stand on your tiptoes but to you, that just makes him more perfect. Like he’s your missing piece of a puzzle.

He parts his lips and your tongue finds his. Your fingers become entwined in Cormac’s messy curls as you press your hips into his. The world outside the Fidelius Charm might be chaotic, fraught with fear and devastation and death but in this pretty, seaside garden where the evening light warms your back as you kiss Cormac, you have the sanctuary of each other.

Cormac’s large hands roam the curve of your waist under your t-shirt and you feel callouses on his palms and fingertips from so much flying and duelling. And you know he believes if you all train enough none of you will ever fall in the war. He trains so hard because he thinks that if he does when the time comes, he can protect everyone. Save everyone.

And you hope beyond hope that you’ll never need to put your training to use. But you’ve been listening to Potterwatch every night. The tone has been subtly shifting since your giggled huddling and listening back before Christmas. You know things are getting worse out there. Something in the air tells you that you’re going to have to act - and soon.

But not right now.

Right now all you want to think about is each other.

“You know, you don’t have to be so selfless all the time,” you say, unfastening Cormac’s belt and getting to your knees on the grass in front of him. Fuck, he looks even taller like this.

He wastes no time helping you and pulls his cock out from his boxers. You blink up at him, taking a shuddering breath when you see him - already thick and hard and ready for you. Even after all this time together, your stomach flips when you’re reminded that his cock is just as beautiful as he is. You take him in your hands and place tiny kisses along the underside of his length.

“You can let me do things too,” you whisper, his tip just brushing your lips as you breathe the words. Cormac leans his head back against the curved exterior wall.

You can’t take your eyes off him as you slowly wrap your lips around his head and circle it with your warm, hot tongue. The light makes every hair visible on the small strip of skin on his lower abdomen, shining and golden. The tiny freckles on his arms are getting darker now the early summer sun has been cascading down on you while you’ve been training in the garden.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, threading his hands through your hair. He’s messing it up but the ache between your legs is pulsing too pleasantly for you to care. It would almost be distracting if you weren’t so preoccupied with sucking and swirling your tongue around him. “My pretty girl.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes as he swallows thickly and leans his head back. His adam’s apple is visible as he swallows back a steadying breath. Just seeing him enjoying the feel of your hot, wet mouth makes you moan around him. The vibrations make his eyes snap back towards you just in time for him to watch you swallow his entire length down your throat. His grip tightens in your hair when he bottoms out and lets out a groan.

You don’t hold back. You press your head down as much as you can, blocking your own airways and feeling saliva dripping down your chin as his cock fills your mouth up. Cormac gently pulls back, letting you briefly take a gulp of air but the way you eagerly take him again makes him pant harder, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing as you work your mouth.

“Fuck, let me fuck you.” You detach from him with a gasp and shake your head, blinking back tears. His grip tightens. “I don’t want to cum. Not yet.”

“Be selfish for once. Finish here. Please,” you say through laboured pants as you jerk him off in your hand and present your tongue. You go to take him in your mouth again but he grabs your upper arm.

“I am being selfish.” Cormac hoists you to your feet. Before you know it, you’re being spun around and pressed up against the wall. You feel the bumpy whitewash paint under your palms when he whispers in your ear from behind. “You think I want to fuck you as a favour to you or something?”

His hands unbutton your jeans and he pulls them and your underwear down over your ass. You’re able to turn your head just enough to see him casting his eyes over your body with that appraising smirk that makes you fold every fucking time you see it. It’s been over a year and a half since that stupidly gorgeous dimpled smile made you feel butterflies in a way you hadn’t expected. Just that look is still enough to make you feel like you’ve been knocked off your broom.

And to him, the way you look right this second - dishevelled and pouting because you’re not getting your own way - is equally captivating. Everyone thinks you’re the loud, domineering one in the relationship and that it’s him who goes along with whatever you say. But Cormac doesn’t care what they think because he knows the truth of it. Even when you take the reins, climbing on top of him or setting the pace, all it takes is a single whispered word from him, or his hand gently guiding you at your lower back that keeps your dynamic exactly how he likes it.

And here you are once again, as malleable as if he’s used a softening charm on you.

Before you realise what’s happening Cormac’s tongue sucks your earlobe as he presses your body between his and the wall. You open your mouth to argue but instead take a sharp inhale when he slaps your ass, followed quickly by his hands groping and massaging all over your body - going from squeezing your backside to groping your tits and back again like he doesn’t have enough hands to touch you everywhere he wants to at once.

“I - I wanted to make you cum with my mouth,” you complain as he pushes your bra up to pinch your nipple between two fingers but you don’t protest any further - you’re too turned on to care. From how flush he’s pressed against you, you can feel his hard cock pressed up against your backside, wet with your saliva and his precum.

You’d think after a hard day of training, Cormac would be exhausted - that he’d have no testosterone left in his body. But you know from experience over the past few months that this isn’t the case. You’re not sure whether it’s seeing you fight that turns him on or if his ego is slightly bruised from having Krum as fierce duelling competition - either way, he comes to bed most evenings murmuring sweet things in your ear and slipping his Gryffindor training tshirt off our your body before you’ve barely had a chance to wear it.

This evening is only different because he can’t wait until you’re back in your bedroom to have you. He kisses your neck and draws the tips of his fingers along your slit, dragging your wetness over your clit.

“I couldn’t let that happen. Not when all I can think about is how wet this cunt is for me,”

You let out a low, shaky breath. Fuck, you love it when he gets in this mood. He’s so filthy. Talking to you like how you sort of expected he would when you first met him. Before you found out how sweet and soft he is.

Usually.

Fuck.

Your legs twitch involuntarily when Cormac drags the pad of his middle finger across your clit and dips it through your sopping-wet folds. You can’t move much but you can’t stop your hips from grinding with his fingers, chasing the feeling of him toying with you.

“Yes. Ah fuck - yes,” you squeal as he draws the words from you with his touch.

“Shh, shh, shh…” He soothes, tutting gently. He pulls his wet fingers back over your clit, swirling in circles around the throbbing clutch of nerves. “The others are through the wall. You need to be quiet.”

As if testing you, his wet strokes over your clit pick up pace - his calloused fingers feel so deliciously wet and rough all at once. You whine pathetically.

“Can’t you - oh, god, can’t you cast a sound-dampening charm?” you whimper, your fingers searching for something to grip. Your palms just claw helplessly against the surface of the exterior wall as his chest presses into your back.

“I don’t think so. I think you need to show me you can be good.”

You squirm but there’s nowhere you can move while you’re pressed between him and the wall. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say,” you pant. The pads of Cormac’s fingers continue pressing circles the pressure building inside you as your walls clamp around nothing. You need him - you need his fingers, his cock - fuck, anything inside you. “Just fuck me. Please, Cormac.”

You know the drill. You know he loves hearing his name. Having you beg for his cock. And you’re running out of time - your twitching and convulsing is picking up pace. “Q-q-quick, please, I want to cum on your cock.”

Cormac’s hands leave your body so he can take his cock and tease you between your folds. You feel the tip of his cock at your entrance and whine. Fuck, you need to cum. You bring your hand between your legs to start rubbing yourself in his absence but he moves your hand out of the way.

“Keep your hands where they were.”

You place your palms flat against the wall, splaying your fingers, and feel your knees buckle when Cormac sheathes himself into you with one forceful roll of his hips.

He curls one arm around your chest and the other slips down your body to play with your clit as he jerks his hips up, each thrust sends his hips smacking against your skin.

The burning ache in your pelvis crackles and fizzes inside you while Cormac fucks you. Your hands scrabble against the wall and you feel chalky, white paint crumbling under your fingernails as the walls of your cunt spasm, grateful for Cormac’s long, thick cock to grip onto.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” The curse tumbles from your lips. You’re so boxed in that your cheek presses against the rough surface of the wall. All you can do is close your eyes and fucking take the way that Cormac is brutally slamming himself into your tight heat while his hand dances perfect, rhythmic circles over your clit.

You seize up and cry out and the arm that Cormac had wrapped around your chest claps over your mouth, pulling your head back and dampening your wailing. “Let it all out for me - quietly,” he growls in your ear.

There’s a drop like when you descend in the air on your broom too quickly - your body reacting after your brain. Your core plummets and everything implodes as you sob against his palm, melting into his touch.

“Good - that’s it, baby,” he says, more softly this time as your orgasm, blinding hot, makes your cunt convulse and clamp around him.

You cum so hard that you think your legs give way - you can’t tell because his strong body pushing yours against the wall keeps you upright. Tingles spasm from your core right down the backs of your thighs.

Cormac groans too. He moves his hand from your mouth so he can push his hips against your ass and shove his twitching cock as far as it can go inside you. When you whisper his name shakily and tell him you love him, he’s done for. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, filling you up as he grunts into the column of your throat against your racing pulse.

Even as you’re pressed up against the wall with his cum leaking out of you, you feel like he belongs here with you. Not in the lighthouse - or against the lighthouse - necessarily. Just here. Inside you. With nothing but the sounds of your heaving breathing and waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance to interrupt you.

Eventually, his mouth breaks into a smile against your skin and his laugh tickles your neck.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“We’ve got a perfectly good bed upstairs and we’re still sneaking around like we used to do under the Quidditch stands at school.”

He pulls out of you carefully and offers you his t-shirt to clean up the mess. You decide it’d be less conspicuous to wash your jeans and underwear in the laundry tomorrow morning than for McLaggen to return back inside suddenly missing a t-shirt.

“We never did that under the Quidditch stands,” you say, turning around and leaning your back against the wall so you can button up your jeans. “We’d have been expelled if we were caught.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Madam Hooch would have been totally fine if she caught us just doing hand stuff,” he grins.

“Well, we were stupid back then,” you laugh.

“It was fun though. I kind of miss those Quidditch stands.”

“Even when we’re old and married and I’m winning the Quidditch World Cup. I’ll want to meet you under the stands afterwards to celebrate.”

“Yeah, right. If I wait for Scotland to win the Quidditch World Cup for our next fumble under the stands, I’ll die without ever doing it again.”

“You really think I won’t go out of my way to win the Quidditch World Cup just to prove you wrong?”

“Anyone else? No. But you? I’m counting on it.”

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

When you quietly come back inside the back door to the empty kitchen, you insist on making a cup of tea for yourself and a cup of coffee for McLaggen while he goes upstairs - you insisted that he needs to let you do something for him for once. That beautiful post-sex warmth nestles into your chest and makes between your legs ache pleasantly. Nothing can go wrong when you feel like this. You boil the kettle and set to finding yours and McLaggen’s favourite mugs in the cupboard when a yell from upstairs makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Cho?!” It’s McLaggen’s voice. The urgency in his voice makes the hair stand up on the back of your arms.

You run to the bottom of the spiral staircase and skid to a halt, looking up at all the seven floors winding above you. You crane your neck upwards to see McLaggen on the topmost floor looking over the bannister - a small, gold something glints in his hand. A galleon?

“Cormac? Did you see?” Katie’s head appears diagonally across from McLaggen on the floor below. She looks down at you standing in the middle of the kitchen and then up to McLaggen at the top of the lighthouse.

“Whazgoin’on?” yawns Davies, coming out of his bedroom opposite Katie’s. “Are the others back from Puddlemere?”

“Not yet. But they’re about to be.” Leanne pads out onto the landing directly above you in her pyjamas, closely examining a galleon in the palm of her hand. “Merlin’s pants…”

“Mine just came through too!” Marietta too appears outside her bedroom door, followed by a bleary-eyed Carmichael. She looks up at Katie, Davies and McLaggen.

“Guys, this is it,” says Cho leaning over the bannister across from McLaggen. Krum curiously joins her, looking equally as puzzled as you are.

“Can someone please explain what is going on!?” you bellow from the bottom of the staircase as if calling everyone to attention in Quidditch practice.

“It’s our coins from when we were in the D.A. The old D.A., I mean,” says Marietta. “It’s what we used to find out when the next meetings were.”

“And? What do they say?”

“It’s Neville Longbottom. He says they’re getting ready to fight at Hogwarts and that we’ve to join them,” says Cho.

“Fight?” Your stomach drops. “Fight who? Why?”

“Only one way to find out,” McLaggen replies as you look up at him in disbelief.

He nods at you reassuringly and you take a deep breath. This is what you’ve been preparing for after all, right? It’s not just pretend. You’re simultaneously more and less prepared than when you broke into Azkaban. You’re much better in combat now but god, you need a plan. More details. Something you can control.

You nod. “Alright. Well, we’ll get some rest and meet up first thing tomorrow with Wood and the others so we can come up with -”

“No,” says McLaggen. “Now. They’re fighting now. We need to leave. Right now.”

You look up at him. Absurdly, all you can think now is that you really need to change your jeans.

Chapter 18: Calling

#cormac mclaggen x female reader #cormac mclaggen #cormac mclaggen x reader #ravenclaw #ravenclaw fanfiction #smut #fanfic #harry potter and the half blood prince #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #freddie stroma #deathly hallows #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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sl-vega · 2 months

Text

✧Sticking to the Script✧-07

⋆｡°✩ 07-rebound already?

"Sorry about that, those were just my friends." you sighed as you put your phone into your pocket. You looked at Xingqiu again. "Thanks for agreeing to help me study by the way, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, anything for you." he replied as the two of you walked into the library. You chuckled and playfully hit his arm "Anything for me huh? Look at you being smooth."

The two of you settled at a table, and Xingqiu pulled out your chair for you. You got your textbook out of your bag, and Xingqiu took out his notes, and two pens, one for him and one for you.

