#pristine prose

[kanophane]

TNO actually has some surprisingly good music

really impressive for a completely decentralized team of volunteers

#one of the best mods in anything in my opinion #the writing is fucking pristine #tw this is a hoi4 mod about an au where the axis won so like if you choose to check this out #you're going to see some swastikas and some prose about Chinese factory workers being exploited in Japanese Guandong #Youtube #please specifically check out the incredibly pretty flute bit from 0:55 onward in 40 yrs of fascism

[2kmps]

FAULTY TEST

android x reader one-shot | 2.5k | MDNI!!

story summary;; a newfound responsibility of yours has been to record the behaviors and responses of an exclusive, advanced android marketed for the wealthy and elite. he is beautiful and meticulously fulfills your every need. however, when you start to notice odd changes in his usual pattern one morning, you begin to wonder if he's defected.

story warnings;; ducon, implied insemination, coercion, brief sexual content, somewhat obsessive behaviors, overall criticism of society as a whole, prose + heavy descriptions, incomplete ideas but for the sake of this one-shot it is cohesive, ending left vague and open to interpretation, android critiques mc's health, roughly proofread, mdni!!

please interact & reblog if you enjoy!!

He had a face that was structured to be unimaginably beautiful. A sort of face that you'd never tire of looking at, finding something new to admire and touch every time, yet saddled your mind with some inexplicable discomfort and set the hairs on the back of your neck straight like needles. Over time, that feeling had never fully subsided, simultaneously becoming one you craved at every instance he entered a room, like Pavlov’s dog trained to salivate to a bell.

“What is your preference this morning, Tester?” Elio announced himself from the kitchen once your first heel struck the bottom of the staircase. His voice was liquefied velvet, mellifluous with enough depth that you swore even the simplest words spoken could make your heart tremble. “Tester? Are you well?”

You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar, the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable by obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have them install it there. 

Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the beginning of the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, perform flawlessly in anything asked of him, respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma. 

“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained, he was supposed to memorize it but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”

Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious enough that nothing was inhibiting his ability to store away your morning preferences.

“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio said in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”

Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it. 

What's more is he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple, white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand. 

“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long, dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked that they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, dimensions similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy disbursement throughout the day. I have a very gratuitous database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”

You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact. 

“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health, because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor was around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio and he did not laugh.

His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are oddly as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffer with similar afflictions: Lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species. 

“All this is to say is my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this and to conclude, please consider a couple slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on 5th and Lowe, where you'll consume around one-hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”

“Holy shit,” you had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on a gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”

Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge on your routines and have noticed you're at an increasing risk for different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”

Truthfully, you weren't so sure.

Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically, yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker—not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure. 

You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim, if it was any real reason for concern at this stage or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.

The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation, and Researcher Kim’s good graces. 

This, of course, was all only contingent if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp, chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest deviation from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately. 

You didn't do that. 

You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day. 

That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’ clock in the morning, when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull. 

You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said, perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting shoulder height near you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion’. Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”

“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”

“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking the height of himself so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”

“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”

“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps not on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours. Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll still remain.”

You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the Company—in Researcher Kim, you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect. 

“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.

Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed what it'd be like, he felt completely natural on your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing seeking out the fire on your skin.

In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.

Humans wanted to be wanted and adored and cherished and to belong, such was a natural behavior predating all written record; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation and avoidance in the same species. 

Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs before long, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.

His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him. 

You tried to keep in your mind, midst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your groin that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.

“You're beautiful.”

“I like you like this.”

“Moan louder for me.”

“Cum for me.”

“I love you.”

Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.

“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moving lightly behind your ear.

“Another part of my purpose.” He said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones not so velvety as though divulging a well-lain secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant to certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”

You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed. He did not return your clothing to you, but rather piled it under his arm and made the motion to go left for the bathroom down the hall.

Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?” 

Your jaw felt as tight as your throat, as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”

He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk. 

“Very well. Eucalyptus will be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”

You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movements within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a slither of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline even if the price would be ungodly, and consequences treated equivalent to murder if caught.

In a world where humans could no longer love each other, and chose the embrace of complex circuitry and delusion, even the testers needed to contribute to society somehow. 

a/n: so, this is going to become a longer oneshot in the future. it'll be diabolical and dark and awful, but also a needed tale given today's climate on sex and such. there's a lot more I want to explore with my ideas and elio, but yeah.

I'm gonna put up a poll soon to decide on a definitive appearance for elio since I just threw in some random characteristics for this.

if you liked this, please reblog it and interact!! I'd love to hear your thoughts more than anything 😭😭

#android x reader #android x you #android x y/n #robot x you #robot x human #android x human #monster fiction #monster x human #monster x you #monster x reader #monster fic #monster fucker #monster story #original writing #original story #original fiction #original fic #interactive fiction #.02 #2k writes #horror #horror writing #horror fiction #horror romance #dark romance #dark fiction

[sarahisslytherin]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌 || 𝐁.𝐁. (PART III)

summary: you’ve been receiving love letters from a secret admirer and you’re desperate to reveal his identity. contains: benedict being fucking adorable, fluff n' angst! a/n: third part of this multi-chapter fic. PART I, PART II

You hung your coat up on the rack, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving. You made your way into the parlor, lifting a hand to dab the sheen of sweat on your forehead. Your mother and father’s muffled voices could be heard from one of the rooms, but you had no time to eavesdrop.

You scurried up the stairs to your bedroom, anxious to read your letter, to hold it close as if holding your admirer’s hand. He (whoever he was) was your comfort, a safe place. You swung the bedroom door open and rushed to your bureau, your eyes widening in disbelief. It was gone. You searched through the drawers, beneath your pillow, in the pockets of your coats, but it was nowhere to be found. But it wasn't until you heard your mother's displeased call for you downstairs that your heart sank entirely.

You fled down the stairs to meet her. There she stood, fire in her eyes and your letter crumpled in her fist. “Tell me, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“I, I-”

“I tire of begging that you see suitors, that you find a suitable gentleman to marry. But no! You’d much rather waste your youth away on meaningless words scribbled across a parchment!” she cried. “Well, I’ll have you know that this nonsense will go on no longer!”

“Mama, please!” you begged, tears now streaming down your crimson cheeks.

“I won’t hear it, young lady! You will forget about this mystery man who delivers only false promises and pretty prose. You will go to the Bridgerton ball tomorrow night and you will dance with whichever gentleman will have you!” she yelled, and with that, she tore the letter in half before letting it fall to the floor. It was as if you had felt the tear straight down the middle of your heart, and you sank to your knees by the foot of the staircase.

After a moment, you both caught your breaths. Your mother placed a shaky hand upon your head and spoke with a more empathetic tone now. “I only wish the best for you, you must know that. You deserve a good man, something real and tangible that will give you peace of mind and a worriless life.” You nodded. You understood, but you couldn’t bear the thought of a life without love. It pained you so to envision one for yourself. “Breathe, child.” she cooed.

Your father’s voice boomed from the far end of the hall, calling for your mother. She gave the crown of your head a chaste kiss and ran off to your father. You were still on the floor, a creamy white pristine as your future if you could find someone to court you tomorrow night. Pristine and so incredibly dull.

You wiped the remainders of your tears away, your cheeks sticky from where they had poured like two waterfalls. How would you go on without your letters? Without the breathing, living proof that true love did exist. But your mother was right. It wasn’t proof. It was an illusion, a trick of the light; pretty prose and nothing more. You knew this, yet you couldn’t help collecting the two large scraps of parchment by you on the floor. You held them up, pieced them together.

My Dearest, 

I wish I could find the words to express just how much I wish to be with you. I wish mine to be the last face you see before bed and the first you see in the morning when you arise. When I see you, a fire burns deep within me. A desire to reach out, stroke your cheek, to scream “‘Tis I who sends you these letters! ‘Tis I the fool who does not dare approach you!” Well, I’m done with that. Truly, I am. This is my last letter to you. I will not torment you any longer. I will be there, at the Bridgerton Ball. I will find you and reveal myself. If my feelings are unrequited, worry not, darling. One word from you and I shall leave you be. But, if the opposite is true, I would be the happiest man alive. Until then, my love.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @holdthegirrrl @i-padfootblack-things @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @enchantedbytomandhenry @dd122004dd

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #bridgerton

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Hyakunosuke Ogata x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This fic is @dolcezzzza's summer horror event, The Cabin! The title comes a Dum Dum Girls song which got its name from A Season in Hell by shitlord poet, Arthur Rimbaud. I'm not a fan, but each section of the fic starts with a line from his poem bc some of his prose kinda slaps. [ SYNOPSIS ] The summer camp you're working at is being terrorized by a unseen force that is picking off your fellow counselors one by one. [ WORD COUNT ] 15.3k [ CONTENT ] DARK CONTENT, cliche summer camp slasher film AU, murder/character death, gore, alcohol (binge drinking), suicide, vaginal sex, size kink (his dick is girthy okay), strength kink, oral sex, rough sex, facefucking, exhibitionism, biting.

Baptism enslaved me

The past week had been a blur. You spent seven days running around in the heat, trying to make an inhospitable boy scout camp into something inspired. Breaking it in was your duty as your group was the first of the season. The trappings of a long, snowy winter and a violently wet spring lingered around the facilities. Your arms ached from clearing out fallen branches and musty piles of decayed leaves. Your clothes were constantly mottled with cobwebs and dust. Every night when you collapsed in your twin-sized cot you debated on running through the woods towards the highway seeking salvation in the form of a kind motorist.

That’s why you hoped you would spend your last child free morning in the comfort of your cabin. And yet there you sat, listening to the camp director droned on. You melted in the midday sun with your back against a tree, a pitiful attempt to shelter yourself under its leaves.

“I’m gonna die out here,” Shiraishi, your partner for the summer, moaned.

He too was slumped by the tree, his head hanging down limply. You flicked him in the shoulder with your thumb and forefinger.

“You can’t die. Mr. Tsurumi still hasn’t told us what group we have,” you whispered.

“I think you can handle them on your own.”

Sugimoto turned his attention towards the two of you. His cheeks flushed from sitting in the sun. He didn’t seem to mind bathing in its rays.

“Can you at least pretend to pay attention like me?”

His words barely registered. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. A dusting of tan freckles spread across the bridge of his nose, elevating his boyish looks. He was the only one who got cuter after a week of hard labor.

“Sure,” you said, mind still occupied with the slope of his nose.

“Unfortunately our lead counselor will not be joining us for the first couple days of camp.” The director wiped sweat away from his brow. “I’m sure all of you have heard about Yūsaku’s unfortunate… situation.”

“We heard alright,” Usami snickered.

Yūsaku had forgotten to reapply sunscreen and got scorched from head-to-toe. The golden boy’s pained groans persisted through the night as everyone attempted to sleep. Yellow blisters ballooned on his skin, marring his pristine complexion. You tried your best not to think about his affliction.

“But I know we will persevere in his absence. I have high hopes for this summer. Let’s make it a good one.” He smiled warmly. “The campers will be arriving in two hours. Your coordinators, Mr. Koito and Mr. Tsukishima, will have your rosters and itineraries for the week.”

Tsurumi said his goodbyes and strided away to his quarters. You stood up slowly, stretching your arms above your head.

“I feel… like we’re missing people,” you said, twisting your waist. “Where’s your partner?”

Sugimoto looked around and shrugged. He was paired with Ogata, easily one of the most enigmatic people you knew.

“Well there’s Tanigaki,” Shiraishi yawned. “Inkarmat’s with him too.”

Tanigaki’s burly form crested the hill. He looked ashamed, like a puppy three seconds from getting kicked down the stairs. Inkarmat followed close behind with a cooler expression. She looked refreshed and practically glowed.

“Did we miss anything important?”

Sugimoto looked at him with big, sad, wet eyes and sniffled. “Camp got canceled. We’re getting sent home with no pay.”

“And it’s all your fault, like specifically yours,” you said with a glare.

Shiraishi mirrored your expression. “Mr. Tsurumi said your name.”

Tanigaki’s eyes briefly widened before adopting a more stern state. You knew he bought it for a millisecond.

“Am I in trouble for anything?” Inkarmat asked, laughing. She was unflappable.

“No. You’re not being held accountable,” you replied.

“Just in time for Women’s History Month,” Shiraishi added cooly.

It was June and the last time you checked Women’s History Month was in March. Inkarmat snickered and grabbed Vasily by the wrist, dragging him off towards the mess hall. The idea of going inside sounded practically orgasmic. There was zero chance you could comprehend what activities were planned for the day if sweat continued to drip down your spine all the way to the crack of your ass.

“Let’s get our shit and go, like, sit down somewhere,” you said, tone somewhat urgent.

Shiraishi nodded in agreement and offered to deal with the coordinators. He could tell you were in no position to talk to upper management. You decided to wait rather than go off on your own even though your impatience was on the verge of having a body count. Luckily neither Mr. Koito or Mr. Tsukishima seemed particularly interested in speaking to him, or any of the counselors for that matter. You were so relieved 

There was a collective sigh of relief once you reached the shade. You scanned your roster, familiarizing yourself with the names listed.

“Archery on Wednesday?” Sugimoto said, voice slightly concerned. “That sounds cool, but should we really be giving kids arrows?”

“What?! We don’t have archery. We have knife throwing. Well that explains all the knives…”

“That’s not all we’re doing is it?” you asked.

“One day we’re dissecting owl pellets—Oh wait, there’s archery.”

“Do you guys have judo on Tuesday?” Sugimoto asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Shiraishi affirmed. “And then we have Russian immersion right after.”

“Russian immersion?” you asked.

“You know, the language,” Shiraishi clarified albeit for no reason as both you and Sugimoto knew Russian was in fact a language.

“We’re doing that too,” Sugimoto said, yawning. “And wagashi making.”

Other activities listed were: friendship bracelet making and various types of yarn-based projects, mushroom hunting, canoeing, swimming, hiking and giant shogi.

Peace had fallen over the three of you. All you could hear was lilting bird calls and a burbling stream. Just as you had grown accustomed to the wondrous sounds of nature, you heard the crushing of twigs and dry leaves.

“It’s a bear,” Shiraishi whispered.

“There are no bears around here,” you said.

“Even if there were bears, Mr. Tsurumi has a shotgun in his cabin,” Sugimoto chirped.

Shiraishi sighed in exasperation. “Great because that’ll definitely save us right now from getting eaten alive.”

Despite there being a lack of bears in the area every hair on your body bristled. What if you all fell victim to a vicious wild boar attack? You weren’t even sure if wild boars inhabited the area either, but logic didn’t matter. All you knew was you didn’t want to die at camp. You didn’t want to have your flesh ripped from your body by an overgrown, ugly hog or any animal to be honest. You were too young; there was so much you wanted to do in life, so much you needed to accomplish.

“Oh. It’s just Ogata,” Shiraishi said.

Sugimoto’s co-counselor emerged from the redwoods, his expression blank and unreadable. He didn’t react to Shiraishi saying his name. It was if he intended on strolling past without saying a word. Usually you found this type of behavior tiresome and obnoxious, but he made it alluring and charming in an absurd sort of way.

“Where are you going?” Sugimoto asked.

“To camp.”

Sugimoto went to speak, but you butted in.

“You should come sit with us! We got our schedules and everything! ” you blurted out.

Your face was burning. You assumed you would’ve been smoother with your approach. Your fumble didn’t seem to phase Ogata as he took a seat right next to you, leaving zero space in between. Sugimoto was left alone on the other side of the picnic table.

“Did I miss anything important?” he asked.

Sugimoto wordlessly slid their group’s information across the table. Ogata looked it over. 

“Mushroom hunting,” Ogata muttered as he ran his hand over his undercut, trying to smooth down a rogue lock of hair. “Hm. We’ll have to make sure the kids don’t pick anything toxic.”

Shiraishi groaned. “I figured everything out there would be safe to eat.”

“Wh—what do you mean out there? It’s the woods. Do you think Mr. Tsurumi combed through the entirety of it to make sure every little growth out there isn’t toxic?” you asked.

You found yourself compelled to say as many words as possible to make your presence known even if it was at the expense of your partner. It was shameful, but it was an unstoppable compulsion. Ogata’s presence implored you to take up more space. You laughed louder than you normally would. You smiled when your expression would otherwise be one of indifference. You said the things you would otherwise be too lazy to. Anything to get his attention even if just for a passing moment.

Ogata chuckled and your heart sang.

“I don’t know! Now we’re gonna have to watch them like hawks.”

“Our job is to supervise them,” Sugimoto chided.

“Excuse me for not wanting to do my job,” your partner grumbled.

You wondered how feasible it would be to get assigned a new co-counselor. Shiraishi wasn’t unlikable; you got along well enough. But you had a feeling most of the heavy lifting would fall on you.

Shiraishi rested his chin on his hand. “I just hope our kids aren’t assholes.”

“They will be. That’s just how kids are,” you laughed.

“Not if you scare them into submission.”

“Nope. Not happening. Not a chance,” Sugimoto said, demolishing Ogata’s suggestion.

“As long as we all set expectations early it shouldn’t be too bad. They just need to know what to expect from us. Kids are sedated by consistency.”

“Sedated?” Ogata asked with a smirk.

His voice, rich and gruff, reverberated throughout your body. It seeped through your skin, deep into your bones, saturating your thoughts with unseemly things. Your eyes went to his hands, something you always found attractive, only to be mildly disgusted by his dirty fingernails. 

You tried to shake it off. “Domesticated. Placated. Basically they won’t act like monsters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied coolly.

“We should start getting ready,” Sugimoto said.

“I guess,” Shiraishi yawned.

You slapped him on the back. “You can’t be tired yet.”

Your partner whined that he was within his right to be tired which didn’t matter one way or another to you. It was going to be a long day; you could feel it. But not all hope was lost. If you were able to get within close range of Ogata it would be more than worth it.

The horror of my stupidity

The first day went perfectly. Your group consisted of six rambunctious, but generally well-behaved ten-year-olds. Shiraishi managed to overcome his lackadaisical leanings and took a hands-on role, but still deferred to you. You didn’t mind leading so long as he wrangled the more unruly kids. His commitment set you at ease.

The next morning was a quiet one. The kids were usually placid at first. Their cautiousness proved useful while foraging for mushrooms. They kept their hands to themselves and none of them ate anything deadly. The only unsettling thing was Tsurumi’s gleeful reaction whenever a destroying angel popped up.

“Mr. Tsurumi, would you poop your pants if you ate one?” a camper asked thoughtfully.

His dark eyes lit up and he gave the child a toothy grin.

“Why yes! Diarrhea and excruciating cramps are the first symptoms of alpha-Amanitin poisoning.”

Another camper pointed out what they thought was a wild carrot only to be told by an ecstatic Tsurumi that it was actually hemlock. The kids were riveted as he detailed the horrific symptoms of hemlock poisoning. Their horrified gasps when he told them there was no antidote seemed to thrill him.

Upon returning to camp it became clear that all was not well. Shiraishi was the first to notice the white sheet draped over a humanoid shape. It was partially obscured by one of the cabins. Tsurumi’s jovial facade gave way to flat expression and he sprinted off towards the disturbing scene.

“Hey,” you whispered, tapping Sugimoto on the shoulder. “Can you guys take the kids? I’m, uh, gonna be nosy.”

Your partner stood erect beside you. “Me too.”

“No,” you hissed. Shiraishi didn’t budge. “Someone has to be with our group.”

“Why not you then?”

“Be—because I was… I was… okay. Listen—”

“It’s fine. I got it,” Sugimoto sighed. “I wanna know all the details though. If you skimp, I’ll never forgive either of you.”

Ogata cleared his throat. He herded the campers away from whatever was shrouded under the white sheet. They were all clamoring around him, wondering when they’d get to eat fruit snacks. One was crawling up his leg and another was attempting to tie his shoes together. It made your stomach flutter seeing him be so patient with them.

Sugimoto took the hint and headed towards his partner and the gaggle of children, but he stopped midway to reiterate that he wanted all the details much to Ogata’s annoyance.

Once they were out of sight you and Shiraishi crept closer to and saw Nurse Kano kneeling beside what you assumed was a corpse. She lifted the sheet and studied what was under it, her expression a twisted combination of enthrallment and disgust. She stood up slowly.

“He’s dead.”

“We should call the paramedics then,” Tsukishima said.

Koito looked perplexed. “But he’s already dead. Shouldn’t we call the coroner?”

“You can’t just call up the coroner,” Tsukishima sighed.

Tsurumi squatted by the body and lifted the sheet. The director’s curiosity gave you a perfect view.

It was Tanigaki. His face was pale, eyes wide and cloudy. His lips and chin were crusted over with banana yellow bile. A desperate cry got caught in your throat. You wanted to look away and go back to your kids. But you were frozen, lost in Tanigaki’s lifeless gaze.

“Tanigaki,” you croaked.

Tsurumi’s eyes darted in your direction before returning to Tanigaki’s body.

“Otonoshin, go call 9-1-1,” he said calmly.

Koito rushed off to make the call. Tsurumi lowered the sheet. You couldn’t believe that you’d never see Tanigaki again, that he was gone for good. You hadn’t known him long, but you grew very fond of him.

“He can’t… This isn’t happening…”

You struggled to find the words. Seeing the outline of his face under the sheet radiated a finality that ripped your soul from your body.

“I wonder what happened,” he mumbled as you both walked away. “He looked…”

“I—I can’t think about that right now. I don’t wanna think about that right now.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

You wiped your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Let’s hike to the lake or something. I don’t know.”

There was a sense of relief when you spotted the campers. You couldn’t help but smile when they broke out into a cacophony of questions regarding your whereabouts. In the midst of the excitement one camper launched a fruit snack at Shiraishi’s eye.

“You pull something like that again and I’m sending you to Mr. Tsukishima,” Ogata rumbled.

“Anyway,” Shiraishi said. “Who wants to hike up to the lake? Maybe race some canoes?”

The campers cheered and bolted in the direction of Tanigaki’s body. You and Sugimoto chased after them but they scattered like roaches. You could only stop so many of them.

“Hey! Were any of you dismissed?!”

Ogata’s voice cut through them and they immediately made their way back, heads hanging. You hadn’t expected him to be so firm with the campers. He was kind of withdrawn around the other counselors, or at the very least opaque. He mostly kept to himself though his brother was usually fluttering around him. You felt like you barely knew Ogata despite spending time with him, whereas Shiraishi and his oversharing made him feel more like an old friend or a weird cousin. As frustrating as it was, the mysterious haze that obscured Ogata drew you in. You wanted to know more about him, to pry open his soul and study its contents.

“You all owe your counselors an apology.” Ogata’s sharp gaze turned to the kid that hit Shiraishi with a fruit snack. “You especially.”

The kid looked terrified and quickly mumbled an apology. The rest of the campers groaned “we’re sorry” in unison. With the apologies out of the way the four of you prepared them for their hike.

“Look! More hemlock!” one the kids exclaimed. She knelt beside the plant, her face inches from its toxic, white flowers.

“Don’t get too close to it,” Sugimoto said, his voice like that of a concerned mother.

You could barely focus, but the camper was in your group so you felt compelled to try. “Or just don’t go around it at all. Leave it alone.”

“I’m just looking!”

“Looking that close is enough to kill,” Ogata said over his shoulder. “If you inhale the fumes, you're dead.”

This seemed to quell any remnants of curiosity. The campers spent the rest of the hike spotting mushrooms and imitating Tsurumi’s passionate infodumping. The word “creepy” was thrown around liberally. You chastised them for being disrespectful, but you agreed. His behavior made you uncomfortable, especially in the wake of Tanigaki’s mysterious death.

The lake was calm, the serenity of the scene much needed.

“Look!” a camper called out.

You thought it was cute that they were just as pleased to see the lake as you were. However something was riling them up as they made their way down to the shore. Some ran right back up the hill. Their faces paled, their eyes ripe with fear. 

“Saichi, Saichi!!” one said, latching onto his arm. “Look!!”

Sugimoto crested the hill and looked down.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Stop swearing around the kids,” Ogata sighed as he joined his co-counselor to survey the situation. “Shit.”

“What is it?” you and Shiraishi shouted.

“Everyone away from the lake!” Ogata called out.

The kids bounded up the hill and cowered beside you, clinging to you for comfort.

“You guys, what is it?” you repeated, patting a camper on the head. “Is it something gross?”

“You could say that,” one piped up.

Sugimoto and Ogata turned to face you, but they seemed unable to speak. You freed yourself from the kids and walked towards them. Your absence caused them to swarm Shiraishi.

“It’s a body!” one shrieked.

“Um, it’s a lady!” one replied in a bratty tone.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Your body was screaming for you to turn around, but you couldn’t. You felt sick to your stomach. Kids made up stories all the time. They played pranks. Maybe they were lying.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Maybe she’s just sleeping.”

“What are you? Dumb? She’s dead!”

Their voices were all melding into one. Everything began to blur. You knew what was coming. You knew what you were going to see. And yet you kept walking.

It was Inkarmat.

“Shi… Shiraishi. Take the ki…”

You forced yourself to look at the water, trying to ignore her putrefied remains. You leached away its calmness like a parasite. The tranquility you attempted to foster only did so much. You still felt like garbage, like you could vomit at any second.

“What is it?!” Shiraishi shouted back. “And,” he groaned, “I can’t take them all by myself!”

He was right. Being responsible for twelve disturbed children in the woods with terrible cell reception was asking for trouble, but you were too stunned to think up a plan of action.

“Ogata and I will be in the front. You and Shiraishi take the back. I’ll tell Tsurumi when we get back to camp.”

You nodded and started walking back to the group with Sugimoto. Tears welled up in your eyes as you made eye contact with a terrified camper.

“Hey! Ogata!”

He was still on the hill, staring down into the lake

 “We have to go!” Sugimoto bellowed.

Ogata didn’t budge, and Sugimoto did not have the time for such antics.

“I’ll wait for him,” you said, wiping away your tears. “I don’t want the kids to see me like this anyway.”

“It wouldn’t kill them to see that you’re human,” Sugimoto said, trapping you in his gaze.

You sniffled. “Gross.”

Sugimoto didn’t have time for whatever was going on with you either. You couldn’t blame him. The kids had to take precedence. All you needed was two minutes to collect yourself and you’d be a functioning camp counselor again.

