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sellasstories · 3 months

Text

CLOSE (II)

word count: 4.9k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️:

slightly explicit themes, light angst, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 2: paige)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

Azzi gazes at the girl beside her, taking in Paige’s long lashes and the way the sun streaming in from the window is practically making the blonde glow.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Azzi says softly, leaning in and placing a hand on Paige’s arm. She realizes too late that she doesn’t know if her best friend is awake yet.

“Fuck, Az, not so loud,” groans Paige, not bothering to open her eyes.

Azzi jerks her head back in disgust. “Your breath smells awful!” She ignores the other part of herself that fixated on how the words sounded coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “Sorry, I just need to know what you did with the bottle,” she whispers, a hint of anxiety piercing her voice.

Paige only gets closer. Seemingly unbothered by Azzi’s concern, she buries her face in the dark-haired girl’s neck. “It’s hidden, we’re good.”

After the night she’s had, the feeling of Paige’s lips on her neck (which, she quickly realizes, has never happened before) is entirely too much for Azzi to deal with.

“Paige, tell me.”

“Closet. Hamper, under clothes.” Her head falls back onto the pillow and it seems like the blonde falls asleep almost instantly.

Azzi bites her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. And since she already seems to be in her own personal hell, she admits to herself that Paige may have had a hand in (or entirely been the cause of) the sudden swooping sensation in her stomach.

Looking around for her phone, Azzi takes two photos. The first shows the curtain of blonde hair doing little to hide all the points of contact between Paige’s face and Azzi’s neck. The second shows the pale hand nearly digging into Azzi’s exposed side, the pushed up hoodie (she’d always recognize it as Paige’s) making it look even more suggestive.

She knows it’s a bad idea, maybe even a terrible one, but she tells herself that she’s going to use them for something productive, like sending them to Imani (whoever she is) and telling her to back off. It doesn’t even sound convincing to her. She’s fucking ridiculous.

Reluctantly, Azzi pulls herself out of her best friend’s tight embrace, only managing to do so as the blonde appears to have completely knocked out again. She gives her head a firm shake but instantly regrets it as she feels her headache worsen.

Sighing, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom. Soothed by the familiar morning routines of washing her face and brushing her teeth (the bitter aftertaste in her mouth taking a while to go away), Azzi is able to look at her reflection without wanting to scream.

Making fun of herself has always been her best defence mechanism, so she does a stupid pose in the mirror and takes a stupid photo of herself in Paige’s hoodie and posts a stupid ‘Who wore it better?’ poll on her private story. She’s been sitting on the counter brainstorming what to do with the bottle for less than three minutes when a FaceTime from Colleen covers her phone screen.

Azzi is quick to answer, not even getting a greeting in before her friend blurts out, “So what’s up with you and Paige?”

Eyes widening, Azzi hops off the counter to find headphones, frantically mashing the volume button down before Colleen can say anything else.

“What are you even talking about?” She whispers once she’s settled back in the bathroom.

The other girl shrugs. “Did something happen between you two?”

Azzi still doesn’t get it. “Like, a fight? We’re fine, I promise. Why are you asking, though? Did Paige say something to you?” She hopes her voice doesn’t sound as paranoid as she feels. It’s been a long 24 hours.

“Your story? It looks a bit… y’know,” Colleen smirks. “I figured it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t think you’d post it like that. I have to say, though, I thought Paige would be the type to leave hickies. Unless they’re just somewhere el-”

“SHUT UP!” Azzi shrieks, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “How are you getting all of this from a photo? We’ve never even kissed!”

Colleen has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t see it that way. Look at the photo again, Az. Try to understand, because I promise I’m not the only one.”

“Fine.” Azzi clicks on her story. Shit. Her hair is messy, her tongue is out in what she realizes now looks like a smug smile, and Paige’s hoodie is hanging off her in a way that makes it look like she’s not wearing anything else. Colleen is totally right.

“Oh, my god.” Her reaction is so genuine that Colleen finally drops the teasing.

“You really didn’t know, huh? Look, forget I said anything, but you might wanna think about taking it down if you’re worried about what people could say.” There’s an awkward silence as Azzi sits with her head in her hands.

Suddenly, she raises her head, eyes narrowed accusingly. “Care to explain what the fuck ‘a matter of time’ is supposed to mean? Does everyone know something I don’t?”

Colleen fails to suppress a giggle as she raises her hands in the air. “I was never gonna assume anything, but I figured you two wouldn’t be able to spend that much time together without… figuring it out. Apparently,” she rolls her eyes, “I was wrong.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but I can’t deal with this right now,” Azzi squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “I’m so hungover, and I still have to deal with P and my parents.”

“You’re WHAT?!” Colleen’s screech of disbelief nearly sends Azzi falling off the counter a second time. “You don’t even drink… what the hell happened last night?!” It’s really more of a statement than a question, and Azzi has no choice but to explain.

Briefly, she considers telling Colleen everything, but she’s given up enough secrets recently, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere good. The other girl believes her when she claims to have forgotten a large part of the night, and the story is apparently more interesting than the original subject of the call, of which Azzi is very grateful.

Miraculously, Paige is still asleep when Azzi hangs up the call and goes back into the blonde’s bedroom. She really needs to focus on making sure that she doesn’t get in a massive amount of trouble, but she can’t stop her eyes from continually drifting to her best friend’s sleeping form.

Telling herself that she and Paige can come up with a lie if worst comes to worst, she finally allows herself to do what Paige definitely can’t help her with — process the previous night. The cold wall against her back grounds her as she sifts through her feelings.

In hindsight, her best friend being queer isn’t all that surprising (Azzi does have eyes, after all), and really neither is Paige liking a girl. Even when it comes to Paige, Azzi tries to be logical and reasonable, but she’s only human. She can’t help but imagine all the girls that must be throwing themselves at the blonde (her brain conveniently chooses to ignore the fact that she doesn’t even know if Paige is out), and the jealousy sits heavily in her stomach.