"You need help with your English paper right?" Xingqiu asked as he sorted through his binder, looking for notes that you would find useful. You nodded, giving him your thanks as he handed you some lined sheets.

"You're doing a unit on Shakespeare?" he asked, underlining a few things on his paper. You nodded "Yeah, we're doing a joint unit with the drama department, we're analyzing Romeo and Juliet. And my essay is due tommorow!" you wailed, slamming your head on the table.

Ms. Lisa, the librarian, shushed you from her desk. You whispered an apology to her as you picked up some of the papers Xingqiu set aside for you. "Are you analyzing anything in particular?" he asked, still sorting through more notes, he got out a highlighter.

"Mainly the famous quotes and stuff. Our teacher also wants us to talk about the use of opposites in the play. We're supposed to cover at least one scene from each act." you explained as you watched him take more notes. His handwriting was so neat and pretty, even when it looked like he was just scribbling down words.

He handed several sheets of paper to you, some papers included scenes from the play handwritten by him, word for word. He also highlighted certain bits of the text, and made sure to include modern English translations for you at the back of the pages.

"These are my notes from last year. We did a unit similar to this. Sorry if it's a little messy."

You stared at the page, the blue ink had zero smudges and the sheet had little to no crinkles in it. "If you think that this is messy, just wait till you see my notes." you chuckled. "I know I already said this, but I really appreciate this."

The two of you continued talking, Xingqiu continuing to take notes for you, highlighting important parts of the text and explaining their meanings for you. Once again he had made an hour seem like a few minutes.

"And that's what Mercutio meant when he said 'Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man." Xingqiu explained, finishing off his analysis to you.

"That also foreshadows his death doesn't it?"

"Exactly! See, you're picking up on this so quickly." XIngqiu praised you as he started to pack up his stuff, placing his papers into his folders and his pencil cases into his back pack.

You glanced at your phone to check the time. "You have to go already?" you asked, feeling slightly disappointed that he had to leave.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll see you this weekend though, I promise." He gave your hand a quick squeeze. You felt your stomach drop as you saw him exit the room.

Promises can be hard to keep Xingqiu

Xingqiu put his phone down and rubbed his temples. "You okay?" whispered Kazuha.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Xingqiu replied.

Archons he was in deep

additional notes:

-FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER OUT

-so sorry for all the slow updates y'all

-i'm trying

-i was writing for another smau i have coming up

-my commitment issues will be the end of me

-holy hell this chapter got a tad deep

-KAZUHA CAMEO

-they're both in their english class during the xingqiu + kazuha scene btw

-lol not y/n being a drama queen cuz she's upset that she has to wait three whole days before seeing xingqiu again

-you guys don't have any classes together btw

-that blue flower gif means that i'm switching povs mid chapter btw

-i went thru sm different versions for this chapter

-ty to @EggosForBreakfast on wattpad for proofreading this for me

-you should go follow them

-also ty to all my readers: @washa, @kasasim, @wisteriabl00m, @rebeccavsabrina, @nmriki0, @rainycafereader, @slu7, @melatoninsblog, @anticlarckwise, @esmetrees, @sn1perz, @littleheartbigbrain, @aldertree-g, @thebiggesthutaofanever, @lilac-sks, @amir8623, @freyao7, @mystic-alex, @myaaaajoy, @tartagliascummdumpp, @green-ginkgo, @lillyinfandoms, @charles-braindump, @samsamsam7, @leynita, @uuyuomi/@mwahkazu, @pwrson, @practicoi, @thatoneswordgirl

-names in bold mean i couldn't tag them

-dw that's just a one time acknowledgment to everyone who liked the original master post, you won't constantly be tagged like that, but if you want to be removed just tell me

-i'll totally understand <3

masterlist

✧Sticking to the Script✧

Pairing: Xingqiu x FEM! Reader

Genre: fake dating, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst (?), high school smau, modern smau

⋆｡°✩-Synopsis: Xingqiu just got entered into a special writing contest, the type that's invite only, the theme this year is love, the only problem is that he has zero romantic experience. but he really wants to prove himself as a writer. meanwhile, you just found out that your boyfriend cheated on you, and you need to show him that you're 100% over him, the only problem is that there's no way you can get an actual boyfriend that quickly. clearly, the solution to both of your issues is to fake date each other. it shouldn't be hard for an actor such as yourself, all you need to do is stick to the script.

(OPEN) Taglist: @freyao7, @thatoneswordgirl, @sn1perz, @latay7, @esmetrees, @nmriki0, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @httpsrenren, @cupid-spams, @aixaingela, @kaitfae, @luvkvni, @danhenglovebot

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moonchildreads · 6 months

Text

small town

Chapter 23 - Cum on Feel the Noize

IN THIS CHAPTER: Yearbook messages, unlikely friendships, and Corroded Coffin puts on a show [13.8k]

WARNINGS: mentions of dead parents (eddie's mom), child neglect (not very graphic, eddie as kid), underaged drinking (no one gets drunk), low self-worth

A/N: i know. i promise you, i know. but i did say i was never gonna abandon this fic, so if you didn't believe me, that's on you, buddy. blame my job for my two month absence - three new people joined my team and one of those left last week, it's been hectic. this is an extra long chapter as a sorry for making you wait for so long. i hope you are all okay and still interested in my dumb little story, we have a lot more to go before we say goodbye. <3 (btw lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!)

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Girls, rock your boys We’ll get wild, wild, wild

Monday, June 9th - 1986

The last Monday before graduation was Kyle Foster’s most anticipated day of the year; not because it meant that school attendance was officially an afterthought for most of the school’s population, but because it was the day the overpriced yearbooks he had been working on all these months were ready to be picked up, their pages waiting to be filled with doodles in colorful pens and silly stickers. He was particularly proud of this year’s edition, with its green leatherette hardback cover and bright photos printed in glossy paper, everything on them carefully arranged by the Yearbook Club with evident care and love for their craft. For a few hours, Kyle got to feel like he was hot shit. Teachers congratulated him and his fellow club members for their wonderful work, people he’d never talked to before in his life asked him to sign their yearbooks, and the basketball team kept patting his back in the hallways in between classes to thank him for the double spread with pictures of them lifting their championship trophy. Life was good, but even though he was enjoying his surely short-lived popularity, there was only one person Kyle was particularly looking forward to seeing. As faith would have it, he found that exact guy leaning against his locker waiting for him between third and fourth period, a yearbook under his arm and a piece of minty gum in his mouth.

“Hey, man,” Eddie greeted, pulling him into a bro-ey side hug that didn’t suit his personality in the slightest. “Nice work.”

“What’s up, Munson? Heard you’re finally leaving this place.”

“Yeah, about damn time,” the tall metalhead laughed, and Kyle thought he’d never seen him carry himself with such levity before. “Wanted to thank you, y’know? I mean, I know I kinda bribed you to do it but you came through for us and went above and beyond with the design and everything, so, thank you.”

“Ah, it was nothing, dude. Couldn’t ruin the yearbook by giving your club a shitty spread,” Kyle downplayed his work, but they both knew he had enjoyed the secret assignment.

“Well, then. Would the artist care to sign his masterpiece?” Eddie joked, extending his yearbook to Kyle with a jet black pen tucked into it.

Kyle nodded, surprised by the request, and went straight to the blank pages at the back. From what he could see, no one had signed it yet. He realized then this was Eddie giving him a definitive olive branch, whatever feud they’d had over his little debt more than ready to be buried in the sand and thoroughly forgotten. He quickly penned a generic “have a good summer!” message at the top corner, slowing down while writing his name when he felt Eddie’s hand slip something into his front jean pocket. Ah, there it is, Kyle thought, smiling to himself as the weight of the small weed baggie Eddie had promised in exchange for his rule breaking could be felt through the rough fabric. He gave the book back to his newest acquaintance before opening his messenger bag and retrieving his own, shocking Eddie with his silent offering. Kyle was not only accepting his olive branch but returning the gesture, and so Eddie signed his name in a little unoccupied corner, adding a smiley face with devil horns under it for good measure.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Foster,” he said genuinely, tucking his trusty pen into his back pocket.

“Likewise, Munson.”

“We look so fucking badass,” Gareth said, eyes stuck to himself holding a knight’s helmet under his arm in the Hellfire section of the yearbook.

“I know, right?” Jeff said, giddy. “Kinda wanna get it framed. You think they’ll give us copies if we ask?”

The Hellfire Club was enjoying a peaceful lunch outside, the day still perfectly warm despite the constant clouds that perpetually obscured the sky over Hawkins, Indiana. The older boys were doodling on each other’s yearbooks, laughing about bad portraits and accidental funny faces belonging to classmates, while Dustin and Mike quietly muttered to one another at the head of the picnic table. They looked like they were arguing about something important but no one else seemed to have noticed - if they did, they were giving them space to resolve it on their own. Pretending like she wasn’t eavesdropping while she wrote a heartfelt message in Donny’s yearbook, Dottie listened carefully, worried about Dustin who seemed to be particularly distraught at Mike’s disinterest in cooperating with him.

“I’m just saying, aren’t you tired of acting like you’re still upset with him?” Dustin asked.

“I’m not acting, I am pissed off,” Mike huffed. “I don’t get why you aren’t. He cut us off and he’s never coming back, get it through your head.”

“Well, maybe he feels like we cut him off. Have you even tried talking to him since Spring break?”

“No, why would I?”

“Mike,” Dustin was nearing his breaking point.

“What? Did you?”

“Yes!” he threw his hands in the air. “I called him the next day because I’m not an asshole!”

“If you talked to him, why isn’t he here then, huh?” Mike asked, icy. “Why is he still hanging out with them?”

“I said I called him, not that I talked to him,” Dustin grumbled. “He wasn’t home, he… he was at a party with the jocks- Look, all I’m saying is that I feel like shit, okay? I think we’re all being idiots right now and we should talk about it. This is just like what happened when we found El and-”

“This is nothing like what happened with El. He was just scared-”

“We were twelve, Mike. We didn’t know what we were doing, maybe- maybe he was right and we should have been scared! And maybe he shouldn’t have to be the one to always apologize first!”

“He ditched us!”

“Oh, grow up,” Dustin said, getting up from the bench with his yearbook in hand and hurrying to catch up with a redheaded girl who looked about his age.

Dottie watched how Mike gathered his things and disappeared into the cafeteria without saying goodbye, giving off moody teenager vibes to anyone who dared to cross his path. Meanwhile, Dustin was now animatedly chatting with his mystery friend near the doors - the girl he was talking to was signing his book and rolling her eyes at something he was saying, a shy but still clearly fond smile on her face. Dottie felt like she’d seen her before somewhere, but never talking to Dustin. She seemed nice, if a little sassy. I guess that’s why she’s friends with Dustin, she thought.

“Really? You got him a sweater? In June?” Jeff’s laughter brought back her attention to the table: she quickly doodled a little daisy next to her name at the bottom of her message and gave the yearbook back to Donny.

“He’s always wearing sweaters at the office, okay? And also, it’s not like he’s gonna grow two sizes before Winter starts,” Gareth defended himself. “It’s still gonna fit him in a couple of months.”

“What are we talking about?” Dottie asked, leaning her head onto Eddie’s shoulder as he stole one of her apple slices.

“Father’s Day. Gareth got his Dad a wool sweater.”

“It was on sale!”

“What did you get for your dad, then?” she asked Jeff.

“New slippers. His old ones were falling apart.”

“Very thoughtful. You?” she turned to Donny.

“Nothing yet. I kinda wanna get my Dad a funny shirt but I haven’t seen any good ones around. D’you think it’s too late to get one printed?” he asked at large.

“Oh, Eddie bought a cute one the other day!” Dottie said conversationally, looking up at the long haired boy from her place on his shoulder. “They had a bunch of graphic shirts at that store near Melvald’s, right?”

“On Mulberry? Sweet, what did you get?” Donny asked, munching on some grapes.

“Found this ugly thing with a brown Care Bear at the front that says World’s Best Grandma,” Eddie said, half a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Thought it was funny.”

“You’re gonna get your teeth kicked in if you wear a Care Bears shirt in public, dude,” Gareth snickered.

“Well, good thing I’m not gonna be the one wearing it then.”

Father’s Day was historically somewhat of a weird day for Eddie. When he was a little kid and still hadn’t developed a mouth filter, other moms at the park or strangers at a store would sometimes see him wandering around unsupervised, think he was lost, and ask him where his Mom was; he’d always reply with a simple “oh, no, my Mom is dead”, like the answer wasn’t absolutely devastating to hear coming from someone who hadn’t learned how to tie his own shoes yet. Like clockwork, they’d all sputter out an awkward apology, feeling sorry about unknowingly asking a young child about something so painful like losing a parent at such a tender age. A couple of times some of them went so far as to offer to buy him a snack, as if that could distract him from the tragedy of his Mom’s untimely death and, in turn, make themselves feel better about being nosy. Eddie, however, didn’t mind the questions. He liked telling people that Maureen was dead, because he learned very quickly that those were the only times people saw him as someone to take care of; just a little innocent boy having to grow up without the woman who’d loved him most, instead of shunning him as soon they inevitably found out he was Wyatt Munson’s devil spawn.

Another thing Eddie learned very early on, was that his Dad didn’t care about Father’s Day, mainly because most of the time he didn’t even care to acknowledge he had a son unless it was useful to him. And so, after the second year in a row Wyatt threw into the trash can the crafts Eddie had done for him at school without so much as looking at them, the drawings stayed in his backpack and the treats the teachers gave to all their kiddos to gift to the most important men in their lives got hidden in an old shoe box underneath his bed. There they waited until the older man passed out on his couch with a beer in his hand, and the littlest Munson got to eat them in secret without anyone calling him a pig for smearing chocolate all over his face and fingers. No, Father’s Day had always been a weird day for Eddie - at least until he moved in with Wayne.