Ogata was still frozen in time. Everything was so still you didn’t want to speak, let alone move. You felt like the sound of a twig snapping beneath your feet could send the world into chaos.

“Hyakunosuke.” Your voice was soft, any louder and it would waiver.

Your legs shook as you made your way up the hill next to him. You made a conscious effort to keep your eyes on Ogata, nowhere else. You let yourself get lost in him and studied his face. You were curious about his symmetrical scars and how he got them.

“You’re not traumatized by this?” Ogata finally asked.

You thought about Tanigaki.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he said, pointing at Inkarmat’s bloated corpse.

“Why are you asking?”

“I dunno. Curious I guess.”

Your mind went blank, but you kept speaking. “I’m… upset obviously. But I don’t want the kids to know… so… I’m—I am gonna pretend none of this ever happened and get through the week in one piece hopefully.”

“I know you can do it.”

His support did little to soothe you.

“I saw Tanigaki earlier. I saw his face. It was… He had puked all over himself and it just was so sad, like so undignified.” Ogata snorted, but you were too frazzled to comprehend it at the time. “And now that’s how I’m going to fucking remember him?” You tried to take some measured breaths. “Like was he in pain? Was he scared? Did he call out to any of us? Did he die, like, knowing we cared about him? Or did he just fucking lie in the dirt for hours, wondering why none of us came to help him?”

“Where was he?”

“His cabin. It kinda looked like he was leaving, or maybe he was going back in. He was on his back though.”

You couldn’t say anything more. You needed as much distance from the memory as possible. If Ogata wanted to know more, he would have to badger Shiraishi.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly. “They’ll probably have to ask us a bunch of questions.”

“They? Who—”

“Maybe Tsurumi. Or his two guard dogs. Or the police. If we’re lucky maybe it’ll be all of them.”

Your bones were turning into dust, your body buckling under its own weight. You saw far too much today and said too much about it.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

“I can’t move.”

You knew that in theory you could manipulate your body in such a way that would create distance between you and what remained of Inkarmat. You were practically screaming at yourself to go back to the group and embody Shiraishi’s laid back nature. But your fear was intangible, unforeseen, and there was no escaping it.

“Get on my back.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll carry you,” he said, readying himself to give you a piggyback ride.

“Are you sure?”

“Probably.”

You felt bad for giggling, considering you weren’t far from a corpse, but the lightness of it set you free. You hopped on his back and made your way through the woods, following the shrill voices of your campers.

“I’m going to need a drink after today,” Ogata grumbled.

“What do you mean a drink? I need an entire fifth to myself with one of those sport caps they have on water bottles screwed on top.”

“I can make that happen.”

Ogata said it with such ease. He was becoming the perfect distraction, a comforting beacon in a sea of blood and vomit.

I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am

You and your fellow counselors decided a night of binge drinking was needed to cope with the day’s horrifying events. Everyone traded stories. Yūsaku joined the party, finally able to walk upright without yelping in pain. He was blindsided by what happened.

“So that’s it? They’re dead?” he asked, face flushed from his sunburn and the copious amounts of watery American-style lager he was drinking.

You took a sip from a bottle of tequila. Ogata managed to screw a sports cap on top making your dream a reality.

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah. They’re dead. That’s for sure.” The alcohol had softened the blow of seeing both of their bodies. “Seeing Tanigaki fucked me up… Not that Inkarmat didn’t… It’s just, like, his was the first I saw, y’know?”

“You always remember your first,” Usami said as he wandered into the woods to relieve himself.

Yūsaku shivered and you washed away Usami’s words with an amnesia seeking gulp of tequila.

“Sucks for you though. You’re gonna have to pick up the slack.”

“I don’t mind. It’s what I signed up for,” he beamed. “The kids really liked Inkarmat though. I have some big shoes to fill.”

“I think you’ll be a hit. They might try to peel off loose pieces of your skin though.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take for the good of the camp!” he cheered.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed.

“In a bad way?” he said, batting his long eyelashes.

You thought he was a total dork, but his optimism was infectious. Or maybe it was just your intoxicated mind being more open to suggestion. After having such a horrendous day it was nice to indulge in someone else’s dream. You knew deep down that there was no way camp would go on as planned, but it was easier to pretend that Yūsaku’s drive would be enough to pull everyone through.

“No, no,” you said, patting him on the head. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Out of the corner of you watched Ogata emerge from the woods and sit on the ground right next to the campfire. He held his hands to the fire. You watched as he closed his eyes, his body relaxing, shoulders lowered.

“You’re so nice” Yūsaku said, giving you a bear hug and lifting you off the ground.

It caught Ogata’s attention and he narrowed his eyes as his half-brother spun you around.

“Yū—Yūsaku, I’m getting dizzy.”

He blushed and apologized. Once your feet were on the ground you joined Ogata by the fire.

“How’s the bottle been working out for you?”

“Amazing,” you said, taking another drink. “Are you cold?” You scooted closer to him. “Where’d your jacket go?”

“I’m not sure. Why all the questions?”

You didn’t think two questions were considered a lot. “No reason.”

You hadn’t thought this conversation through. You were stumped and floundering. You should have known better to attempt to flirt while drunk. Your chance was slipping through your fingers and it made you ill. You needed something good to happen, something exciting. You needed Ogata to figure out that you were charming and interesting and most importantly fuckable.

He closed the gap and leaned against you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Maybe. I… I have no idea honestly. I don’t know how I feel. Sometimes it’s like,” you took a sip of tequila, “I feel freaked the fuck out. But then sometimes I feel abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Like right now. It feels like it didn’t even happen. Are you okay?”

“I am. I only knew them for a week so they didn’t matter much.” His comments were so callous. “Don’t get me wrong. They were nice people, but that’s all they were to me.”

“Nice people,” you repeated.

“Yeah. Nice people.”

“Would you be sad if I died?”

He stared into the fire. “Maybe. Our groups get paired together for activities.”

“What does that mean?!”

“I’m around you a lot. Your absence wouldn’t go unnoticed,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks flared up and found it increasingly harder to hold it together. You regretted all the tequila. Spit was pooling in your mouth.

“Yeah, well. Of course it would. I’m, like, fucking… yeah,” you said, eyes half-lidded.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

“I think the kids and the—their, uh, inarticulateness is rubbing, you know, off.”

“Oh yeah, that’s it. It’s definitely not because your blood is 90 proof.”

“You want some of it?”

You gave him a sloppy wink. His dark eyes widened, his eyebrows raised. It was the first time you had ever seen him so flustered.

“I—” he stuttered.

“Hey,” Shiraishi barked. “You guys seen Vasily?”

Ogata resumed his usual hard to read demeanor. You wanted to break the bottle in your hand and gut Shiraishi with it.

“Uhhhhh… Not like recently. I thought he was with you and Sugimoto,” you replied politely through a clenched jaw.

“We thought he was with you.”

“He could’ve went to bed early,” Ogata suggested.

“Hmmm yeah. I wouldn’t blame him,” you said.

“We should do that,” Shiraishi said, pointing at you. “We have target shooting at seven in the morning.”

You groaned. He was right, a good night’s rest was necessary. It killed you to say good night to Ogata, but there was always tomorrow. You didn’t need to rush things. 

I looked on the disorder of my mind as sacred

You woke up the next morning with a persistent ache near your temples. You rolled out of bed and dug around your suitcase for some ibuprofen. You grabbed four and choked them down with room temperature water. It felt thick as it made its way down your throat. The sun was just starting to rise, the sky a dreamy shade of lavender.

It was weird to wake up alone. You hoped that it would be easier the second time around, but Inkarmat’s absence weighed heavy on you. You couldn’t figure out how she made it to the lake. The last time you saw her she said that she was going to fuck Tanigaki and to cover her ass if needed. She must have gotten lost on her way back from wherever it was she met him. Maybe she took a wrong turn and fell. Or maybe Tsurumi had something to do with it.

“Good morning!!”

Shiraishi’s cheery voice cut through your thoughts. You got up and let him in.

“Tsk, tsk. Still in your pajamas. What am I gonna do with you?”

He handed you an enamel mug full of coffee.

“Tsurumi wants to talk to us in an hour. I ran into him when I was going to take a piss.”

“Did he seem worried?”

“Not really.”

“Weird… I think he has something to do with it. He killed Tanigaki for sure and he probably killed Inkarmat too.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I think Tsurumi poisoned him with hemlock. What we saw lines up with the symptoms he told us when we went mushroom foraging.” Shiraishi didn’t look convinced. “Like do you think this is all a coincidence?”

“Why would he kill him though?”

“People kill without motives all the time.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Seriously? He’s a creep. Who else would it be?”

“I don’t think it’s a person,” he whispered suddenly. His eyes shifted from left to right. “I think this place is haunted.”

“Oh yeah? Did Inkarmat read some passages out of the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis? Did she release the Deadites? Or maybe the soul of a drowned ex-camper is wandering the woods and picking us off one by one.”

Shiraishi was an idiot. There was no way the camp was haunted. You kicked him out and got dressed. You felt like you were moving in slow motion. You didn’t want to have some group discussion about what happened the day before. You wanted to put it in the past and focus on the kids and their activities. You wanted to finally have a canoe race.

When you walked into the mess hall it was dead silent. You took a seat next to Ogata much to the disappointment of Shiraishi and Sugimoto. There was an empty seat in between them.

“Where’s everyone?” you asked.

“No one’s seen Vasily or Usami since last night. And Koito’s with the kids. We’re just waiting on Tsurumi.”

“What about Nurse Kano?”

“I dunno…”

“Sorry I’m late!” Yūsaku said breathily. His hair was wet and his clothes were haphazardly thrown on.

“We haven’t even started yet,” Ogata groaned. “Sit down.”

Five minutes later Tsurumi came in with Tsukishima following behind like a shadow. He looked tired. His normally neat hair was askew, several strands of hair grazing his face, and his clothes were wrinkled.

“There’s no easy way to begin this discussion. We’re down four counselors. Genjirō and Inkarmat are dead, and apparently some of you are missing. That means there are twelve campers without any supervision.” He pointed at Yūsaku. “Yūsaku, you’re their counselor now. We’re also down a nurse. I received a note this morning from Nurse Kano saying, ‘I’m done with this shit. You’re not paying me enough and if I see you again I’m going to skin you alive.’ Needless to say, I would appreciate it if we kept any and all injuries to a minimum.”

Shiraishi raised his hand. “What if there’s an accident?”

“There won’t be any accidents!”

It was the first time any of you heard Tsurumi raise his voice. He took a deep breath and continued speaking, his tone even.

“The police have been informed about the disappearances. They said,” he sighed, “they’ll keep in touch.”

Sugimoto’s hand shot up. “Mr. Tsurumi, I have a question.”

“Yes, Saichi.”

“Shouldn’t we cancel our activities today and go look for Vasily and Usami?”

“I see no reason to punish innocent children for our failings.”

“Aww,” Shiraishi said quietly. “That’s so sweet.”

“It’s best to leave this up to the authorities. The last thing I want is for one of you to get hurt. We’re short staffed as it is,” Tsurumi said before ending the meeting.

The campers were full of questions, but overall the day was peaceful. Target shooting went well, and the kids loved learning Russian. Whenever Tsukishima wasn’t paying attention Ogata would teach them a few swear words. They lived for it, laughing like hyenas as Tsukishima tried to figure out what was so funny. Things felt kind of normal.

Sugimoto was the one to finally suggest going on a night hike after dinner. He thought Tsurumi was stupid for not utilizing everyone in the search, and it weighed on his mind all day.

“I can’t believe the cops didn’t show up,” he said, turning on his flashlight.

“That’s illegal, right?” Shiraishi asked.

Ogata yawned. “It might be, but they don’t care.”

“Whatever,” Sugimoto said dismissively. “I’ll probably regret saying this, but I think we should split up. We’ll cover more ground.”

“I’ll go with Ogata,” you blurted out.

Sugimoto’s millisecond of confused silence opened a window for Ogata to direct the hastily thrown together operation.

“We'll go further up the mountain and check the trails. You guys stay at this elevation and search the woods. I’m sure they got lost. I’d say let’s bet on it, but I know you’re all broke.”

Shiraishi nodded, but Sugimoto looked annoyed beyond belief. You watched as they melted away into the darkness eagerly awaiting your alone time with Ogata.

“It’s better if we both have one,” he said, handing you a flashlight. “You said my name pretty fast back there.”

Your palms began to sweat. You had been too eager.

“I don’t know,” you said, pushing a low hanging branch out of your face. “Shiraishi’s been getting on my nerves.”

You cringed at your lie. Hopefully Ogata would deem it inconsequential and forget you ever said it.

“Is he really that bad?”

“Uh, well, you know… He—sometimes it’s like he’s just so obnoxious.”

“He is pretty annoying. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I’m, um, just really good at tolerating people. It’s hard though.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

You were good at hiding it because you loved having Shiraishi as a partner.

“Thank you.”

“It’s too bad we weren’t paired together. Sugimoto’s an asshole,” he sighed.

The two of you walked cautiously down the trail. You grew more and more nervous as it got steeper. Every twig felt like a landmine. You kept your eyes on the ground. It proved to be a terrible idea because you ended up walking right into Ogata. He fell forward, dropping his flashlight.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you said, cradling him in your arms.

He looked up at you. His forehead and his arms were covered in swaths of raw skin and blood. He tried to get up, but only managed to roll onto the ground. You pulled off your sweatshirt and put it under his head as a makeshift pillow.

You dug through your backpack for your first aid kit. It was nearly empty already because your group of campers loved skinning their knees. You found a few alcohol wipes and some gauze. You wanted to punch your past self for not refilling it, but now wasn’t the time for self-flagellation.

“It’s gonna sting.”

“I’m not a child. You don’t need to remind me.”

“Damn, okay,” you said, cleaning the wound on his head.

“Sorry…” he mumbled.

It was just a superficial scrape, but of course the urge to spiral was present. Despite your attempts to be optimistic your mind went to the worst places. 

I gave him a traumatic brain injury. I cracked his beautiful skull. I killed him and Mr. Tsurumi is going to be so fucking mad at me!

“No. I’m sorry. I’m the idiot that made you fall.”

“Good point. I take back my apology.”

You slapped an alcohol wipe on one of the cuts on his arm. His pained groan was like an angel singing your name.

“What day is it?” you asked, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs.

“June 8th.”

“What’s the time?”

He paused. “I don’t know. It was around 10 when we left.”

“Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Sleepy?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what ha—”

“You shoved me and I fell.”

“Shove makes it seem like it was intentional.”

“It was.”

“No it was not.”

He sat up. “Yes it was. You shoved me because you have a huge crush on me and you can’t stand it.”

“You definitely damaged your brain. Like, you’re so unwell right now. It’s sick.”

He laughed. “Don’t deny it. You can be honest with me.”

“I was looking at the ground! There were exposed roots!”

He pulled his arm away from you and grabbed you by the jaw. “If that’s all it was, why do you look nervous?”

“That’s just my face.”

“It’s a cute one.”

You panicked and tried to think of a cool, couth response, but nothing came. You just sat there, brain filled with white noise. The air was heavy; you felt like you were choking. You kept your breathing steady, but it was a herculean effort. All your energy was going into keeping yourself in one piece. The longer those four words sank in, the harder it was to retain your humanity.

It’s a cute one. It’s a cute one. It’s a cute one.

Your hesitation evaporated and you clumsily kissed him. Despite his words he seemed unimpressed with your agency, giving nothing in return. And in turn you felt nothing. It was like you were holding him hostage rather than sweeping him off his feet.

“Um, we should… go back to camp.”

The relief you felt upon finding Sugimoto and Shiraishi was immense. However your fellow counselors remained missing. You couldn’t help but feel like you were hunting for ghosts.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul

Much to the chagrin of Shiraishi, Tsurumi asked you to help Yūsaku and his twelve campers. It wasn’t ideal. Managing kids you weren’t familiar with was rough. They tested you left and right. They relished in lying about their names, snickering when you’d try to chastise them. They seemed to have a modicum of respect for Yūsaku though.

“How’s it going?” Shiraishi asked during your lunch.

“It’s—”

“Well I’m having a terrible time. These kids hate me. They keep asking when you’re coming back.”

You laughed. “Did you tell them never? Because I don’t see Tsurumi letting the golden boy stuck with a bunch of kids on his own.”

“It’s not like he needs you! I’m dying out there!”

“You have Sugimoto.” You sighed. “And Ogata.”

“They’re barely any help. Sugimoto’s too busy trying to solve a murder mystery like he’s Columbo. And Ogata’s too busy being his weird self. I think he’s pissed off at Hanazawa.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why. Maybe he’s jealous that Hanazawa is—”

“Working with me?” you asked, your eyes full of stars.

“Psh. No. Part of me thinks Ogata just wants to be Tsurumi’s pet.”

 “Oh. No yeah, you’re right.” You stared off into space. “He totally wants to be the golden boy.”

“You’re both wrong.” Ogata silently took a seat next to Shiraishi. Your head was swimming. “I just hate being here.”

“Then why glare at your brother?” Shiraishi asked haughtily.

“Are you an only child, Shiraishi?”

“Probably.”

Ogata smirked and changed the subject. “How is working with him?”

His tone wasn’t threatening, but the flatness of his gaze made you feel like you were being interrogated.

“It’s fine!” you exclaimed a bit too hurriedly. You tried to save face by tempering your tone to match the coolness of Ogata’s. “I mean, yeah, like, it’s okay. The kids like him, which is good because they can’t stand me. I don’t mind him, you know, taking the lead. He is the lead counselor.”

“It looked like he was doing all the work.”

His words were a wasp’s sting.

“You’d be stupid not to take advantage of that dork,” Shiraishi said in an attempt to bandage your wound.

“I’m not taking advantage of him.”

“Shiraishi has a point.”

“No he does not!”

“You can admit it,” Ogata teased.

“There’s nothing to admit. What am I supposed to admit?”

He paused.

“You know you hate being here just as much as everyone else.”

You glared at Ogata. “If I hated being here, I would leave.”

“Sure you would.”

“Yeah! Exactly. I would.”

Shiraishi scurried away awkwardly, though to be honest you barely noticed.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “How can you be so sure of something like that?”

“Because—because I know myself? This isn’t, like, some hypothetical thing. If I didn’t want to be here, I would leave. But I’m invested in whatever the fuck is going on… And I like my kids! I care about them! Okay, not the ones I have right now. Honestly fuck those ki—oh god.”

Ogata was trying to hold back a laugh. “Child hater.”

“I don’t hate kids! Even kids that are little shits. I’m just…” You carefully chose your words. “Not fond of some.” You regained your conviction. “Regardless it’s not like I could ever leave any of them behind.”

“It’s so funny.”

You tilted your head, awaiting an elaboration.

“You all say the same thing. The way you say it is different, but—”

“What are you talking about?”

He stood up and patted you on the head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

You thought about chasing after him, but there was only ten minutes left of your lunch and you hadn’t even touched your food. You choked it down and searched for Yūsaku. You found him sitting in the grass, telling the kids one of his numerous summer camp tales.

“And that’s how I learned you should never eat mud.”

You joined their circle. “How was the jigen-ryū class?”

“Boring,” one chirped.

“Lame,” another admitted.

“I hate Mr. Koito.” one said bluntly. “Why does he scream so much?”

Yūsaku nervously chastised the kids.

You giggled. “That’s a great question. But I have an even better one: who wants to have a canoe race?”

The kids were eager for normalcy, typical summer fun, and you couldn’t blame them. You sought it yourself. Anything to shake off your conversation with Ogata. You felt like it poked holes in your brain. You hoped in utter desperation that the laughter of children and the afternoon sunlight dancing across Yūsaku’s precious face would fill them.

And for a brief moment they did. But Ogata remained a looming presence. He was so distracting you came dead last in the race. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything other than him watching from a distance like a hunter.

A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned

You went to bed early that night though you failed to drift away. You were in a fetal position, snuggled up in your sleeping bag, looking up at the Milky Way through your window for hours. You couldn’t get Ogata out of your mind.

“Idiot,” you murmured as you flipped over onto your back, not sure if you were calling him an idiot or yourself.

You stretched out and took up every inch of your bed. Your joints popped, the satisfaction from the sound soothed your soul. There was the chance this was as worse as it would get. Yes, people were dropping like flies, disappearing mysteriously. Yes, the camp director was a blatant freak. Yes, Ogata was fucking with your head. But the canoe race was normal! It was benign and expected! Those moments were few and far between so far. Maybe this was a good omen, a sneak peak of the placidity that was going to follow.

Pretending to be optimistic successfully lulled you to sleep. But rapid, and somehow pathetic, pounding on your cabin door ripped you from your slumber. You groaned audibly, hoping whoever was in desperate need of your attention would feel a semblance of shame. You got out of bed at a sloth’s pace and sighed before opening the door.

“Are you busy?” Ogata asked.

“I was sleeping.”

He gently pushed you out of the way and entered the cabin, a stiffness and urgency embodied in the swift movement. Your grip on consciousness was tenuous at best so you didn’t protest.

“Everything, uh, good?” you asked.

“If I said I wanted to apologize, would you believe me?”

You scoffed. “Not after asking me that.”

He sat down on your bed, and you struggled to hide your disgust. You couldn’t stop thinking about the fetid remnants of the woods that lingered on his sweatpants. Having him take them off crossed your mind.

“Well I am.”

“You’re what?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it… All the stuff I said.”

“You sure about that?”

He attempted to smooth down a strand of his hair. A hoarse mhm resonated in his throat.

“You’re so easy to rile up. I couldn’t resist.”

“Well,” you groaned. “Thanks. I guess.”

You figured he’d get up and leave, but instead his presence lingered, growing heavier by the second. His eyes were restless, his body tense.

“Do you mind if I stay the night?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the floor.

It was such an abrupt question. All you could do was choke out an affirmation. You knew kicking him out was the smart thing to do, but his perceived permanence on your bed overwhelmed you. The rational voice in your head grew fainter, your lust forcing its way through your papery veil of self-preservation. You were nothing more than your repressed urges.

“Are you sure?”

Dumb question. You’d never been so sure of something in your life. You couldn’t recall any form of previous trepidation though you weren’t trying particularly hard to do so.

“Yeah,” you answered, sitting beside him.

You leaned in. His sweatshirt smelled like wet leaves and copper. You used his thigh to steady yourself. He turned his head, his dark eyes looking through you. It was unnerving, but not enough to trigger common sense.

“Aren’t you hot?” you asked, laughing as the question tumbled from your mouth. His answer didn’t matter. “You’re making me sweat.”

You tugged at his sweatshirt. It felt dirty, heavy with sweat and earth. He took it off without a stitch of hesitation. Your eyes trailed down his arms, longing for them to be wrapped around you. It was the only way you’d make it through the night.

“I run cold,” he practically purred.

Cliche comments ran through your head.

That’s so funny because I could totally keep you warm, big boy.

I’m burning up, why don’t you cool me off with your stupid, gorgeous body?

“That’s cool.” Your brain shut down. “I want you.”

Your bluntness seemed to please him. His lips curled into a half smile before he pulled you into a kiss. He wasted no time, pushing his tongue past your teeth. He caressed your cheek as his tongue brushed up against yours, soft and warm. He pulled you onto his lap and rubbed the inside of your thigh with his rough hands. You tugged at his shirt, the cotton damp with sweat. He lifted it up and pulled it off, letting it drop on the floor.

“You should lie down,” you said, breath hot against his neck.

“Am I easier to take advantage of that way?”

“Excuse me?”

Your question went unheeded and he reclined on your bed, beckoning you to straddle him. You looked down at his body, muscles perfectly toned like they were crafted by the gods. He looked so pleased with himself, like he’d won an award. His cock was hard against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. It ached against you.

You studied his face. There were a few faint, red scratches across his cheek. You ran your thumb down one, feeling the slightly swollen skin. He winced.

“What happened?” you asked.

He exhaled. “I fell.”

“Like recently or?”

“On my way over.”

“How?”

His right eye twitched.

“I tripped,” he said, words clipped.

“On what?”

You never knew him to be clumsy, if anything he was rather feline in his agility. His fingers dug deeper into your hips before rolling you onto your back and getting on top of you. He pressed his rough palm over your lips.

“Hush.” His tone was nauseatingly sweet.

“I’m serious, are you okay?” you asked, voice muffled by his hand.

He titled his head and stared into your eyes with a calculated gaze.

“Isn’t it a little late for you to be so talkative?”

It was astounding how easy it was for him to shut you down. Granted you weren’t steadfast when it came to Ogata. You couldn’t take a firm stance. How could you hold onto a belief when you couldn’t predict his reaction to it? You wanted to be palatable and if that meant bending like a willow to his incomprehensible will then so be it.

“You’re so cute,” he said, removing his hand. “You’re like a scared deer.”

He lifted up the oversized t-shirt you liked to sleep in and pulled off your underwear. His fingers grazed your folds, coating them in your arousal. You swallowed hard, spit catching in your throat, as he slid them into your cunt. They curled inside you, pressing against your walls. The pressure made your skin tingle.

His gaze was attentive but cold. You felt studied, examined. It bred a twinge of looming uncertainty, one that settled in your stomach. But he didn’t hesitate with a remedy. He pushed his fingers as far as they could go and began fucking you with them. Your concern disappeared as fast as it came. Your eyes glazed over, ensnared by the man looming over you. You tried in vain to hold back your pleased whimpers.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re falling apart so fast.” His lips grazed your lobe.

Apologizing crossed your mind, but you kept your mouth shut. You writhed underneath his weight, rutting up against his fingers as they fucked your slick cunt.

Your hands wandered down his back. His skin was soft and sticky with sweat. You let your fingers trail down his spine before settling on the crest of his ass. You yanked down his briefs and dug your fingers into the taut flesh. He flashed an impish smile and pulled them down, kicking them off. The head of his cock was leaking precum. He tugged on it and bathed in your starved gaze.

“You want me so bad,” he said haughtily. “Tell me how bad you want me.”

You sighed as he jerked himself off. “I feel like I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I need you.”

“Then beg for it,” he growled.

“Please. Please fuck me.”

He rubbed his cock up against your folds. “Say my name.”