Paige must be used to it, then, and according to Colleen, it looked like Azzi was one of the aforementioned girls. She cringes internally. Was it really that obvious? The problem is, though, that it must look like Paige has been reciprocating this hypothetical, unintentional flirting in some way. Azzi can’t think of any other reason for what Colleen had told her, and her friend had been very clear about it being something with both of them. She thinks about the way Paige held her while she cried, and she thinks that she might understand.

Azzi can’t tell if her head hurts from the hangover or the absurd mental gymnastics she’s undertaking, and she hasn’t even considered the dream yet. Wanting Paige is nothing new for her, but she’d broken too many of her own rules the previous night. She’s never messed up with Paige like that before, and she worries that it’s only going to get worse.

As her thoughts drift back to her conversation with Colleen, Azzi realizes that she never actually deleted the photo on her story. Maybe it speaks to how far she’s fallen, but it fills Azzi with a sick sense of pride as she looks at it with new perspective. Maybe she wants people to see this- maybe she wants Paige to see this, wants to know how her best friend would react.

Shutting her phone off, Azzi feels like she’s just made a pivotal choice, one she knows she wouldn’t have made a few months ago before Paige was living with her, and she’s going to have to make another purposeful concession to keep her sanity. Rationalizing once again, Azzi reasons that flirting with Paige just a bit wouldn’t be all that bad. The older girl might just be oblivious if Colleen is to be believed and they already have that outward dynamic.

Maybe her sudden feeling of giddiness is preventing her from seeing the obvious flaws of the idea, but the more she thinks about it, the more Azzi likes it. While there’s no guarantee that it will make her life any easier, it’s something that she can control, and she hasn’t felt in control of anything when it comes to Paige for years now.

By the time Paige wakes up, Azzi has two plans: the first one being another secret that she’s going to have to keep, and the second being something that she immediately goes to share with the other girl.

Paige is groggy and hungover, but somehow she gets past the rambling and mild panic in Azzi’s voice to understand what she needs to do. They’re able to sneak craft supplies onto the back deck, and Paige even manages to keep a straight face when she runs into Jose with the bottle under her hoodie.

She nods dutifully as Azzi explains the smashed bottle to her parents as a simple accident while trying to do a TikTok trend, and the girls escape with nothing more than a request to ask before taking anything else after promising to clean up the mess.

“You’re scary good at that,” Paige remarks as they’re squatting on the deck with dust pans in hand.

“At what? Lying?” Azzi asks absently. Smiling brightly, she picks up a big piece of glass and makes a heart out pink and purple glitter on it. The gesture makes Paige melt.

“No, at solving problems. You’re incredible, Az.”

The dark haired girl gives her a look. “Is this what you’re like hungover? All sappy and shit?” Her judgemental tone is offset by the fact that she’s currently making a second heart on another piece of glass.

“I’m like this all the time, what do you mean?” Paige pouts. “I know you love it anyway.”

“Mmm,” Azzi’s busy adding the finishing touches to her masterpieces. She carefully places them on the table before turning back to Paige.

Their gazes cross briefly and Azzi thinks maybe she sees something that looks like love. As she goes back to sweeping up the glass, she has to physically shake her head as she tells herself to get it together. She figures she must still be drunk or something.

But Azzi isn’t seeing things. Paige is lucky that the younger girl is distracted, because the lovestruck gaze that she’s failing to hide is the least of her worries. Since she woke up, there’s been a feeling that she just can’t shake, and she’s run out of explanations of what it could be.

Except for one, that is. Waking up tangled in Azzi’s arms this morning had felt different, and so, so right. Paige wouldn’t hesitate to say that Azzi was the person she was the most comfortable with, but never before had she considered the feeling that they belonged together.

That feeling had only intensified when Paige had accidentally brushed her lips against her best friend’s neck and then compounded it by holding Azzi’s side like she belonged to her.

Sure, that would’ve looked really bad. But what felt worse — not worse exactly, just… new and kind of scary — was when Paige, still drifting in and out of consciousness, heard Azzi’s anxious demands and found them only endearing.

Not long ago, she would’ve found herself getting annoyed, but even with the stress of covering their tracks pushing Azzi into her controlling state, the fondness in Paige’s heart still hasn’t dissipated. Does this mean Paige… has a crush on her best friend?

There, outside on the deck, Paige metaphorically gives Azzi her heart as the younger girl gives Paige a physical one. Paige thinks the broken glass that is the medium of Azzi’s creation makes a pretty good metaphor for her perception of their friendship. Shattered, splintered, permanently altered.

Trying not to say anything too sappy (or too insane for that matter, she has no idea how she came up with the broken glass thing), Paige elects to admire the methodical way that Azzi is now checking for missed pieces of glass.

When they finally go back inside, the first thing Paige does is place the glass heart on her night table so she can look at it every day. The second thing she does is open Snapchat, which is apparently a terrible decision. As soon as she clicks on Azzi’s story, that weird feeling is back, but it’s less surprising.

Azzi wears Paige’s clothes all the time, but she doesn’t normally draw attention to that fact the way this story so clearly is. Has the dark-haired girl always looked so good in Paige’s hoodies? Probably. Somehow, Paige had just been blind to it. She wishes desperately that it was still the case, because it would definitely be weird to ask her best friend to share clothes more often.

Groaning, Paige throws her phone onto the bed before flopping facedown after it.

“Whatcha doing, Paigey?” says Azzi in a singsong voice from the doorway.

Paige rolls over, not bothering to open her eyes. “I’m sleeping- or at least I was,” she says exasperatedly.

“Can I join you?” Azzi’s sounds seductive in Paige’s ears, and she has to open her eyes to confirm it’s just in her imagination. Fuck.