The first Father’s Day Wayne and Eddie spent together came after almost eight months of living together. There had been a Halloween, a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, Eddie’s 9th birthday, and a Mother’s Day spent along with Grandma before that, but Eddie’s little stomach still churned with the thought of Wayne dismissing him on a special occasion like Father’s Day. He quietly waited in bed after the sun rose, ears perked up for any noise coming from the living room but the minutes ticked by and Wayne didn’t get up, busy catching up on some much needed sleep after a long week at the plant. The youngest Munson impatiently crept along the hallway until he reached his Uncle’s side, kneeling on the carpet next to his fold-out bed and observing his chest go up and down with each breath he took.

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie whispered, but the older man didn’t so much as flinch. “Uncle Wayne,” he tried a little louder, softly shaking his arm.

“Huh?” Wayne opened his eyes, startled to find his nephew’s tiny fingers wrapped around his forearm. “What’s going on? You okay, Ed?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, wild curls bobbing along with the movement. “I- I made something. At school.”

“Yeah? What d’you got there?”

Eddie lifted a piece of paper, the sun filtering through the moth-eaten curtains helping Wayne read along. Happy Father’s Day, said the handmade card written by a teacher and decorated by his nephew, each letter colored inside with a different crayon. Wayne’s heart sank when he realized he’d forgotten what day it was. He didn’t even know which hole Wyatt was currently being kept in, but he guessed he could call his Ma and ask her about it if Eddie wanted to pay his Dad a visit. Or at the very least, he could take the kid to the post office to mail his shitty excuse of a father a letter he most likely didn’t give a damn about. Wyatt hadn’t called once since he’d gotten himself locked up, and Wayne tried not to think too much about Eddie stiffening up whenever the phone rang when he first moved into the trailer with him. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to have jackshit to do with his little brother anymore but he’d do it anyway even if he knew it was a bad idea, because Wayne Munson would have walked barefoot to the end of the world if it made Eddie happy, and God only knew that that boy deserved a small mercy for once.

Wayne peeled the card open curiously and felt his chest tighten up when he saw how wrong he’d been. Inside there was a crude drawing of two figures, one bigger than the other one: it was him and Eddie, standing on bright green grass, a big yellow sun with a smiley face at the upper left corner of the page, and a tree with juicy red apples to the right side. The figures were holding hands and Wayne was wearing a trucker hat - the same blue one that was resting on the kitchen counter next to his keys. At the bottom right of the card, written with the nicest calligraphy Wayne had seen from his nephew yet, was a simple I love you in purple crayon.

“You drew this for me?” Wayne asked, trying to get his emotions together.

“D’you like it? Miss Mullins gave us Hershey’s Kisses too,” he lifted a little paper bag that looked like it had been squished in transit. “I’m sorry I ate one without asking. I wanted to know what they tasted like, but I can buy you more! I have money left over from my birthday-”

“That’s okay, Ed. You can have as many as you want if you brush your teeth after,” the eldest Munson sat up tiredly and pulled his boy from the floor into a hug. “Thank you for the card. You’re very good at drawing, y’know that?”

“Miss Mullins says I’m good at art and music,” Eddie beamed. “And sometimes Math too but I get distracted. She says my reading’s not very good though.”

“You’re a smart boy, just keep practicin’ and you’ll get better,” Wayne said, feeling his nephew’s body sink into his arms the longer he held him. “Hey, how ‘bout you go get ready while I take a shower, huh? We can go get pancakes at Benny’s.”

“Really? Can I get whipped cream on mine? And chocolate chips?”

“You can get whatever you want, boy. Go on, go get dressed,” the older man ushered him down the hallway towards what used to be his bedroom and locked himself in the bathroom for a little privacy.

Wayne cried in the shower that day, much like he’d done after Thanksgiving dinner, when Eddie said he was thankful he got to live with him, even if it was just for a little bit. He got Wyatt to sign away his parental rights before Christmas came around after that. Wayne stuck the card to the fridge door with a carrot shaped magnet and drove himself and his nephew to Benny’s where Eddie ordered chocolate chip banana pancakes that Wayne ended up eating half of after the 9-year-old’s tummy became too full to keep going. Upon returning home, they spent the rest of the day watching cartoons and practicing Eddie’s reading during the commercials. When the littlest Munson fell asleep on the couch after the sun had set, his energy finally depleted, Wayne helped him put on his pajamas and tucked him to bed, stopping to kiss his curly head before he retreated back to the living room for a nightcap.

“Good night, son,” he’d said, turning off the lights, and for once, Eddie didn’t go to sleep wishing he was Wayne’s, because he knew he was and Wayne knew it too.

“You got Wayne a World’s Best Grandma shirt for Father’s Day?” Donny said, amused. “He’s gonna think you knocked someone up.”

“Of course not,” Eddie scoffed at him like he’d just said the stupidest thing ever. “He’d think I knocked someone up if it said World’s Best Grandpa, but it doesn’t say that, does it? Therefore, funny shirt.”

“You were there with him and you let him buy it?” Jeff looked at Dottie, whose cheeks felt like they were burning upon remembering Wayne’s resigned attempt at a Birds and The Bees talk two weekends prior.

“I… I thought it was funny too,” she admitted sheepishly.

“You two are spending way too much time together,” Gareth shook his head. “When did you even go shopping?”

“Last week after band practice,” Dottie said, mischief in her eyes. “Don’t tell my Dad if you see him because I told him I was at yours all afternoon so he wouldn’t snoop around and find his gift.”

“What did you get him?” Donny asked.

“A bunch of candy and a book. The guy at the store recommended it, he said it was pretty new. It’s called Ender’s Game, I think?”

“Oh, I read that one,” Jeff said, frowning.

“What, is it bad?”

“No, I think your Dad might like it," he shrugged. "But you know me, I don't like military shit.”

“How could we forget about you being Mr. Pacifist,” Gareth poked fun at him goodnaturedly and Jeff shoved him gently in return.

“Hey, speaking of band practice,” Eddie said, lips curling upwards as he leaned into Dottie’s personal space. “You think your Dad's gonna let you come to The Hideout tomorrow?”

“On a school night? Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, come on, no one’s even taking attendance anymore,” he pressed on.

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Russell took a nap in class today,” Gareth said, spreading a rumor he’d heard about the old Algebra teacher.

“He did. I was there, I heard him snore,” Donny nodded.

“There you go, darling. Not even the teachers give a shit anymore. So, what do you say?" Eddie batted his eyelashes dramatically.

"You know I wanna go, I just don't think he's gonna let me. Can't you wait one more week? He promised I won’t have a curfew anymore after graduation," she bargained.

"You say that like you don’t already know we’re gonna ask you to come next week too," Gareth said, grinning. “Besides, what kind of manager are you if you don’t come to all our shows?”

“Wasn’t aware I had signed any official contracts. Do I get health insurance?” Dottie joked.

“You get one box of kiddie bandages and we’ll drive you to the hospital if and only if any bones stick out,” Donny said.

“Wow, what a deal. I’m in,” she laughed.

“You’re gonna come then?” they all looked at her expectantly.

“Alright, fine, I’ll ask him. But if he says no you aren’t allowed to be mad at me because it’s definitely not my fault,” she finally relented.

“If he locks you up we’ll help you escape the tower, princess, don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, his breath ghosting the side of her head, and she shivered in anticipation for the new adventure that was to come.

James working past the time Hawkins High School let its students out had proven to be heaven-sent to the new couple looking for places to hang out without any prying eyes around. Eddie and Dottie were lying on her bed, hiding away from the world in her room, the radio on at a low volume playing Top 40 hits. Van Halen’s Why Can’t This Be Love was setting the perfect mood for Eddie to kiss his not-yet-girlfriend stupid - their movements still shy and exploring, neither of them rushing to get ahead of themselves. In recent days, they had progressed from chaste and giggly pecks to something much more slow and romantic, making the most of their moments alone to make each other feel comfortable and loved. Eddie hovered over her, tummy pressed against Dottie’s while supporting most of his weight on his elbows, his hands free to gently caress her cheekbones and jaw between kisses, stopping every so often to look at her dazed smile if only to will himself to believe that the girl he was so in love with was as equally smitten with him as he was with her.

Dottie let her fingers wander up his arms, one of her hands tangling in his unruly hair and occasionally pushing stray curls behind his ears to get a glimpse of those deep chocolate colored eyes she adored so much. Her other arm sneaked into his t-shirt sleeve, nails drawing barely-there patterns on the back of his shoulder, making him hum like the stray cats at the trailer park when they let him pet them after being fed. The delicate white curtains swayed calmly, brushing against the pillows in the windowsill, the gentle breeze outside rustling the leaves in nearby trees. Everything felt so peaceful, warm, and cozy. She felt like she could spend an entire lifetime like this, with the boy that had swept her off her feet so thoroughly that she almost felt like she was floating whenever he was around.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Eddie asked in a soft voice, index finger brushing down the slope of her nose.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Mhm,” she smiled, fondly. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous even,” he lifted his eyebrows and pouted, making her giggle at his antics. “I wanted to play a song for you tomorrow but the guys said it didn’t fit with the rest of the setlist.”

“Which song was it?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, curls tickling her. “I’m not telling you. We’ll play it in Indy.”

“I have to wait a whole month? That’s so rude!”

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss her again, and she accepted his love eagerly.

The low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway burst their cozy bubble, Eddie groaning as his head fell forward onto Dottie’s shoulder, making her snort loudly. He scrambled off her bed and dropped himself on her desk chair, fingers dancing on top of her scented Mr. Sketch markers before settling on the brown one and lifting it up to his nose to smell the cinnamon embedded in the ink. She watched him with an oddly enamored smile on her face, like him sniffing her stationery supplies was the most charming thing she’d seen him do yet. He twirled a marker between his fingers before drumming with it once on her yearbook resting unassumingly on her desk.

“Can I draw something for you in here?” he asked, tapping the hardcover again with the cap of the marker.

“Can I write something sappy in yours in exchange?”

“Knock yourself out, darling,” Eddie smiled, pulling his yearbook out of his ratty backpack and tossing it onto her bed where it made a soft thud upon colliding with her comforter.

When James climbed up the stairs to greet his daughter after a long day at work, he found both teens deeply engrossed in their tasks: Eddie’s long hair was draped like a curtain obscuring his sketch from view as he worked steadily with his chewed up pencil while Dottie was lying on her front decorating a corner of a page with her colorful pens. James leaned onto the door frame when she looked up, gifting him the same smile she used to give him as a toddler when he picked her up from daycare.

“Yearbooks are out?” the eldest Burke asked, nodding towards the book in her hands.

“Yeah! Ed’s drawing in mine but look, we got a full page!” Dottie said, rising onto her knees to show him Hellfire’s spread.

James sat at the foot of her bed, glancing at the glossy pictures in front of him. He couldn’t recall Dottie being so excited about a yearbook before, but he supposed she’d never really been a part of any club at her old school and this was an important first for her. There was Dustin front and center, arms and legs bent like a lifeless puppet being held by strings, Erica’s hand poised in the air as if she was the one controlling him while Mike and Gareth lifted her up in a princess-like manner, a tiara glinting on her head and a school flag draping down her back. Jeff and Donny scowled at each other dramatically, engaged in a lethal fight that Jeff was clearly winning, his sword pressed to the middle of Donny’s golden scepter. But it was his own daughter and the boy that kept smelling markers before he put them to paper a few feet away from him that really caught his attention.

Eddie lounged on his throne with a fake skull in his hand, rings twinkling in the room’s moody light, and legs spread out like he was a despot king about to order someone’s head to be cut off. Dottie stared at the camera with a mischievous smirk, hands cradled around a crystal orb, looking like she knew something no one else did and was more than ready to drop a cryptic riddle that would ruin your entire life. They were playing characters, just like everyone else in the picture: Mike was the loyal knight, Dustin was the terrifying jester, Erica was the bratty princess. Except Eddie’s arm was curled around Dottie like she was his most prized possession, devotion noticeable in his seemingly innocent posture. He might have been the one sitting on the throne and she on the chair’s arm as his trusty advisor, but it was very much clear to anyone that stopped to truly look at them that even though he was the King, she had him wrapped around her finger. It shouldn’t have been a surprise - after all, since 1953 the song did say God save the Queen, not the King.

“It looks super cool, right?” Dottie asked, eyes shining. “Jeff wants to ask the Yearbook Club if we can get copies, I’d love to put one on my corkboard.”

“That sounds great, honey! It’s very theatrical,” James agreed, scanning down the list of names: Edward Munson - Chapter Leader, Donatello Andrea Vitale - Treasurer, Jeffrey Thomas Patton - Secretary… “Who’s Lucas?”

“Huh?”

“Lucas Charles Sinclair?” he asked. “His name is on the list but I don’t see him in the photo.”

“Oh, that’s Erica’s brother. He was in the club before I joined, right, Ed?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, lips tight. “He, uh- he quit before Spring break. Conflicting schedules.”

“Ah, that’s a bummer,” James nodded, knowing first hand how scheduling was the greatest enemy of a D&D party. “Why isn’t Erica on the list though?”

“She’s still in middle school so she’s not, like, entirely allowed to be in the club actually?” Dottie grimaced. “But Eddie thought she should at least be in the picture. I mean, I’m there and she’s known these guys for longer than I do.”