“Please fuck me, Hyakunosuke. Please. Please. Please.”

He nuzzled your neck and pressed his cocktip against your clit. “More.”

You continued to plead, body aching for him to fuck you. He guided his cock inside you, its girth stretching your tight cunt. He groaned as he pushed it in further. His movements were slow, and he seemed to relish in your whimpering.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded as he thrust into you.

“Really good. Really fucking good,” you babbled.

He let out a pleased sigh and fully submerged his length within you. His tip pressed up against your cervix, sending a shock to your core. You yelped as he pushed against it harder.

“Such a big cock for such a precious little thing.”

His thrusts drove you into the mattress, making your cot creak. His touch wasn’t gentle. He didn’t hesitate to bend your body to his liking, to show off his strength. It was deliciously overwhelming. He laced his fingers in your hair and pulled. He manhandled your legs to get them over his shoulders. You knew his force would leave blooms of bruises on your ankles, bruises you’d have to explain away when your friends inquired about your life after hours.

Being at his will was exciting.

“Do you like getting fucked like a whore?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

He grinned. You wanted to lick his teeth, but settled for hugging his cock with your cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

His pace quickened and his breathing grew labored. He seemed weakened by his impending climax. His eyes were softer, his words lacked their previous domineering weight. He looked like he was in agony. Seeing him fall apart made your clit throb. It was almost too much. Your body was immersed in euphoria, drowning in an obscene amount of debauched delight. To finally experience something you craved for so long was almost maddening. So many times you dreamt about him lording over your body under the serene light of the moon. And now you were living it out.

You wanted him to come first, to feel his cum flood your cunt, but your body wasn’t on the same page. Your impending climax was bubbling up inside you. Resisting it was a futile feat. What good was it to deny yourself such ecstasy?

“Harder,” you moaned.

He repositioned himself so he could drive his cock deeper in. You felt like you were going to burst. You dug your fingers into your mattress, gripping the tangled up sheets. The feeblest attempt to keep yourself tethered to this world lest you ascend to an Icarus end. Your back arched as a numinous groan crept up from the depths of your being, a simple carnal prayer. A cluster of whimpers followed in its wake.

Every inch of tension melted away as you let your orgasm consume you. You nearly forgot where you were until you heard Ogata’s pained voice.

“Where do you want it?” he asked urgently.

“Inside, inside,” you babbled.

He grimaced and pulled his cock out of your dripping cunt. He straddled your chest and held your head, forcing you to crane your neck. He pushed his cock past your lips and rutted against your face. His touch became gentle, hands almost cradling the base of your skull. He held you like you were fragile, like he could rip you to pieces if he lacked restraint.

“Look up at me,” he groaned as his cum splattered against the back of your throat.

You looked up at him, as he continued to thrust. Spurts of his piquant cum filled your mouth. You thought it would never end. Tears welled up in your eyes as his cum trickled from the corners of your mouth. Once his cock stopped twitching he placed his hand on your forehead and pushed you off. He then rolled over onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Um,” you said, crashing back into reality. 

You hoped no one heard what happened. Your cabin was the one closest to the outskirts of everything, but still. Your cot’s incessant squeaking plagued you. Your breathy moans haunted you. Ogata’s audible grunting was a dark cloud swirling above your head. You missed your fucked out state of mind. You debated on chasing it. You thought about grabbing his semi-erect cock, but the feeling faded from your grasp. It didn’t help that he looked completely dissociated from the situation.

“Hyaku,” you paused, his first name felt too intimate, ”Ogata?”

You rolled over onto your side and placed your hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure,” he said before turning his back to you.

“Okay,” you replied, molding your body beside his.

You expected him to scoot away from you, or retire to the unforgiving floor. But instead he pressed himself up against you. You draped an arm over him and nuzzled your face against his undercut as you drifted away.

Life is the farce we are all forced to endure

Waking up alone wasn’t a surprise though it was still disappointing.

The sun roused you, making you painfully aware of your lack of clothes and the dried cum in the corners of your mouth. Visions of a relaxing shower danced through your mind. You could practically feel the steam surrounding you. However, leaving your cabin was precarious. No one could see you like this, skittering around and clutching your toiletries like they were gold. You’d wither away if perceived.

“I got this,” you whispered to no one in particular.

You stepped out into the morning light. It felt early. You didn’t hear any kids or any sort of chatter which was a relief. The outside world was safe; it was secure. You took a deep breath and took in the fresh air.

“Good morning.”

Your exhale lodged itself in your throat, forcing out a pathetic cough.

“Fuck. I mean good morning, Mr. Tsurumi.”

He looked tired, less triumphant, and part of you wondered if he was going to kill you.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up this early.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be either,” you said, trying to mask your discomfort. “Anyway—”

He interrupted your attempt at a polite getaway. “How well do you know Yūsaku?”

“Uh. I guess about as well as you can know anyone given the amount of ti—”

“Did he seem unhappy? Dissatisfied?”

“That sunburn made him pretty miserable.”

He studied you. “Anything beyond that?”

“I—yeah no, I think that’s, uh, the only thing.”

“I see. Well I won’t keep you any longer.”

You simply smiled and nodded. Once he was out of sight you sprinted to the showers, eager for the cleanly embrace of its solitude. It was exactly what you wanted, what you needed. You needed to wash away whatever that conversation had been. You couldn’t figure out why he was so curious about Yūsaku. Your relationship with him was friendly but superficial. You wouldn’t know how to describe him in any meaningful way if prompted to, but made an attempt anyway.

He’s Ogata’s half-brother. He can tell two different stories about eating mud as a little kid. He sucks at putting on sunscreen. His eyelashes are pretty. He has a general golden boy vibe that is almost insufferably charming.

You knew essentially nothing. Whereas you could write an entire thesis regarding the random facts about Shiraishi you learned against your will.

You spent the entirety of your shower, wracking your brain over the camp director’s questioning. Unfortunately your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. The night before lingered around you like a ghostly shroud. Your legs were peppered with bruises and your hips were sore. There were so many random aches echoing throughout your body.

By the time you were done the shrill voices of children flooded the camp. You hurriedly made your way back to your cabin, careful to avoid running into anyone. But despite the painstaking  care you took, there was Shiraishi pawing at your door anxiously like a dog.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He didn’t bother answering your question. “They’re sending all the kids home.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yup. A few parents have already come by. Tsurumi wants to sit us all down and talk about what we’re gonna do.”

“We’re all going to leave, right?”

“Well we got all this shit here. The canoes. The food. The giant shogi pieces. All of that needs to get packed up probably. Do you think we’ll still get paid even if there’s no kids to watch?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I heard something kinda messed up though.” You stepped closer to him and he continued, his voice low. “I overheard Koito saying some shit to Tsukishima about another body being found.”

“No,” you gasped.

“Yeah. They left maybe an hour ago. I doubt they’re coming back. I saw them pack—”

“Okay whatever. Whose body?”

Shiraishi shushed you. “Yūsaku’s.”

“Shut up.”

“Tsurumi found him hanging in the forest.”

“Like hanging out, right? With his brother maybe?” you asked desperately.

“Nope.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?”

“Relax! Maybe I heard wrong.”

You took a measured breath and distanced yourself from this loss. “It makes sense. Tsurumi was asking me about Yūsaku this morning. He wanted to know if Yūsaku was sad or, I don’t know, depressed I guess.”

“Did he seem—”

“No, but not all suicidal people act like outwardly suicidal.”

“So you think he killed himself?”

“Fuck no,” you sneered. “I bet Tsurumi did. That’s why he was asking me about him. He wanted to come up with an alibi, or a reason for Yūsaku to have done something like that.”

Shiraishi looked a little nervous. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not jump the gun.”

You pushed him away from the door and dropped your stuff off. On the walk to the mess hall you watched as kids crawled into massive minivans and sleek electric cars. They were a resilient bunch. You admired their ability to withstand the trauma murder reaped. It sucked to see them go, but this camp was no place for their kind.

You felt oddly numb in the wake of Yūsaku’s apparent demise, especially as you sat amongst the camp’s dwindling numbers. It was just you, Shiraishi, Sugimoto, Ogata, and that freak Tsurumi. You all sat in a circle around an ashen fire pit, sipping coffee. It was bitter, the acidic taste boring holes through your tongue.

“It pains me to say this,” Tsurumi began.

“We all know about Yūsaku,” Shiraishi yawned.

His lack of tact made you want to crawl into your mug and drown.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to start off with that but…” He sighed. “As you all apparently know Yūsaku is no longer with us.”

“Did he go home?” Ogata asked.

“Shut up,” Sugimoto hissed.

Tsurumi ignored the chatter and continued. You struggled to focus. Your mind drifted off into fantasies of catching the camp director in the act and getting the hero treatment for saving the day. They were fun scenarios to entertain, but deep down you didn’t crave glory or even recognition. You just wanted to be right.

To no one’s surprise Tsurumi managed to convince everyone to stay one more night in order to return the camp to its previous barren state. It was depressing to snuff out the last remnants of the camp’s life, but necessary so Tsurumi could get back his security deposit. It was impressive to see how impermanent everything was. What took a week to create was dismantled within a day, a notion that haunted you to no end. You hated to think everything was so transient. It beckoned you to hold on tighter to your memories, to the bonds you fostered. If they were going to be ripped away, they would be marred with ghostly reminders of your feral grip.

Throughout the day you orbited around Ogata, searching for tasks that required you to be near him. Despite your attempts to be discreet, anyone with a brain could see your passive clinginess. You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t want to risk an awkward conversation. When you finally built up the confidence to speak to him he was swept away by a bored sheriff wearing mirrored sunglasses.

“Wonder what they’re talking about,” Shiraishi said, startling you.

“Yūsaku obviously,” you scoffed as you swept the porch of a cabin. “Whatever. It’s not like I care.”

He laughed loud enough to grab the attention of the sheriff. Ogata was undisturbed.

“I feel bad for him.”

“Yeah?”

Shiraishi frowned. “Yeah, like his brother’s dead. He’s a total weirdo with no friends. And he’s short.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re shorter than him.”

“I am, but I’m sexy and have friends.”

Ogata was sexy, but you opted to keep that to yourself.

“Okay, and?” you said bristling with annoyance. “Go bother someone else.”

“I actually had a reason for bugging you. Sugimoto wants to make s’mores tonight because we have a bunch of marshmallows. I was thinking we could turn it into a mini party.”

“A final hurrah.”

“Exactly!” he said as he walked away.

S’mores and cold beer sounded nice, but not nearly as nice as another night with Ogata. You watched as he stared lazily at the sheriff, his posture loose and mildly defiant. He wasn’t naive enough to believe Yūsaku hung himself. He must have caught onto how strange Tsurumi was. There was no way he hadn’t. He was perceptive. You couldn’t help but feel as though you were kindred spirits.

When the sheriff finally left you decided to approach him.

“Hey,” you said gently. “I just wanted to, you know…uh. I’m really sorry about your brother.”

“Why? Did you make him kill himself?” he said, his gaze friendly yet cold.

You laughed and shifted uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. Is there anything I can do?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” He closed the distance you kept. “How far are you willing to go to comfort me?”

“A normal amount. If you need to talk or anything, I don’t mind listening.”

“Would you mind choking on my cock again? I found that to be very soothing.”

Ogata’s words were grotesque rather than alluring. You couldn’t help but feel like he was just trying to scare you off. His vulgarity lacked any sort of intensity. The threat was hollow. You swallowed hard and tried to look less timid.

“Don’t be an asshole. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

He looked thoroughly amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You patted his shoulder with a platonic, heavy hand and headed off in a random direction. You were too frazzled to think that far ahead, but you walked into the woods with faux confidence.

All filthy memories fade out

You sighed in relief as the sun sunk into the horizon. Making s’mores and getting drunk by a fire sounded like the only suitable end for such a horrific venture. Shiraishi and Sugimoto met you by your cabin and aided you in crafting a fire pit.

“It’s so fucked up we never made these with the kids,” Sugimoto sighed, puncturing three marshmallows with a two-pronged skewer specially made for the act.

You sipped your beer. “We failed them.”

Shiraishi nodded. “We may be the dream team, but we weren’t perfect.”

“The what?!” Sugimoto struggled not to laugh as he crafted a picturesque s’more.

“Wh—who? Who’s the dream team?” you asked.

“Us! Me, you, and Sugimoto… obviously.”

“I had no idea.”

“I never said it out loud until now,” Shiraishi said solemnly.

It was hard to deny. The chaos that was camp proved to be a great conduit for bonding despite the horrors. You never would have made it through without Shiraishi’s humor and Sugimoto’s kindness.

“Dream team, huh?” Sugimoto said with a smile blooming across his face.

You punched Shiraishi in the arm. “Cute. I like it.”

Shiraishi blushed and shifted his gaze to the case of beer.

“How does the dream team feel about shotgunning some beers?”

Shotgunning some beers turned into shotgunning several. Stabbing the cans and chugging like your life depended on it was addicting. By the end of it you were all in a hazy trance. You collapsed down into your chair with too much vigor, sending yourself backwards into the dirt. You cackled like a witch.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Sugimoto asked. He was unable to hide his amused smile.

He held out his hand and hoisted you up. Shiraishi watched on, tears in his eyes, and stabbed another beer with his pocket knife. Beer spurted out of the hole and it sprayed all over. A dramatic “noooooooooo!" erupted from him as he tried in vain to suckle the rest of the beer out of the can. Sugimoto could barely hold himself together and lost his balance, sending you back into the unforgiving dirt and landing directly on you. His body was so heavy you thought you were going to suffocate. Luckily he rolled off of you within a second, wheezing with laughter.

The comedy of errors was too much. Not a single one of you went unscathed.

“I’m so sorry,” Sugimoto choked out.

You stood up and brushed the dust off of your body. “It’s okay. I’m alive. I made it. I survived.”

“You know,” Sugimoto said, still sitting in the dirt. “I’m really gonna miss you guys.”

“We’ll have to meet up again before summer ends.”

Shiraishi wiped the beer from his lips. “That’s assuming we live.”

“Dude! Not funny.” Sugimoto threw an empty can at Shiraishi. It missed.

“I’ll probably die next,” you replied thoughtfully. “Tsurumi’s gonna catch on and have to silence me.”

“Stop!”

Shiraishi corrected you. “No, no. It’ll be me.”

“Yeah, you know what. It’ll be Shiraishi, and then you. And then me.”

Shiraishi pouted. “What makes you so sure you’ll live the longest?”

“I’m immortal, dumb ass.”

“If you’re immortal, why not protect us?” you suggested.

“Yeah!”

“I’ll obviously do that! That goes without saying!”

You looked at him, doe-eyed. “Promise?”

He stood up, his balance shakier than ever. It didn’t inspire much confidence in his ability to protect you, but you chose to believe in his conviction.

“As long as I am here, neither of you will die. I… I love you guys s—so much.”

“Don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry. And I hate crying in the woods.”

You heard rustling in the distance. Sugimoto and Shiraishi didn’t seem to notice so you chalked it up to your intoxication. You focused your attention on the delightful little bars of artisan chocolate Yūsaku bought for the kids. Your stomach had been growling, begging for something other than beer.

“Gimme the stick thingy,” you barked at Sugimoto.

“Is that any way to ask me for something?”

“You’re talking like a caveman.”

You groaned. “Please give me a, uh,” you gestured towards the skewer resting at Sugimoto’s feet, “that item. Please, good sir.”

Shiraishi applauded your efforts like a real friend and spoke words of affirmation as you struggled to make a s’more. Neither of them stepped in to help you. They appeared to find your tribulation much too entertaining, and you were much too drunk to ask for assistance. However you managed to make four. The sloppiness didn’t detract from the flavor which was all that mattered.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Shiraishi said. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m tired.”

Sugimoto stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Yeah, I have a long drive tomorrow. I’m not trying to fall asleep at the wheel.”

It was almost painful to part ways. A little sliver of you was afraid to enter your cabin on your own. You knew there was no reason to be scared. It wasn’t as if Tsurumi was hiding inside, waiting for the perfect opportunity to stab you. There was no way he could have snuck past you, Shiraishi, and Sugimoto. One of you would have seen him, or at the very least heard him.

Your heart began to pound. You had heard something lurking about in the woods. It very well could’ve been him. Maybe you were too drunk to be vigilant and maybe Tsurumi took advantage of that. Your hand trembled as you reached for the doorknob. Your fear was heavy and looming. It was like you were slowly being crushed. Every inhale felt like it was catching in your throat. You slowly twisted the knob and pressed your weight up against the door.

“Hello?” you asked as if an assailant would actually respond.

You flipped the switch and your room was filled with soft, incandescent light. There was no one in sight, not a soul. The relief you felt was almost overwhelming. Your terror was replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. Sleeping through the night with no interruptions wouldn’t be a pipe dream.

And it seemed to be going along quite well…

Until you had to pee of course. The urge hit you like a truck. You sprung up out of bed and ran all the way to the bathroom, hoping you’d make it in time. You regretted drinking so much. If it hadn’t been for the beer you might have gotten an uninterrupted six hours.

Luckily you made it to the bathroom in time, but on your walk back you became keenly aware of the fact you were still quite drunk.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhh,” you moaned as you trudged back.

You passed Tsurumi’s cabin and it triggered a deep desire to indulge in some snooping. Moonlighting as a drunk detective seemed like an incredible idea.

There were no lights on in his cabin, which wasn’t odd considering it was the middle of the night. But everything seemed vaguely ominous given your state of mind and your desire to prove he was the murderer. You peeked in his window and saw him sleeping. He was face down, body spread out like a starfish.

“What a freak.”

“You’re the one watching him sleep.”

You spun around and saw Ogata. You opened your mouth to scream but he covered it. His hand was damp and smelled like soap. He looked unkempt, and seemed a little frazzled.

“I can explain,” you whispered.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe. Listen!”

He shushed you and grabbed you by the wrist. He dragged you away from Tsurumi’s window.

“Can I talk now?” You didn’t wait for an answer. “I think Tsurumi is killing everyone.”

He looked thoroughly amused. “What makes you so sure—”

“He’s a total fucking weirdo, Ogata! He, you know, like… Okay, I don’t have solid proof. But he did ask me about your brother. He was like ‘Ohhh, do you think Yūsaku was suicidal? Did he seem like a little sad boy with little sad boy problems?’ And I was like, ‘No.’ And he was like all… whatever.” You hiccuped. “Why would he ask me that if he wasn’t trying to find a way to cover up his crime?”

“You did work with Yūsaku. I don’t think it’s weird that Tsurumi would ask you about him. If I were him, you would be one of the first people I’d talk to.”

“Ogataaaaaaaaaa,” you whined. “Don’t be a shit.”

“All I’m saying is the two of you seemed close.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“I think he had a crush on you,” he teased.

“He didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for having one.”

You gave up on protesting. It wasn’t like he was actually listening to you. You turned your gaze towards the ground. It was then you noticed what looked like rusty stains on his shoes.

“You really shouldn’t wear white shoes.”

He looked confused.

“Yours are always s—so dirty.”

He stared down at his shoes and smiled. “I like them this way.”

You shrugged. “Anyway. I think Tsurumi poisoned Tanigaki with mushrooms.”

“What about Inkarmat? Usami? Vasi—”

“When did they find Usami and Vasily?!”

He paused. “They didn’t. I thought maybe you had an explanation for them going missing.”

“Oh. No. I haven’t really thought about them. Is that fucked up?”

“A little, but I like it when you’re fucked up.”

He leaned in and slipped his tongue into your mouth. You tried to let yourself fall into the moment, to let yourself be enraptured by him once more. But you felt uneasy. A part of you was screaming at you to stop. Your entire body tensed up and you pushed him away.

“Not here,” you sighed.

“Why not?” he said, rubbing the small of your back.

“What if someone sees?”

“There’s no one to see us.”

With your luck Shiraishi and Sugimoto would see you wrapped up in Ogata’s arms and never let you live it down. A greater horror would be Tsurumi catching you. He would have no issue disposing you.

Ogata didn’t share this concern. He simply shoved his fingers down your shorts and rubbed your clit through your underwear.

“You don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I don’t want to get caught.”

“Hmm,” he purred as he nuzzled his face in your neck. “Getting caught could be fun. We could finally reveal our true nature.”

His wording puzzled you.

“Wait, what true nature? That we’re fucking?” you asked.

“Don’t play dumb.”

He let his fingers graze your cunt. His touch was hypnotic. You felt like you were melting in his arms. The world around you faded away, your concerns were nonexistent. Everything was a distraction queued for destruction. He kissed your neck, his stubble tickling you. You felt his teeth graze your skin. A smile crept across your face as he bit into it. Your knees buckled as he bit down a little harder. Your head was spinning.

“I need to taste you,” he said against your neck, pulling down your clothes.

The night air was brisk against the skin of your ass. He kissed the nape of your neck as he hands traveled down your waist, stopping at the dip of your hips. He got on his knees and stared up at you, eyes dark with ardor, before giving your clit a languid lick.

He lapped at your cunt like a starved animal. It was like he was trying to consume you. You felt so desired, so adored. His tongue was dizzying. You nearly lost your balance as he buried his face in between your thighs. He grunted and gripped your ass to steady you.

You gasped as he dug his fingers deeper into your skin. His sweetness was always tinged with a little cruelty. You felt like you were falling in love with him whenever he was rough with you. Your pleasure seemed endless. It was something to get lost in. He shielded you from the tragedy that had overtaken your life.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re so good at this.”

“I know,” he groaned.

His haughtiness was unfortunately warranted. He could work wonders with his mouth. He rolled his tongue against your throbbing clit. Your knees trembled as your orgasm began to bloom. You tried to speak but all you could do was whimper his name. You felt like you were floating away.

Moaning soon became the only thing you were capable of doing. Your body was limp and swollen with lust. The only reason you were upright was because of Ogata’s steadying grip.

“Are you really going to come already?” he teased.

“Yes!” you choked out.

He held your clit between his lips and sucked. Your head rolled back and you murmured a string of obscenities. Euphoria wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the heights you were ascending to. You drenched his face with your arousal as your orgasm echoed through you.

“Sor—”

Your demure apology was interrupted by a pained moan coming from the distance. You crashed back down to earth.

“Did you hear that?” you asked.

Ogata didn’t respond. He simply stood up and wiped his chin.

“Let me walk you back to your cabin.”

“Uh, yeah sure. But did you hear that? It sounded like a person.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Your paranoia is getting the best of you.” He grabbed you by the hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t say a single word on the walk back. He didn’t even look at you. You felt like a ghost.

“Thanks… for escorting me.”

“It’s no problem,” he said with a smile.

You were convinced you would never fully understand him, that he would always keep you on your toes. And maybe that was the appeal. It was a danger you didn’t mind dancing with, something low stakes in comparison to people getting fucking murdered.

With my eyes closed I offered myself to the sun

It was your final day and you jumped at the opportunity to interrogate Tsurumi. It didn’t matter if you were the only one that thought he was the cause of all the camp’s calamity. The lack of faith from your friends didn’t deter you in the least. You knew you were right and soon everyone else would know as well.

“What the?”

You saw a heap in the distance, something keeled over just beyond the trees. The sun sliced through them, drowning whatever it was in unforgiving light. You heard the faint buzzing of flies and your stomach dropped. The familiar sensation of spit pooling in your mouth triggered a lethal anxiety within you.

Every step you took made you more and more nauseous. A horrid smell swarmed your nostrils. You couldn’t help but gag.

“No,” you said quietly, looking down at the heap.

It was Sugimoto, face down. His arms were stretched in front of him, fingers caked with dirt.

“Saichi, get up.” You squatted beside him. A prayer circle of jet black ants surrounded his body. “Get up. You’re supposed to keep me and Shiraishi safe, remember?”

There was no hope and yet you tried to hold onto it. You wanted to roll him over, thinking maybe you could rouse him. You saw it in movies all the time, the classic fake-out death trope. You’d slap him around, maybe yell and cry a bit, and his eyes would flutter open. He would apologize for worrying you and you’d tease him for how rank he smelled.

“Oh fuck!” you screamed as you rolled him onto his back.

His chin was coated with dried blood. His stomach had been cut open, entrails butchered and hanging out. You looked just beyond his body and saw a trail of blood and intestines. You started to sob. Sugimoto didn’t deserve to suffer such a heinous demise. Why couldn’t Tsurumi have just killed him outright? Why did he have to exercise his will with such cruelty? You hated him and his flagrant barbarity. Your rage washed over you. The desire to throw yourself over his mauled body and wail was extinguished.

“I’m so sorry,” you cooed, stroking his hair. “Tsurumi’s not getting away with this.”

In order to properly avenge Sugimoto you needed Shiraishi, but you didn’t even know if Shiraishi was alive. You grabbed Sugimoto’s pocket knife and bolted to Shiraishi’s cabin. You kicked the door in and all you saw was an unmade bed, empty bags of marshmallows, and all of his belongings scattered around an empty duffle bag.

You kept running out of sheer desperation, searching Shiraishi’s usual haunts to no avail. He must have been killed too, another counselor disappeared by that freak Tsurumi.

Your bravado began to melt away. The more you thought about it the more you realized you likely couldn’t hold your own against Tsurumi. You were nothing without the dream team.

There was always Ogata, but if Sugimoto was slain by Tsurumi with such ease then Ogata didn’t stand a chance. You were enshrouded in a sinking loneliness. It made every step an ordeal but you continued your march to Tsurumi’s cabin.

Your head was swimming by the time you got there. You didn’t even notice the door was already open. As you stepped inside you heard a series of loud, wet thwacks.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

Ogata stood over Tsurumi’s twitching body, bashing in his skull with the butt of his own shotgun. Pale foam seeped from his parted lips. You watched in horror as his face gradually became unrecognizable carnage with each of Ogata’s blows.

“Why?” you squeaked.

“What do you mean why? I did this for you.”

“This is not what I wanted.”

“Yes it is. You thought he was killing all your friends and it bothered you enough that you whined to me about it.”

“I didn’t tell you those things because I wanted you to kill him! Fuck! Now the cops are going to think you killed everyone!”

He cocked his head to the side and stared at you. You froze in place like a deer in front of a speeding truck. He looked gutted.

“I did kill everyone.”

You bursted into laughter. “No you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Stop it! No you didn’t!”