Azzi’s still wearing her sweater, and there’s definitely a slight smirk on her face as she stands with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.

“You look good in my sweater,” Paige mumbles sleepily. Shit, shit, shit. There’s no way she just said that out loud. Throwing her arm over her face to hide her blush, Paige misses Azzi’s smile widening.

“I know I do,” Azzi is closer now. She traces a finger down Paige’s bicep. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Just come here,” Paige whines. She moves her arm so Azzi can rest her head on it. At the younger girl’s sigh of contentment, Paige has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is so, so fucked.

•••••

‘Fucked’ is maybe an understatement. Paige doesn’t know what to do anymore. She really wishes she was able to keep her thoughts locked away. She knows Azzi would be able to.

At first, they’d been manageable and fairly harmless. She’d just catch herself staring at Azzi here and there and find that she had the urge to ask the other girl if she knew how beautiful she was. Sure, she’d noticed that Azzi was pretty before, but she hadn’t had time to really appreciate how her features complemented each other so well. Friends look at each other like that, right? Paige wasn't totally sure, but she’d sort of been able to convince herself that they did, backtracking on her earlier realization. That had worked for all of a few hours. Then she was right back to where she started, looking at Azzi like she wanted them to be something more than best friends.

Now that a few days had passed, it seemed that Azzi coming out to her had been both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, it had allowed Paige to come out with much less stress. She was never planning on keeping it from the younger girl (she didn’t think that was something she was even able to do), but she had never found what felt like the right time and it had been weighing heavily on her. She really didn’t think they could get any closer, but since the mutual confession, their bond felt even deeper.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have unlocked something in her subconscious mind. And that was the problem — not when she realized that Azzi was pretty, but when she realized that Azzi was hot. Like, really hot, so hot that she regularly got Paige worked up. The blonde would toss and turn in bed, thighs squeezed together, as she tried to push away some of the crazier thoughts, reminding herself that they were about her really hot best friend, not some random crush.

Knowing that Azzi liked girls had apparently given Paige’s brain new material and explicit permission to use it. Even though she was quick to dismiss the thoughts as soon as they popped into her head, she was bombarded by images of Azzi in various states of undress, doing things with her that girls who like other girls do. While they did make her feel a bit guilty, she wasn’t going to lie to herself and pretend that she didn’t also enjoy them. She also wasn’t going to pretend that, on the rare nights where Azzi wasn’t wrapped around her, her hand wouldn’t dip below her waistband as she allowed herself to briefly indulge in her newfound forbidden desires.

There is also a second (and admittedly more complicated) problem: Paige isn’t just attracted to Azzi, she’s pretty sure she’s in love with her. Like, the full-blown ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ kind of love. She’d been drawn to the dark-haired girl since the day they met, and the more she actually thinks about it, the more she realizes that there was probably never a time where she wasn’t in love with Azzi. She goes back and forth between cringing at her own obliviousness and thanking the Lord for not making her have to live with it for all these years. She can’t imagine grappling with these feelings at the age of fifteen when even looking back at the mess of interactions from her short time at the Fudd’s is enough to give her a headache.

Even if this whole love thing is new, Paige would still consider herself something of an Azzi expert, or at least an expert on the way that Azzi acts around her. And she’s sure that it’s not the same as it was last week, or ever, for that matter. Because in all their years of friendship, Azzi has never whispered in Paige’s ear so close that her lips ghost across her skin, never ran her hands across Paige’s upper thighs, and certainly never looked at Paige with those eyes. And at the family dinner table, no less.

Well, she’s at least somewhat sure. Technically, Paige realizes she can’t be completely sure because she wasn’t exactly looking for it before. Maybe it was there all along and she was just oblivious. Or worse, maybe Azzi isn’t even doing anything and Paige is making it all up to serve her own interests.

But whether or not it’s in her head, it’s absolutely torturous. Nighttime fantasies aside, Paige wants it to mean something when she holds her best friend at night. She wants Azzi to know that the forehead kisses (a new habit she’s picked up) and words of affection whispered in the dark are a million little confessions, all uttered in place of one that she will never dare voice out loud.

She never imagined the thought crossing her mind, but sometimes Paige wants all of this to be over, almost needs to get away from Azzi for both of their sakes. But then her best friend will flash a smile in Paige’s direction and everything else melts away. Because Azzi has Paige wrapped around her finger, and Paige is hardly fighting it anymore.

•••••

Paige has seen Azzi in a bathing suit before, but not since she’s… figured some things out. When the dark-haired girl runs out of the house in a simple black bikini, Paige doesn’t even know where to look. There are so many places that she wants to but basically nowhere that she thinks would be appropriate at this point, so she settles for the safest option of locking eyes with Azzi. That turns out to be a mistake, because of course Azzi’s looking at her like that, and Paige wants to go back inside to hide from her.

Being unable to make eye contact with her best friend, Paige’s gaze inevitably shifts downwards. The blonde has enough self-awareness to realize that the look on her face as her eyes snag on Azzi’s lips and collarbones is something she never wants the other members of the household to see. She schools her features into neutrality as she turns around, confusion quickly clouding them when she sees only Tim at the grill.

“Where are Katie and the boys at?” she asks.

A brief smile ghosts across Tim’s face. “Inside, I guess,” he shrugs dismissively. “They’ll be out soon, I’m sure they’re getting dish soap or something.”

Paige doesn’t have long to ponder his evasive answer before Azzi is calling her over.

“Come help me with these staples!”

The DIY slip-n-slide was another idea they’d seen on Tiktok, and when the forecast predicted a particularly hot and sunny day, it seemed like the perfect time to try it.

Paige and Azzi are securing the last corner of the plastic sheet when they’re finally joined by Azzi’s mom and brothers. Only Katie is holding a bottle of dish soap, which Paige registers as somewhat suspicious, but she’s quickly distracted by Tim’s call to come eat.