“She only joined a couple of weeks before you did,” Eddie shrugged. “But a member is a member, no matter when they joined.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” James smiled, flipping the pages to find the senior portraits.

He reached the B section and immediately found his daughter, her red knitted sweater barely visible, the picture cutting off just below her shoulders. She was smiling in it, yes, but she didn’t really look happy. She seemed nervous, perhaps even a bit apprehensive. Her eyes were dull despite the bright lights behind the camera, and the little dimple below the right corner of her lip that she’d inherited from her Mom was nowhere to be found. In comparison with the wicked witch that had been staring at him in the Hellfire Club’s group photo, this girl looked like a shell of herself. Empty. Lost. Scared. Two months had passed between the two pictures, and one more since the last one had been taken, and James realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her glow as much as she did every day now. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked at her and wondered why he hadn’t done anything to prevent her light from dimming so much right in front of him. Bitterly, he realized the proper question wasn’t why he hadn’t done anything, but instead why hadn’t he ever noticed it had been dimmed in the first place up until that moment.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” he muttered, pulling her into a hug and letting out a heavy sigh courtesy of his own inadequacies as a parent.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you? Because you’re gonna make me cry if you cry,” she said in a joking manner, tears already threatening to climb up to the surface.

“You’re just really big now and it sneaks up on me sometimes, that’s all. I’m getting emotional in my old age,” he laughed, turning back the pages to Hellfire Dottie - the happier Dottie. “Your hair looks really pretty like this.”

“Yeah. Feels more me, I think,” Dottie agreed. “I need to get the ends trimmed before graduation, though.”

“If it keeps getting shorter I’m afraid you’re gonna end up bald soon.”

“I’ll go to a salon this time, promise,” she laughed.

“Still can’t believe you just-” James did a cutting gesture with his index and middle fingers. “-went to town on it.”

“Wait, what? You chopped off your own hair? When?” Eddie asked curiously, reminding them both that he was listening to their conversation.

“I thought you knew about this!” Dottie said. “I had really long hair back in New York.”

“It reached the top of her jeans,” James added.

“No way! Why did you cut it?”

“I just needed a fresh start, y’know? New school, new haircut. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” she shrugged.

“Honey, you snipped it all off at the first gas station we stopped at on our way from New York. Almost gave me a heart attack when you came out of that bathroom.”

“You’re kidding,” Eddie stared at her in disbelief.

“Nope,” said James. “Had to take her to a hairdresser to even it out as soon as we got here.”

“In my defense, it didn’t look that bad. It was just… very layered,” Dottie said.

“You’re lucky you chickened out and didn’t cut it shorter or you’d be looking like a boy right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, I’m not a hair stylist. I’ll stay away from scissors and let the pros handle it next time,” she rolled her eyes at her Dad.

“Well, I’m gonna go get a shower,” James announced, returning Eddie’s yearbook to his daughter. “You staying for dinner, Ed?”

“No, thank you, sir, Wayne’s waiting for me. Just gotta finish this drawing and I’ll be out of your hair for the night,” Eddie said, lifting the book in his hands as if to demonstrate he wasn’t just wasting time.

“You’re never a bother, kid. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“T-thank you, sir,” he said in a small voice when James walked past him and ruffled his hair affectionately as he left.

“Dad? Wait, hold up-”

Dottie launched herself into the hallway and caught up to her Dad when he was halfway through his bedroom door. She nervously looked up at him and James lifted an eyebrow, curious.

“Would it be okay if I went to The Hideout to see the guys play tomorrow?” she asked, chewing on her own lip.

“Honey, it’s a school night-”

“I know but the teachers aren’t even taking attendance anymore. And I swear I’m not gonna skip the next day! Please, I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Dot-”

“You know Jeff’s dad wouldn’t let him do it if he was coming back home at 3 am every week on school nights. Please let me go? I really, really, really wanna see them play.”

“Would you be riding with Eddie?” James sighed.

“Yeah, he’s Gareth’s ride. His drum kit doesn’t fit in Donny’s car.”

“Okay, you can go-”

“Thank you!”

“-but! You gotta be back by midnight, okay?” he said, stern. “I don’t care if the teachers aren’t doing their jobs anymore, school’s not out until Friday. You’re not on holiday yet.”

“I know, I won’t break the curfew, I promise-”

“And you can’t drink any alcohol either. If I have to pick you up from the station for any reason, you’re grounded until September.”

“I won’t drink a drop, Dad, I swear. I just wanna see the guys play,” she pleaded with doe eyes.

“Fine. You can go,” James finally relented.

“Thank you!” Dottie shrieked, hugging her Dad and shaking him in her excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“Alright, alright, calm down. Just be careful, okay? And call-”

“Call you if anything happens. I know. Thank you,” she kissed his cheek and ran back into her bedroom where James heard Eddie scream “fuck yeah!”, followed by a loud thump and bright laughter.

That night after dinner, Dottie sat on her windowsill looking at the inside of her wardrobe, mentally putting together an outfit that wouldn’t make her stand out like a sore thumb in the dingy bar. Jeans and sneakers are fine, Eddie had said when she asked him about it, but she knew the guys dressed up for their gigs, and she wanted to fit in. Maybe she should have asked her soon-to-be-boyfriend to lend her one of his band t-shirts, but then again, Eddie had a tendency to get grabby whenever she wore his clothes lately, even if it was just a borrowed sweatshirt when she got cold during a movie night. It was better to be lowkey about this; they were already pushing it a lot lately with the secret daily hangouts and the doing errands together thing. Borrowing his clothes in such a public event like his own band’s gig was as big a declaration of love as they came.

Yes, it was best to keep this under wraps, for the sake of all their friendships with the rest of the boys. She’d wear her own clothes to her very first Corroded Coffin show, and she’d be extra careful with her yearbook when she gave it to her friends at The Weekly Streak to sign. No one had to know that Eddie had drawn a very realistic looking arrangement of daisies on a corner of a page, along with an incredibly telling message that would be hard to explain if anyone read it. However, nothing was stopping her from letting the words he’d written in his usual chicken scratch form behind her eyelids as she let sleep take her under, a perpetual lovesick smile tattooed on her face.Thank you for believing in me, darling, he’d said. I love you now and always. Your Endearing Eddie.

Tuesday, June 10th - 1986

If there was anyone in Hawkins who had bad timing when it came to scheduling business transactions that happened outdoors, it was Eddie Munson. He was in such a hurry to sell most of his stash before he was due to start his first ever real job at Thatcher Tires the following week that he’d failed to account for the permanent drizzle that haunted Hawkins most of the time, and thus, had to move from his preferred selling spot in the woods to the back of the East classroom wing, his back pressed to the warm brick to shield himself from the droplets falling from the sky.

While he was busy earning much wanted cash so he could take his still-not-official-girlfriend out on a date to celebrate their graduation, Dottie and Gareth were lounging in his van, side door cracked open to let some of the day’s heat out. The almost empty parking lot looked menacing surrounded by a thick haze, a moderate breeze directing the drops of water to hit the van’s windshield in a comforting rhythm. Gareth was, as usual, being a menace. He was going through Eddie’s tapes, exchanging their cases to mess with his friend, and never letting a song reach the end before he was skipping forward to the next one. Dottie would have complained about it if she wasn’t so concentrated on her knitting, the summer baby blanket she was working on spread out over her legs. She was in the middle of calculating if the soft cotton yarn she had left was enough to finish the row she was currently knitting when Gareth turned around in the passenger seat to catch her attention.

“You excited about tonight?” he asked, glancing at the songlist at the back of a mixtape.

“Yeah, it should be fun! Though I’m not sure what I’m gonna wear yet,” she put down her needles and stretched in her seat. “Eddie said sneakers and jeans were fine, but I don’t wanna look lost, y’know.”

“Pick the oldest, shittiest clothes you have and you’ll fit in just fine. Most of the drunks in there go after work, it’s always a lot of plaid, jeans, and dirt.”

“You’re not selling this to me very well.”

“I don’t have to,” he grinned. “Eddie says jump, you jump.”

“No, I don’t-”

“Hey, there you are!”

She was about to tell Gareth off when Chrissy appeared from the mist, shielding herself from the rain by holding her cheer cardigan above her head. Immediately, Dottie slid the van door open a bit more so she could climb in, moving all her knitting supplies to her lap so the strawberry blonde girl could sit next to her. Gareth looked at both girls awkwardly and muttered a quick hello before turning in his seat again and busying himself back with the mixtapes.

“I didn’t know you knitted,” Chrissy said, thumbing the corner of the blanket. “This is so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Dottie smiled. “It’s a gift for my Aunt, she’s having a baby in a couple of months.”

“Aw, that’s sweet! Let me guess, a girl?” she said, pointing at the baby pink yarn.

“How could you tell?” Dottie said with good natured sarcasm. “Her name’s gonna be Rose so… pink for Rosie! It’s not very original but I’m hoping she still likes it even though she’ll be born in the middle of summer.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it. I used mine until I was in preschool, there’s no age limit for a good blankie,” Chrissy said, kindly. “I wish I could do creative stuff like this, it looks fun. I tried to learn to sew when I was younger but my Mom’s so not a good teacher. She made me cry once because I forgot to put the presser foot down.”

“I could teach you a few things if you want,” Dottie offered. “I’m not an expert, but my Aunt is, like, the most perfectionist person on the planet and she taught me everything I know so…”

“You’d do that?”

“Do what, teach you?” the blonde nodded in response. “Of course! We’re friends! And it’s a great skill to have, it comes in handy more than you think.”

“We’re friends?” Chrissy asked, eyes suddenly shiny.

“After everything you’ve done for- Chrissy, of course we’re friends,” Dottie said, grabbing the other girl’s hand.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed out, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “I feel so much better about asking you to sign my yearbook now, I didn’t know if I was being weird or not.”

“For future reference, we like weird here,” the brunette said in a stage whisper, leaning down to get her own yearbook out of her backpack. “Besides, I kinda wanted to ask you to sign mine too so we’re even.”

The girls exchanged books and quickly got to signing, aware that Gareth was pretending like he wasn’t in the same vehicle as them. He didn’t want to turn up the music and rudely drown their conversation, so he distracted himself by drumming on Eddie’s dashboard with two pens, wondering what on Earth had Chrissy done for Dottie that made her so thankful towards the cheerleader. Dottie grabbed her nicest black pen and found an empty space under Eddie’s message. He’d written Don’t be a stranger, Chrissy the Cheery (and thank you for the advice! See you at the wedding) next to a crude drawing in blue ink of a girl with a ponytail lifting one pompon and doing devil horns with the other hand.

After thinking about what she wanted to say to the cheerful blonde, Dottie settled on a nice simple message that was cryptic enough should anyone else read it, but also something that conveyed just how truly grateful she was for this new found friendship. Have a fantastic summer!, the note opened. Thank you for everything. Call me whenever! At the end, right next to her name and a little daisy, she wrote down her phone number. The word everything was underlined twice. When she gave it back to her rightful owner and saw the message Chrissy had written on pink ink on her yearbook, she let out a girly giggle. It was so lovely to get to know you, have a good summer! Let’s hang out soon, it read. Below, Chrissy had also written down her phone number. Both teens looked at each other with a knowing grin and hugged, not paying any attention to the metalhead who’d put them on each other’s path hopping onto the driver’s seat of his van, hair damp from the rain.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute,” Eddie said, grinning. “Did she sign it?”

“We both did,” Chrissy said, returning the smile. “How were the sales?”

“Great! I’m selling my last bit on Thursday and then I’m keeping the rest for myself. A man’s gotta have his vices.”

“What a shame,” the blonde shook her head. “Hawkins is losing its nicest dealer to the workforce.”

“I’m the only dealer you know, sweetheart.”

“Because you’re the nicest one, keep up! I’m gonna have to buy from sleazy dudes now, ugh,” she said while she gathered her things to leave.

“You should have enough to last you until you leave for your pre-season with what I sold you today,” he frowned, concerned that every time Chrissy bought from him, the amounts she asked for kept increasing.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said and shrugged, sliding the door van open and hopping off. “See you around, guys!”

The three of them watched her jog towards the school with her cardigan draped over her head again, her petite figure losing definition in the haze. Eddie clicked on his seatbelt - a habit he’d picked up since he started driving Dottie around - and pulled out of the school’s parking lot, winking once at the girl on his backseat when he put his hand on Gareth’s headrest to reverse into the open road. Dottie rolled her eyes at him, picking up her knitting needles once again. Gareth stared at the school building until it disappeared from sight before he turned to his friends.

“I still can’t believe Chrissy Cunningham is not only super nice to us freaks, but also smokes weed,” he said, making both of the other teens laugh.

James Burke did not think that moving to the town he had grown up in as a quiet wallflower would result in an exponential growth in his daughter’s social life, but truth be told, he wasn’t exactly upset about it. Before packing up her whole life and facing the Big Drive to Hawkins, Dottie had never once gone out for the night on a weekday, much less during the school year. But James had agreed to it, and Dottie had promised to be home before midnight, which brought them to the living room where the tired father sat in his armchair and amusedly watched his daughter pace the entirety of the room swinging her arms around with each step she took.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the carpet, honey.”

“Good. This carpet gives me allergies.”

James chuckled, following her with his eyes as she padded her way to the window once more and peered outside yet again despite knowing that she would hear Eddie’s van first before seeing it, as per usual. She sighed dramatically and resumed her pacing, glancing at the clock on the wall anxiously. Mildly embarrassed upon noticing that her friends were still perfectly on schedule, she took a few deep breaths and tried to get her emotions in control before their arrival.

“You know you can call me if you get there and want to leave, right?”