He stepped over Tsurumi’s corpse, gun still in his hand. You backed out the door, trying to keep distance.

“Yes I did,” he said. In the sunlight you saw how much of Tsurumi’s blood ended up on him. He was dappled with crimson splotches. “That’s why you told me about Tsurumi. You wanted him gone and you knew I’d take care of it.”

Your mouth was agape. You refused to believe him.

“You—you’re not serious. Please tell me you’re not serious. Please.”

“I’m se—”

“No! Shut up! You didn’t do it. You didn’t do any of it. You… You couldn’t. Right? Right?!”

His disappointment was palpable.

“Why are you acting like this? You knew what you were doing when you talked to me about him.”

“I never said I wanted you to kill him! I never fucking said that!”

“Stop screaming. I’m right here.”

Your eyes were becoming glassy. Tears were imminent. 

“I never said that,” you said quietly.

“You didn’t have to. I knew what you wanted. We see things the same way. You hated all of them as much as I did.”

“What? I didn’t hate any of them.”

“Oh so you liked Usami?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

He sighed heavily. “You don’t need to pretend anymore. They’re all gone.”

“Pretend? I’m not pretending.”

“Drop the act. I didn’t mind it before, but now there’s no reason for you to hide yourself from me.”

Everything was spinning around you. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. It was absurd for him to think you harbored as much hatred as he did. Sure, some of your fellow counselors got on your nerves, but being annoying wasn’t a death sentence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not hiding anything.”

He tried to pat down his unruly lock of hair. “So you’re saying I’m wrong? You’re nothing like me?”

“Yes! I could never dream of being as monstrous as you! How fucked up do you have to be to decide you can just kill people for, I don’t know, being annoying or stupid or whatever?”

“It’s not like I intended on killing everyone. I just wanted Yūsaku gone, but then I caught Tanigaki and Inkarmat 69ing by the lake and it spiraled from there.”

“Th—that’s why you killed them?”

“It was disgusting, okay.”

“Was it more disgusting than what we did?”

He glared at you. “What we did wasn’t disgusting. Tanigaki and Inkarmat didn’t actually care about each other.”

“You don’t know that.”

“They barely knew each other. You can’t like someone that much after, what, a week?”

“Does that mean we don’t like each other?”

“No!” He took a measured breath and regained composure. “It’s different with us. You know me. You understand me.”

“I don’t understand you at all.”

“But you were… so nice to me.”

Neither of you spoke. The only sound was the wind cutting through the trees. You thought back to old conversations you had with him and tried to see where your ignorance blinded you. There were plenty of times you should have known it was Ogata, but you were so caught up in blaming Tsurumi for everything.

It was hard to reconcile the man you had your heart set on was a cold blooded killer. You wanted your feelings to subside, but they remained despite his horrendous crimes. Part of you needed to fix him, to save him from himself. Maybe if you had caught on sooner you could have stopped him. There were so many what-ifs running through your mind you almost forgot where you were.

“Did it not mean anything to you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Being nice to me. Was it an obligation?”

“No. I think… most people deserve kindness.”

“Even someone like me?”

You tried to ignore the shotgun in his hand. “Yes… especially you, Hyakunosuke.”

“After everything I’ve done?”

“Ye—yes.”

“Liar.”

He aimed the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. You tried to catch him in your arms, but you weren’t strong enough to carry that weight. You fell to your knees and cradled him. His face was nothing but an open wound. You wept as his blood seeped into your clothes.

“You were never an obligation.” 

You wiped away your tears and got his blood in your eye. It burned, but it was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in your heart.

“Holy shit!!”

Shiraishi came barrelling out of the woods. His lip was busted and he had dried blood under his nose.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?” 

Shiraishi kneeled in front of you. You looked down and noticed his hand was resting in what used to be Ogata’s face.

“Shiraishi, your hand.”

He fell backwards and kicked himself away from Ogata’s corpse. He wiped his hand in the dirt.

“He, uh, didn’t hurt me. I’m fine… I thought you were dead.”

“Nah. I just let him beat the shit out of me and pretended to be dead. I didn’t think he’d fall for it. Have you seen Sugimoto?”

“He… he didn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Shiraishi helped move Ogata off of you. He looked horrified once he saw how much of Ogata’s blood had ended up on you. The coppery scent was impossible to ignore.

You were thankful Shiraishi was still alive. He took charge for a change, deciding your best course of action was to go to the mess hall and contact the authorities. It wasn’t until you got there that he realized his phone was dead. You both sat in silence as it charged.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked after checking his battery life.

You nodded.

“Did you like Ogata?”

You didn’t want to admit it. You couldn’t imagine a world where Shiraishi would understand the complexity of your feelings. He never liked Ogata in the first place.

You tried to slaughter the sentimental romantic inside you. You thought about how mean Ogata could be, the awful things he’d say to you. You thought about Sugimoto and how he tried to drag himself to your cabin despite being gutted like a fish.

“No,” you scoffed. 

Ogata was right. You were a liar.

#ogata hyakunosuke x reader #ogata x reader #golden kamuy x reader #golden kamuy smut #ogata smut #reader insert #x reader #.fics #.gk #.ogata

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (2)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!

Notes and TW: Part 2 focuses on a bit of context. I’m sorry that not much romance is happening, it’ll exist later I promise. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Eventually, you grow bored of watching the three of them interact. It all goes exactly as the story says, anyway, down to the dialogue. Instead, you step soundlessly into the hallway and up the stairs to the attic.

You like the attic of this house. Warm sunlight spills in during the afternoons, and when it gets too hot in the summer, opening the window lets in the sea breeze. Not claustrophobic, but cozy. Your feet bring you to your usual spot, the narrow window seat. You have always preferred small spaces. Floyd once laughed and compared you to fish that hide in coral reefs.

Your fingers dig under the cushioned seat and lift it to find a compartment. Nestled inside is what seems to be a regular notebook. You place your hand on the cover and let your magic roll over it like heavy fog. Its plain, blank pages fade into the appearance of a manuscript—no, a stack of printer paper stapled together that contains the information that completely changed your understanding of this world. This humble manuscript tells the “original story.”

You found it while cleaning the attic. Neither Jade or Floyd could confirm its origins or its author. The cover page is blank, save for the title: (Y/N)’s Story. At first, you thought it was a prank that the two were playing on you, so you read through the entire thing. The writing is immature, rampant with purple prose, and the grammar has more than room for improvement. Neither twin writes this way. Floyd lacks the patience to write past a page and Jade is too much of a perfectionist. They could have hired someone, but there are too many personal details in there for your comfort. You decided to put it down and mull it over.

The very next day, Jade ate an unknown mushroom and proceeded to find out that his body strongly disagreed with it. For three nights, he laid in bed with a fever. At first, you thought nothing of it, but the description of the mushroom he ate was uncomfortably familiar. The manuscript mentions this event as a quirky flashback meant to create insight to Jade’s character. Of course, it brushes off the absolutely miserable state he was in for the comedic factor. This alone was not enough. You needed more proof.

The next one was Floyd. He took a broom twenty meters off the ground before his mood suddenly flipped and he could no longer come back down. The story mentions this in another flashback, but does not mention your involvement in flying up there and helping him down. Only the information relevant to the main characters is important enough to mention. Again, it could easily be brushed off as a normal Floyd antic if it weren’t for the detail that he rode and nearly broke his mother’s broom. It was the first and only time any of you had seen it. Their mother, like most merfolk, is not fond of flying.

Once is a coincidence. Twice is suspicious. You confided in the twins. They, understandably, said you were being paranoid. Weeks passed until the next major event, and this time, you could no longer ignore it. This time, the event nearly uprooted the entire Leech Mafia.

You did not watch it happen. You received a text from Jade that asked you to come to a private hospital with an uncharacteristic urgency, so you tipped the taxi driver handsomely to push the speed limit and skirt around traffic laws. When you arrived, you found Mr. and Mrs. Leech lying in pristine white hospital beds with ashy faces. Someone cursed their dinner. You had to physically grab on to both twins—Floyd so that he wouldn’t start breaking things, and Jade so that he wouldn’t immediately leave and track down the assassin himself. You understood those sentiments, but at the moment, both of them needed to be there.

No matter how many specialists they hired and bribed, nobody could figure out how to undo the curse. Luckily, or perhaps not, their parents fell into comas. Their life was still intact, but to what extent? For how long? And most importantly in a logistical sense, who would run the Leech Mafia?

Jade was the one who decided he would take up the mantle while pretending to be his parents. Too many beings, human and merfolk alike, would eagerly sink their teeth into their organization if word got out that the bosses of the largest syndicate of the Coral Sea were comatose. The idea was to stop all in person events and have him run the operations behind the scenes. Floyd would help, of course, but his fickle personality made him unsuitable to run such a large and complex network. Not that he wanted to. He hated all that responsibility.

When things settled down, you brought their attention back to the book. Rereading it with the recent developments regarding the twins’ parents made the cheesy, ridiculously over-exaggerated story seem like a threat. Did someone write it with clairvoyance? Did the assassin write it before committing the crime? Or, in the most unlikely scenario, is the story written by someone from the future? Regardless, after much discussion, one thing was clear: if real life progresses the way the story is written, then not only will the Leech Mafia prosper, the most important people to the twins will be cured with relative ease.

The solution is simple, given the rules which the story operates under. (Y/N) attracts the love and attention of anyone rich, famous, beautiful, talented, or otherwise an eligible bachelor. Thus, through heavy-handed author intervention, she becomes friends with a certain Vil Schoenheit. It so happens that he can brew potions and cast curses with his eyes closed, and anyone who can make such things is always careful to keep in mind how to unmake them as well. Vil, with all his natural talent and hard work, is nothing short of a genius when it comes to such unsavoury usages of magic. Such a complex curse takes him months in the story to dispel, but the most important thing is that he does manage it at the teary request of the story’s favourite protagonist.

The twins and Vil graduated from the same high school. Although acquainted, they are far from on good terms. With his connections in the entertainment industry, it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together and realize the two eel merfolk with the surname Leech are related in some way to the infamous Leech Mafia run by merfolk. Vil, despite his villainous air and name, is at heart a terribly good person. As soon as he realized the twins were involved in organized crime, he cut off contact completely.

But of course, the lovable (Y/N)’s doe eyes and fluttering lashes make him cave in. She can be quite useful in her own right.

You make yourself at home on the window seat, rereading the next chapter of the story. It is a nervous habit rather than out of necessity. By now, you can probably recite the story word for word by heart. The misspellings, the unpolished grammar, every bit of what seems to be a novice writer’s fantasy of an idealized romance. The mystery of the author’s identity constantly nags at you. What are their motives? How did they manage such a thing? The more you think about it, the more questions arise.

Sunlight makes its slow journey across the attic floor. When Floyd’s head pops up through the trapdoor, the patch of light on the wall glows a saturated orange.

“They left,” he announces, boredom seeping into his tone. Never one to be idle. “Whatcha doin’? Reading it again? It’s not gonna change, y’know.”

“I know.” If only it would. You bookmark the manuscript exactly where the story is currently at and slip it back under the window seat. Without your magic to feed the concealment spell, it returns to the appearance of a regular, blank notebook. It’s a precaution you took in case it goes missing. “Do you want to go on a short trip with me?”

His eyes light up and catch the fiery remnants of the setting sun. The yellow one seems to glow, while the olive one displays more gold flecks than green. Sometimes, it can be easy to forget that he isn’t a hyperactive, harmless puppy, that a single swipe of his claws can tear out a windpipe.

Danger presents itself in various ways with him. Everytime you get into his car, you regret it. In fact, you regret the day you didn’t stop him from getting his driver’s license. How he got the license is a mystery in and of itself. The way he drives is most certainly illegal, and the scenery flashing past the windows could very well be your life flashing past your eyes. When the expensive sports car finally screeches to a halt, you slump back in your seat and take several deep, shaky breaths.

“Remind me why we couldn’t get your private chauffeur to bring us here?”

Floyd’s grating laugh scratches its way into your ears. “Because it’s way less fun!”

You would beg to disagree, but a conversation like that goes nowhere with him, so you relent. You get out of the car, Floyd laughing at your unsteady legs, and ring the doorbell of yet another ridiculously large mansion.

Azul personally opens the door. Normally, his housekeeper answers the door and shows you to his office. He must be feeling somewhat worried in his own way. He leads you to the basement, his hands fidgeting with a small device.

“I don’t get it,” Floyd whines, draping an arm around Azul’s shoulder. “Can’t we just use Jade’s Signature Spell?”

Azul brushes him off and adjusts his shirt, the slight tick in his eyebrow giving away his annoyance. “We will have to wait until he gets here. You know Jade is . . . occupied at the moment.”

With bringing the lovely (Y/N) home and fussing over her humble lifestyle, no doubt. Since he must be the perfect love interest, he must cater to her every need even as she refuses his help, so he is likely making her dinner at the moment. He’ll surprise her with his knowledge of recipes to use with foraged mountainous plants and fungi, even though he comes from a family where money is not an issue. Rich, but not a spoiled brat. Mature enough to take care of her. Playful and unconventional to endear him to her.

“Knock knock, Handfish. You there?” Floyd raps his knuckles against your temple. Instinctively, you step away from him. He isn’t known for holding back his strength.

“Yeah.” You collect yourself and focus on the task at hand. No use wondering what Jade is doing right now. You have the story memorized—you know what he’s doing.

You enter a dim room. It is such a cliché. Surely, Azul should be more tasteful, but he’s always had a love for theatrics.

A man sits tied to a chair in the center of the room, his face flushed and angry. A handsaw tattoo stands out on his neck. This is Thug Number One, the extra who pulled you and (Y/N) into the alley earlier today. Recognition flickers on his face when they land on you.

“You’re that bitch who ran away! You—”

“What did you just call her?” Floyd’s teeth flash dangerously as his pupils shrink to pinpoints. One hand comes up to roll a shoulder back, popping his joints like he’s getting ready to throw a punch. Some habits never change. There hasn’t been any reason for him to get physical lately. He must be itching for a fight. “You wanna say that again? Come on. I dare you.”

Thug Number One shuts his mouth and looks to the side. No sane person would respond when the slightest nudge might set him off. Ever the crafty one, Azul orders Floyd to stand down. He’s playing the good cop for now.

“Now, now, Floyd. I understand that you want to protect the honour of our good friend, but let’s calm down and talk this out rationally.” What a load of lies. You know Floyd too well to assume that he’ll get angry on your behalf for something like this. He just wants to expend energy. “Yes, let us have a civil conversation—”

“Like hell! You tied me up and left me in this chair for hours—”

“And it would have been longer if we did not decide to visit you on a whim.” You stand in front of him, scrutinizing his face. No particularly outstanding features. He is, after all, just a nameless extra to the story.

Of course, he does have a name. Barry Moore, male, thirty-four years old. A low-level soldier of the Carpenter Mafia who joined two years ago. No family, no friends except his drinking buddies, no real connections. You texted Azul with a request to dig up this information about him while holed up in the attic. He mentioned that he’d expect payment, but you are not too concerned. You are not stupid enough to hand him a blank cheque.

“Barry Moore. I suggest you cooperate.” You pull a chair over and sit in front of him. “It is not my hobby to get violent.”

“You totally should, though.” The dim lighting casts unsettling shadows over Floyd’s face. “You’ll look just like a red handfish. It’s the look that suits you the best, y’know?”

He would think it’s entertaining. A memory of when you first met flashes through your mind. Silvery puffs of breaths in early spring air. Bright splashes of red on sand. Nails dripping blood. Red Handfish.

“I don’t need to right now.”

He huffs and kicks Barry Moore’s chair, making the poor thug flinch. “Booooring.”

“Cry about it.” You turn your attention away from his pout and study your captive. Information on his background is too limited. There is little you can exploit from his personal connections. Nothing tangible or emotional to threaten him with that you are aware of. So you either bribe him with something he wants, or . . . “Instead of me, maybe you should have some fun, Floyd.”

A sharp leer cuts across his face, his razor-like teeth glinting in the harsh light. Slow, lumbering steps bring him closer until he towers over Barry’s hunched body.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Handfish.” His cackles bounce off the bare walls. Madness shines in his golden eye. “Why didn’t ya say so earlier? I’ll make sure to take reeaaaal good care of him.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst jade #twst x reader #twst fanfic #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #mafia au #never let Floyd drive a car #i firmly believe this

[awesomehoggirl]

new lovejoy song: Didn't Mean To Hit Her (With That Taxi, On The 17th Of April 2021)

and her auburn hair, like she'd dyed it pink, didn't bleach it first, it turned dirty

it was damaged, thick, splitting ends through it, would it thin out once she turned thirty?

and her cowboy boots, they were first hand white, hope the vintage girls didn't tease her

she had last splash on by the breeders, knees that seemed weaker, was she a people pleaser?

🎶 🎶🎶

did anybody even need her?

🎶 🎶🎶

and in fifteen years, maybe she'd have kids, and in fourteen years, she'd be thirty

and if she went out, bet her friends stayed in, bet if she wrote prose, it was wordy

and her cowboy boots, they were pristine white

it was 2pm but it should've been night

didn't feel right...

she was getting the concrete dirty

🎶 🎶🎶

cause we hit her with that taxi

#You can almost hear the horns

[ambermaitrejean]

It was the first snowy day of autumn in Willow Falls, when the hush of delicate falling flakes competed with the symphony of crimson leaves for the most spectacular November scenery. The old village was picture postcard perfect with its graceful lanes blanketed under a frosty white carpet, the rooftops and stone walls adorned with glittering pristine snow, and the flaming colors of autumn melting into a surreal vision of beauty unlike the later days of winter, for an autumn snow was a one-night-only, never-to-be-repeated, sold-out, stellar performance commanding the glorious autumn stage for itself and leaving in its wake a somber landscape ready to sleep for the long frigid winter.

gif and prose by Amber Maitrejean

#artists on tumblr #gif #November snow #old village #snow gif #autumn snow

[cregan-starks]

tagged by: @carmybcrzatto tysm, love! 💞

hardcover or paperback // bookstore or library // bookmark or receipt // stand alone or series // nonfiction or fiction // thriller or fantasy // under 300 pages or over 300 pages // children's or ya // friends to lovers or enemies to lovers // read in bed or read on the couch // read at night or read in the morning // keep pristine or markup // cracked spine or dog ear

no pressure tags: @aemondtargaryen @revolution-starter @pedropascalsx @pedropcl @maevemills @camiladnne @lateasalways @lavendertales @axreliono @frodo-sam @frodo-baggins @themangolorian @mitchi-c @acourtofsnakes @agirllovespancakes @roostersrocket @oloreaa @moonlight-prose @mandaloresson @buttercup--bee @nocturnal-milk-dud

#tag games #I hope my inability to choose reflects my love for books lmao

[w0lp3rtinger]

Becoming

*screaming*

ANYWAY HI I'VE BEEN REALLY EXCITED TO SHARE THIS! This is the piece I wrote and submitted for the @shadamyzine! In fact, @deadrabbithq on tumblr did illustrations for it! They turned out awesome! alskjdflsj I DIDN'T KNOW THEY WERE GONNA DO THAT AND I'M SO HAPPY!!! THEY TURNED OUT GREAT <3 <3

Okay so this piece is weird. You know that Jacket Shadow has in that calendar piece? The one where ShadAmy fans, accustomed to crumbs, lost their shit because Shadow and Amy were next to one another on the calendar and had matching cherry blossom motifs and Shadow had That Fucking Cherry Blossom Jacket??? THAT JACKET??? It has a GRIP on my SOUL can you tell can you fucking TELL?????

BECAUSE THIS WHOLE PIECE- IT'S AN ABSTRACT PERSONIFICATION PIECE IN PURPLE PROSE... FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF THE JACKET.

(I can't find the actual official art but in lieu of that PLEASE go check out @kuroiyuki96-art amazing piece here and maybe you'll understand how I went Fucking Feral over it.)

Anyway XD

Hats of and huge thanks to @shadowsfascination and @killingthecringe! They are the ones who beta-read this!

YOU CAN READ IT ON ARCHIVE HERE! (but I REALLY recommend reading it on the Zine which you can find HERE!)

---

It comes about in a slow series of moments, the act of Becoming. 

Like the rain that drums its lazy fingers atop the roof of the warehouse, then the attic window, then the storage shed. It is a measured tattoo across the decades of time just as much as the footsteps of the mice, the fluttering of the moths, the creeping of the yellow across pristine white leather and gentle fading of brilliant reds. 

It is moved from box to box. A game piece in the shuffling and settling of affairs. Something to be bartered and sold. It’s neat and tidy for a while. Then, a business closes. An estate liquifies. The box is suddenly adrift on tides of time and paperwork. 

This Prenatal Dark seems to stretch forever, but then, it always does. That is the way of things. The Becoming cannot happen yet. The Wait must occur. It is the silence Beforehand, the Eternity predating the Infinity, and the Infinity is the Rest of Existence in Becoming. 

Because eventually, there is light. Eventually, there’s a young woman who peels back the cardboard and runs her hands down unyielding buttons and a stiff wool front, and the smile she gives outshines the sun. 

That’s where it starts. 

Infinity unrolls in the hours she has taken to looking at the future, walking around still-creased edges thrown over her mother’s dress form. Sometimes she’s sketching on scratch paper, face scrunched like all of the discarded waste around her bare feet. Sometimes, she’s holding up threads against the faded reds and yellowed whites, clicking her tongue as she checks the morning, the afternoon, the evening light against the colours of what is and the colours of what will Become. 

But Infinity is a long time. Becoming is not easy, and eventually, the Becoming takes on the tune of maple seeds pelting her open bedroom window in a breeze that smells of coming summer. Meanwhile, the ground outside is littered with browning pink blossoms. 

She wears it, thinking of the Past, thinking of Eternity, and she’s crying. Her tears are salty on musty cuffs. 

When her mother comes in to ask what is wrong, she talks about being Late, about taking too long, about overthinking everything. 

But there is never a Too Late in Becoming. 

Her mother says this to her, and it can be felt in every Fiber of Being. It sinks into the Stitching of Everything, along with the salty tears, along with the heavy smell of late spring. 

There’s Hope in Becoming. 

She tries again. Tries harder, truly, this time. There’s a shaking in her hands against the flat of red wool as she traces her twirling thoughts out in soft chalk against the wide expanse of space, Immortalized as a part of the Becoming, taking form one stitch at a time across Being. 

Her Learning Hands guide the Change, to a point. 

Some things, they happen Intentionally, with Purpose. Some things, they happen by chance. Perhaps they could be called Accidents, but she has Learning Hands. She leaves no Accidents. 

She adapts, and just like the branches she stitches, she Grows.

There are no silken threads. They are solid quilting threads, this shape of Becoming that spreads out between her fingers. From limb, to branch, to twig. From each petal, stamen, anther. They are built to last with a Heart that wields Love like a hammer. 

Sturdy. Strong. Real. 

There’s mass to that sort of Love. It sits in the chest and in the palms of hands as a comfortable weight. It solidifies the Infinity of Becoming in a way nothing else can. 

It rests astride the shoulders like a set of warm hands. 

It says, ‘Become whatever it is you will to Become. I will Love you anyway.’ 

And so, such things happen.  

And eventually, they are Blooming with so much Becoming that they put the spring outside to shame. Gilded in brilliant Colour and Texture, they are so Full that they threaten to burst from it. When she wears them outside one day when the world is Pristine and Still under moonlight, they blister like a solar flare against the white. 

And she’s whispering. It’s the darkest night of the year, here out in the cold, and she’s whispering into the cuffs.

“You will take care of them.” 

She keeps repeating, gripping them tight in her hands as she holds them to her mouth. She keeps repeating with her eyes wide on the moon, watching the movements of something that cannot be seen. She keeps repeating. It’s something between a hope and a wish and a threat. 

“You WILL take care of them.” 

And it’s Love. 

Love. It’s all Love. That’s all it ever was, the all of it, the everything, of Love. It makes so much sense now, the Everything of it All. 

It rings in the still silence of deep winter. It shakes the snow from distant trees and sends the night birds into the sky. 

But then, there is more Wait. 

And it is a long Wait. 

So busy and bustling was the Becoming that they had almost forgotten the Waiting part of it all. But there’s a Fear that must be thawed out. 

It could almost be missed, but it is there, slow-moving in deep waters, far below where the sunny disposition shines. It is there and it drifts but slowly, all husk and tatters and old wounds. It takes a long time before bravery can thaw those waters. There are many talks over the kitchen table. There are many hours of baking in the kitchen, of turning the eggs into frothy whites, stiff as snow drifts.

She wears her Effort and her Love through it all, as though her own Becoming takes place from the outside in, but that’s not how this works. It has to come from inside first. That’s one of the core tenets of Becoming. 

Nobody can Become for you. You have to Become for you. 

The Planning, the Stitching, the Waiting. Maybe they were the acts into which she thrust herself, threw herself upon the task, but the Becoming still happened on the inside of all of that. 

For every Action, there is an equal and opposite Reaction.  

For in your path of Creation, you Become. 

Snow drifts melt. Spring is brave. 

All the world comes into a dawn of oranges and pinks and baby greens, all dig deep down one last time before leaping up, like a heart in a throat, like a pitched voice, like a question, like a- 

She never Plans when she holds her Heart out, not really. It’s just the brute force of her thrust forward, stitched there in red wool, where each thread rises like a crocus from the frozen ground. What is done cannot be taken back. 

You cannot un-Become. 

The Still that follows is deafening. The Waiting of an instant feels like a lifetime, a cable of steel splitting it down the seam between their wide and watchful eyes. 

And for all their winter, for all their waiting in the silence, in an instant, it becomes so clear- 

Of course they Love her. 

Love her, Love her, for she is Becoming, as they are Becoming. 

And it gilds the shoulders, protects the back and arms, shields the heart by splitting it wide open down the forward facing front, towards the sunrise, towards her bright and shining eyes. 

A Safe Haven, enabling vulnerability.

What terror. 

What bliss. 

They have Loved this entire time. 

And here, now they Become One.