—

They try the slip-n-slide after lunch. After much bickering, Azzi gets to be the first to go. She slides gracefully on her stomach, laughing joyfully the whole time, before jumping to her feet and turning to Paige with a huge grin on her face.

Paige would be the first to tell anyone how much she loves Azzi’s smile, but she barely registers it this time as her eyes latch onto a water droplet on Azzi’s shoulder and her earlier attempts not to look are all for nothing. Almost hypnotically, her eyes follow the trail of water past her best friend’s collarbones, between the valley of her breasts, and across her abs before it soaks into her bikini bottoms. Paige fully takes in the warm brown skin glistening with soapy water and it’s just so much. All Paige wants to do is touch, anywhere she can. She’s imagining running her hands down her best friend’s body in very inappropriate ways when Jon’s voice next to her snaps her back into the present.

“Hello, Earth to Paige?” he yells, practically screaming in her ear. Face burning, the blonde’s eyes snap away just in time to watch Azzi’s youngest brother turn the hose on her.

“Oooh, you’re so dead for that!” she shrieks, chasing after him.

It soon becomes apparent what Katie and the boys were doing when Jose comes running out of the house with a huge bucket of water balloons. He starts chucking them at Paige and Jon, who are wrestling in the grass, and soon the whole family is having a water balloon fight.

Paige and Azzi try to seek shelter behind a table, but it turns out to be a bad decision as the rest of the Fudds gang up on them. With their supply dwindling, both girls jump up and run across the yard, dodging many balloons but still getting soaked.

“Please, spare us,” Paige cries as she ducks behind Azzi. “You wouldn’t hurt your sweet sister, would you?”

Jon and Jose consider it for about three seconds. “Fuck family, this is war!” Jon shouts, earning a cheer from Jose and poorly masked laughter from Tim and Katie. The onslaught continues, with Paige still trying to use Azzi as a human shield.

If Paige’s hands slide when she puts them on Azzi’s sides to reposition her, surely it’s just because of the soapy water. If they brush across Azzi’s abs as she turns around to push the older girl away, Paige’s breath certainly doesn’t catch in her throat. And when the girls lose the water balloon fight, it’s definitely because it was basically two against four and not because Paige was horribly, atrociously distracted.

—

“Today was really fun,” Azzi muses as they lie in her bed that night.

“Easy for you to say when you didn’t get a sunburn,” Paige winces at the slight sting as her back rubs against the sheets.

“That’s because I’m better than you,” Azzi shrugs like it’s obvious. “Don’t worry, I still think you look cute… even if it means you won’t let me cuddle you tonight.” She yawns and rolls over.

Paige freezes. What the fuck? Her brain is telling her that there’s no way she heard Azzi right, but with the way her best friend has been acting, it almost makes sense.

Shaking her head, Paige shifts around before deciding that the least painful sleeping position is flat on her back. When Azzi slinks her way into Paige’s arms, the older girl grits her teeth against the pain, never once considering pushing the dark-haired girl away to ease her discomfort.

—

Paige is in a desert. Her burnt skin stings under the sun and the hot sand scorches her feet as she stumbles desperately towards a jagged mountain, the only landmark for miles. She’s disappointed to discover that it offers no shade, but hope blossoms as she circles it.

The back of the mountain is an imposing rock face, but all thoughts of trying to climb it are dispelled when a small dark line running down it catches Paige’s eye. She draws closer and is relieved to find that it’s a trickle of water descending from the top of the mountain hundreds of feet above her. The rivulet is scarcely wider than one of Paige’s fingers, but she desperately presses her tongue to the rock, needing to get as much as she can in case it runs out.

The first drop of water invigorates her. It tastes like dreams and desires and a million other things all at once, and soon Paige doesn’t think she could stop lapping it up if she tried. The water drips down her chin and she welcomes the sensation. The trickle grows into a stream and still Paige keeps drinking, closing her eyes as it washes over her like a baptism.

Paige’s senses are flooded by vanilla and jasmine and she has only one thought. Azzi. When her tongue brushes against the rock face again, it’s not the rough feeling she’d gotten used to, causing Paige to open her eyes in shock. She’s on her stomach on what appears to be a flat rock in the middle of an oasis.

But Paige barely has time to take in her surroundings because right under her is the source of her desires. Azzi has an arm thrown carelessly over her eyes, legs spread so that Paige can lie between them, her head inches above the other girl’s smooth, toned stomach. Paige realizes what she’d felt on her tongue and dips her head down, experimentally tracing the path of a water droplet up Azzi’s stomach. She swallows thickly, revelling once more in the heavenly taste of it.

“Why’d you stop?” Paige’s head snaps up. They make eye contact for the first time, Azzi’s relaxed body language juxtaposed by the lust darkening her deep brown eyes.

Paige realizes that Azzi’s wearing the black bikini top she loves, but as her arm brushes the dark-haired girl’s bare hip bone, she’s not brave enough to look down.

“It’s just us here,” Azzi purrs. She arches her back slightly so she can reach the knot holding her top on. “Just you and me.” Azzi fixes Paige with an intense stare, not once breaking eye contact as she begins to pull her top off.

Azzi’s scent is intoxicating, clouding Paige’s senses and leaving her almost in a trance. “You know what I want, baby.” She licks her lips.

Paige doesn’t know if it’s the pet name or the sultry tone of Azzi’s voice, but her head is starting to feel fuzzy.

“I- I do,” she says almost reverently.

“Good girl,” Azzi murmurs. “Think you can do that for me, then?”

And Paige finds herself nodding eagerly, letting soft hands tangle in her hair as Azzi gently pushes her head down.

—

Paige wakes up absolutely parched. She tries not to be disappointed when the water she gulps down tastes nothing like the elixir from her dream. There’s only one thing that she thinks could possibly taste that good, and it’s the one thing she can’t possibly have.