“I know, Dad,” she rolled her eyes at him. “Stop offering to pick me up from places, you know Eddie’s gonna drive me back whenever I ask.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly comfort me as much as you think it does, honey. That van looks like it’s gonna die on him at any second.”

“Oh, come on,” Dottie argued. “He loves that van, he takes good care of it.”

“The fumes that come out of that thing say otherwise, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt since he’s gonna be a mechanic and all now.”

And speak of the devil, thought James, as the aforementioned smoky van appeared down the street while playing loud metal music. Dottie hurried to grab her keys and a jacket, ready to bolt out of the door and get to the damn dive bar already, but her Dad insisted on walking with her outside to say hi. Eddie and Gareth waved at them as they approached, lowering the music so they could greet the older man properly.

“Good evening, boys,” James said, hands on his hips in a typical Dad pose but with a friendly smile on his face. “How are we feeling? Excited for the show?”

“Hell yeah!” Gareth said, grinning. “We’re gonna kill it, the setlist is awesome tonight.”

“You let him add an Anthrax song to it, didn’t you?” Dottie laughed knowingly, sliding the side door open and climbing in.

“We’re closing with Metal Thrashing Mad,” Gareth looked at her with an expression of triumph.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a riot,” James chuckled and turned to his daughter. “Have fun, but don’t get into too much trouble. Midnight, okay?”

“I’ll get back here by 11, sir, I promise,” Eddie said, nodding once.

“Midnight’s okay, Ed,” the eldest Burke said, putting his trust in the young man’s hands; Eddie nodded again in understanding. “Have a good show!”

The man patted the side of the van as a goodbye and headed back inside, privately enjoying how much he could make Eddie squirm with just a few well placed words. He liked Eddie, he really did - he was polite, unapologetically himself, resourceful, kind. He loved his friends and wore his heart on his sleeve. And he loved Dottie, that much was clear to literally everyone that surrounded the teens. James didn’t know what the situation was like between them at the moment, but he could tell something had shifted based on recent interactions he’d witnessed. In his opinion, there seemed to be some sort of deeper connection between them since that fateful party they had gone to just a handful of days earlier, but James had to admit, albeit a little reluctantly, that even though he had been on the lookout for signs of a romantic relationship developing, not a lot had truly changed.

Eddie and Dottie had always been unusually close even upon first meeting, that was an undeniable fact about their friendship. It was hard to pinpoint if anything romantic had blossomed between them when Eddie had been calling her darling since the very first moment he laid eyes on her, or when Dottie gravitated towards him at any given moment, even in rooms filled with other people. Their hugs, while always having lasted longer than a regular friendly hug, were chaste and innocent, their main purpose always to comfort and to reassure. Eddie’s hands always stayed above her waist, not even so much as accidentally dropping to her hips in James’ presence, and any compromising position he’d found them in was at best playful, certainly never inappropriate.

It wasn’t that James was particularly concerned with the nature of the teens’ relationship; after all, he had been a teen himself once, he wasn’t an idiot. If anything was bound to happen, they weren’t going to ask for his permission beforehand. No, his worries were more about the knowledge that Dottie and Eddie dating while having the same group of friends could make a potential fall out incredibly painful for both of them, and the poor man was just desperately trying to protect his daughter as best as he could. He already felt like he had failed her once, he couldn’t let her down again. And yet, despite being cognizant of the dangers ahead, James found himself trusting Eddie because if Dottie trusted him, how could he not trust that his daughter knew better than her own Dad did about the matters of her heart?

“Okay, be honest, guys. How do I look?” Dottie asked, shoving half her body between the front seats so they could look at her better at the first stop sign.

“You look gorgeous, princess,” said Eddie.

“Like a toddler,” said Gareth, at the same time.

“Gareth, what the fuck,” Eddie deadpanned, swatting at his friend’s chest.

“What? She’s lucky they don’t ask for IDs,” he said, doubling down.

“You don’t tell a girl she looks like a toddler when she dresses up, you asshat,” Eddie said. “See, this is why you can’t get a girlfriend, you know nothing about women.”

“How would you know any better, you don’t have a girlfriend either!” Gareth retorted, making Eddie snort. If he only knew…

“You two bicker like an old married couple, did you know that?” Dottie said, settling back on her seat.

“That’s because we are,” Eddie joked, grabbing Gareth’s hand and giving him a kiss on the knuckles, making his friend yank his arm out of his grasp while the older boy laughed loudly.

Everyone was in good spirits as they journeyed to The Hideout, but whether she wanted them to or not, Gareth’s words made Dottie pause. Both boys had told her dark, casual clothes would be okay when she’d asked them for advice, so she’d gone with a striped dark blue and white t-shirt and black jean overalls, her trusty Reeboks matching Eddie’s keeping her feet comfortable. She glanced at both of her friends through the rearview mirror and compared her clothes to theirs, but that would never be a fair fight: they were dressed for the stage, not to be a spectator like she was. Gareth was wearing a loose shirt with the sleeves cut out, leather bracelets with spikes decorating each wrist along with his usual rings perched on his fingers. He had a flannel tied at his hip and his jeans were incredibly distressed, something that his Mom hadn’t been too happy about when she found out he’d ripped them himself on their driveway with a sharp rock. Eddie sat next to him, tapping on the steering wheel lightly as they talked about the setlist, looking like a vision straight out of his wildest rockstar dreams in acid wash denim and chains. Admittedly, his eyeliner did look terribly smudged, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm and a giddy grin etched permanently into his features.

There was no comparison and there would never be one. Dottie simply didn’t fit in. They were undiscovered rockstars, masters of their craft who had poured blood, sweat and tears into a yet unfulfilled dream, and she was just the high school friend who was lucky enough to meet them before they blew up. She tried to be excited for them, to join in on the fun, but all she could think about was how Eddie was destined for bigger things than to be chained to an elementary school teacher and the white picket fence she had always dreamed of when she was living in a tiny apartment with her Dad back in New York.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Eddie pulled into The Hideout’s parking lot next to Donny’s car, Gareth excitedly hollering out of the co-pilot’s window to get their friends’ attention. Donny took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the side, and hurried to meet them along with Jeff, hugs and pats on their backs exchanged before immediately busying themselves unloading both vehicles. Dottie was quick to mask her discomfort by helping out; a task that forced her to stay focused was always a welcome distraction for her worried brain. The boys chatted loudly, their tired grunts filling the eerily empty parking lot as they moved heavy amps and Gareth’s drum kit into the bar through a service door to the side of the building, leaving Dottie to trail behind them carrying cables and drumsticks.

“Hey, you okay?” Jeff asked, taking a mic stand from her hands, back pressed to the metal service door to keep it open.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m just nervous,” she lied, her smile failing to reach her eyes. “Never been to a place like this before.”

“No one here bites, I promise,” he nudged her shoulder. “And if they do, we’ll fight them for you. You’re with the band, you’re a VIP now.”

“My heroes,” she said, pretending to swoon.

The small exchange might have gone unnoticed had Eddie not become finely attuned to the girl’s emotions even when she wasn’t sharing them out loud. Something wasn’t right, he was sure of it, and he was determined to find out what it was before their set started. He wanted her to enjoy this, to see him doing one of the things he loved most, to let her into a space that up until now had been sacred for him. The Hideout’s little stage wasn’t the Madison Square Garden, but with her in the crowd, he felt like it was the most important show he’d ever play in his entire life.

“I really like your shirt,” Dottie was telling Donny about his Iron Maiden tee, holding his bass for him as he searched for a pedal that had gotten lost in the back of his car. “The black makes your eyes pop out.”

“But I need my eyes,” he whined jokingly.

“You know what I mean, dumbass,” she laughed, softly hitting his leg with her sneaker.

“I was gonna wear something else actually but I couldn’t find it,” he said, frowning at his car’s messy floor. “I have this Halloween shirt- aha!”

“Did you find it?”

“Yep, it was under the mat,” he climbed out of the car and pulled his pants up higher. “My ass wasn’t showing, was it?”

“I would never let you show your ass in public,” Dottie said, giving him back his bass. “We got everything? What do we do now?”

“Yeah, we just need to set up and-”

“Hey man, can you start without us?” Eddie asked, sitting on the back of his open van and patting his pockets for his cigarettes. “Need her help with something.”

“Uh- yeah, sure,” Donny said, looking at both of them suspiciously and noticing how Dottie appeared to be as equally confused as he was. “Don’t take too long.”

Donny hoisted his bass case over his shoulder and disappeared into the building, throwing one last look at them for good measure. While Eddie busied himself lighting up a cig, Dottie shifted her weight from foot to foot nervously. What on Earth could Eddie want her help with right now? Was he… was he going to tell her to leave? Had he realized this was no place for her and didn’t want anyone to see she was with them? Or with him?

“Come ‘ere,” Eddie said, widening his legs so she could stand between them. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or do I gotta tickle it out of you?”

“You know I don’t like tickles.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna have to spill, don’t you, princess?” he flicked some of his ash to the side and wrapped an arm around her hips to bring her closer. “What is it, huh? My eyeliner’s that bad you can’t even look at me?”

“No,” she muttered, lips curling into a resigned pout. “You look pretty.”

��I look like shit. People might confuse me with a raccoon.”

“A pretty raccoon,” the right corner of her mouth lifted into a tentative smile and he took that as a win.

“If it’s not my eyeliner, what’s bothering you then? You wanna go home? ‘Cause I’ll drive you back right now if you want me to, just say the word.”

“No, no,” she quickly shook her head, curls bouncing around but her eyes were still stuck to his knees. “I wanna see you play.”

“Baby, I know something’s upsetting you. Talk to me, come on. We’ve been good at that lately,” he pleaded, thumb sneaking into the side of her overalls and under her shirt to rub comforting circles on her skin.

“It’s just-,” Dottie huffed, crossing her arms and curling on herself. “I feel weird, okay? I look like an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie frowned.

“Ed, I’m wearing overalls.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and? You look like a fucking rockstar and I’m some random toddler following you around. I don’t fit in, Gareth’s right.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck Gareth,” she opened her mouth to argue but he beat her to it. “No, no, fuck Gareth. He doesn’t know shit about fashion, never trust anything he says, okay? He used to wear polos every day before he met me, you knew that? He can’t judge anyone. And I love your overalls. You look adorable in them.”

“But I don’t want to look adorable!” Dottie stomped on the ground, which only furthered his point. “You look so badass, why couldn’t I look like that?”

“You wanna look badass? I’ll give you any of my shirts next time, I promise,” Eddie pulled her closer until she uncrossed her arms and rested them on his shoulders. “But don’t listen to that dumbass. I love how you dress. I really fuckin’ do, babe.”

“Yeah? The toddler thing gets you going?” she asked, melting under his earnest eyes.

“Nah, that’s all you, darling,” he stretched himself up to kiss her gently. “You get me going. And you always fit in with me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Nope, come on, you gotta say it.”

“Eddie.”

“I’m waiting,” he sang.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” she rolled her eyes, but this time her smile was much more genuine. “Fine. I fit in with you.”

“Always.”

“Good,” he took one last drag of his cigarette and threw it away, lifting himself up to close the van doors and direct into the bar. “We’re gonna talk about this later though. I know you’re still thinking about it.”

“It’s scary how much you know me,” she mused, leaning onto his side for courage as they walked to the front door.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pay attention to you?” he said, opening the door to let her in.

Boyfriend. He had called himself her boyfriend. They hadn’t discussed what they were yet; Eddie was adamant about asking her out properly on Graduation Day but it felt good to hear that he knew what he meant to her. That he wanted the same thing she did, even if her anxious heart got in the way sometimes. Dottie was so sure he’d get bored of her once he realized how truly boring she was, but failed to consider that in all their months together as friends, Eddie had learned to love their differences and cherished them deeply. Why would he want someone who was just like him? He was an idiot in his opinion, he’d hate it if she was equally impulsive, messy and brash as he was. She was soft where he was rough, logical where he was a dreamer, practical where he was ignorant. And in turn Eddie felt capable where she was inexperienced, bold where she was shy, and calm where she was nervous. Two puzzle pieces that are cut the exact same way never fit, and Eddie was confident in the knowledge that they were alike, yet different where it mattered the most. It was just a matter of time until she got to see things like he did, and he’d be damned if he didn’t help her get there faster.

“Dave! What’s up?” Eddie hollered as he approached the bar, a bald man with a bushy beard greeted him with a big smile.

“Hey, Ed! The guys told me the big news, I’m proud of you, kid,” Dave said, putting down his rag and a glass to pat Eddie’s back over the counter. “You brought a new friend today?”

“Thanks, man. Yeah, this is Dottie,” he introduced them. “Dot, Dave, he’s the owner - Dave, Dot. Treat her right, okay? She’s our manager.”

“No shit,” Dave laughed. “How did that happen?”

“I got them a gig in Indy next month and they offered me the job,” Dottie said, slipping onto a bar stool next to Eddie. “We should talk business sometime.”

“That’s my girl,” Eddie beamed, squeezing her hand before walking backwards to the stage. “Give her anything she wants, I’ll cover her tab!”

“So, you’re Eddie’s girl, huh,” Dave said, eyes glinting.

“I guess I am,” Dottie smiled, before her expression dropped in realization. “Could you- We’re not, like- The guys-”

“Secret’s safe with me, doll,” he winked at her. “I knew something was up when Ed started adding ballads to their setlist. Now, what’s your poison? On the house.”

“Would root beer be an acceptable choice?” she asked, cheeks burning under her skin.

“Depends. You want ice cream with it?” he threw his rag over his shoulder.

“I’ll never say no to a little vanilla.”