#shadamy #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #shadamy zine 2023 #sonic #sega #sth #REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #library #shadowxamy

[spideyanakin]

10 Things I Hate about you - Chapter 3

Eddie Munson x Harrington! reader

Synopsis - A new rule strikes the Harrington household: if Steve wishes to date ever again, his sister needs to find a boyfriend first. As Steve becomes desperate and thinks of everything in his power to set her up, only one guy comes to mind that will take up a challenge such as that: Eddie Munson.

warnings - still season 1 Steve sry and he’s getting worst, underage drinking, angst at it's finnest

word count - 16k

proof read by the amazing @inknopewetrust

series masterlist 🌻

Monday arrived at the pace of a sloth. 

In addition to the “no dating” rule, your parents had put Steve under house arrest for the next three weekends––which quickly backfired on everyone in the house that wasn't him. You never thought you would be grateful that Steve had spent every weekend with his friends. Since middle school, his absence always meant the house was quiet, peaceful, for a short period of time. 

The entire weekend, your family endured Steve's constant complaining over his homework and the fact he was home instead of at Tommy’s or with any other of the popular douchebag boys. It only became intolerable when your mother ordered you to tutor him in order to 'make him shut up.’

It only resulted in you giving him all the answers or him copying your work, and no quiet reprieve was gifted in return. 

You had fought Steve over the TV like the two of you were toddlers. You battled for the last of the leftover cupcakes you had baked with Dustin, and then Steve threw the Monopoly board in your face when you won. He always became too competitive when it came to games. When you suggested a “truce” game of Clue,  he ripped the Mrs. Scarelt card when she had been the murderer you were searching for and not Professor Plum whom he had accused. It got to the point where you were debating drowning yourself in the pool that had just been cleaned from the debris winter had left behind.

"What did you say for the question on scene three?" Barb wondered as she reread through the text in question. Her eyebrows knitted together as she skimmed through the words carefully in an attempt to decipher the man’s prose. 

"About the nurse?" You questioned and placed some of your textbooks into your locker. "I talked about how her role in the play is explicitly for Juliet's happiness, and I tied it in with what Mr. Arnold said about older women in Shakespeare being shown in a different light than the younger ones."

"Oh yeah…” She thought on the analysis,  “that's good," Barb nodded and closed the book and looked blankly at the white cover and red writing. 

"Barb," you spoke her name with a desperate tone as your locker door closed with an echoing bang and your palm met the metal. 

"What?"

"Kill me now…” You groaned dramatically, perhaps with more emotion than she had ever seen you emit before. “I have to walk into class and sit next to Steve." Your words made her chuckle. "It's not funny!" You whined, hitting your forehead against the locker door. "This weekend was hell with him not leaving the house. I did half of his homework for him. Half!" 

"Hey,” Barb stood straighter as she leaned on the locker beside your own. Her books held tightly against her chest, the red-headed girl gave a kind smile and hopeful eyes. “Look on the bright side! You only have a few hours and then the day’s over, you can go home and lock yourself away in your room."

"That long? I might pick up some ideas from the end of the book by then." As if on cue, the bell rang. You wanted to melt in your spot; become a puddle like the glob of spilled soda that threatened student’s pristine shoes right outside the lunchroom. 

But your luck wouldn't have it. You had to sit in your usual seat, in the same boring English classroom, with Steve at your side. 

However, who you hadn’t expected to see, was Eddie sitting next to Gareth as they chatted their spare minutes away. Your eyes went a little wide as you looked at him; your gaze fixed on his head of waves as you passed by his seat and sat a few rows behind and to the side from him. 

Eddie turned around to look at you once he had finished speaking to Gareth, your gaze still fixed on him.

And then he winked. 

You couldn’t fight the way a grin plastered itself onto your face.  

You felt like a madman. As though the events of the last week had changed you completely from the stone-cold bitch everyone was afraid of to a gooey, romantic lead in some cheesy B-film. Eddie Munson winked at you. It shouldn’t have felt like the world had chosen you to be the main character of a romantic subplot of life but it did. He winked, smiling himself as he turned his attention back to Gareth and laughed about something his younger friend said. 

Thinking about that wink, you didn’t realize the look that had stilled on your face as Steve took his spot beside you.

"Did Munson just wink at you?" Steve blinked in disbelief as he put a folder down on his desktop.  

Steve did not know you could smile like that. Steve did not know that you could get flustered like that. Steve did not know that Eddie, the “freak” who had a work ethic so unlike your own yet shared the same interests, could make you feel that way.

"Yes and…?"

"I’ve never seen you speak to him before?" He had to stop the smile that was threatening to spread across his lips. Was his plan working?

"So? Now you watch who I talk to and what I do in your spare time?" You raised an eyebrow.

"No,” He huffed. “I just have never seen you talk with Munson. That’s all."

You shrugged at him to play it off. A part of you wanted Steve to suffer from the “no dating” rule. He was an asshole. Self-centered and mean; a boy who would peak in high school and be stuck selling cars until the end of his days because at some point, Steve decided being the popular kid was his only mission. But you had to stop lying to yourself about what you may want out of life too. 

Maybe it isn’t a date or relationship with Eddie Munson—maybe it is. But if you were going to keep Eddie as a friend if it doesn’t plan out like a fantasy novel, then Steve had to know that if he saw Eddie talk to you, wink at you, or give you a smile, that there was a reason for it. 

You unzipped your pencil case and retrieved a black pen from the bag. 

"We went to The Hideout together last Friday."

"WHAT?" His shriek was a mix of everything Steve was feeling at once. 

Shock that his plan was working and you had actually accepted to go out with Eddie; jealousy that you had gone out and he wasn't able to; surprise that you had sneaked out of the house without him noticing; mad that you hadn't actually been in the house and therefore hadn't fulfilled your duty as his emotional support for house arrest; and seriously pissed off at the fact that if your parents had known you were out, then maybe, just maybe they would have let Steve meet his friends too.

"You're telling me you were on a date while I was on house arrest?"

“Can you please,” you hissed at him, “scream it a little louder so the rest of Hawkins High can hear this conversation?” Your gritted teeth and harsh whisper told him it was indeed a type of date. “It wasn't a date," your whispers were calmer as you eyed the teacher standing up to close the door. "I just went with him to see his band play."

"So, it was a date."

"No––"

"You're dating!" He smiled, jumping up and down in his seat like a kid who had too much sugar. Steve was in high school, not an elementary student. 

"I'm not!” You defended. “Stop… insinuating things! It wasn't just him, his band was there too."

"Hmm," he said as if he wasn't listening. "I totally believe you."

"You should."

"Morning class," Mr. Arnold greeted with the same two words he had been using for years on end. "I hope you all had a good weekend," his eyes lifted to scan the room, stopping when his gaze landed upon the one student he never expected to be here. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Good to see you, Mr. Munson."

"Same here Mr. Arnold," Eddie gave him his best angelic smile.

"Well, I have this for you," Mr. Arnold turned around to take the white book from his desk, placing it in front of Eddie. "We are at Act one, scene four." Eddie took a second to comprehend the system as he flipped through the pages. Plays weren't his thing.

But when Act 1, Scene 4 was written in bold on top of the page, he gave a thumbs up to the older man.

"I will collect your homework, and then we can read together."

"Steve, where's your book?" You whispered as you examined his desk. The homework you had done for him was in the middle, his pencil case resting on the top corner––but no Romeo and Juliet.

"I don't know where I put it," he lied.

"Are you serious?" You already knew how this was going to end. You'd have to share the book for the rest of the semester, and worse, you knew this would lead to Steve happily copying all your homework and ideas for the assessment later on. 

He just shrugged it off as though it were not moot. Those were the facts, you’d just have to accept it as it was because he was the “King of Hawkins High” afterall… Steve Harrington just didn’t fail because he was stupid, he played the long game and that always meant one thing:

Stealing your work. 

~

"Hey! Party at my place on Friday!" Tina cheered as she handed Nancy and Barb a neon orange piece of paper each. ‘Tina's Spring party’ was written in big, black bubble letters with her address at the bottom.

"Y/n didn't get one," Nancy told Tina with an innocent smile with her hand extended to receive another. Tina looked from Nancy to you and back to Nancy as her eyes went blank.

"Oh! I'm sorry!” Tina was not sorry. “That's right," she played dumb as she reluctantly licked the tip of her finger to whisk another paper from the pile she was holding, handing it to Nancy who passed it to you. Taking it with a fake smile, you thanked her before continuing on with the only two girls you’d consider to be friends.

"You didn't have to do that,” you mumbled to Nancy as the paper between the tips of your fingers began to feel like a brick rather than a feather. 

"Are you kidding?" Nancy's eyes went wide. "I wasn't going to let her get away with that."

What? Blatant disregard for your existence? Pure dislike for your perfectly penurious outlook on this thing called life? 

"It's fine, seriously. I won’t go anyways," you looked down at the page, your nose scrunching up at the idea.

"You won't?" Nancy was almost pouting while Barb had already stressed with her eyes that it was nothing but a burden. 

"No… Don't count me in to go to this dumb… mating ritual," you crumpled the paper and threw it in the first trash that crossed your way.

"I don't think I'll go either," Barb shrugged her shoulders. The only way that Barbara Holland would go to a party was with the assurance that Nancy wouldn’t let her pout away in the corner for being a third wheel––but she knew it was going to be her sitting in a corner all evening, making sure Nancy was alright before she would disappear somewhere, or be drunk enough for Barb to leave without her noticing.

"But you have to come with me!" Nancy protested.

"No! You know I don't like parties!"

"But it will be fun!" You scoffed at her, shaking your head at her insistence. 

“Stop bothering, Nance!” You smiled as Barb backed you up. “If she doesn't want to go, then let her stay at home.” 

“I’m sure the new episode of Little house on the Prairie will be much more interesting than this,” you flicked the invitation still sitting between Barb’s hand. 

“Whatever,” Nancy rolled her eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to go alone.”

“I’m afraid so,” you pouted, the look on her face making you chuckle.

Eddie watched with a smile on his face as you passed right beside his locker, almost melting at the little smile and wave you gave him when you passed his way. 

Oh, fuck him. His sanity was burning to a crisp along the very path you walked. A simple smile, a tiny, little wave that looked like something out of a stranger danger VHS and he was jittery. The money in his pocket––even if not physically there––weighed it all back to reality. The reminder that the smile was based on a lie bled just as quickly as it skimmed.

“Did you just smile at Munson?” He could hear Nancy squeak as your head turned back around.

“Yeah, and?” Your voice snapped back, but unfortunately, you had disappeared down a different hall before he could snoop on the rest.  

“I heard you went out with my sister last Friday,” Steve’s voice broke Eddie’s day dreaming.

“I did,” Eddie nodded, straightening his back in pride.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually convinced her to go out with you,” Steve chuckled in disbelief before placing a hand in one of the pockets of his jacket. “Here,” Steve stuffed a new fifty dollar bill in Eddie’s hand before he even had the time to protest, “as promised.”

 Steve was still laughing to himself. “Just make sure that I actually know about it this time.”

“Alright,” Eddie stuffed the bill in his pocket without taking a second glance at it.

“Like take her to the movies or something.”

“Noted.”

“Good,” Steve nodded before walking away.

As Eddie watched Steve disappear down the hall you had moments before, the money in his pocket was no longer imaginary. The weight was heavy, it was physically there and jesting him like a foe. Here it was, it cried to him as Shakespearan as an enemy could. A prize.  

And it made him sick thinking that he ever agreed to such a deal. 

But then he remembered your smile, that little wave. In his mind, Eddie could recall the innocence of it. How he felt, and how you felt––but the money kept rolling in. 

~

“Y/n,” Steve jumped on the couch next to you. Your eyes lifted up from the episode of Dallas playing to see his big smile creeping only inches away from you. “You’re coming to the party on Friday, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

“What do you mean you’re not?” His smile fell. “You have to go!”

“No, I don’t,” you rolled your eyes before looking back at the TV to see a close up of Larry Hagman’s face. 

“But you have to go! You’re the only way I can convince mom and dad to let me go! Pretend I’ll be your… protector or something.”

The fact that had spewed from his lips made you want to chuck him out of a window. 

“My protector?” 

“Yes! Make sure drunk boys don’t cling to you or laugh at you or try anything with you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You mean half of the guy you are when you get drunk? I’m sorry, Steve,” you drawled his name out like he was a child being scolded by a parent, “but I specifically remember the halloween party freshman year where you got so drunk you—” 

“We don’t need to talk about that!” He pointed a finger, cutting you off with the slap of the back of his hand to your shoulder. 

“You are literally those guys! You wouldn’t be protecting me from anything!” 

“Other guys! Not me, just… other guys! And they don’t need to know about me… just how their precious little daughter is going to be looked after by her precious brother.” 

“I’m not going,” you stated definitively. “Convince them yourself.”

“Y/n!” 

“Steeeeve!” you mimicked his whining. 

“Is your brother bothering you again?” Your mother walked into the room when she heard the commotion. It was like a dog answering a silent whistle—she heard it, she came. A motherly instinct, if you will. 

“He is!”

“I’m not!”

She shook her head, pushing the reply as unimportant, not bothering to care about your sibling banter before grabbing a book from the shelves next to the TV.

“Diner’s in five,” she gave both of you pointed looks and you scrambled up off the couch, leaving Steve behind.

As you disappeared behind the doorway, your mothers gaze was kept on your brother. She raised an eyebrow when he simply grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels with a soured expression painted on his face. 

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” He barely looked up.

“Go help your sister set up the table,” Steve’s face fell even further when the words registered.

Chores. Expectations. The rules of the house for every evening since he was old enough to remember them. 

“Oh, right.”

And after ten minutes of fighting Steve over which side of the plate the forks were placed on and which glasses were the ones for water rather than all else, the family sat around the diner table with a meal whisking up into the air and filling each nose with a delicious scent. 

The food was comforting. The stress that you accumulated throughout the day shedding away as you enjoyed the meal. For a second, you pretended you were transported to a time where you and Steve still got along. A time where the two of you had the same interests and he didn’t make every second of your life miserable.

One where he wasn’t the ‘King of Hawkins High’ and you weren’t the sibling who was a little too far on the side of strange. 

“Mom, dad,” Steve lifted his eyes from the potatoes in his plate, “I wanted to ask you something.” Of course he had to quickly ruin the moment. 

Your dream shattered with the sound of his sweet voice.

“What is it?” Your mother brought her glass of sparkling water towards her lips.

“Well… there’s this party on Friday—”

“Don’t even think about it.” Your father’s voice cut him off before he could really begin. 

“But—”

“Steve,” he lamented, “you need to focus on your work! When you show us that your grades are improving, only then will we trust you enough to go out again. It’s simple.”

“But that’s unfair!”

“How is this unfair?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air. When your father didn’t receive a reply, he continued; “Is your sister going?” His eyes landed on you like a target being breached. 

Mayday, mayday! Abandon ship before Steve sinks you with his conniving pea-brained ideas.

“No.” 

For once, Steve had told the truth. 

“Then you won’t go. Take an example from her,” your father pointed at you with his fork. “She has nearly perfect grades and still has a social life––”

“That's a lie,” Steve snorted to himself.

“Your sister is doing fine. She’s proof that you can get good grades too and have a life while doing so.”

“That’s not fair! I want to enjoy my life as a teenager, and she doesn’t!” Your father sighed as he listened to Steve. “You can’t keep me on house arrest forever!”

“No, but––” he stopped mid sentence, the same look that had lit up his features last Monday coming back. This was bad for Steve, you thought to yourself as you watched your father search for the right words. “Not forever.”

“Ok! Then when!?”

“When your sister goes out.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You can take this as a new addition to the dating rule. Forget the house arrest stopping in three weeks, from now on, you follow your sister’s footsteps.” You almost spat your drink onto the ornate tablecloth your mother had set for spring. Oh my god. The three weekend house arrest had turned into this? Steve was just digging himself a bigger hole and it made your evening all the more entertaining.

But that also meant that Steve would make your life a living hell.

“BUT THAT’S SO UNFAIR!”

“It’s not. You’re being too careless with your work, she isn’t. When she goes out, you can too. End of story.”

“DAD! I–– YOU’RE RUINING MY LIFE!” The plates flew as Steve’s fist collided with the table. “UGH!” He stood up, frustration taking the best of him. “I can’t stand another minute of this,” he mumbled, his face red in anger. You could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he walked around the table, his feet stomping up the stairs before his bedroom door slammed shut and he made the house rumble with it. 

“Do you plan on going out any time soon?” Your father turned to you.

“Nope,” you spoke, your face half hidden by your glass of water.

“Too bad for your brother then.”

~

“I can’t believe you’re also on house arrest,” Tommy snickered as he watched the soccer scrimmage with Steve. He opened his water bottle, bringing it to his lips as he was still thirsty and sore from ten minutes of light exercise that morning. 

“Shut up, please,” Steve groaned and lifted his head to the sky. “I need to go to this party.”

“Have you thought about trying to have Eddie convince her to go? Maybe he can do it if you can’t. Hell, he’s managed to get this far without being found dead in a ditch.” 

“It’s impossible… even for Eddie Munson,” Steve shook his head as he grabbed his Peanut Butter Kudos bar from his bag––elated Carol had called in sick that morning so he could have it all to himself. “Nothing in this world will get her to that party.”

“Even if you raise him? Pay him double?” Tommy shrugged.

“I could try,” Steve placed the wrapper of the bar between his teeth, taking the other end of it with his fingers to rip it open. “I’m going to have to take from my savings from now on.”

“You mean the savings you promised yourself you wouldn’t touch til you were out of high school?” Tommy’s eyes went wide. “What do you have in there? Like six hundred?” He knew how much the savings he’d been collecting since he was twelve meant to him.

It was a way out. It was an opportunity to take the girl of his dreams on an ice cream date. The money sat idle waiting to be clinched and spent on Steve’s dreams and unrealistic plans of his future––maybe a cute house and six little munchkins that he loved yet despised at the same time. But it was his. He had saved it, he had scoured hot summer days mowing neighbors lawns and shoveling their driveways during freezing winter mornings for something he could call his. 

“Mhm,” Steve hummed an answer.

"I can’t believe you’ve already spent a hundred on this."

“You’re the one telling me to spend more!”

“Yeah! Because you look like a lost puppy and can’t stop complaining.”

"You don't understand! This party is my shot to ask Nancy out. We chat a bit, make out, and boom! She's my girlfriend! So, you’re right… I will pay him double," Steve explained his plan as he scribbled down the amount of money he already spent on Eddie yesterday, right next to the $1 Kit-Kat he swiped. 

"Do you really have to write down everything you spend?" He raised an eyebrow and Steve sighed as he continued his writing.

"Yeah. You'll see when you're broke and I'm not."

"Well I don't spend my money for a stupid cause. Plus, isn’t that just proof that Eddie’s faking it? The fucking world will go up in flames if your sister ever gets her hands on that."

"She won’t and this isn't stupid," Steve dropped his pencil. "It's me trying to get the girl of my dreams.”

"The girl of your dreams?" Tommy gagged. "What kind of drug are you on? Did you let Munson finally convince you into buying from him or something?" 

"You’re hopeless, Tommy." he shook his head as he closed his planner and placed it back into his bag.

"Says the one who gave away a hundred dollars and is about to spend more on a guy just so you can start dating again. Are you sure Munson is even invited to this party?”

Valid question. 

But Steve knew one thing about the parties in Hawkins: they all needed a supplier of something… booze, weed, a little pick-me-up… and he’d be damned if Eddie Munson wasn’t the first person everyone thought of when they needed something that would make Jim Hopper turn red. 

“Doesn't’ hurt to ask…”

~

Eddie was pulling a chaotic stunt in the halls of Hawkins High when Steve noticed him for the first time that day.

Your brother had been losing himself in the maze of hallways that he should have recalled like the back of his hand in an attempt to find Eddie when he didn’t find him at his usual spot in the drama room. After what felt like hours of searching, Steve hadn’t expected to find Eddie sprinting across the empty hallway with one of the big, black clocks from the cafeteria gripped between his hands.

“For your game?” Steve wondered as a breathless Eddie sprinted past him. 

“You bet!” He nodded before disappearing into another hallway, heading straight for the drama room.

“Did Munson just pass by here?” Mrs. Jinkles arrived in front of Steve barely a few seconds later. The older woman was on the verge of sixty, huffing as though she had smoked three packs of cigarettes in a row. 

“He went that way,” Steve pointed in the opposite direction to where Eddie had gone. 

It hadn’t registered in his mind that if it were any other day, under any other circumstance, he would have sold Eddie out just to gain the favor of the teachers––to skip out on assignments, of course.

Steve watched as Mrs. Jinkles rolled her shoulders back and marched in the direction of his finger. He sighed in his own right before making his way toward the drama room. The familiar posters greeted him before he opened the door. 

Eddie was hunched over the clock he had stolen. He had already opened it, its contents spilling onto the already messy table. 

“Harrington,” Eddie did not look up at him, “ if you’re here to tell me to hurry up and get your sister on that date, know that you only asked me yesterday–”

“I’m not here for that,” Steve shook his head before walking towards Eddie, dropping a crisp, new fifty dollar bill beside the clock. 

“That’s to get her to Tina’s party,” he paused. “You’re invited, right?”

“Believe it or not, Harrington, but I do get invited to parties,” he looked from the bill to Steve with a look the latter was all too familiar with. It was the kind where someone more intelligent challenged Steve to see the stupidity of his question.. “I thought you already paid me?”

“Not for the party,” Steve explained. “I need her to go or else I won’t be able to. You’ll need that extra cash for luck because she has a thing against parties that I don’t really understand… somethin’ about ‘radical feminism’ or was it ‘toxic social spheres’?” 

“What?” Eddie snickered.” You’re also on house arrest?” Steve Harrington, the King of Hawkins High, not allowed to date and under house arrest, was paying him to take his sister out so he could magically remove all of these new rules. It felt so much like a popular kid tantrum that he had to laugh.

Eddie felt like a goldfish out of the bowl on many occasions but Steve treating him as though he was a main character in a film he wouldn’t be caught dead watching, a proverbial fish inside of the bowl, was jarring. 

“Kind of,” Steve muttered embarrassed. “You get why I need her to be there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie shook his head, tuning out Steve’s words as he tried to remove a screw from the clock.

“Get her to that party,” Steve pointed a finger at him. 

“I will.”

But Eddie knew he had a challenge. He liked it, the game of it all, yet Eddie enjoyed the chase so much that the money unraveling beside his hand next to the clock felt like a fire ready to set him ablaze.

~

Since the second Steve Harrington had approached Eddie Munson on that fateful day, the boys of Hellfire had seen a change. He watched, perhaps unintentionally, everything you did. The way you sat with friends and scoffed at their perspectives and laughed at their jokes; the headphones you wore were falling apart on the top but you pulled them out every day to listen to a tape he surely would have enjoyed too. 

It was consuming him—you. A jewel in a sea of so much… bland, grainy sand and Oliver had uncovered Eddie’s mission with spite. He hated watching his friend peek over the edge of his locker just to glimpse at you, he sneered at the way Eddie pocketed that change only to act like a fool in love when you passed by without a glance. 

A Pertruchio to a Katherina; the taming of Hawkins very own shrew.

“I think I found a new beat for a song,” Gareth shook Eddie out of his thoughts as his focus broke. The younger man watched from the corner of his eye as Oliver’s expression changed as his gaze lifted off of Eddie and to the discussion.

“Oh, that’s good,” Eddie nodded, taking another pretzel from the plastic bag tucked in his lunch box before letting his gaze fly back to you like a magnet being called home.

“I think it could go well with the lyrics you came up with the other day!” Gareth tried to catch him back, but Eddie was as good as a fish who didn’t like the bait Gareth was throwing.

“Eddie?” Jeff attempted to grab his attention to support Gareth.

“Hm?” The boy in question turned his head to face his friend as if Gareth’s comment had flown over his head and the conversation was no longer important. 

“Are you going to Tina’s party?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded as he chewed on the remnants of the pretzel.

“I don’t get how easily it is for you to get invited,” another boy from the table chimed in. That kid was a freshman and wasn’t ever going to be invited to a party if he continued to hang out with Hellfire but if he sold drugs, that would give incentive to those looking for a fix. 

“It’s a house party, everyone is invited. Just if you haven’t personally received the paper for it, Tina probably doesn’t want you there.” Jeff stated, licking his lips from the previous sip of coke he had just taken. “And Eddie is invited because he deals and that’s cool at parties.”

“Indeed,” Eddie confirmed, his finger tapping a random beat on the table. His reply still felt as though he was far off into space which drew the entire table’s focus to him.

“Is your girlfriend going?” Oliver asked before opening his box of strawberry Nerds only to  pretend like he hadn’t just said something triggering or hadn’t been thinking about it the entire period.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

There. They had Eddie’s full attention.

“Not yet,” Oliver clarified. “But you’re getting paid to become her boyfriend.” The small candies made a big sound similar to a rainstick as Oliver shook the box and a few dropped into his palm.

“Well, I’m also paid to get her to the party so… yeah,” Eddie looked down at his mini pretzels resting at the bottom of his lunchbox. 

They didn’t look as appetizing as they did last week and even the sandwich he’d made in a rush that morning made his stomach turn. The peanut butter oozing from the sides, its slices could have been paper and its contents pencil shavings and Eddie would dislike it all the same. He thought that maybe he could use some of Steve’s money or leftover cash from dealing to buy something from the cafeteria tomorrow to fight the feeling that had sunk in his stomach every lunch period since Steve’s proposal. Maybe Eddie would find whatever was on the lunch menu good enough that he could finally get something in his stomach. 

However, deep down, he knew it wasn’t the food. He knew very well it was the weight he was feeling in the pit of his stomach growing bigger every time his eyes landed on you and he caught himself thinking all the things he shouldn’t have been. 

You looked good that afternoon. Well, you did every afternoon. You were listening to Barb as though she was telling the most intriguing story—which he fathomed could not have been the case yet he was amazed by your enthusiasm. The hard shell you wore wasn’t so hard when people truly looked. 

It was as though he was seeing you for the first time, every time. A new, funny feeling rising within him that made him nervous as the money sat lumped in his jeans. 

“Are you guys going?” Eddie flipped the question around, wishing to give his mind a break from his sulking. 

“Your brother is acting suspicious.” 