#pazzi my loves #close #the covid fic #paige my love #azzi my love #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fic

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bettyfrommars · 9 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

Eddie x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST PLAYLIST

It's 1987, the same year the movie Dirty Dancing was originally released. 21-year-old reader is spending the summer with her dad and aunt at an all-inclusive resort in Indiana while she figures out what she wants to do with her life. After that summer, nothing will never be the same. Eddie is in his late 20’s and works as maintenance staff, he is also the frontman for the house band, begrudgingly delivering top 40 hits for the guests, and a secret third thing. When work is over, there is a completely different scene happening at a place the employees call The Hideout. Wayne is the head maintenance man, Chrissy is a metalhead, and a few other surprises. Bonus: Steve as a sexy, tattooed musician because I can't help myself.

my blog is always 18+only, MDNI please. The only warnings for the first chapter have to do with mention of a death of a parent, mention of grief, allusions to depression, a tiny bit of aggression, and alcohol consumption. But please read chapter warnings as the story progresses, because there will be angst, hurt/comfort, violence (fighting), and smut. Reader is called Bird as a nickname.

A/N: this is a rewrite of an OC fic I wrote over a year ago, and damn, I really needed to change a lot because my writing has evolved so much. I know I posted a snippet last week, but it's all been changed. Thank you to those who have been excited about this, I know Dirty Dancing is a cherished film, so I am treating this retelling with reverence, while adding some creative spins, and I truly hope you enjoy. The ST characters in this fic do not know each other in the same way they did in the show. For instance, Eddie, Steve, and Chrissy all grew up together, but I do my best to stick with their original character traits. This first part lines up very close with the film, but after that, it diverges and becomes a bit different. Same story line, but also not.

Part 1: Big Girls Don't Cry

word count: 6.3k

The soft murmur of a talk radio station hummed in the cement gray Mercedes-Benz 560, with your dad behind the wheel and his sister, your aunt Kim, in the passenger seat. From the backseat, you stared out the window with your headphones on, wishing for rain. The scenery was what you would expect from a place on earth that everyone considered idyllic, but you’d been exposed to so much lush greenery with that bright blue, theater backdrop of a sky for the last hour that you were starting to get a headache.

You pushed your wayfarer sunglasses up to rub the bridge of your nose, and then flipped the tape over in your Walkman before clicking it shut to press play. You were listening to a mixtape you’d made especially for the trip, the spine even said “road trip from hell”, but the first one on side b was Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac, and you closed your eyes for the next several songs. You were doing your best not to think about how you’d be trapped in BFE Indiana for a whole month.

You were also doing your best not to think about how your mother would not be home when you got back, or worse yet, the fact that you would never see her again. Never feel her generous hugs in those Laura Ashley dresses, smelling of Shalimar; never hear her voice at the other end of the line reminding you to eat something.

Your aunt said your name and your eyes snapped open. It was perfect timing because tears were beginning to form at your lash line. She had turned around in her seat and was trying to get your attention.

You pulled your headphones down around your neck. “Sorry?”

“The lake,” the expression on her face harbored more excitement than you’d ever felt in your entire life. “Isn’t it gorgeous? We’re going to get pedicures at the spa tomorrow, I already booked it.”

You glanced at your father’s stoic profile and then back to Kim. You felt bad for your aunt, getting stuck on a trip with two sad, mopey fucks who were too depressed to get excited about the things that thrilled normal people. You were the walking wounded.

“Pedicures, great,” your smile did not reach your eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice, as her enthusiasm doggedly refused to wane.

It had been almost four months since you lost her, and the world was still too…bright. Everyone was so talkative and alive and you couldn’t relate.

You looked out over the smooth expanse of lake that was nestled perfectly in the trees like you were in some type of miniature scale model rebuild of a town. Your aunt asked your dad, Owen, if he was still listening to the news, and when he shook his head, she changed the radio station to a golden oldies station and was satisfied with the tune Big Girls Don’t Cry by Frankie Vallie.

“You’ll love this cabin, Bird,” your dad said to you as the Mercedes crested the hill and began to maneuver down to your destination on a narrow, two-lane highway flanked with towering trees. A big green and white sign welcomed them to Hawkins Landing. “There’s a whole top floor where you can set up for your lessons.”

You turned away, back to the window, hiding the way your nose wrinkled. You thought maybe a perk of this getaway would be to have a break from practicing the cello you’d been tied to for over a decade, but no luck. He’d been forced to give up his dream of being a musician, and now you were expected to carry the torch for him.

You tried to come up with one thing you did in life that was not to please someone else, or boost some idea they had about you, and couldn’t come up with squat.

Besides reading. And taking long walks with music to clear your head. Those two were yours, and they could only be taken from your cold, dead, hands.

From the Hawkins Landing brochure your aunt had given you, it was clear that the property was enormous. Some 30 or 40 guest cabins scattered around, a main house that functioned as a hotel but also housed two different restaurants. A golf course, boat rentals, tennis courts, an outdoor theater, and a third restaurant situated on the water. Along with the full service spa, there were indoor and outdoor swimming pools, plus any class you could imagine wanting to take, from salsa dancing and water skiing, to chess and crochet.

Hawkins Landing was like a camp for adults who enjoyed alcoholic beverages.

There was a security checkpoint at the main entrance with two guards inside. The taller one with the neatly trimmed red beard recognized your father from the jacket cover on one of his many books. Thrillers mostly, horror if you squint. He nervously asked for an autograph, but Owen was very polite, adjusting his tortoise shell glass as he took the black marker that the guard was offering him.

After the checkpoint, it wasn’t long before the road opened into an expansive rose garden with a large fountain dead center, and the big main house with its wrap-around porch just to the right. You pushed your sunglasses up to get a look at the people mingling around, getting the idea that the median age there was 45, and it was mostly families.