“Attagirl. I can see why he likes you,” Dave said, and disappeared down the kitchen door in search of a scoop of ice cream.

Dottie turned around in her stool to look at her friends happily setting up for their show, palpable excitement coursing through their veins. Gareth was hunched over his drum kit, tightening and loosening the skin until it was perfect while he heard the story Donny was retelling, Eddie laughing loudly and Jeff cringing while uncoiling a cable. They looked happy, barely controlled energy bouncing around the room much to everyone’s amusement. Two older men sat in a corner of the bar, mugs filled with frothy beer and a bowl of peanuts shared between them - they lifted up their drinks and smiled at her in acknowledgement when she glanced their way. Dave was funny, charming and a little bit kooky, all the right ingredients for a good bartender. He kept Dottie busy by telling her stories about every regular that was in the bar, and introduced her to the two men as “the boys’ boss, so no funny business with her”. Rudy and B.B. ate it up, calling her bosslady in all further interactions, asking her about their friendship with Corroded Coffin and telling her silly stories they had collected about her friends over their years as The Hideout’s only band with a permanent slot.

It was clear to Dottie that this was a family built on routine and comradery. They had nicknames for each other, knew about beverage preferences and medical conditions, asked about parents, wives and children. B.B. was all too glad to have someone new to show off the pictures he kept in his wallet, his five grandchildren looking up at Dot from the glossy paper as he shared names and little anecdotes about them proudly. When it was time for Corroded Coffin to finally start playing, everyone paid attention and even cheered when the first few notes of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid began. Dottie sang along to every single word that came out of Jeff’s mic, thinking about that very first time she’d seen them play in Gareth’s garage. This felt equally warm, homey, and handcrafted. A labor of love.

Corroded Coffin was a sight that begged to be seen. They were loud and unapologetic; they crooned to the outcasts, the freaks, the weirdos. Lee with his prosthetic leg and handlebar mustache, Rudy with his white hair and beer belly, Shonda with her leather vest and scary-looking motorbike parked outside. These drunkards were their very first fans, and they enjoyed the Tuesday night gig as much as anyone could enjoy first row seats to a Metallica show in a big arena. During a water break between songs, Lee asked for a Judas Priest song and the boys indulged him, Gareth immediately launching into a complex beat that made him break one of his drumsticks in half at the end. He looked the happiest Dottie had ever seen him.

The half hour show came to a close, and Corroded Coffin said their goodbyes with pure elation and sweat dripping down their faces. Dottie wanted to help them load everything back into the cars, but Shonda kept her busy and glued to her stool talking about New York and the best food places she had encountered on her travels. If Dottie recognized some of the mentioned spots as known queer hangouts she’d always wanted to go to but couldn’t because she was underage, she said nothing, but the knowledge only endeared the older lady more to her. When the guys had finished putting everything away, they surrounded Dottie at the bar and Dave presented them with a beer each. Yes, it was illegal to serve alcohol to minors, but no one cared. They’d earned those fair and square, and what was the big issue with a little toast between friends to the Hellfire Class of ‘86 who would be graduating in just a few short days?

“Since when do you go dry after a show, Ed?” Dave said, grabbing the bottle Eddie had pushed back into his hand.

“I’m driving her around tonight,” Eddie said, nodding towards Dottie who was lost in conversation with Jeff. “Her Dad might kill me if we get pulled over and I’m drunk, and I actually like being alive.”

“She’s got you whipped,” B.B. commented, making the rest of the older men laugh while Eddie’s ears burned red at the light teasing.

“Good for her. Someone had to do it at some point,” Rudy said, lifting his frothy beer to his lips, and truth be told, Eddie was more than happy to admit they were right.

Dottie was not expecting Eddie to pull over halfway between her house and Gareth’s after dropping him and his drum kit off, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t about to let her go to bed without talking about what had happened earlier. He was still a little jittery from the show, adrenaline starting to run off now that they were surrounded by the quiet of the night in a deserted street, truly alone for the first time all day. After reaching to click her seatbelt off, he helped her crawl sideways onto his lap, resting her weight half on him and half on the driver’s door, legs draped over the center console and stretching towards the co-pilot’s seat. Despite the fact that he’d just played a 30 minute set and still felt a little bit damp with sweat from his performance, he took the time to bask in the sense of calm that washed over him. This is the best part of my day, he thought, lazily pressing kisses to the side of her head as she played with his rings, a dazed smile on her face.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair behind her ear and making her squirm in delight when he pressed another kiss to her temple.

“I love you too. You’re my favorite rockstar,” she muttered back, nosing his cheek.

“You had a good time?”

“The best. Everyone was so nice.”

“They better be,” he said dramatically, lifting his hand into a menacing fist. “Or else I’d have to kill them.”

“Stop,” she laughed, arms wrapping around him. “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier. I was being silly and got too into my own head.”

“You gonna tell me what that was about? And don’t say it was about your overalls, because I know it wasn’t,” he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles gently.

“I don’t know, I guess… I was just thinking about the future, and-”

“Uh-oh. Is this it? Are you breaking up with me? Shit, I knew that old dog Rudy was gonna take you away from me.”

“Shut up,” Dottie slapped his chest lightly as she laughed and he pretended to be in excruciating pain, slumping against his seat. “I… I was just wondering if there’s gonna be a place for me, y’know? In your future? And I got upset thinking that maybe there wouldn’t be.”

“Why would you think that?” Eddie asked, uncharacteristically serious.

“I mean… I dunno,” she admitted. “You’re gonna be a huge rockstar and I’m just, like… your boring high school sweetheart that wants to become a teacher. Is that really what you want for your life?”

“Yes. I want you.”

“Eddie, I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, me too,” his hand came up to hold her face. “I’m not gonna become a rockstar, Dot. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

“You’re only twenty-”

“It’s not about my age. Jeff’s leaving Hawkins and he’s gonna be a fancy businessman with a- a fuckin’ pacifist non-profit org or whatever people do in West Virginia,” she snorted at his words and he continued. “Gareth’s probably gonna become the greatest studio percussionist in the world for all we know, and Donny has his family’s restaurant to take care of. We’re all going separate ways, and I don’t wanna do the rockstar thing without them. Like, that’s my band, y’know? I’m not gonna go solo, it’s all of us or no one.”

“I get that, I do but… I just don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams,” she admitted. “You’re gonna resent me if you do, and I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you are unhappy and you hate me.”

“I could never hate you and I’m not giving up on anything because of you, darling, I promise. Is it really that hard to believe that I want a normal, peaceful life with you?” he shrugged.

“But you hate normal.”

“No, I don’t. I thought I did but… I can’t be hanging onto a maybe forever, babe. I can’t do that to Wayne. I want to help him out, have a good job so I can pay for things around the house, move out before I turn 30. Give him back his goddamn bedroom, for fuck’s sake,” Eddie scoffed bitterly, thinking about his poor Uncle’s back after years of sleeping on that shitty fold-out bed. “I want to make his life easier. He deserves that much.”

“But you could help him out even more if you became a rockstar. You could- you could buy him a big house, and he wouldn’t have to work anymore, he could just retire,” Dottie pressed on. “Didn’t you want to get out of Hawkins? Travel the world?”

“Yeah, but I think I’d miss you too much if I was away on the road all the time. I’m already suffering about you going to Michigan and that’s only three hours away. I can’t get on a tour bus and not see you for eight months, you know I’ll die if you don’t kiss me regularly,” he joked.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t be right there with you on the tour bus if you asked?” she joked back but her voice was so, so earnest.

“Darling, I could never do that to you. I could never ask you to give up on a full ride scholarship for me, fuck. You earned that shit, you have to go and get your degree so I can brag about how smart you are to everyone I talk to.”

“But who’s gonna keep the groupies away from you if I’m not there?” she whispered dramatically.

“I’ll chase them out, let the guys have all of them. Got the best and only groupie I need right here,” he squeezed her to make the remnants of her insecurities go away before kissing her forehead.

“I’m not a groupie though, I’m your manager,” Dottie reminded him. “I’ll have you know, Dave and I are gonna discuss business soon.”

“Yeah? You gonna look out for us? Read all our contracts before we sign them?” Eddie played along, smirking up at her.

“I’ll get you moved from Tuesdays to Thursdays, you’ll see.”

“God, you’re so hot when you know what you want.”

“Eddie!”

“What, my girl is the smartest manager in the world and I can’t find that hot? Fuckin’ sue me then,” he laughed and leaned in to kiss her, feeling incredibly lucky about the fact that she chased his lips for more when he pulled away. “I’m being serious, though. I know you don’t believe me when I say I don’t want that rockstar shit anymore, and this is way too brave of me considering we haven’t even gone on our first official date yet, but… I dunno. I kinda really like the idea of coming back home after a long day at work and getting to hold you like this. I used to think having a normal life was so lame because I never had it and now it’s all I can think about.”

Eddie had told himself throughout his whole childhood that he didn’t want to live like his classmates. He didn’t want to have family dinners every night like they did, because it meant he would have had to eat vegetables like broccoli and carrots instead of whatever unhealthy snack he could make for himself while his Dad was out of the house for the night. He didn’t want to have perfect attendance at school, because he liked whenever he could sleep in until late before “going on an adventure” on Wyatt’s Good Days. He liked spending his summers with his Grandma, stuffing his face full of ice cream and pie, and he liked when Wayne had a few days off from his job as a trucker and returned to Hawkins bringing dumb trinkets he had probably bought at a gas station on his way home, but felt like treasures to the youngest Munson. Eddie had told himself he didn’t want anything more than what he had throughout his childhood, because Wyatt said whining was for pussies and for girls, and his son wasn’t either of those things, are you?

It wasn’t until Eddie moved in with Wayne that he found out he really liked carrots because they were unexpectedly sweet and that he didn’t like grapefruit because it was bitter. He didn’t skip a single day of school for a month and his teacher put a gold star next to his name on the wall. His clothes were now always clean, and he didn’t have to wash ketchup stains in the school’s bathroom anymore to hide them from his Dad because his shirt would be hanging from the clothesline the next day like the offending red splat had never been there in the first place. Eddie thought that living in a real house was bullshit, because he lived in a trailer now and the trailer park was fun. He could feed and pet the strays and go to the playground whenever he wanted, and the people who lived there said hi to him when they saw him collecting flat rocks to skip at the lake when Wayne took him fishing on weekends, and sometimes the old lady next door would give him a bite of watermelon if he asked nicely.

But now Eddie was 20, and he wasn’t scared of admitting he wanted more. He wanted a water heater that didn’t randomly die on him, and a bedroom without mold stains, and Wayne to have the privacy he so very much deserved after 12 years of sleeping in the living room. He wanted a garage like Gareth’s, a backyard like Jeff’s, and a loud but loving family like Donny’s. And whenever he thought about those things lately, he always ended up dreaming about lying on a big comfy couch after a hot shower with his sleepy girlfriend pressed to his side and the decadent smell of a roast cooking away in the oven. No rush, no worries. Just love.

“I think about it too,” Dottie said quietly, jostling him out of his cozy fantasy.

“You do?” he asked, surprised.

“I never had a house until we moved here, I’ve always lived in small apartments before. And it’s not like that’s a bad thing, because it isn’t! I’m really grateful I always had a roof over my head. But I used to dream a lot about having a house like my grandparents when I was younger, and… I don’t know. When I think about it now you are there too. I know, I know it’s a lot, we haven’t even, like, talked about-”

“No, no, that-,” Eddie said, an unfamiliar warmth spreading in his chest. “That sounds really nice, darling. Tell me more? About our future house?”

“Well… it changes all the time. When I see something I like, I add it so it’s always different,” she said, cheeks warm at his soft gaze. “Like, it didn’t have a front porch until I met you, but now I know I definitely want one.”

“Why did you add a porch when you met me?”

“Because you have one! I love it when we sit outside when it’s rainy, it feels really peaceful. And also I think it’s really cute that Wayne waits for you there sometimes. I… I kinda wanna do that.”

“You wanna wait for me to come home on our front porch?” Eddie asked, grip tightening around her waist.

“Mhm,” she buried her head on his neck, closing her eyes like she could see themselves in the future. “We should get a swing, I can make cushions for it. And plant fruit trees in the backyard.”

“We could set up the basement to host D&D nights,” he continued. “And a dog. We should definitely get a dog.”

“Yes. A big dog.”

“A big black dog, and we can name him Ozzy,” he smiled.

“Aw, I wanted to name him Bilbo,” she pouted.

“You can’t name a black dog Bilbo, that’s a name for a brown dog,” Eddie argued.

“We can have two dogs then, one black and one brown.”

“That’s too much, we need space for the kids.”

“K-kids?” Dottie lifted her head and stared at him like he’d just grown two heads.

“I thought you wanted kids?” he was confused.

“I do, I just… I didn’t think you wanted kids,” she admitted. “And we’re still so young, it feels strange to talk about that.”

“I mean, I definitely don’t want kids right now but maybe in like… five years-”

“Ten,” she said, in a tone that left no room to argue.

“Ten years sounds great. We could have kids in ten years, right? I’m not gonna be a loser by then.”

“Eddie, you’re not a loser,” she frowned.

“Wait until after graduation to make big statements like that, babe.”

“You’re not a loser. You’re the best rockstar mechanic in the world and Ozzy, the kids and I love you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, wiping his face with his hand. “Princess, you can’t shit like that or I’m gonna ask you to marry me before our first date.”