On the other side of the cafeteria, where Eddie’s gaze had previously been fixed, Barb couldn’t help voice her worries. It was not a story that Barb had eclipsed your attention with, but a comment. One singular comment that made things feel as though the ground you walked on was ice. 

“What do you mean?” You frowned before bringing your fork full of food up to your lips.

“He asked me stuff about you… like to be a better brother… which Steve has never, ever, put the effort into being.’”

"Steve? Wanting to be a better brother?" The idea made you laugh. “What did he ask?”

“Stuff about you. What you like, what you do on weekends…” You stopped your fork mid flight towards your mouth, both eyebrows raised.

“Why?” You dropped your fork back on your plate and the food splattered like a painting.

“I told you! He said it was to ‘be a better brother.’” 

“Maybe he actually wants to be a better brother,” Nancy chimed in, making your gaze turn to her. A sympathetic smile tugged on your lips.

“Nance, I know you like him but he definitely does not want to put any effort in making my life easier,” you snorted and Nancy suddenly became all flustered when you talked openly about her feelings. “Do you have an idea why he would ask you that?” You turned your attention back towards Barb.

“No,” she shook her head. “But just look out for anything suspicious.”

“That will be hard. Anything Steve does is suspicious.”

“Did you really need to crush on him out of all the boys in Hawkins?” Barb turned her head towards Nancy. The poor girl was hunched over her lunch in embarrassment, focusing all her attention on getting her blush to stomp out as she poked the peas around on her plastic tray..

“I guess my brother is his own kind of special…” You sighed as you moved your own food. “I’ll just have to sleep with both eyes open now… you know, it was getting real hard trying to keep one from closing.”

Barb laughed, Nancy’s blush diminished. Neither of them knew you were able to make a joke out of something that had you on the edge on the inside. 

—

When Tuesday came to an end, the joy that bubbled from your stomach made the day feel less aggravating than it had been. The warm spring air made everyone’s spirits brighter; students laughed as they slid into their cars and people shed their coats and sweaters to celebrate as much sunlight as they possibly could after winter deprived them of it for so long.

You opened your car’s back door, swinging your bag in the backseat before closing it again and checking your watch. Dustin should be there any minute now. 

“Hey.” 

You could have picked that voice out from a crowd––a week ago you wouldn’t have said the same. 

“Hey,” you matched Eddie’s tone and gave a small smile as he approached your car, sliding up to lean against the door you had just shut. “Didn’t expect to see you in class today. I think Mr. Arnold nearly shit his pants..”

“He’d never live it down if he did,” he laughed. “But I said I’d show up, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” you picked at your bracelet in an attempt to distract yourself from the way your heart fluttered at Eddie. Perhaps it was the way he stood confidently against a crowd, or maybe it was the way his eyes made you feel as though you were the only person he could ever focus on––but the feeling made you uneasy because it was new. 

At the same time, you were searching for a distraction to quell the feeling. A group of cheerleaders passed by; all holding the neon orange papers for Tina’s party and grinning like they were the happiest people to ever exist. 

"Are you going?" You leaned opposite him, crossing your arms as you waited for his reply. “To Tina’s party, I mean.” 

"Yeah,” Eddie nodded, “she asked me to deal. Parties are usually where I make the most profit so… can’t pass that up when I’ve got you to impress.” 

You tipped your head to look at your shoes. White, slightly grimey sneakers staring back at you as you fought the heat. All consuming, Eddie Munson was. And he made you feel like jelly when he said stupid, ridiculous things like that. 

“How about you?" You needn’t look at him to see the smile on his face. You could hear the difference in tone. 

You shook your head. Rising to see him again, he was hopeful when your answer was the furthest from it. “No,” you admitted. “Not a party person.” 

“No?” He had a flirtatious inflection to it. “Got a reason?” 

“I find them dumb and pointless. An excuse for all the girls who take sips of church wine to act like complete airheads and get plastered off one can of PBR.”

If he was being honest he couldn’t agree more. He never had the conventional “blast” teens were supposed to have at parties. Eddie only liked them because it made his sales blow. But he remembered he had to convince you to go. You had to go. He wouldn’t step foot on Tina’s lawn without you. 

Neither of you heard the bell that signaled the end of the middle school day. 

Dustin, who had been waddling his way over on the sidewalk that connected the two schools, hadn’t noticed Eddie when he suddenly decided to run his way over and tackle you into a hug.

“Y/n!” The second he and his screaming of your name appeared out of nowhere, Eddie took a step back. A light shock in his eyes when he spotted a pre-teen being so affectionate around you when the girl he knew was far from a “caretaking” type. You didn’t have a little brother? For as long as he could recall, there had only ever been two Harrington siblings: you, and the idiot with the good hair.

A big “oof” escaped your lips before you wrapped your arms around him, tightening the hug as much as he’d allow before letting go.

“How was your weekend?”

“AMAZING! You will never guess what happened! Mike’s campaign is INSANE! There were golden dragons and evil fairies that wanted to steal Will’s wizard staff and the only way we could fight them was with this unknown crystal––” Dustin rambled so fast that you caught none of it but Eddie had. He’d always recognize when someone spoke the language he loved. 

“Campaign?” Eddie’s voice broke off Dustin’s jittery talk. “You play D and D?” He questioned you first as though you had been the one admitting it; grinning from ear to ear at the possibility.

“Sadly, no,” you breathed, your words a bit desperate. “But he does! And he promised to teach me but he’s always busy.”

“Who is this?” Dustin snapped his head from you to Eddie. 

A wave washed over the young boy at that moment. Eddie wasn’t Steve. He wasn’t a guy who tried to ask Nancy out nor was he a cookie-cutter mold of the jocks everyone loved. He was edgy; he was cool with an immediate draw because like Dustin, Eddie didn’t fit a mold. He smelt of cigarette smoke and a cheap cologne––a scent Dustin knew he had to copy because if he could be cool like this guy, maybe others would find him just as intriguing in his grade.  

 “Y/n,” his voice was flat, serious, “why were you hiding your awesome friend from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” you giggled at Dustin’s dramatic words, Eddie loved the sound of it. “Dustin, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Dustin, the boy I babysit.” 

Awesome. The kid Eddie had never once seen in his life had called him awesome without speaking a word to him. No one had ever said that about him before. 

Eddie extended his hand like a real adult toward the kid. Dustin took it and with soft, baby-like hands, tried to return a handshake that would impress his awesome new acquaintance. 

“What grade are you in?” Eddie asked. 

“Seventh/”

“Ah,” he nodded in reflection. “Well, hopefully I’ll be out of high school by the time you’re a freshman, but when you do get here, tell whichever awesome Dungeon Master is running hellfire that you know me and they’ll take you without question.”

“Hellfire?” His eyes lit up like spotlights on a stage. It sounded dangerous, cool. Dungeon Master had slipped under his radar because the name was so sick. 

“It’s the name of our party.”

“Wait, Hellfire is a D and D party?” Your own eyes grew wide because truthfully, you hadn’t any idea what in the world it was. You had seen the recruiting posters that the football team defaced but how were you supposed to know what a devil mascot was supposed to represent? 

“Yeah,” Eddie looked as though it were obvious. “What did you think it was?” Eddie crossed his own arms, his expression questioning.

“I don’t know, actually. People say so many different things about it, I really didn’t know.”

“Well, I’ll invite you to a campaign if you want to learn. We play every Friday and sometimes Tuesdays in the drama room when it’s free.” 

“I would love to.” 

Dustin was not sure what he was watching as he looked up at the one person he loved like a sister giving heart eyes to a boy he found to be his new idol. 

“I just have to finish my character sheet.”

“Oh, that’s no problem, I’ll help you.” 

Dustin lifted his gaze from you to Eddie like he would at a tennis match. The interaction brought sparks to his eyes. The two of you liked each other. The heart eyes were mutual; they were nervous and giddy and he had seen Lucas give them to Shelley Windsor from across the lunchroom six weeks ago only to be spurred by her accidentally spilling milk on his favorite t-shirt three days later. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

“Not this Friday because of Tina’s party, but how about the one after? We can go to The Hideout right after, we have a gig then.” The mention of The Hideout made Dustin’s smile even wider.

A date. A real date. 

“Sounds like a date.” 

The word echoed in Eddie’s mind like a beautiful melody. The keys drawing the most beautiful sound that even Motzart was envious but the second a finger slipped and the keys turned sour, the weight of the money sitting in his pocket squandered the joy. 

“Yeah,” he wished he could have replied to it with a full smile and without the lump in his throat or the pit in the bottom of his stomach.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked, titling your head with a hope he had begun the conversation with but ended without. 

“Yeah.”

Eddie nodded as you both said goodbye before walking away to his van on the other end of the parking lot. 

“You all set?” You turned to Dustin, a dumb smile still plastered on his features as he adjusted the straps of his backpack. 

“Mhm,” He hummed yes, walking around the car to access the passenger seat.

“You listened to me,” he spoke again when the door was closed and both seat belts were on.

“What?”

“About meeting people at The Hideout.”

“How––”

“He literally said he played at The Hideout.” You closed your mouth instead of replying, narrowing your eyes. 

“I’m glad you finally found someone,” Dustin grinned, a toothless, adorable grin that could always make you feel happy.

“I didn’t––Eddie isn’t––”

“Oh it’s a date then!” He mimicked your voice, but not in a mocking way. 

“Alright, I did say that,” you rolled your eyes. “But it doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend or anything.”

“Not yet!”

“Dustin––”

“Y/n, what more can you ask for! He plays D and D which probably makes him a nerd like us! He plays guitar and is in a band, he looks like a rock star and like he’s the coolest person on earth… plus he definitely likes you.”

“I am not having this conversation with you,” you chuckled, turning your eyes back to your steering wheel and finally starting the car. “Eddie is… just… Eddie.” You hadn’t noticed, but even saying his name made you smile. 

“Fine, then I hope you enjoy your date with just Eddie.”

“I will, thank you.”

~

“Boo!”

 Your soul nearly left your body as the quiet solitude of browsing the store’s tape selection was interrupted. Led Zeppelin's cover art shaking as your hand clutched it tightly, the plastic nearly cracking under your grip.

Turning around, you met those big brown eyes and familiar curls that had filled your thoughts every second of every day. 

“You followin’ me, Munson?” You raised an eyebrow, questioning him with a teasing tone. “I swear you’ve been popping up everywhere I have been lately.” 

“Just a coincidence, I guess…” Eddie grinned as he looked at the tape in his own hand. A flustered, small blush painting his cheeks. “I came to get Bark at the Moon,” he showed you the familiar tape. “I accidentally ruined it while cleaning my room. Stepped on it and it cracked into a million little pieces.”

“Eddie Munson cleans his bedroom?” You laughed as he rolled his eyes. “I never would have thought.” 

“Well,” he tapped the tape with his fingers, “I guess I’m just full of surprises then.” 

A small lull passed over the two of you as conversation settled. He looked, like he always did, at you with so much curiosity and fondness that you weren’t sure it could have evolved as quickly as it did. A crush that swallowed him whole, all he wanted to do was be in your presence––for a second, for an hour, for an entire lifetime, Eddie Munson was chasing a high that was brought on by all the wrong reasons. 

“What are you doin’ here?” He questioned, gazing around the store when looking at you reminded him too much of the funds supplying his purchase. “I thought you were babysitting?”

“Just finished actually. This store is on my way home and I can’t keep money in my pockets long when I know there is something I want,” you scanned the shelf again, grabbing the Fleetwood Mac tape that had been on your wishlist forever.

“He seems like a nice kid.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Dustin is the best,” smiling as your eyes fell back to Eddie. “I think the two of you would get along.”

“I’m sure we would. The kid plays D and D for Christ’s sake!” He laughed, walking with you towards the counter to check out. 

Before you could set the tapes down, Eddie put out his hand. 

“Let me see them?” 

You furrowed your brows but let him take them. Eddie may have loved music, but Fleetwood Mac wasn’t a cup of tea he sipped from often, if ever. He’d admit “I’m So Afraid” was sick but only in the comfort of someone who wouldn’t expose him for enjoying something that wasn’t hard metal. 

“Why?” You asked as he piled the ones you had collected on top of his own. He set them on the counter and the man behind it began ringing them up. 

“Eddie––” The protests left your mouth quickly but he shook his head. 

“I wanna get them for you.” 

“What? No!” In an attempt to grab one back, he pushed your hand away from the counter. “I have the money for them. I literally just got paid!” 

“Didn’t say you had no money, sweetheart.” 

The Fleetwood Mac tape rang up to six-fifty. Far too much for him to pay for something like that. 

“You can’t pay for those,” you huffed. “They’re not your tapes.” 

“You ever heard of something called a gift? Or better yet, maybe chivalry? You take a lot of English classes, I think that word has popped up a time or two.”

You looked at him with a flat face but he challenged it as he pulled bills from his pocket. As you gave him a glare, he slid the money across the counter and the guy took it without you tearing your eyes away from Eddie. 

“I can’t let you do that.” 

“Little late for that, sweetheart,” that goddamn name again. He tipped his head to the side, scrunching his nose as your annoyance was built from an unearthed appreciation of his motivations. 

“Let me pay you back,” you breathed out. 

“No.” 

“Eddie, come on.” 

“No!” He laughed as the man handed him the change and pushed the tapes back out toward the two of you. Eddie split the tapes, one for him, two for you, and made for the door. 

“Why did you do that?” You trailed behind him like a puppy. 

“You know, a ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“Th-thank you,” you stumbled on your words as you looked from the tapes that had come back to your hand to Eddie. “But––”

“I just wanted to be nice, give you a gift. Is that so bad?”

“No…. Thank you,” you smiled as the door’s bell had silence, the cars on the road beside the shop filled the air and Eddie halted beside his van that was parked beside your car. 

“I was wondering,” he squinted as the spring sun caught his eye, “would you come to Tina’s party with me?” You really didn’t mean to laugh, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had been adamant that you weren’t going. Parties were not your “thing.” Only when you turned your head to side to watch the almost heartbreaking look in his eyes did you stop.

“I’m sorry,” you sucked in a breath. “I’m not laughing at you. I just… I don’t go to parties,” you shook your head. “The thought of me going makes me laugh.”

“Even if I’ll be at the party?”

“Eddie, Axl Rose could be at that stupid party and I still wouldn’t go.”

“You wouldn’t even do it for Axl!?” Eddie put a hand to his heart as if that had offended him.

“Not even for Axl.”

“Well,” he countered, “how about Kirk?”

“Still no,” you giggled. “All of Metallica could be there and I would be at home watching reruns of that Ewok show or the new episode of Little House on the Prairie instead.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You really think I want to attend a party where everyone just gets drunk and makes out and then people throw up everywhere because they get even more drunk––”

“And high,” he added.

“And high! Plus the music is fucking… awful.”

“Ok, I agree with you,” Eddie nodded in agreement. “Nevermind then. You’re right.” 

“Thank you, I know I’m right,” He liked the confidence he saw. The way you tipped your chin to the sky and your head bobbled. Eddie was disappointed he couldn’t get you to go but he wouldn’t trade seconds with you for anything. 

You walked past his van and opened the door to the front seat of yours.

 “I’ll see you tomorrow?” You didn’t know why it came out as more of a question.

“Yeah,” his car keys jingled in his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

The second you settled into your car, you slipped in the tape and putting the Metallica one that had filled its spot in the empty case. 

You sighed as your hands fell on the wheel; the leather of the material familiar and growing warm under the sun. You watched as Eddie entered his van, giving you a small wave before firing up his engine and driving opposite the direction you were headed. 

Two lives separated by a town yet brought together by simple interests.  

“Pull yourself together,” you sighed, melting in your seat as the first few notes of Rhiannon started playing.

You never felt like this. The ache in your heart, the butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach… These unfamiliar feelings were almost painful as you tried to fight them, trying to run far away from them. You felt like one of those toys you and Steve would fight over as toddlers and ended up splitting in two by pulling too hard. Instead of the forces being two chaotic children, it was your head and your heart.

~

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Eddie beamed beside you.

He had caught you in the hall as you made your way toward the gym the next day. Persistent is what he was, when you thought of how he pestered in a respectful, yet interested manner. You never had a guy chase after you before––want to spend time with you or treat you like you were the apple of his eye. 

“I told you already,” you fixed your discolored sports bag on your shoulder. “I’m not going, Eddie. No one could convince me to go.”

“But I’ll feel lonely without you.” He gave you sad eyes and fuck, it made you waver for a milisecond. 

“You’ll be fine,” you rolled your eyes instead. “There are plenty of others to talk to or make fun of, I am sure of it.” 

“No, there won’t be. I need you for moral support.”

“Moral support?”

“Yes,” he furiously nodded with conviction. 

“I’m not going.” 

“Please?”

“No,” you shook your head, a smile dancing over your lips as you saw his brown eyes peering at you with want. 

“Fine,” he scoffed. “If I die, it’s your fault.”

“Die? Dramatic much?” You giggled. “You mean to guilt trip me into doing something I don’t want to do? Sounds like a you problem, Eddie.” 

“No. I’m extremely realistic. I will fucking die if you aren’t there to save me.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed, nodding as if you were believing his fallacies. “Totally believe you right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, Y/n,” he shook his head in disbelief. 

“You’ll be fine,” He was making a disparate face, pouting and looking at you like a sad, stray animal. “You never give up, do you?”

“Was that a yes?”

“I’m not going, Eddie,” you said one last time, rolling your eyes before going on your way, heading towards the inside gym that was fitted for volleyball every afternoon. Eddie sighed as he watched you disappear, his shoulders slumping in defeat. 

At least he tried.

But then, he went to Steve.

"I tried, she said she won't go."

“Well, will you convince her for another fifty!?” Steve pulled out his wallet and started sifting through the money. Eddie held out his hands and forced Steve’s hands closed, the wallet slamming shut with a force.

“Steve, you’re not an ATM machine! Put your goddamn money away.”

“I know!” Steve frustratingly screeched. “ButI need her to be there!”

“I can try again,” Eddie faltered because he felt deep down, you’d never agree to go. “She really doesn’t want to fucking go to this thing so if I can’t get to her to, that’s not on me.” 

~

Friday ended with no progress for either Steve or Eddie. Convincing you to attend Tina’s party had been a failure––for both of them and truthfully, neither could blame the other for not being successful in their mission. Your mind was fixed. Parties were dumb and stupid and absolutely useless. You had better things to do with your time. 

Like putting on pajamas and watching the new episodes of the last season of Little House or finish reading act 1 of Romeo and Juliet for Monday.

“I don’t understand you,” Steve narrowed his eyes as he watched you from across the room. You were snuggled up on the far end of the couch, eating yogurt while mindlessly watching commercials as you waited for your show to begin.

“What do you mean?” You licked the end of your spoon before dipping it into the carton again.

“Why do you not want to go to this party?” 

“I just don’t want to,” you looked back at the TV. “Why does everyone want me to go?” You muttered to yourself as you took another spoonful of yogurt.

“Why can’t you be normal?”

“Define ‘normal’?”

“Tina’s party is normal. Wanting to go to the party is normal. Having friends who want you to be at the party is normal.”

“Tina’s party is just a pathetic excuse for all the idiots in our school to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves from the pathetic emptiness of their meaningless––”

“––Consumer–driven lives. I KNOW!” Steve groaned, tugging at his hair in frustration. “Can you, just for one night, forget that you’re totally wretched and act like we're actually siblings with the same interests?”

“No. I told you parties are–”

“Dumb? Stupid? I got that! Y/n, why can’t you just do this for me?”

“I already do everything for you!” You made frantic movements, pointing at him with your empty spoon. “This time, deal with the consequences of your actions yourself!” You huffed, fully turning your stare back to the TV, silently telling him you were done with the conversation.

“You’re being a bitch!”

“Excuse me?” You snapped your head back to only be met by a serious expression.

“You heard me! You’re being a heinous bitch and ruining my life right now!” He leaned away from the doorframe he had been watching you from. “And then you wonder why you barely can get any friends! Maybe you just say you don’t want to be in a relationship because you know you can’t keep a guy. You’re too mean and selfish!” Your mouth remained wide open as the words escaped him. “You’re just a loser! A freak who knows no one will want her at that stupid party! That’s why you’d rather stay home and watch that dumb ‘house in the fields show.’” 

As if on cue the commercials stopped and the familiar theme song that was normally comforting was ringing through the living room. 

“You just want to make my life miserable because yours is!” Your ears were buzzing, and the pang in your chest that he had started just the week before came back full force.

"FINE!" You screamed over his voice and the noise of the TV. Maybe louder than you expected, but you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts. Your hands were trembling as you grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, bringing quiet to the room. The tension bubbled up like froth on a hot drink once the welcoming melody had gone quiet. 

“I’ll go to your stupid fucking party,” you mumbled the words out as you walked passed him and headed straight up to your room. You struck his shoulder with yours, hard, when you passed him. 

You wiped the stray tear you hadn’t noticed had fallen before changing. Fumbling with your shirts and pants as if you didn’t even know your own closet; shell shocked from the perceptions Steve had expressed. You grabbed your shoes and spotted Eddie’s sweatshirt spread out on your chair. 

You took it without a second thought before flying down the stairs. 

"Where are you going?" Your father appeared in the doorway of the entry hall with a cup of coffee in his hands. It was far too late for one and he’d be up all night working because of it.  

"To a party,” you bit back, your father taking a step back in surprise.

"A party?"

"Yeah, Tina's spring party," you grumbled, not making eye contact with him as he continued asking questions. You loudly dropped your shoes on the floor before sitting down next to them to slip them on.

Steve came not long after with a beaming smile plastered on his face. His hair was even more perfect than before, he was dressed in his version of perfect. The polished rich kid coming out in his baby blue polo tucked into his light brown pants. Steve grabbed his navy jacket from the coat rack by the door. 

“Steve–” your father wanted to deny Steve from leaving the home. 

“That’s the rule right?” Steve turned to the mirror over the shoe rack. “She goes, I go!” He looked at himself one last time before clapping his hands together. "We'll be back by two!" Steve turned back to you just as you were standing back up.

"Is that a new sweater?" He wondered, a grin still plastered on his face as he eyed the black hoodie you were wearing. It looked worn out and smelled funny, suspicion rising in the back of his mind that Eddie Munson had been doing his job after all. 

"It's none of your business," you walked past him and out through the front door to get to your car.

~

The party was everything you expected it to be. 

People making out in every corner, beer keg competitions that your brother jumped on the second you arrived, and awful flirting skills as boys finally got the courage to make their move with a little liquid courage. 

The whole house became a mess of sweaty bodies and spilled drinks topped off with loud, annoying music. Stuffy air from the weed and cigarette smoke mixed with the intoxicating chemical smell of different flavored Teen Spirit deodorants paired with cheap perfume and hairspray.

 It was everything you hated.

You spotted Nancy out of the corner of your eye not ten minutes after you slammed the car door closed. She was wearing a flashy shirt, her hair done differently than how she always wore it. She was admiring Steve the ‘King of the Party’ as he won yet again another round of whatever drinking game currently had his attention.

“Sweet,” you barely stepped into the crowded living room when Tommy’s voice made your entire body tense up. “Looking fresh tonight, Harrington,” he smirked, Carol giggling at his side.

Tommy Hagen never failed in making your skin crawl––no––making it want to completely shed itself from your body and run as far away as it could from Hawkins. He was a creep. A pimpled, doughboy creep that thought he was the shit for being friends with Steve and bagged a girl he thought was hot, Carol. 

“Did Y/n finally decide to make an appearance?” She snickered. 

“Jesus Christ,” you narrowed your eyes as they gathered around you. A pack of wolves on the hunt, a lamb too stubborn to quit centered in their gaze. 

You took a step closer to her, “is that lipstick on your teeth?” 

Her eyes went wide as her hand reached up to her lips. You took this as an opportunity to walk the other way, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies again.

The hallway was more crowded. A guy with a tray of shots he was desperate not to spill made his way from the kitchen to the living room, lifting the tray towards you.

“You want one?” The range of shots, from blue to bright pink, looked as unappetizing as dirt. You grabbed the one closest to you without even hesitating. A strange green color that made you more motivated to use it as a way to forget you were at the stupid, fucking party.

To forget the whole fiasco Steve had ruined your weekend with.

That you were a bitch. 

That people didn’t want to be your friend. 

That no boy would ever want to date you because you were awful. 

As the sour liquid slid down your throat, you knew it would help you pretend like Steve hadn’t thrown all of your insecurities at your face. Pretend like you hadn’t gone with him just to prove a point. To prove to him that you were welcomed at this party or that you did have friends. 

But maybe it was to prove all of this to yourself.

However, that meant you also needed to forget the pain and the burning feeling in the back of your mind that maybe he was right.

“Hey!” His voice was jovial that he had found you first. 

Eddie saw the shot glass in your hand, the blank, nearly heartless look on your face as the scene around you changed from happy to glum. 

“What are you doing here? I had to hear from dipshit Tommy Hagen that you actually showed up.” He appeared next to you, concern written all over his face.

If Steve was right, you wished Eddie didn’t give you those looks. You wished he didn’t make you feel like you had a friend in him. You wished he didn’t make your heart thump out of its chest like if he were to disappear tomorrow, you’d have to go too. 

“I’m getting trashed, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties?” You bit back, your anger from Steve’s scorching rumble mixed with your words. “And Tommy Hagen? He lies… a lot. You’re just on the lucky end that finally a truth came tumbling out of his lips.” 

“Your brother likes to make his presence known too,” Eddie put a hand on your shoulder, smiling to himself when he noticed you were wearing his hoodie.

“Ah,” another guy with a tray of random alcohol filled glasses walked right by you, you snatched one away before turning back to Eddie. “Later.”

And his hand slipped from your shoulder as you walked away from him. 

He felt scorned. 

“Hey!” Eddie called after you. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m off to be ‘normal!’” You made air quotes as you said the word.

Eddie didn’t know why he stood there like an idiot as he watched you disappear into the crowd again. The word normal rang through his mind like poison. You hated normal, he hates normal––and you were both too far into your own worlds to ever be normal. 

He quickly regretted his decision to stand there like a tree when it forced him to spend a half an hour running through the maze of Tina’s house trying to find you again. Eddie felt like he was in a haunted corn maze held outside of Hawkins every Halloween. Instead of having zombies or jump scares at every corner, it was drunk students making the way around the house impossibly hard.