The guards had given your dad a foldout map of the property and told him to check in at the main house to get the keys to the cabin they were staying in. The car moved at a crawl at the roundabout, and then came to park where a sign announced new guest check-ins.

Your dad told you to sit tight while he went in to grab the keys, and your attention trailed off to a black golf cart with a white awning that wheeled in like a racecar and took position in front of the Mercedes. It sat there close to the curb, idling. You could see there was a woman behind the wheel, and she was looking straight ahead, giving you her profile. Chin length, dark gold hair, just long enough for a ponytail, and the words “Hawkins Landing Staff” written in yellow cursive on the back of her navy blue jacket. Where her sleeve was pushed up at her elbow, you noticed some type of tattooed lettering there, and her fingernails were painted black.

Up ahead, you caught sight of someone strolling down the sidewalk toward the car with a hand in his pocket. It was a guy with honey tipped chocolate hair styled in a pompadour with a curl that bounced at his forehead, wearing tan chinos and a maroon, button down short sleeve with the square bulge of a pack of smokes in his front pocket. A tattoo peeked out from the V of his shirt, and there was another design on his bicep. He wore a pinky ring on one hand and rolled a toothpick around in his mouth as he sidled up to the golf cart to say something to the woman driving it. They bumped knuckles and talked for a bit like they were very familiar, him with one foot up on the running board of the cart.

“Steve, there you are,” from the open window, your attention bounced to a short, dark haired woman who’d just come out of the building and stood alongside your dad on the sidewalk. A closer look told you that her name tag said Joyce.

The guy with the toothpick in his mouth straightened, smoothing the front of his shirt with his hand. “Hey Joyce, I was just—”

Apparently uninterested in what he was about to say, she took him by the crook of the arm. She introduced you all by your family name, and let him know that you were “her special guests”, and you assumed that had to do with your dad being a famous author, or maybe she said that about every new family. While you chose to not do much else than offer a small wave from the back seat like you had no autonomy, Kim got out to greet them properly.

“This is Steve,” Joyce gestured to him with a Vanna White hand. “If you ever want to take guitar lessons this summer, he’s one of our best.”

“Or, if you just want to have some fun,” Steve’s eyes seemed to be searching Kim’s face, and then he shrugged. “I mean, I run the boats on the dock too, so if you want to ski or—”

Kim got flustered and tried to find her words, fussing with the lapel of her corduroy jacket in a way you’d never witnessed before. “I’m…I mean, sure, who wouldn’t want to be on the lake at a place like this?”

Kim hated boats and got seasick very easily, so you found her new interest amusing.

Joyce politely waved Steve off and he went, albeit reluctantly, backing up with slow steps to wave farewell. The smile stretching across his face grew wider the longer Kim couldn’t take her eyes off of him. When he was finally jogging up the sidewalk to get to where he needed to be, Joyce continued to try and sell Kim and your dad on the resort, even though you were already booked for the month.

“Sunday night is Bingo night. There’s karaoke in The Antler Room on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and you need to check out our house band if you can. They’re playing tonight on the back patio, and the rhythm guitar is sensational. She used to perform with Vixen and Lita Ford,” she handed over the necessary keys and pointed the way to get to the cabin on the map.

“Just follow us,” Joyce said, hopping into the golf cart next to the girl with the forearm tattoo.

They led the way down a long, winding stretch with lush lawn and manicured hedges on either side, littered with people coming up from the pool in their bathing suits. There appeared to be a Tai Chi lesson happening on the lawn near the rose garden, and some type of painting class going on just above them on a balcony.

Made you wonder why summer people always had to stay so busy.

The cabin you’d be staying in was down a side road, tucked at the end of a private driveway with a view of the lake. It had five bedrooms, which was more than enough, but one of them would immediately turn into Owen’s writing room so that he could work on his latest novel.

You were careful to tuck your Walkman into your bag as the Mercedes coasted into its parking spot. Squinting up at the place, you were somewhat distracted by how much you liked the creepy, old feel of the whitewashed cabin, and you underestimated how far from the curb you were when you stepped out, stumbling to the side.

The girl with the forearm tattoo caught you in both arms, preventing you from putting all of your weight on your twisted ankle.

“Whoa,” she moved her supportive grip from your waist to your elbow as you righted yourself. “You okay?”

Your heart shot into your throat, and then you coughed a laugh, covering your face. “What a way to start the summer.”

She said her name was Robin, and there was a polite handshake exchange. She tripped over her words a bit. “It’s not every day that someone falls for me.”

“Well, I’m pretty clumsy, you might need to stay close,” and the two of you shared a self-conscious laugh as you led the way to the trunk full of baggage.

When you reached in to grab your suitcase, Robin teased, “hey, that’s my job,” before leaning further in to take the oddly shaped black hard case, the satin of her jacket skimming your arm. She struggled with it at first, but then held it up by the handle and gave you a sideways look.

“This yours?” She asked, cocking one eyebrow up. “You’re a musician?”

“No, well, yes I am but no I, I play the cello,” you stammered, not sure why it was hard to get the words out. “But here, I can carry that. It’s big and heavy and—”

Robin winked. “I got it,” and then she snatched another suitcase with the other hand and shuffled by you to make her way up to the porch.

Once you were all settled inside and Joyce had explained all of the amenities, you and Kim pushed back the curtains and watched the two go from the living room window. Just before they took off in the cart, Robin sent you a wave.

“She looks like a nice girl,” Kim had her arms folded over her chest. “Maybe the two of you could—”

“I know you’re worried about me, okay, but I don’t need to make any friends this summer,” you were holding the case for your cello in front of you with both hands, using it as a metaphorical barrier. “I like being alone.”