“Ed?” Dottie said nervously; his hand fell from his face to her thighs and he looked at her. “Are we… are we moving too fast? We haven’t even been on a real date and we’re already talking about, like, marriage and living together-”

“We’re just goofin’ around, babe,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We don’t have to do anything until we’re ready. You gotta go to Michigan first and get your degree, and I have to move out of Wayne’s, we have time. I’m just, uh, putting my cards on the table early so you can yell at me if I start being stupid. That alright with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s alright with me,” she smiled back at him.

“Besides, everyone at The Hideout knows you’re my girl now. That’s bigger than marriage - if we break up they’ll take your side.”

“Am I?”

“Huh?”

“Am I your girl?” Dottie asked, knowing the answer but still wanting to hear it from his lips.

“You know you are,” he pulled her into a kiss before singing softly. “My girl, talkin’ ‘bout my girl… my girl!”

“You’re so silly,” she giggled, noses bumping in the dark.

“But I’m your silly. You’re mine and I’m yours, okay? So no more getting upset at whatever bullshit Gareth says. I’ll kick his ass.”

“It’s not his fault. My brain just hates me sometimes.”

“I’ll fight your brain,” he said, making her giggle again. “You’re It for me, darling. We fit in together. It’s just that easy.”

“Easy,” she repeated.

Eddie had told himself a lot of lies growing up, but the biggest one was that he didn’t want a normal, quiet life, because that was lame and he wasn’t going to conform to the system like everyone else did. He understood now that maybe, just maybe, having the most regular, happy, love-filled life he could get with his high school sweetheart turned elementary school teacher and a big black dog named Ozzy, in a house with a swing on the front porch, enough rooms for children that didn’t exist yet, and a basement where he could DM as many campaigns as he could think of, would probably be the biggest act of defiance he could do in the eyes of a town who thought he would never be deserving of the common luxuries everyone else got to have without having to fight for them.

taglist: @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

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ratcatcher0325 · 10 months

Text

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #30)

Chapter #30. They're becoming a real team!

Previous: Chapter #29

Next: Chapter #31

Word Count: 5,408 Read Time: Approx. 42 mins

CW: adult language

Tag list: @gatlily @patrocolus3 @beautifulunknowntrash @titan-god-420 @andraimeide @themarlo @cup-o-chai @lucentbliss @raccoontoaster @tolsizedlove @not-a-space-alien , @thegodmother007 , @honey-olive , @bittykimmy13 , @aceouttatime , @imvenusasaboy , @liminaldaze , @windshield-patent , @joxter-coded , @rosella35 , @narrans , @rubeau-art , @littlescaryinternetguy , @jae-from-discord , @kitn-underfoot , @secretly-small @writing-forever , @iinogongju , @tales-of-aestus-deactivated2023 , @itsgothgirlthyme , @make-me-giant , @reborrowing , @whatthisfemsheplikes , @soapysoap69 , @tinystrawberryshifter

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #30: Uncharted Waters

[Natalie’s POV]

Wonder Twin Powers? Really Nat? That’s the best you could come up with?

I chastised myself while I rolled my shoulders back trying to mentally reset. Calm down, focus on the screen. I knew I had more than enough work to keep me occupied, but I couldn’t shake the electric feeling of having gotten to hold him, not once, but twice in such a short amount of time. It’s like I could still feel his tiny heart thundering against the ball of my thumb as I propped him up and stroked his chest. His face had turned a bright, beautiful pink, his crystal blue eyes, wide and wary. Poor Alexander. He wasn’t exactly the touchy feely type was he? The part that drove me up a wall is that I knew he liked it. There was too much evidence at this point for any doubt. From that first day when he’d curled around my thumb in his sleep, to the adoration he’d shown under the influence of medication, to how flustered he’d been just now. Yet, he couldn’t get out of his own way. What was that about? A fear of being betrayed? A lack of trust? Or did he just not want to want anything from anyone else? Maybe it was a combination of all three or something else I hadn’t discovered yet.

But he had apologized in his own stiff and far too serious way. He’d literally fallen all over himself in the effort. I thought of the pretty paper flower he’d planted in my hair. My face grew hot. He may have driven me crazy half the time with his antics and weird complexes, but everytime he pushed me to my limit, he’d go and show this thoughtful, sweet side of himself that lay buried under layers of witty quips, sharp judgements and an easily bruised ego.

I realized, all the sudden, I hadn’t absorbed a single word of the last page and a half I’d scrolled through. God, I’m hopeless.

This little spot right by my elbow seemed alive with warmth and energy. Unable to help from peering down and sneaking a glance every now and again, I still couldn’t believe my luck: So far, at least, he’d chosen to stay exactly where I’d placed him, his little chair so close to my sleeve, he could lean over and tap me if he wanted. I became suddenly hyper-aware of all my movements, realizing even a slight shift of my arm could easily knock him over, if I wasn’t careful. Hello, down there, Alexander.

As expected, he was a much better student than me. Absorbed in his work, he leaned into the phone display, scrolling through some document as he read and took fastidious notes. Was it stupid that I couldn’t help but smile when he ran his tiny finger along his lower lip in that habit of his which always showed he was lost in thought? Yes, absolutely. But it didn’t matter. I grinned like an idiot all the same. I guessed what really thrilled me was the chance to get to know him better. I was proud to be picking up on his little ticks and quirks and learning more about what made the Little Nightmare uniquely him.

I found myself trying to peer over the top of his head at his notebook below. What did his handwriting look like? Somehow I had a feeling it was far more neat and impressive than my terrible scrawl. Why was I so enamored with someone simply taking notes? Why would I be happy to sit and watch him do just that for hours? I felt my heart swell. How lucky was I to have him in my life!

It was hard to imagine what things were like before him. Certainly I got less of a daily earful, but I also had no one to share my time, my space, and my meals with, at least not regularly. I hadn’t gone home to see family in months. The coursework was killing me. The day I’d found this tiny blue-eyed thief clinging to the shelf of my pantry, I’d barely slept in a week. My modest, cramped apartment had gotten awfully quiet. Well, besides the occasional next-door cat drama.

I’d known it for a while, but never was able to diagnose the exact malady… that is, until now. I’d been lonely.

I felt the gravity of that sink into my stomach and slither along my spine. It unsettled me.

That word made it sound like I was some fucking sad sack recluse who never got out. One wary glance around my desk with its utter mess of papers, pens, pencils, a dirty used mug here, and a few scattered half empty water bottles there, and it was clear there was room for improvement, as much as I hated to admit it.

Banishing the trash heap from my foremost thoughts, I turned my gaze back to the little tuft of disheveled hair, and the tiny hand that reached out to tap the on-screen keys that were never designed with him in mind. I admired the speed with which his little fingers slid to type out the letters. He had to get both arms involved, just to span the length of the device, which was turned on its side, but he made it look easy. It was clear he’d spent years honing his efficiency.

As I watched him lean far to one side to reach the “P” key, I had to bite my lip to resist the urge to nudge his little chair closer, just to help him reach. I knew well enough by now, that’d earn me a tiny jabbing finger in my direction and more than a few choice words spat out about not letting him do things for himself.

I sighed under my breath. That seemed to be our continual conundrum: How could I help him and show him kindness without him taking everything I said and did as a threat to his autonomy? What was wrong with helping out every now and again?

“I can feel you staring at me, Miss Marquez…” His tone was accusatory. I’d been caught. How could he possibly have known? He didn’t even bother to look up as he continued to copy something down on the tiny page before him. I felt my face flush. How could someone so small take me to task so easily?

I sputtered before managing a reply, “W-well… you can’t be fully focusing either, if you’re so worried about what I’m doing!”

“Natalie, the energetic force of your direct gaze is the proportional equivalent of two full moon beams on a clear, pitch black night… they’re impossible to ignore.” Goddamn. Still, he refused to even hazard a glance up. He could be a mean little thing when he wanted to be. Undeterred he kept right along, “You can’t assist me with my own legal matters if you refuse to study your own. If you aren’t interested in helping, I’ll just go find some other human’s pantry to raid…”

I rolled my eyes and groaned, “Fuck you, little bastard! You’re such a bully!” I pointed my index finger at his chest. That finally got his attention. He dropped his notes in his lap, craning his neck to meet my eyes.

He shook his head, brow furrowing, “Oh, c’mon, admit it. That was good. Moon Beams Marquez… maybe that’s what I’ll call you now. Since you’re so fond of truly atrocious nicknames, you deserve one of your very own.”

“Oh you want a war, Ale-Ale-Oxen-Free? Is that what you want?”

My finger, about as thick around as his little head, dove for his chest again, this time playfully pushing into his sternum and sending him rolling across the desk. The second he began to careen backwards, he gripped the armrests, clinging to the piece of furniture like a shipwrecked sailor tossed about on a tumultuous sea. I could practically see his raised hackles. Poor thing, I wasn’t trying to actually scare him!

His journey across the desk came to a sudden halt when I laid my hand across his path, easily catching him in the soft barrier of my palm, little chair and all. He immediately whipped around to see just what had stopped him. When he seemed to understand he wasn’t going anywhere, he relaxed his tiny white knuckle grip on the arm rests.

In spite of his painfully obvious fright around this whole ordeal, he insisted on pretending all was well as he sucked in a breath and locked eyes with me, puffing out his chest a bit in a far too late display of nonchalance, “That’s some of your weakest work, Natalie. It’s not even remotely original.” Oh yeah? Is that a challenge, little man?

Without giving him more than a second or two to catch his breath, I dove for his little ankle with my finger and thumb, pulling him closer to me. For all his show of bravery, he went right back to clinging to the chair, as he lurched forward, “You know I didn’t have to stop you, just now, I could’ve just let you roll right off the desk…” I brought him close, the tip of my nose only an inch or so from his fluttering chest. I was delighted by the jumpy little thing before me. It doesn’t take much to fluster you, does it, Alexander? His blue eyes shimmered as he blinked rapidly, waiting to see what would happen to him next. Delicately, I balanced his heel on the pad of my index, bouncing it up and down slightly, “Ah, he’s too stunned for words! You know I’d never let anything happen to you, right? It’s way too much fun to tease you to let you go that easily.”

At that, he huffed and rolled his eyes, retracting his leg and planting it back on the floor, “If you’re this invested in not getting any of your work done, the least you can do is be considerate enough not to interrupt mine!”

I wanted to quip back, but I knew he was right. I had completely derailed our efforts. But could he really blame me? I wished he could see himself through my eyes. Then, I was certain, he’d understand why it was so hard not to mess with him every now and again.

Adjusting my spine to sit up straighter, I returned my focus back to my monitor. I was gonna cram this boring ass shit in my head one way or another, goddammit. I started to read, taking notes on key terms. Every time I was tempted to ogle over my tiny counterpart, I reined myself in by fiddling with my blue ballpoint pen. Focus, Nat.

I read, fidgeted, reset, then read some more. The worst part was he would occasionally shift in his chair, clear his throat, run his hands through his hair to sweep the bangs from his eyes, or generally just move about in miniature and it was so difficult not to stare.

I clicked the pen to steady myself. He cleared his throat. I kept clicking. He sat up, board straight. I tried so hard not to let my eyes slide from the screen to look at him. I kept fidgeting.

Suddenly, I felt a tiny, yet forceful tug on my sleeve, accompanied by a strained voice through clenched teeth, “Natalie.”

“Hm? You ok?” There was no rule that said I couldn’t gawk at him if he got my attention first! I happily gazed down at him, still toying with the writing utensil between my fingers.

“Oh certainly, I’d be fine… if…” his face was all hard lines and creases. Uh oh. He was grumpy about something. Well, when wasn’t he? I prepared myself for another tiny lecture.

As he spoke these words, he plucked along the fabric of my sleeve to wheel himself toward my hand, resting alongside him on the desktop. Then, much to my suprise, he threw himself over the back of my hand, reaching up for the top of the pen, where my thumb rested. With a determined grip he clutched the clicking mechanism, staring up at me with blazing eyes “… if you stop clicking this damned pen!” He used his left hand to shove at the pad of my thumb, trying to coax it away from the writing utensil.

He was splayed out over my hand, his good leg balancing on his tippy toes while he kept the other leg away from the ground. His hair was in his eyes, his mouth twisted into a scowl. He was pissed. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. His face went scarlet, even as his little body shook slightly from my bouts of giggling ricocheting from my torso, down the length of my arm and through my hand.

“Why are you laughing?! You are truly the most obnoxious desk mate I could have possibly conjured up and you have the audacity to laugh at me?!” His left hand was quick to grip onto the knuckle of my index for better balance.

“Oh my god, you’re so mad. Look, I’m s-sorry. I’m sorry, Alexander. I didn’t realize how… annoying that was. It’s just a tick… of mine when I’m distracted…” I was barely even able to get a word in, between all my involuntary chuckling.

“Oh really? Really?! You don’t understand how this could be annoying??” He was practically growling at me, his eyes blazing as his mouth turned into a grumpy, dissatisfied frown. He practically smacked the tip of my thumb away and then proceeded to use the flat of his palm to furiously click the pen over and over again in as rapid succession as he could manage all while boring holes into my skull with his vicious little gaze.

I waved the white flag, “Alright! Alright! Point made! You’re just mister particular about every little thing aren’t you? I didn’t even click it that fast!” I guided his hand away with a small flick of my fingernail under his little elbow.

“You might as well for all the noise you were making with it. Do you realize how obnoxiously loud that mechanism is, sitting right next to me?”

“Point taken. I’m sorry, Alexander…” I shifted my grip on the pen and transferred it to the surface of the notebook via my left hand. Then, taking advantage of his body being slightly slumped over my fingers, I gently squeezed his upper arm against the side of my index with the pad of my thumb, anchoring him to my hand. Lifting him up to eye level, I delighted in how his body splayed across my knuckles as his legs dangled.