The breath that was stuck in his throat only released when he spotted you at the crossroad between the living room and the dinning room; a glass half full of rum in your hand. You were stumbling your way around. A half an hour later and his hoodie was missing the strings around the neck, your hair was a mess, and the nailpolish was chipping quickly. 

Your expression was a mix between a smile and a frown which Eddie thought to be impossible until he witnessed it on you.

“Hey,” Eddie called out when the music allowed. He attempted to reach for the glass as a way to help you because just looking at you made him realize no one was looking out for you. Drunk, a bit angry, and alone. 

“Y/n, maybe you should give me that––” he reached for the glass again. Eddie’s only thought was to get you away from here and make sure you didn’t swallow one more drop of alcohol. 

“No!” You whined like a toddler. “It’s mine! MINE!” You rattled out of his grip before scrambling out to the other room. Eddie blinked as he watched you run away. For a second, he felt like he was back in his trailer, reading The Lord of the Rings as his mind created the image of Bilbo holding the one ring and calling it his just like you did with the drink. 

“MY MAN!” Steve appeared out of thin air, beaming at him with his brightest smile, pupils blown wide as the drinks had gotten to him as well. Eddie knew Steve wasn’t a smoker but he definitely had a second-hand high. “How did you get her to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Act like a human!” He laughed to himself.

Eddie wanted to protest. To say something about how this wasn’t normal behavior coming from you, and he had a right to be worried. Instead, Steve’s attention was captured by a girl calling his name. Eddie thought he recognised Nancy’s voice over the music but everything was blurred out.

When his gaze turned back around to land on what was going inside the dining room,  his eyes went wide.You were dancing on top of the table, if it wasn’t clear that you were drunk out of your mind, it certainly was now. 

Tommy and the rest of the crowd that had formed around the table were all cheering for you to continue. You threw the empty beer can into the crowd as you continued to dance; Eddie questioned for a second how you had changed drinks so fast before quickly pushing past students to reach you.

“What are you doing!? Get down!” He tried to grab your leg but you swatted his hands away.

“NO!” You screamed, giggling to yourself as you swung your body from side to side.

You wanted to twirl to the beat of the music. Sober you was already not very good at twirls, meaning that drunk you’s sense of balance was completely nonexistent. You tripped on your own feet, making you fall right off the table and luckily for you, right into Eddie’s arms.

If you were sober, you would have felt as though it was straight of a fairytale.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine!” You scoffed, scrambling away from him to stand up. The second you were standing on your own and Eddie removed his hand from your back, you stumbled backwards again. 

“You’re not fine,” his tone became serious, a frown painted his features as he fully took in your state. He could see the way your limbs fell limp and lazy, how your alcohol filled eyes looked around the room. “C’mon,” he grabbed your shoulders to help you move through the crowd.

You made movements to get away from him, making you turn around in his arms and face him. “I don’t need your help,” you whined as you lightly hit his chest, the impact doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

“Yeah, you do,” he looked down at you, trying not to get lost in the galaxy of your eyes as you peered up at him with your drunken glare. “Let’s get you out of here, ok?” He almost whispered, his tone soft and soothing as his thumb rubbed circles on your shoulder.

The air outside was cold; a stark contrast to the oppressing and sauna-like temperature inside the house. The quiet, cool nature felt nice as the music muffled into barely recognizable lyrics when the door closed behind the two of you. 

A few people had taken the party outside. Some smoking on the grass or chatting as they sat on the hood of their cars, enjoying the quieter parts of the evening.

Eddie’s hand secured on your hip as he helped you walk in a straight line towards the other side of the garden to a small patio far off from the noise and commotion the night had to offer.

“This is so patronizing,” you complained as he continued to hold you.

“Leave it to you to use big words when you’re blitzed,” he laughed.

You made a sudden move to walk faster, making you tumble out of his hand and onto the grass, giggling to yourself as you did. 

Eddie grabbed your waist, lifting you back up to sit you down on one of the dark green iron garden chairs, and only when he was sat down next to you that he realized how romantic the scene was.

The table was placed at the center of a wooden pergola, wisteria twisting with its pillars and in between the planks of the ceiling. Everything was so quiet. The party barely a whisper in the vast, beautiful garden. The outdoor lights lit your features just enough for him to see and defined the color of your eyes.

Eddie sighed to himself. In any other circumstance, he would have died to stand there with a girl like you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You giggled as you fully rested your head against the palm of your hand.

“Like what?” Eddie tweaked his head to the side. Maybe he was staring at you for a bit too long.

“Like that!” You pointed out again, smiling to yourself.

“Because you’re pretty,” he knew you wouldn’t remember this, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

You laughed, a sweet sound that dripped from your lips like honey and made Eddie’s heart melt.

“Well, you’re not so bad yourself,” he watched the look in your eyes change as you scanned his features. Drunken you remembering the curve of his nose, to the way his lips hooked into a smile. "You have very pretty eyes, you know? They look a bit like doe,” you blurted out, smiling at him with a gooey grin.

Suddenly you felt all the alcohol begin to surge. The rapid onslaught of nausea confused you, furrowing your brows and causing immediate concern. Before you knew it, you were leaning down, throwing up onto his black converse.

"Jesus!" Eddie abruptly stood up, sighing when he realized no words he could say would change the state you were in. His hand found a way to your hair, gently rubbing your scalp in poor attempts to hold it away from your face as you continued throwing up. 

"Hmm," You groaned once you lifted yourself back up, resting your head against your palm. 

It hadn’t even phased you––what you had just done. 

"I think it's time to take you home," Eddie stood up, chuckling when another protesting groan left your lips. "C'mon, party girl," he hooked his arm around your torso, wrapping your arm over his shoulders. 

“I don’t want to go home,” you said sadly, taking Eddie by surprise when he felt you melt into his embrace; your arms fully wrapping themselves around him.

“I don’t want to go home,” you pleaded again, your tone more desperate as you looked up at him, your chin resting on his torso. “Please, don’t bring me back there.” 

Going home would make your fight with Steve too real and you couldn’t handle that right now. 

Eddie managed to walk you back to his van, patting your knee once he had buckled your seat belt.

“Wait!” You called out when he was about to close the passenger door. “Don’t leave me alone!”

“I’m not leaving you, sweetheart,” the nickname rolling off his lips would have made your heart leap in your chest if your mind wasn’t so fuzzy. “I’m going to get in the car from the other side, ok?”

“Mhm,” your voice fell quiet, your gaze falling down to your hands where you toyed with the sleeves of his hoodie.

When Eddie was in his seat, he felt your eyes on him. With every movement he made, you watched. The way he  lifted his arm to buckle his seatbelt, his hand turning the key to start the van… he saw from the corner of his eye as you viewed him with all your focus. 

“Who’s watching who now?” He smirked as he started the engine, carefully driving through the maze of sloppily parked cars before he was back on the main road.

“I wasn’t,” you turned your gaze away like a cat pretending they hadn’t just pushed a glass off a table, letting your focus be busy with something else from the decor in an old maid’s kitchen.

Eddie chuckled at your reaction. 

“How about we go pick somethin’ up to eat? Get some food in your system so you sober up?”

“Works with me,” you molded in the seat, toying with the hoodie strings that had gone uneven. You closed your eyes as you let yourself get swayed by the vehicle, humming a familiar tune when the silence became too much. 

His breath caught in his throat the second he recognized it.

Eddie knew that song.

In fact he knew it very well––he was the one who wrote it.

He smiled as your angel voice filled the car. Eddie thought he was going to collapse at the thought of someone other than Corroded Coffin members knowing this song. Even better, the thought of you knowing it sent him to paradise.

The bright colors of the fast food restaurant lit up the whole car. The neon 24/7 sign standing tall on top of the square building, Eddie scanned the menu as he broke the van beside the machine.

“What do you want?”

“Fries please,” you murmured, blinking softly at the bright lights.

“Alright,” you closed your eyes at the sound of his voice. Your foggy mind barely understood what else he had ordered beside a fry and a coke.

You were coming in and out of sleep by the time Eddie had parked in a quiet street on the heights of Hawkins. It wasn’t much of a view but it was the prettiest one you had around here. 

“You alright?” He chuckled as he watched you open your eyes again, struggling to blink sleep away.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and before you could fall back asleep Eddie was handing you a coke and your fries. You struggled to remove your seat belt before shifting in your seat and grabbing the food.

“Thank you,” you sighed before taking a sip, the sweet fizzing drink waking you up instantly.

“No problem,” he smiled as he watched you. You seemed like you were in your own little bubble; still very drunk but better than minutes prior.

“I really didn’t take you for a ‘getting absolutely trashed’ type of girl.”

“I’m not,” you mumbled as you chewed on a fry.

“Then why did you do it?” He crossed his arms.

“Because it’s normal,” you spat the word out like venom. “It’s what people expect of me apparently.”

“Since when do you do anything that people expect you to do?” Eddie turned his body to fully face you.

You shrugged before looking down at your food, “since my own brother thinks I'm a terrible person…" 

Ah.

There. 

He had hit the bullseye. Steve had gotten to you. And it seemed like he hadn’t been kind because Eddie saw the way your eyes dimmed at the mention of Steve.

"I don’t think you are,” he shook his head. “But I thought you liked being perceived as mean and scary?"

"I do," you hiccuped, placing the coke in the cupholder of the van’s door. "At least I did until Steve was an ass and called me a bitch and well… he made it known how he feels about me. I’m just a thorn in his side." Eddie could see your eyes starting to water as you stared down at your fries. All the filters that being sober you may have put up came tumbling down with your tears.

It was hard to be vulnerable when you spent years perfecting invulnerability. 

You sniffed and a small sob escaped your lips. Eddie's heart shattered with it. 

"Wh–what I said in the car last time, about feeling confident," you wiped your cheek with the sleeve of the sweatshirt. "I think he took it and crushed the last of it these past few weeks. This tonight… it was just the icing on the goddamn cake."

"Is that why you were so surprised I asked you out?" He didn't know why he said it, but he felt his heart ache as he did. 

You nodded.

And you took his heart in your hands as you did. Smothering it, crushing it with the knowledge he held and nourished that could only harm you more.

"Yeah," your voice came out hoarse. "Most guys are scared of me or just want to be friends with Steve… He’s just so… great. Steve is so perfect. I'm just the loser who scares people off," Eddie frowned at what you said. Watching you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. "It's so stupid," you whispered.

"What do you mean?" He asked, careful with his words.

"Tommy Hagan…" Eddie's frown deepened at the name. "Freshman year," you sniffed as you crossed your arms, "we dated for a month until I realized he only did it to get close to Steve. He was cheating on me with Carol." Eddie's eyes widened. "No one really knows though," you frowned too. "He wanted to keep it a secret and just hang out as friends. Should have known." You sighed, blinking a few times before placing your fries on the side and wiping both your eyes with your sleeves.

"Is that why you started that shell?"

"Yeah," you nodded, your head still feeling dizzy from the alcohol and the tension from the tears.

"Well, he and your brother are assholes."

"Tell me about it," you smiled, turning around so the side of your head rested against the headrest. Your glossy eyes met his as the shallow light from Hawkins eked into the van.

High above the town, in a beat up, poorly kept van that smelt of weed, nothing felt vulnerable in that moment. 

You didn't know if it was the feeling of the alcohol still coursing through your veins, or the way Eddie was looking at you––his doe eyes holding in so much softness and compassion––much more than you had ever felt in years. 

Before you knew it, words left your lips, mumbling into the short silence:

"You're pretty,” the way his features changed as he smiled made you smile too. It's as if his eyes sparkled every time he did, the way he slowly registered the meaning of it when a short laugh tumbled out. Eddie was happy the car was barely lit because a blush had spread its way across his nose.

"And you're drunk."

"Not that drunk" you stated, a tear filled giggle echoing through the space.

“I said it earlier, but you’re pretty too.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, and Eddie liked it ten times better than the frown you had seconds prior.

You sighed before grabbing your coke and taking a new sip, the drink washing the bare minimum of your pain and sadness away. 

You spent the next hour talking about nothing and everything as you finished the rest of your order. The more you spoke the more he could see the tension washing away from you, and the alcohol slowly dissipating from your system.

He could see that by the end, you were trying not to fall asleep on him. The night had already been long and emotional enough that your eyes were closing without your consent.

"C'mon, let's get you home, Harrington."

“Hmm,” you barely had the strength to nod, Eddie smiling when a yawn escaped you, making him yawn just seconds after.

The engine starting broke the quiet of the empty streets, like a familiar melody that was stuck replay until the van would come to a halt. The green dragon proudly standing on the dash nodding his head up and down as the van moved along the road.

The stars were bright, with not a cloud to hide them, and Eddie could see the moon in the distance of the road. It was the perfect setting, and for a fleeting moment he actually imagined what it would be like to be with you. 

Actually be in a relationship with you. With no stupid deals made over a popular rich kid’s tantrum. 

He imagined what it would feel like to hold your hand without the burning reminder that this was never meant to be real; or Imagined what it would feel like to cup your cheek and run his thumb across it before locking your lips into a kiss.

He wondered what it would feel like to have you in his arms, laying across his chest as he read you The Fellowship of the Ring––his favorite of the trilogy.. Reading the pages that were so dear to him until your eyes closed and your breath became shallow. Until you fell into the dream world and escaped the chaotic mess that life could be in this little town.

All the sudden he wanted to dance with you to his favorite ballads, take you on roadtrips that lead to festivals and golden moments where you got to see your favorite artists live. He wanted to see the sparks in your eyes when Axl Rose started singing and Slash took over with his guitar solo; or how you would scream with him when Angus Young and the rest of AC/DC entered the stage and would take you to another planet for the evening. 

But at the end of the day, the money was still buried at the bottom of his jean pocket.

The green bills he swore had morphed into poisonous objects worthy of the worst fantasy villain. Money was Sauron. Money was plaguing the land that wished to be enriched by kindness and goodness and love. Steve’s never-ending funds had become a curse to that sacred land––himself––and now broiled in its controversy, Eddie knew not how to return to normal or understand how good could ever come from something so ridiculous. 

The faces of the founding fathers turned into monsters like the ones he wrote about for his campaigns. 

The familiar forest road that led to your house was more of a reminder that this wasn’t supposed to be real and never would be; that this was just a stupid deal made over a greedy whim.

Eddie was greeted by the same trees that stood tall along the edges and the same fences to define property lines. The van came to a halt at the same spot he had parked in exactly one week prior. Before the headlights turned off with the engine and darkness washed over the scene, he caught a glimpse of the neighbor's cat perched high up at the exact spot he saw him last. His large yellow eyes mocking Eddie before the faint light source coming from your neighbors driveway made him become only but a shadow.

He could barely see your closed eyes and even breaths when he turned to you, yet his heart twisted in his chest again.

Eddie was falling in love and he knew that was bad. Terrible even.

Eddie had taken the deal for money. 

Extra cash to afford things he hadn’t had the privilege to buy in the past. Eddie jumped into the deal with no other thoughts or possible outcomes. He just knew you as that one hot girl who fought anyone who tried to drag her into the neat boxes people created for themselves due to the fear of being different, and never in the entire time that he had passed you in Hawkin’s middle or high school had he labeled you anything more.

Eddie did not take the deal to meet the girl he never even knew could exist. He never knew it actually existed right there in front of him the entire time. He didn’t take the deal to suddenly feel empty at the thought of you not being by his side, or feel doomed at the thought of you knowing the reasons why he came to talk to you on that random Tuesday afternoon. Eddie never expected that the girl the Hellfire club had labeled as ‘hot but aggressive’ would steal his heart.

A heart that was never on the market in the first place. 

A deep sigh escaped Eddie’s lips as he scanned your figure. Trying to remember the most he could in the dim light peering from outside the car’s windows.

You looked like an angel. 

And the butterflies lodged in his stomach went crazy the more he stared. Eddie never wanted to forget the way your hair fell, any attempts to groom it gone with the night’s adventures. You looked so peaceful, with his hoodie comfortably wrapped around you, he had never known someone could look so comfortable in the seat of his shitty van.

What he was feeling was overwhelming. It made him want to throw the money out of the window and scream the ache away. Curse the skies as to why he had never noticed you before.

But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he took a breath and leaned in. He didn’t want to wake you but he didn’t have a choice. The peaceful bubble had to be popped. Sleeping beauty had to be awakened from her curse.

But instead of her prince, it was a messy metalhead teenager who was only sitting beside her because of a deal. A deal Eddie had made with your brother––who hurt you with cutting words he knew not to be true. 

With the  pads of his fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar, Eddie delicately reached to move a strand of hair away from your face. 

Maybe the touch was too gentle because it didn’t do anything to wake you. 

“Hey,” his voice was careful, his hand reaching your shoulder and gently rubbing circles on it. 

“Hmm,” you hummed, slightly moving as his hand jostled you carefully. 

“Y/n, we're here,” Eddie gently squeezed your shoulder and this time you made a bigger movement. Your eyes squeezing tightly before you opened them to be met with Eddie’s eyes peering out to you in the darkness. 

“Hmmm,” it was a hum that accompanied a stretch. “ Where are we?” You blinked, rubbing your eyes with the knuckles of your index fingers. 

“At your house.”

“Already?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Already.”

“Okay,” you said it quietly. A world of emotions swept back under the carpet as you stretched your arms and yawned, Eddie admiring each of your movements. 

“I’ll walk you home.”

“What a gentleman,” you smirked tiredly before pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt, already bracing yourself from the cold that would meet you once you opened the door. 

Eddie strutted around the front of the car to get to you. The second he was close you leaned in, stuffing your head in the crook of his neck and groaned in an attempt to voice your frustration. 

“I’m dreading going back,” you mumbled against his shirt. It didn’t take Eddie long to wrap his arms around your shoulders. 

“It will be alright.”

“I hope so…” the thought of seeing Steve at breakfast tomorrow haunted you. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like this. Leaning into Eddie, your hands around his torso as you tried to ease your pain away. 

You were tired. Really tired, and already felt the hints of the hangover you’d have the next morning. 

That’s probably why you needed his comfort. These odd emotions that came fluttering back started to become comforting. Being in Eddie’s arms made you forget that it was the middle of the night and you were standing in front of his beat up van parked at the crossroad between your home and your neighbor’s. All you could think of was that a sense of comfort you had never gotten the chance to feel before was filling every bit of you. As if just the feeling of his arms around you was enough to make your pain disappear. 

“We should get you home,” of course he had to break the silence. 

You nodded and felt his hands gently rub your back before they fell back at his side. You instantly missed his warmth, the hoodie becoming all you had left of him on you. 

The gravel passage was still the same as Eddie remembered from a week before. Nothing but maybe a few new flowers and leaves scattered on the earth’s floor. He dodged the same branches, passed by the same rose bush he had stolen from until the fence of your house changed from tall, strong wood to soft wires that could bend with barely any force. 

“Thank you,” you turned around to face him. Only the moon lighting up his features through the trees. “For everything,” you looked away, almost ashamed. “I was an idiot tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it… Every teenager has at least one stupid night under their belt,” he smiled.

Time stood still. You didn’t want to go back to the walls that still held Steve’s words. You didn’t want to leave the comfort of the boy standing in front of you. 

You took a step closer, a hand making its way to his cheek. Your thumb gliding through it the same way Eddie had imagined doing to you. 

The touch of your soft hand was almost too much to take in;  the fire that accompanied it burning Eddie like the fires of Mount Doom. 

You were leaning in and he was too despite what his head was telling him; his whole body caving in without his mind’s knowledge––his heart taking over now. 

"Can I kiss you?" There. The dagger had been planted right to his heart. 

His mind jolted to your state of mind. 

His mind jolted to the chill of the early morning. 

His mind jolted to the money that burned a hole through his body. 

"Not tonight, princess," he whispered, hoping you wouldn't catch the strain in his voice as he said it. Hoping that in these three words you wouldn't cause a tumble of emotions to lead you down a worse path in self-love. Eddie did not want you to figure out how conflicted he was feeling, nor did he want you to think Steve was somehow right. 

He watched as your face changed. Confusion written in your eyes before it changed to something he didn’t know how to decipher. 

Your hand fell from his cheek, Eddie instantly felt lost again. 

“Well… I’ll see you later, I guess,” your words were as cold as ice and hard as stone. 

Eddie’s entire being screamed to reach out for you. To climb the fence with you and chase you through the maze of trees until he could fix what he had done and kiss you. 

Kiss you like he had dreamed of only minutes prior.

But life wasn’t as simple. 

And Eddie knew he couldn’t let his heart decide this time because the green paper monsters were still screaming in his pocket.

Be added to my taglist

Crossed out are the ones tumblr won’t let me tag

@lepologannie @marsbars09 @lyn07 @aprorios @madnevaeh @Crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @Aestheticlisztomania @magicalchocolatecheesecake @aereth  @minejungwoo @princesseddie @ashyyboyy @moony-artemis @seidenbros @fckyeahlames @thatnerdygirljudy @imsouyya @nightless @yaskna @tayhar811 @ccosmic-illusion @fandomsunited @miserablecunt @seshacoono @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @Peaches-and-plums-motherfucker @athenasarahsstuff @audhd-dragonaut @authorlovers @beepisbeep @efvyqrs @thewondernanazombie @trashpackbitxh @daydreaming-mood @shelbysbitchh @Mead0w @ellalafrella @toobsessedsstuff @meshlasolus @parkershoco @honeyquinns @sanfransolomitatm @munsonmolls @bazpitchsotrue @aprilmia @rain-ky @ajkamins @myshwords @angelbabyivy @mommymunson @harringt8ns @jonkentsglasses @folkwhorexx @spookygally @missmunscn @localcryptid444 @gayforandimack @tsundere-exe @levylovegood @yellenabelovaa

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie munson #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson y/n #Eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson series #Joseph Quinn #Joseph Quinn x reader #Joseph Quinn x y/n #Joseph Quinn imagine #Joseph Quinn fluff #Joseph Quinn angst #Joseph Quinn x you #Steve Harrington #Stranger things season 4 #st #stranger things season 4 vol 2 #dustin henderson #10 things i hate about you

[merakiui]

Ahhh, I'm so excited when I write this… >\\\\< I would really like to get a flower bouquet for Rook from the miscellaneous menu, as well as red bean mochi and banana pudding from the midnight menu. Oh, and if possible, a female reader. Thank you very much for creating such an event! >\\\\<

yandere!rook hunt x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, kidnapping, captivity, restraints, rook being rook (keep this man away from the mirror store) note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There were a plethora of sinister omens that foretold an inevitable danger, looming and lurking like an unshakable shadow. Sudden camera clicks and flashes in your peripheral, sweets and flower arrangements left at your doorstep or in your mailbox, an absurd amount of typed love letters pasted to your door, footsteps trailing you at night—only to vanish when you turned around in search of the one responsible. You reported each morbid affection, yet nothing could be done to help you. Though it was clearly evidence of a stalker, the police argued that this individual had not yet broken into your home or attempted to hurt you. These gifts, though insistent and a breach of your comfort, were harmless. The most the authorities could do was offer suggestions so that you could keep yourself safe: lock your doors, shut your windows, notify trusted friends or family members of your location, don’t walk alone, carry a self-defense tool like pepper spray, an alarm, or a whistle, stay within crowds, et cetera.

You had managed to convince yourself that this situation wasn’t so bad. It could be worse. But then wasn’t it already terrible enough? Weren’t you already terrified of leaving your house to run simple errands that were mere minutes from your neighborhood? And all of this because some person believed themselves entitled to your privacy.

Madness reached new heights when a pristine, leather-bound diary found itself snuggled within your mail like a maggot boring into flesh. You knew it was going to be bad the minute you opened it and leafed through its pages, but you weren’t expecting to be overwhelmed with so much rotten disgust and horror the more you read on. Every entry began with a date, the weather, and a description of what you had been wearing that day. Most entries were mild and almost innocently romantic if you could ignore the context, simply detailing how much this person adored you and how you were always out of reach. But not for long because, according to them, they would soon have you.

Other entries were not nearly as sweet. There was filth of all kinds strewn throughout—promises and vows inscribed within, each telling you of all the things your stalker wished to do to you. They wrote of the dreams they had of you—dreams in which the both of you were together forever and that there would be no need to fret over life’s daily inconveniences because your stalker would take care of everything. You weren’t sure if they truly loved you as they claimed in their flowery, poetic prose because you would turn a few pages and find depraved lust scrawled throughout.

One page had been written in blood. In fact, it was the final page in the journal. A single ominous line had been shakily streaked in crimson that had since dried: Wait for me, mon amour.

Like hell you were going to wait.

You had received the diary yesterday, and you had intended to deliver it as soon the police station opened its doors that following morning. This was a huge piece of evidence. Now you had handwriting samples that could be used for comparisons! Perhaps you’d finally be able to end this nightmare. 

Your shadow caught up to you in the early hours of dawn, overtaking you completely, and you were swallowed whole.

Which now brings you to the present, where you wake clad in just your bra and panties, gagged, and bound against a metal pole—you think you’re in someone’s basement—and mirrors of all shapes and sizes surround you, showcasing your frightened expression from different angles. Beyond that, photographs are pasted to stone walls and strung up on clotheslines. You can't see most of them because of the poor lighting, but deep in your heart you know you’re the subject of each picture.

If you could vomit, you would. But you swallow the the urge to do so, not very partial to the idea of acidic bile soaking into the cloth that’s tied around your head and stuffed into your mouth. Instead, you struggle against your bindings with the hope that you might be able to break free.

A door opens from above. You halt your frantic movements and crane your neck towards the staircase, where a figure descends slowly, one careful step at a time, and your heart leaps into your throat. You can’t see them in the darkness, but you know they’re in the room with you, watching from where they stand like a predator observing prey.

Gloved fingers curl around one of the mirrors—a dated chunk of carved mahogany on wheels—and then brilliant eyes peek through the sliver of space, so vividly green you find yourself looking into a forest with no end in sight. You inhale a series of panicked breaths, pressing yourself against the metal pole as if you intend to sink into it, but it does nothing to soothe your electrified nerves.