By the time you put your stuff away in the bedroom you’d be staying in, your dad was already typing away in his writing room, you could hear the keys of his Selectric click-clacking.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you called across the rustic but spacious cabin living room. “I’m going to look around the main house.”

Kim barely caught your words as she was struggling with her glasses to read an ingredient label as she put some dry goods away in the kitchen. “Mhmm sounds good, have fun. Be back in time for dinner, we have reservations at…whatever that place is called. Your dad knows.”

You tapped the Swatch on your wrist and gave an absent wave over your shoulder.

With your headphones on, you made your way down to the main sidewalk that split off in two directions, bordering either side of the swimming pool and tennis courts. You found the bike path that wound down along the lake to the boat dock, and then up into a lush pocket of dense forest. Two teenage girls on rollerblades almost crashed into you as they bolted around the bend, giggling. Trying to decide if you wanted to go toward the water or into the woods, you watched a staff member veer off onto an uneven stone pathway and your curiosity was piqued.

Creeping along in their wake, you marched up a hill for what felt like forever, with Bring on the Dancing Horses by Echo and the Bunnymen playing in your ears, until you realized with a start that you’d already arrived at the main building. It loomed up ahead like a mansion from some old gothic romance novel.

You continued to plod your way along the trunks of trees, until you spotted a group having a chat on the wide porch, and took a few steps back.

They were all leaning against the railing in a semicircle, facing each other, so that you could see the Hawkins Landing Staff on the back of a few of their navy jackets.

One of them was Steve from earlier, next to him was a girl with a blonde ponytail, and then two others.

“I met that author guy today,” Steve took a drag and then blew the smoke up in the air, away from everyone’s face. “The one who wrote Darkness on the Hill, that one they made into a movie.”

You realized that it was your dad he was talking about.

Not looking where you were stepping, you caught your toe on a tree root and your arms windmilled before you were able to find your balance, floundering to duck behind another tree. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, trying not to gasp at the pain in your foot. Grimacing, you turned the volume down on the headphones that were around your neck to better hear what they were saying.

“That actor from that one show about law and order is staying in cabin 8,” the girl with the ponytail said. “Housekeeping says he finishes a bottle of whiskey a night.”

But then, there was another voice. “Now that sounds like a great fucking vacation to me,” followed by the heavy footfalls of boots on wood as a new person approached the group.

The sight of the new arrival made you feel like your brain was wiped clean—-the whole world came to a screeching halt.

Swallowing hard, all of your attention tunneled on him; his long dark hair with bangs that crowded his eyes, a thin but muscular build, tattoos scattered over his exposed arms, and a leather jacket hooked over his shoulder with one finger. He combed a hand through his hair as he walked, chunky metal rings catching the light, and headed over to the blonde girl. You took note of every movement as she passed him her half-smoked cig and he gave her a quick kiss on the temple.

Was that his girlfriend?

He stepped back to introduce the younger guy he had with him. “This Jamie, my new maintenance trainee,” he used the hand holding his smoke to point to each one on the balcony individually. You really didn’t pay attention until he got to the blonde one. “...that one there is the lovely Chrissy, and the moody one with the hairy chest is Steve. They’re the other musicians I told you about.”

Jamie had short black, curly hair and a hoop piercing in one ear. He lit his own smoke while the metalhead started in with a story about a pump exploding at the pool house, complete with wild hand gestures.

“Hey, there the fuck you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you losers.”

Another voice, another person making their way down the long stretch of squeaky wood planks from the front of the building. You stepped closer, snapping a twig under your foot, eliciting a worried lip bite.

Everyone stayed right where they were, but for Eddie who moved in front of Jamie in a protective way. The guy approaching at a stroll had very nondescript good looks with his wheat blonde hair in a tight cut that looked freshly trimmed. While the others were dressed more casually, this one wore a white dress shirt and tie with black trousers, as if he had some fancy place to be.

“You talking to me?” The metalhead flicked his cigarette ash and stepped forward to meet the new guy before he could come any closer to the group. “Cause, if so, you might want to change your tone, precious.”

“Eddie, don’t,” Chrissy said, and then she stood up, addressing the guy in the suit. “Jason, what the fuck do you want?”

Eddie, you moved your lips, whispering the name to yourself. His name was Eddie.

Jason put his hands up in mock surrender. “Why so hostile?” He turned to Eddie. “Joyce has been trying to find you for an hour. There’s a toilet backed up in one of the cabins, and trash that needs to go to the dump. Sounds to me like you’re having a hard time doing your job, Munson.”

You scuttled like a crab, moving to a spot where you could see their faces instead of the backs of their heads.

So that you could see Eddie’s face.

Steve checked his watch and pushed off of the railing to snub his cig out on the bottom of his shoe. “I gotta run. See you bastards at the show tonight,” he said in passing, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets. He walked right into Jason, shoulder checking him, before casually going on his way. Jason shot him an evil look.

“Well,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Tell Joyce I got the message,” and then he motioned for Jamie to follow him.

“Too bad we can’t take you out with the rest of the trash, freak,” Jason mumbled, loud enough for you to hear every word, and a tension crackled in the air.

The metalhead stopped dead in his tracks and drew his shoulders back.

When he finally turned on his heel, he wore a satisfied smirk, inclining his head, as if he’d been waiting for Jason to say something all along.

Chrissy moved as if she were about to go over and break up whatever was about to happen, but one of the others put a handout and stopped her.

“Just keep sending your laundry home to mommy, baby boy, and leave the real work to me,” Eddie said, and then he flicked the butt of his cigarette at Jason’s face.

Jason moved his head just in time so that the hot cherry missed his cheek by a hair and bounced off the wall behind him, spraying sparks. Chrissy and the others snickered at how beet red Jason’s face got, but he didn’t say another word, he just waited for Eddie and Jamie to be far enough away before he went back around to the front entrance.