The moment he was airborne, he flushed brightly, squirming a bit as he gripped onto my finger with both hands. I’ve gotcha, I won’t drop you, you’re okay.

“W-what’re you…?”

“I’m sorry for being a foolish, obnoxious human that kept you from your favorite thing in the world: getting your nerd on. I do solemnly swear before this jury of one to dedicate myself to the serious business of helping this little lawyer-to-be prosecute the hell out of those piece of shit humans that dared to fuck with the smartest little man I’ve ever met.” As I spoke I held my hand up as if taking an oath. He stared at me, a smirk curling his lips as he caught on.

***********

Finishing her lighthearted display of solidarity, she leaned in closer, the tip of her finger headed straight for the crown of my head. It wasn’t that long ago I would’ve jerked away and shunned her touch, but now, I let her clear the bangs from my face with only a miniscule spike in the rhythm of my heartbeats. What sort of witchcraft did she possess that within a few seconds’ time she’d managed to take me from scowling and shouting at her, to quietly thrilled at the touch of her fingertip on my scalp?

Lawyer-to-be. She’d actually said those words, out loud. I thoroughly relished the sound of them. The pad of her index lingered, settling between my shoulder blades. Her touch was warm, soft.

“I’m not exactly used to having to share a workspace with someone so… perceptive when it comes to all the little details. Will you forgive me?” That was a nice way of saying someone with a miniscule perspective and, therefore, a hair-trigger sensitivity. She couldn’t possibly understand though, all her flurries of movements, her thoughtful humming, her simple fiddling with office objects, while minor infractions to her, were frustrating, impossible to ignore distractions to me.

She was waiting, anxiously, for my reply. I propped myself up on one elbow, tipping my chin, “I’ll be drafting a workplace contract that stipulates all unacceptable, obnoxious and counterproductive behavior. Upon your consenting signature, I’ll be willing to consider your apology.”

Her brow furrowed as she wrinkled her nose, “You’re such a fucking prick, I genuinely can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her bewilderment, before responding, “If you want to be a lawyer, Ms. Marquez, you’ll need to get much better at telling when someone is playing a practical joke on you.” Much to my amusement, she genuinely breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, I have no doubt, with you teaching me, I’ll get better soon enough. Now, little nerd, are we doing this? Like, for real?” She offered the tip of her index finger to shake. I took it in hand, and shook heartily, “That settles it. Our case has my full, undivided attention from here on out. Okay?” Our case. I had a case. A real one. And a human to help unlock the barriers that came with filing it, “Don’t look so excited. First of all I’ve never seen you this giddy without hardcore drugs and secondly, you realize that means you’re stuck with me… like all the time now, right?” I couldn’t believe I was just allowing her to lay me across her hand while we had this conversation. When did I become the sort of man who would let a human do this to me and not give it a second thought? When did I become the sort of man who liked it?

“Isn’t that the hell on earth I’ve endured up until this point? What’s changed exactly?”

She visibly rolled her eyes before answering, “Oh my god you’re such a drama king. No, you little bastard. I still had class before. Now, I’m all yours!”

“Ah, yes, how could I ever forget the infamous, what’d you call it? Ah, yes, ‘rat jail’ incident? On a separate point entirely, you can’t skip your lectures! We need all the information we can get. The last thing I need is you falling any further behind than you already are!”

“Ouch! You really couldn’t resist punching me when I’m down could, ya? Nah, it’s fine, I’m close friends with the TA in my main lectures, I’ll tell him I’ve had some kinda family emergency. Besides, he owes me a favor, I’ll guilt trip him into counting me as present and he can just send me the taping of the lectures they always keep for archival. Piece of cake!”

While I disliked the nonchalance with which she was ready to break the rules, I admit it left me feeling thankful that she was willing to devote all her time to me and my work. Was I feeling strangely warm again? The flush of color to my face seemed to know no limit today.

My gratitude was short lived however, when my world flipped as she gripped me beneath my arms and plucked me up, now perpendicular to the floor far below, I dangled between her fingers, as she began to look me over, head to toe. I tried my best to hide the rhythm of my beating heart, but she seemed already preoccupied as her gaze landed on my injury, “While we are paused, though, now’s a good a time as any to mention we really should start doing some PT on that leg of yours before the muscles atrophy too much.” She used the pad of her finger to cradle my right heel, her face showing compassion laced in her furrowed brow.

I cleared my throat to get her attention, “I concur. Though, I’ll have a much easier time working on said muscles if I was ever allowed to use them….” I cast an accusatory glance at the finger and thumb which held me captive.

“You know, on second thought… forget what I just said. I can just carry you around wherever you wanna go…” she rubbed her thumb over my chest. Why did the mere brush of her finger elicit such a strong physical reaction from me? I was all red and uncomfortable again.

“No! No, we’ll none of that! Bad human! Put me down! Right now!” I batted at her fingers, knowing full well it was of no use to fight her grip, she’d have to release me herself. She stuck her lower lip out and pouted, dishing out the puppy dog eyes with extreme fervor, “No! I won’t be contradicted or manipulated. Down, I say!” I scowled, folding my arms over my chest.

“You’re no fun, I hope you know that, little sourpuss.” She cocked an eyebrow, playing the game with as much enthusiasm as I was, before carefully lowering me into my chair.

Slowly, after taking a moment to settle, we returned to our work in earnest. She tried her level best not to fidget and when she failed in this endeavor a terse calling of her name was enough to correct her.

In this way, minutes faded into hours, that cascaded into days, and before I knew it, weeks had given way to months and now we were on our 9th week of working together.

I already filled one of the notebooks I’d been given from cover to cover and was halfway through my second. I’d run through countless pencils during that time, too. She’d always tease me and pretend to read my writing, either by looming over my shoulder or plucking up the tiny (to her) booklet and, pinching it very carefully between her fingers, but, much to my satisfaction, the letters themselves were far too small for her to distinguish with her naked eye. My work was mine and mine alone, a fact that made me swell with pride.

I’d managed to go over Natalie’s data plan on her phone about three weeks in. When she’d glanced down and noticed the warning message, she’d raised her brows, plucking the device up and away.

“What the fuck?! You ran through my entire data plan for the month!! How?! Why didn’t you keep it on wi-fi???”

“Your wi-fi is abysmal. You know this. You complain about it daily. I wasn’t going to let such technological handicaps hinder my progress.”

“Goddammit, Alexander! You realize I have to pay for that right? Please tell me you at least didn’t know I was getting charged…”

“… I had no knowledge of charges incurred…”

“Oh my fucking god! You’re a terrible liar! You did know didn’t you? Little Nightmare, you’re going to bleed me dry, I swear to god. Were you just… not gonna tell me?!”

“Not until I finished compiling evidence! You would’ve switched me back to wi-fi and I would’ve suffered greatly due to those agonizing connection issues!”

“So you’d rather charge me hundreds of dollars than wait for a webpage to load for like… 20 extra seconds?!?”

All I could do was shrug.

“Fuck!”

Clearly, our path to success was not without its occasional speed bumps, but I’d characterize our forward momentum as generally headed in a positive direction. For example, while Natalie made progress on her coursework, with help from yours truly, of course, she also assisted me in exercising the torn muscles of my leg as we began the process of rehabilitation. Working out every day, with the added benefit of having plenty of weight resistance in the form of giant fingers that could counterweight whatever exercise I was engaged in, I made steady progress.

With the help of the aluminum forearm crutch (regrettably provided by the very same institution I was working so aggressively to destroy) I was now able to walk short distances without considerable pain, and I could stand with my weight shifted off my right leg with comfortable balance. In any case, it felt delightful to walk on my own two legs again, even if only for limited stretches.

The other utterly delightful benefit of our new arrangement was that I effectively got to attend law school with her. She’d managed, somehow, to convince her teaching assistant friend to send along the lectures, poorly filmed in the back of a sweeping hall, the auditorium-like seating steeply raked around a small stage, a massive projector behind the professor as he gestured emphatically and spoke into a lavalier microphone. It delighted me to no end how, from this perspective, the camera angled down on the spectacle below, how small the lecturer seemed, dwarfed by the silhouette of students’ shoulders. I would never admit this to Natalie, but as I watched, hanging on every word of his teachings, I couldn’t help but squint and picture myself in his place. Small, yes, but deeply convicted, passionate and knowledgeable, making up for my stature in my engaging rhetoric and undeniable love for the subject I was imparting.

All in all, Natalie saw to it that I ate remarkably well, and we both finally got an adequate amount of sleep for the first time either of us could remember in our recent histories. I admit, I found her less desirable quirks much more manageable on a full stomach and with adequate rest.

She’d even managed to convince me to tear myself from my work on occasion to watch some serialized television show with her, or cheer her on as she played video games with all sorts of fantastical creatures to vanquish. Her taste in media was abysmal and her proficiency in gaming was even more lacking, but… I admit, the way my heart swelled when she laughed until she cried at some poorly executed joke on her show, or she growled in frustration, swearing this time she was going to beat the enemy she’d been trying to vanquish for the last hour and a half because she ‘could feel it in her bones’ and, she was destined to win because she had her ‘grouchy little good luck charm with her’ went far beyond anything I’d ever experienced.

On nights like these, I could always see in the twitchiness of her fingers how badly she wanted to cradle me against her chest or in her lap, but she always settled me on the back of the couch just beside her, lounging in my own designated blanket pile, instead. Her show of restraint meant a great deal to me. And at the same time, I couldn’t help but reflect on how impossible my current situation would’ve seemed to me just a few weeks ago. Not only was I surviving in the company of a human, but… dare I say it? I was thriving.

I was working harder than I’d ever had in my life and yet I’d never felt more at ease or more enthused to leap from bed each day and dive eagerly into the task at hand. And as my heart swelled and warmed in the comfort of the only stable living situation I’d ever known, the world outside the apartment walls grew ever more frigid.

The rainy chill of early fall had given way to the crisp, icy, cold of winter, as snowfall became a regular occurrence. I’d never been more grateful to be safe, warm and dry than when I watched the snow flurries batter the window panes and the creaking winter wind howl through the skeletal branches of the barren trees.

It was on such an icy winter morning, seemingly no different than the ones that’d come before it, that this comfortable routine was suddenly and undeniably altered.

I was proud of the fact that I’d gradually forced Natalie to get up earlier and earlier to take advantage of the day. If it had been up to her, I’m almost certain she’d have slept in until eleven every morning! What a waste of precious time! I’d served as her much maligned alarm clock for many mornings before this, making all sorts of obnoxious sounds until, in groaning frustration, she’d rise. I wouldn’t stop until she stood from the bed on both feet. She very much wanted to throttle me in the beginning and I was grateful she hadn’t given in to her impulses. But now we both regularly woke around 5:30 or 6 am.

All that to say, on this day in question, at the fateful hour of 10:30 am, we’d already cooked, eaten and put away breakfast, shared tea (I’d discovered that earl grey was by far my favorite) and had been working for several hours when a sharp rap at the door pricked both our ears.

My stomach dropped, as I feverishly searched Natalie’s features for an indication on how to interpret this unexpected interruption. Just because I’d become gradually more accustomed to this human’s presence didn’t mean I felt at all ready to be introduced to some unknown stranger.

Her brow furrowed as she sat very still. It was clear she didn’t know who it was either. Locking eyes with me, she clocked my nerves immediately. I admit I was disappointed that she’d read me so easily, I’d hoped I could’ve managed to put on a braver countenance than that. Upon seeing my stiffened spine, she brushed a finger along my back, in an attempt to coax me into a more relaxed state. Suffice it to say, it was hardly effective, “I’m gonna ignore it. Might just be UPS delivering something to the wrong door or like… Mormons or something…” We both pretended to ignore the howling wind and active sheets of ice and snow cascading from the sky that made those theories less plausible.

Another series of knocks, harder, much more insistent. We both jumped at the harsh pounding of bone on wood. Whoever it was, they were awfully emphatic.

“I guess I should probably go see—“ As Natalie spoke, she rose from her chair, crossing towards her bedroom door. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. What if something dangerous awaited her on the other side? I wasn’t exactly in the most advantageous position to help her, even if my leg had been fully functional. Just as she’d crossed before the door, already ajar about a quarter of the way, and her fingertips had brushed the knob, there was the distinct clamor of a key sliding into a lock and the grind of that lock sliding open.

Natalie’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock, while I leapt to my feet, reaching for my cane to steady myself. The color drained from her face as she heard the initial creak of her door opening. She whipped around and leaned down to address me, “Stay here, and hide. Don’t come out until I come and get you. There’s only a few people who know where my hidden key is, but if this is something else… I just want you to be safe, I don’t want you getting hurt. Don’t pull some stupid hero shit on me, you hear me? Keep yourself hidden. Do you understand?”

I nodded, having no intention of cowering like a frightened child while she confronted the mystery currently entering her apartment. She gave me one last look before turning on her heel and exiting the bedroom. The second she left, I scrambled to the pen holder, fishing out her rather sharp letter opener, and brandishing it like a pike in my left hand, I stood armed and wary, straining to hear the sounds of giant footsteps, and an opening front door beyond that, over the cacophony of my own ragged breath and thunderous heart.

I had no clue just what lay in wait for us from behind that door, but I would later come to the undeniable conclusion that nothing would ever be the same from this point forward

#Rule Number One of working with tinies: Do NOT click the pen #Poor Alexander #Nat is so distracting #How dare she #a fraction of justice #oc: alexander #oc: natalie #g/t related #g/t writing #g/t angst #g/t community #giant/tiny #g/t fluff #size difference #g/t

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