“Aah, mon amour, there is beauty in patience, yet it is the heart-wrenching pain of separation that leaves me yearning so...” The person—you now know it’s a man from his deep intonation—steps past the circle of mirrors into the light, bathed in sickly hues of pale yellow, and he presses his hand to his forehead, emulating a dramatic pose of woe. “In the months leading up to this precious moment, I had caught myself wishing the most grotesque things! But what is true love if not the grotesque and the glorious all at once?”

He kneels down to your height and you jerk away so fast that your head knocks into the pole. The man smiles at you, perfectly white teeth aligned and set into a perfectly pale face. He’s handsome, but in this crisp light he is a portrait of the most devilish fiend. His hand cups your face, holding it so fondly, and he eyes you with nothing but the purest admiration. 

“I had thought that, if I couldn’t wait just one more month, I’d find a way to crawl inside you so that I may make a home within your lungs, listen to the melodies your heart would sing for me, and breathe the very blood that rushes through your veins. I had thought, foolishly so, that that might fulfill my desire to have you. But alas! Even in death, as beautiful as you would most certainly be, I would be left without your voice, your life, your little heartbeats... And those are treasures I would never dream of forsaking just to quell impatient urges. Therefore, I waited for you, ma chérie. Waited until you were ready.”

You know you’re crying when he swipes your tears away with his thumb, cooing at you as if you’re a particularly lonesome child in need of attention. But what else can you do in this moment? You’re trapped, and he’s won. 

The man rises to his feet and spreads his arms to gesture at the many mirrors that surround you in one fluid sweeping motion. “And to think you would call such perfect anatomy flawed! You are beautiful in every way, at every angle, down to the cellular level. These mirrors display the truth you cannot yet see, mon amour.”

You’ve never known insanity before, but you’re almost certain you’re staring him in the face. And he looks right back, ill with infatuation. 

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #lunar love hotel 2023

[veilantares]

Queen Folly

What was there, what was before, is gone again, rended once more. What was whole, and once pristine, becomes unreal, and then unseen - Two parts as One, become undone, and disappear, like setting Suns.

Every dynasty comes to an end eventually, every pristine carving, and elegant prose, and careful construction falls apart, the kaleidoscope of shattered pieces, a remnant of a different time not long ago.

The past is the past that we escape at last, and we stay aghast at it's many splintered ends. Forget the pieces where they lie and see, a brand new, shocking, fresh reality.

This one has more poetry than usual. It's hard to explain what my characters are meant to be. I can't explain them better than I already did by already drawing them after all. The flowery language is like my own flavour text to add to the titles first impression. I don't want to come off as too esoteric, but using English rather than my native language feels like its already a big effort to make this more accessible - so perhaps I can leave in the ambiguity, and let you decide what this is. It's really interesting to see the vibes my work gives off based on the tags for my other pieces.

This is a piece from more recent history than the others I've so far posted - some would argue against being too eager to share your best work. Maybe someday soon I'll surpass this.

I liked this one enough that I think I'll make it my header, and I've also restyled my page to match that, theres a certain unique intensity to it that I find hard to replicate.

#digital art #artists on tumblr #my art #art #illustration #veilantares #OC #mecha #biomech #voidpunk #knight #character design #creature design #monster girl #queen #poem #poetic #poetry #mask #red

[oventrout]

and i'm just the boy who is looking at you

posted it on ao3 first months ago but i felt like sharing it again :)

just a little something to get back into writing :^) title from "you are the right one" by sports

Warmth. Akin to the sunlight hitting the apples of your cheeks, like the softness of a blanket when you wake up, like the arms of someone beloved circling your neck. Warmth that starts in the centre of your chest and spreads, becomes all encompassing, a bright flame eager to comfort you.

Eddie’s fingers dance over Steve’s freckled back.

Warmth but also light. The kind you can’t look at directly, where you have to avert your squinting eyes a little bit to the left to really make out the shape radiating it. The kind that leaves waltzing shapes and colours in your vision, that makes you think that if this was the last thing your mortal eyes had to witness then it wouldn’t be so bad; to fall victim to its luminescence.

Eddie settles his hand in between Steve’s shoulder blades, sprawled fingers trying to cover as much skin as his appendages will let him.

The soft movements of his lover’s lungs reminds him of gentle waves, waters of a lake licking at the sand of the shore. In and out, he’s silently grateful for the air that allows for this man’s presence in his bed right now, in his life forever. In and out, he wishes it was him flowing inside of Steve’s chest, nestled behind his bones.

Dry, slightly cracked lips connect with soft, smooth skin. A kiss that’s more a need to make sure that this moment is real, that he is not still in the arms of Morpheus, tricking him with his inmost longings. A second kiss, connecting with wrangled tissue, one more reassurance that despite it all, it is still them.

Kiss number three is born out of a base need to manifest his emotions in physical form; put his bleeding, still pumping heart on a platter and slide it over the metaphorical table.

The glow of the moon illuminates through pristine glass windows and plaid curtains, flaunting itself fully and proudly over their forms. Eddie has no choice but to be enthralled by the display it makes of Steve, like a marble statue under soft museum lights. The freckles and moles across his skin, it would be a disservice to only compare them to stars when galaxies exist. The scars make nebulas out of his flesh. The cracked and stretched skin like comets and meteors to be marvelled at.

Eddie’s fingers resume their earlier routine of gentle twirling and swaying. Carrying his devotion on his fingertips until they stop at his dearest’s mane of hair.

Frizzled and tangled from being dragged and rubbed over a cotton pillow case, but still ridiculous in its softness and shine. The locks that held their part of responsibility in the Steve The Hair Harrington persona, smothered in mousse and hairspray every morning, looked almost meek and demure in the intimate dark of this bedroom. Like they could finally rest, not feeling the need to be at their best for a little while.

Eddie curls a strand around his middle finger, letting it unfurl and fall back with its comates, joining back in their gracefulness. With only minimal concern for his bedmate’s unconscious state, he slides his hand through Steve’s hair, letting it engulf him. Wanting to bury himself in its splendour, live in its shadow and submerge himself in its radiance. He tries to be gentle in his touch but Steve still makes a soft noise in his sleep, rubbing his nose on his pillow before turning his head and gracing Eddie with a view of his face.

Reluctantly withdrawing his hand, Eddie cannot find it in himself to be put off by this development. If he compared Steve’s body to a marble figure then his face is what they based ancient Greek prose on. An idle finger traces quietly over his features.

Unblemished forehead relaxed, its lines barely visible under the embrace of sleep and rest, leaving Eddie to swipe his thumb over them, remembering the number of times his lips have met them. What are usually expressive eyebrows finally taking a break, skin around them smoothed and placid, hairs thick compared to the faint ones dotting his cheeks and the build of his square jaw. Faint scars left behind in the wake of his newfound adult body, leaving behind only memories of teenage hormones.

Eyelashes like feathers upon the tops of his cheeks, giving his masculine features a sense of delicacy and tenderness. Eddie often finds himself enchanted by them. The way they fan when Steve’s lids blink, the way they clamp together when Steve is under the pressure of his shower or when he can’t help but be brought to tears. The way they frame his eyes, brown like tree bark or the beautiful fall leaves he adores so much. His eyes that always seem to find his and hold so much in their mere existence.

Eddie wishes he could kiss them like the rest of Steve’s body but will make do with simply caressing them with his own.

From his eyelids, his thumb traces over the hard slope of his nose. Straight save for the slight bump at its base, with a round tip and just this side of big. The small pinkish scar on the side of it from a well timed strike. He slides his finger back and forth, as lightly and subtly as he can muster in his enthusiasm.

He loves Steve’s nose. He loves adorning a light smooch on the tip of it in the morning when they wake up in the same bed. He delights in the way that it brushes alongside his when their lips move together. How cold it can feel when Steve buries his face in the space where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder. The way Steve’s breaths sound in exertion.

Not for the first time, as he presses the pad of his finger to the skin under his nose, Eddie wishes he could burrow himself in that divot.

As his hand approaches its final waltz, Eddie wonders at his ability to do any of this; to be aware that he is not the first but knows deep within his being that he will be the last. He marvels as he thinks about how he will be present at every crease, ridge or groove’s appearance, will witness the aftereffects of a life well lived on a face he so cherishes. To have been given the privilege, to be able to worship at the altar of Steve Harrington.

With a single slow sweep, Eddie maps out the lines of Steve’s lips. Plush, pink, full in a way that begs for biting and soothing. A mouth Eddie cannot help but be at the mercy of. His bane as well as his deliverance. His windfall as much as his hindrance.

He thinks back to the first time he got to kiss Steve. A random afternoon, in an ordinary setting, during a not so important moment in their lives that was made all the more significant by the simple juxtaposition of their lips. A burst inside Eddie’s chest, like his very own supernovae, making his everything shimmer and twinkle. Like he was made of nothing but a cluster of light, trying his best to match Steve’s shine.

He tugs Steve’s bottom lip down, exposing his lower teeth for a second before it bounces right back in place. Puts the slightest of pressure behind his finger to watch the flesh bunch underneath before he releases it. At this moment, how can he be held accountable when he surrounders to the urgency to feel it under his own?

Even breath slowly turns cognizant and attentive, brows gather downward as the dormant becomes aware once again. Shoulders bunch up as Steve turns on his side, now fully facing Eddie in all his semi consciousness. Eyelids fluttering open enough to see Eddie in the moon glow of the room.

Like Sleeping Beauty, is the first thought that pops into Eddie’s mind. A winsome creature caught in an innocent moment.

As if it were possible, a new surge of affection bubbles up in his chest until it sticks all the way up into his oesophagus, rendering him slightly open-mouthed and inarticulate. His bewildered reaction is unwarranted, he thinks. Of course he even manages to make the pure act of waking into a deed worth adulating.

Lips smacking, fingers scratching at his chin, Steve takes in Eddie as best he can in his daze. “Are you watching me?” He mumbles.

Quick, think of something, “Uh, I just got up to take a leak.” He whispers back. Safe, plausible, better than I was having a religious moment at 3 in the morning thinking of all the ways I’m stuck on you.

Mouth twists in the shape of a dull yawn, face turned towards the ceiling so he doesn’t subject Eddie to his stale breath. Doesn’t realise Eddie wouldn’t breathe in anything else if he could get away with it.

“Okay,” Steve concedes, drowsy still. He borrows himself into Eddie’s side, clumsily grabbing hold of his sleeping shirt as leverage. Nose and crook of the neck together at last. The move compels Eddie to lay on his back, tugging his love’s sluggish form further into his flank. Where he should be in perpetuity, as far as he’s concerned.

As he tucks their blanket tighter over Steve, Eddie sends a silent grateful message to the world around him. Grateful for having been given the chance to make this his reality, grateful for having the opportunity to cling to this, down to the strength of his chipped, polished fingernails.

Settling his head over Steve’s now sleeping one with a quiet satisfied sigh, the future never looked so lovely.

#had sm fun writing this months ago #i cant wait to have time to write again about these two being head over heals for each other #i hope u enjoyed :)))) #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #fanfic #fanfiction

[ratyts]

if, like, you (miguel o’hara x gn!reader)

masterlist

currently in a strange mental space. that is when i post on tumblr. wrote this over the course of several days so there are inconsistencies. i kind of got bored w this concept and just wanted to post it but i am who i am

warnings: none it’s just bad prose, kind of a melancholic fluff.

word count: 651

You had much in common with Miguel. Your blood ran a deep red, like his. Your eyes had a dark quality, like his. Less apparent, less obvious, so much so he was likely the only one who noticed. Gazing into your eyes was like gazing into a murky pond. He saw not what lies beneath, but his own muddled reflection staring back at him. You furrowed your brows, just like he did. Miguel was intimidating. His broad shoulders and wide back, his harrowing height and string features somehow always shroud in some kind of darkness. He was intimidating. You didn’t have the same quality. It was one of the many areas in which the two of you differed. When your eyebrows pinched together in frustration, disappointment, rage even, he looked back into that murky pond.

It wasn’t just Miguel who saw his reflection in your eyes. It was clear to you, although it may have been only the two of you who were privy to your inexplicable similarities. The bond was unspoken, for a larger part. It was as if something invisible kept you bound to him, tethered, and vice versa. Something implicit, entirely out of your control– of anyone’s control. Miguel had, to himself, tried many times to justify his attachment to you. He had found it impossible. It was beyond any scientific understanding he had of life, of human connection. At times, you were more himself than he was. He considered the opposite. You were like a better version of himself. Although he couldn’t be impartial, you represented all the good in him.

You were sitting on his couch. The leather unwrinkled, pristine. There was hardly any clutter around the room. The eggshell white walls appeared as a faint blue as moonlight shined in through a crack in the drapes. On his coffee table were two magazines and a stack of coasters. First, a travel magazine. When asked, Miguel had mumbled something about interior decorating not being his strong suit, he hadn’t read it. Barely even looked at it. You gifted him the second. A car magazine you had liked the color of. You hadn’t read it either, but the turquoise cover was pretty. That’s what you told him when you handed it to him. He just shook his head, but it had been on display ever since. On the walls were a few pictures. Landscapes, mostly. None that he had taken. One of the pictures, the smallest, being the two of you. It wasn’t a particularly good picture. Still, you never mentioned it, or asked why it was framed.

He whispered your name, hands resting on the back of the couch as he leaned forward, casting a shadow which panned along the leather seats, down onto the floor. You tilted your head back, stretching your neck to meet his eyes. The ghost of a smile upon his lips and yours. There was no need for smiles. Even less of a need for words. He would walk around to sit next to you and pull you in, holding you close enough to deny any semblance of individuality. Close enough to absorb you, as if you were always one.

It wasn’t that you were made for him, or him for you. The two of you were cut from the same cloth. The strings that tie you together, interwoven in creating your essence, your soul. That is what you shared. Like a red string of fate, it was more than the simple definition of connection. You were not just bound to him. Really, it was far too simple a term to describe the two of you. It implied a time when you were free of him completely, it implied the slightest possibility of separation. That much was impossible. The two of you were never separate, truly. Even worlds apart, universes apart, times apart, it was impossible. If he existed, you existed.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman

[jooniperbonsai]

I'll Give You the Sun (jhs) | Teaser

Pairing: SunDeity!Hoseok x MoonDeity!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Teaser Length: 1662

Part One Length: 10.6k

Release Date: Fri, April 18, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, fantasy au, royalty, mythology

Summary: Fated to fulfill an ancient prophecy claiming he will ascend into a curse-breaking hero on the day of his kingdom's first total solar eclipse, Hoseok is jaded and cynical over his lack of choice in becoming the king and god of the Solar Kingdom. He's even less pleased that his coronation is to be shared with the future king of the Lunar Kingdom, whose clear obsession with power is already a sign of trouble ahead.

But when the moon fully overtakes the sun and bathes everything in darkness, the ascension of gods and kings doesn't seem to be all that the fates prophesied. With you now coming out of the shadows to claim your rightful title, the pressure is on for the two of you to break this curse together, before it completely destroys your two kingdoms.

Warnings for Part One: Swearing, physical aggression, low self-esteem, implied emotional and physical abuse, dirty talk, grinding/thigh riding, dom! hoseok already making himself known

a/n: I am so so so excited for this series. I had considered initially making it just a super long one-shot, but as this story builds, the characters have come alive for me in a way I didn't expect. I will of course be continuing Thanks for the Sub, but you can happily add this one to your roster.

I am obsessed with Sun Deity/God?Royalty Hobi as a concept. I remember when I read "fermata" by @yeoldontknow for the first time and I was ENAMORED with the world and way Hoseok existed in it. The prose was so poetically written, and I modeled a lot of my process after what I remember reading. Honestly, I would highly recommend this one if you haven't read it already.

This fic has been one in the making for years, but it really just took that extra push of the eclipse to bring it to life. I'm not sure how long it'll be in terms of parts, but I am loving the ride I'm on with it. Now that I'm back from Korea, it's safe to say that you can expect more writing from me this spring and summer.

thank you for your support. -h

He can hear her shuffling down the hall. His mother. No doubt draped in the silky, long golden cape that shines as she passes by every sunny window. He doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s wearing it. That, or her crown, pointed at all sides in honor of the many ancestral deities who have served the stars before, whose power and strength created the very particles of the universe. He also doesn’t need to look to know she’s heading directly toward his chamber, seeking Hoseok out. 

He knows she is, because he was supposed to be in the Great Hall an hour ago to go over his coronation and is instead sitting out on his balcony, looking up at the moon high in the sky despite it being one in the afternoon.

“Hoseok,” his mother echos from his doorway, breathless and exasperated. 

“I know,” he calls back. He knows he’s due for a lecture, but because his mother is impatient, because the entire palace and kingdom and evidently the entire fucking universe is impatient for their prince to become a king, and with that title, a god, there’s no time for a lecture. 

He takes one last look up at the sky, the pebbled moon inching ever closer, and scowls before retreating back indoors.

If Hoseok had things his way, he would seek out whichever god before him who uttered his prophecy to ascend to the throne and burn him with all the power of the Sun he is so called the god of. Apollo, Ra, Helios, Tsohanoai, Sol, Tai Yang Xing Jun, whoever it was who caused this, who murmured his message before the fates, he is probably laughing at Hoseok as his mother clucks at him and pinches away invisible specks of lint from his pristine suit. 

“Your father wants to see you before we begin.”

“I thought the party was already under way,” he mutters, his mother cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“It is, which I now take it you are staunchly avoiding instead of simply losing track of time like I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt for.” 

“Eomma, you know I don’t want to do this. I have told you so for years. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to be a god.”

“Yes, but the fates decided it so. They chose you over your sister, and this means whether there’s a party or not, it’s going to happen. You might as well enjoy the food and music and make the best of it.” With a sigh, she adjusts the heady gilded crown pinned to her head and strolls out of Hoseok’s chamber, leaving behind the faint note of her jasmine perfume.

Hoseok knows he can’t hide here forever. He knows that once the total eclipse occurs in a matter of hours, he will be thrust into a life of duty. And not soon after he ascends, he also knows that he will be expected to begin courting someone. That is another matter entirely, one he is not going to even entertain today.

He’s not opposed to marriage or courting, not in the slightest. His elder sister married a few years ago, a marriage that gives structure and stability. Her husband clearly loves her, and Hoseok enjoys when he sees his brother-in-law when they visit during the summer months, when the days stretch into nights and for a little while, the state of things feels less cursed and oppressive. 

They often have long, decadent dinners in the back garden, surrounded by the low hum of the bees as they move from sunflower to sunflower (his mother’s favorite). The summer months are coming, which means soon Hoseok will feel a little bit more like himself. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with someone, to enjoy strawberries straight from the garden and walk along the river with the one he courts? 

All of these things are exactly what he wants. 

Or he used to, anyway. He glances at the mirror above his vanity, his black hair already losing some of its hold despite only being styled a handful of hours ago. Normally, it doesn’t do that. Normally, once set into place, he appears as the precise and put-together person in the room. 

But today, he realizes, is not normal. 

In his lifetime, there has never been a total solar eclipse over his kingdom. Which is why in many ways, today is the beginning of the end, as today he will fulfill his destiny within the prophecy:

On the Eve of day, the day of night,

when the moon fully captures the sun’s light

over the House of the ones who worship the rays, 

will an alliance occur that pleases the fates:

Two kingdoms will gain what they most need

after long years of suffering from past gods’ greed.

From the cliffs off the shore where the sky hangs low, 

will come the fated one crowned with a moonlit halo.

And from the flowering valleys where the rolling hills run, 

will come the destined one crowned with the beams of the sun. 

The shadows shattering during the fifteenth hour

shall bestow these two souls with ultimate power.

The moon stepping forward with nothing to hide

is burdened not by the sin of pride

nor the sun is he plagued by the darkness above, 

but balanced with allegiance, passion, and love.

United these two the fates will regard

with the highest of honor among the stars. 

What was once divided now becomes one, 

with the all sacred moon and almighty sun. 

And together these two blessed by the heavens’ ring, 

will end the curse of the promised false king.

He can recite the entire thing by heart. It is a prophecy that echoes in his oldest memories, ones when he could scarcely understand the phrases coded within, but recognized the cadence of over time as it swirled into words he one day understood. It was read on his tenth birthday as he watched the red wax of his “10” candle slide down the pillar and onto the buttercream frosting of his cake, the red upon white almost looking like blood. It was read at weddings, graduations, all a reminder of the great hope that is to come. 

Even then he knew it to be less of its intended blessing and more of a curse dooming him to follow its guidelines, to be “balanced with allegiance, passion, and love”. Hoseok doesn’t deny that these are traits he has, but he isn’t entirely sure if these are traits he was destined to have, or if through the power of suggestion and pressure over the years, he has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He looks back in the mirror, scooping a curl off of his face, memorizing the rich brown of his eyes, the even slant of his nose. He knows his ascension isn’t technically supposed to change him, at least not in the ways that are noticeable. All of the royal advisors and lesser gods on the council have assured him, reassured him, and if it’s even possible, over-assured him as such. 

Even his parents have dipped their toes into the conversation, despite always and forevermore being mortal.

It’s not like you’re going to sprout a second head and start devouring the souls of mortals. You are just going to feel different. More powerful. Rightly so. You will be. 

And that’s what concerns him. Not the sprouting of another head or bloodthirst. 

How can things still be the same–how can he still be the same–if he is about to be given power? Not just any power either. This is enough power to end the long-standing drought that wiped out the southeast corner of the Solar Kingdom. A drought so severe that the only thing left in that part of the kingdom is abandoned homes and stories from the Elder gods that prove it was once a vivid place full of diverse life, with lush flora that bore plump, juicy fruits, art, and culture. 

The Elder gods have been around for, well, no one quite knows how long, including them. When asked, they often click their tongue, sipping whatever sparkly alcoholic concoction that fancies them that day before dismissing the curious soul who asks. After a while, time just rolls itself together. You mortals are so obsessed with it. Relax, take it all in. Hundreds, even thousands of years may have passed, but still we eat and drink and dance. 

And from all that eating and drinking and dancing came the many stories about the parts of the kingdom that Hoseok had never heard of, and some he is still sure don’t really exist. How on this planet were there once waterfalls that fell up instead of down, or vines that could bear grapes the size of his head? Over time, he has learned to take what the Elder gods say at face value; they are bored and ancient and looking for something to entertain them. The only reason he knows the southeast corner once had any of these things is because of the ruins. 

When he was young, he was taken there by the royal council and his parents to help him understand the weight of his place in all this, how crucial it was that he rise and grow to end the drought that forced thousands to become displaced and desperate. How better was he to understand the importance of the power he would one day be given than to see how selfishly wielding it only resulted in strife and suffering for all?

The drought is expanding, leeching more from his kingdom by the year. By his twenty ninth birthday, the Great Forest of Solaria, a region two hours south of the capital, known for its tall redwoods and cypresses, has had three sizable forest fires, forcing its people, including Hoseok’s best friend Namjoon, to flee north. Namjoon and his family have been living in the palace for almost a full year. 

But because of this curse, this reign of the nefarious king Mang Shin, who tore down Hoseok’s people and the land around it for his own selfish gain, because of his cruelty that angered the fates, the Solar Kingdom has been managing a worsening drought. How much longer before the capital city can no longer sustain any of its people, when it is no longer a refuge?

His kingdom is not the only one impacted by the cruelty of Mang Shin. The Lunar Kingdom to the northwest is half underwater after high tides that led to flooding. While the capital city of the Solar Kingdom has not directly suffered from the curse of Mang Shin, the Lunar Kingdom’s capital city has not been so lucky. 

A month ago, a large tidal wave capsized the northern end of the city, drowning thousands and destroying a major sea port that was essential to the booming trade industry of the north. From the rumors Hoseok heard, the crown prince was set to be in the district that morning on official business, but was running behind after spending a night out drinking and occupying the brothels in the southern corridor. He would have been washed away in the sea if he were on time. 

Which means all this, all that Hoseok has been procrastinating on attending, has stopped seven times in the short hallway over, would have been for nothing. There would be no end to this curse, only the slow suffering of his actual fate. 

No. The crown prince is in the Great Hall waiting for Hoseok to get his shit together and help restore balance to both kingdoms. A dual coronation. Two princes to become kings of their own kingdoms. The Lunar Kingdom exists as the Solar Kingdom exists. Both need each other now to ensure the longevity of the other. There’s no other destiny than this. 

He pauses in front of the door to his father’s study, grazes his knuckles against the wood of the door. He sighs. 

You have to do this. There’s no other way. 

And just as he thinks to turn, to run, to flee his home and this kingdom and go everywhere and nowhere all at once, the door to his father’s study opens. 

He expects to see the firm set frown of his father, to be given his final lecture and coronet before his father abdicates and Hoseok is the owner of the hefty, ornate crown he has come to despise.

He is not expecting to hear a soft feminine gasp that is very different to the sounds his father makes. Nor is he expecting to see you staring right back at him.

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

#bts fanfic #hoseok #hoseok smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #sun god hobi #j hope x reader #hobi #bts hobi #jhope #jung hoseok

[simlit]

[ Age of Arcanai ]

xlix. Nearby, the branches of a willow tree rustled in the wind. Yesterday, they were desolate. Today, they bloomed pristine, as if the battle had never happened. The Celaedian’s magic was an incredible thing. A magic that had only existed in that world twice. The dragon had once lived in a world aside celestial spirits. He remembered how it ended the first time. Now, he was responsible for its second coming, and the weight of it grew heavier by the hour.

[ read ]  

my week long binge is complete! yesterday I wrote through the end of book one. after two years of working on this rewrite, it is finally (half) complete. I had no idea when I started that this story would end up being so damn long... clocking in at about 231k words for book one alone. by comparison, the longest Harry Potter book in the series is Order of the Phoenix at 257k, so I'm falling just shy of... way too goddamn long lmao. I had really no choice but to divide it up into two (well, I did, it's not like I'm ever getting this published so who would care but me), but actually, installing a "false" ending between halves gave me a new perspective on how I want to kick off act two. luckily, because I did act two in prose the first time around, I have a pretty decent blueprint for that rewrite, but obviously it will need to be combed over, reworked and rewrote in areas, but at least a lot of the "deep" stuff (i.e. the most difficult stuff) is already written.

anyways, if you cared to read that ramble, there will be two posts today. I could have posted it as one longer chapter, but couldn't pass up the chance to have a nice, even 50 entries :D

#prose writing