When the coast was clear, you stood and made your way to the path again. With a curse you realized you were going to be late for that dinner reservation, and picked up speed to a slow, sad jog.

You found yourself thinking that maybe being trapped at Hawkins Landing for the summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—----

Your aunt Kim gave you an exasperated look when you all finally sat down for dinner, being that you’d made everyone 20 minutes late for the reservation. There didn’t appear to be a single open table when you arrived, but Joyce had made sure to keep the one by the window facing the gardens open for your party. She came around to introduce the guy who was to be your waiter, and you sat up a little straighter in your seat when you realized it was Jason from earlier. The way he’d been dressed out on the porch made sense now, as his uniform was the same as all of the other waitstaff.

Near the end of the meal, Joyce returned to the table in her black pencil skirt and fitted jacket, but this time, she was with a guy who you could tell wanted to look like Don Johnson in Miami Vice, but it came off more as Gary from Weird Science.

“I'd like you to meet Troy, he’s the son of Mr. Brenner, the owner of the resort,” there was a reluctance about her, as if she’d been forced at gunpoint to introduce him.

Troy stared at you with an uncomfortable intensity, making your attention fall to your plate.

“I’m in charge when my father isn’t around,” Troy said with a smug grin, putting his hands in his white trouser pockets, and you spotted some type of metal retainer on his teeth.

Joyce cleared her throat, annoyed that his statement was far from true. But she recognized that it was part of her job to indulge the little shit.

“I just graduated with a business degree from Georgetown,” he gloated, giving you a wink. “This place will all be mine one day.”

Your father exchanged a look with your aunt over his chocolate mousse.

“Well, it’s nice to know someone else your age here, isn’t it, Bird? Maybe you two kids should go have some fun tonight,” Kim chirped.

If your aunt wasn’t so far away, you would’ve kicked her under the table.

Troy bent at the waist so that his face wasn’t far from yours. “I’d love to show you around after dinner, if you’re interested in a tour?”

Before you could issue a vague excuse like, “sorry I can’t, I have a headache,” Kim spoke for you again.

“I think that’s a great idea,” she even clapped her hands, applauding it.

In the end, you went with him to make Kim happy, to get her off your back, hopefully for the rest of the trip.

An hour or two with a pretentious prick wouldn’t hurt you.

—-------

Troy wasn’t bad company, but he was quite full of himself. He had interesting stories about his extensive travels, but then he also told awkward stories that were possibly fibs about how many models he’d dated, and expanded on how he wanted to be married with two kids by the time he was 30.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine thinking that far ahead, and he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise.

You followed close behind through the huge, busy kitchen of the restaurant you’d just dined in, and he tried to hold your hand when he introduced you to the head chef, but you were sly, and pulled it away to cross your arms over your chest. He gave you a tour of the ballroom and took a stroll through the other restaurant on the opposite end of the building that had a much more relaxed feel, low lighting, red carpet, and a bar at the center.

You went down to the boat docks and walked along the pier. The stars were breathtaking, but Troy didn’t notice, he was too busy trying to convince you to go out on his boat with him. You declined, taking a page from Kim’s book to mention a freshly born curse of violent seasickness.

You had your elbows on the railing at the pier, enjoying the velvet reflection of the crescent moon in the lake, and you could feel your jaw grow tense under the weight of Troy’s stare.

On the verge of telling him you were ready to head back to your cabin, the sound of music drifted down from somewhere on the property.

Yes, no mistaking, it was Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money, but it was being executed with someone else’s voice, and whoever that person was had some serious pipes.

And then there was the distinct sound of a feminine voice chiming in with the parts from the song Be My Baby Now by the Ronettes in the chorus.

"Is that a live band?" You turned away from him to try and find the source of the music. It wasn’t coming from the restaurant on the water or any of the cabins to your right.

"There's a cover band every Friday out behind the main house. You want to check it out?" He held the crook of his arm out to you and hesitated before you took it. His ego sufficiently stroked now that you wanted to spend more time with him.

Around the side of the building, overlooking the golf course, was a huge, fenced in back patio garden area with a private hot tub and pool for hotel guests. Troy led you through a white arbor wound with ivy to find that there were plenty of people mingling, drinking, and dancing. The area was mostly manicured lawn, with stone pathways meandering around from a concrete floor that was right in front of the small riser that was meant to be a stage. You imagined that a million weddings had taken place there.

At the door was a bar, and Troy got you a flute of champagne, which you downed with abandon and asked for another. While he was getting your second glass, you made your way along under several boughs of white string lights to get a view of the stage and who was performing the top tier Eddie Money cover.

Just as you stepped into the crowd of people shuffling to the beat, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was at the mic: Eddie the metalhead.

Guitar slug low at his hips, wearing a tuxedo with light blue cummerbund and bow tie, his hair neatly combed back and fixed into a knot at the back of his head so that you could really see the curves of his face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was performing the song against his will.

The rest of the band were dressed similarly, and you instantly knew the one strumming the bass guitar as Steve, and the woman on backup vocals rocking on the rhythm was Chrissy, who wore a conservative skirt and flats. There was also a keyboardist and a drummer, both of whom you did not recognize.

“What’s your major?” Troy asked, breaking your reverie to pass you the glass of champagne. “In college?”

You were confused for a second but then, “oh, I took the year off to…figure some things out.” The full truth of it was that you had dropped out completely and had no intention of going back.

“I spent a summer in Greece my freshman year,” he offered, unprovoked. “The women there are, wow, so smoking hot.”

The song finished and Eddie took his tuxedo jacket off, rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing the scattered tattoos you’d noticed earlier. He leaned over to whisper something to Chrissy, motioned at the drummer, and then stepped back into place, brushing a loose wisp of hair off his cheek.

“Find someone special for this next one,” he told the crowd, and was answered with a rush of murmurs.

The first notes to In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel, a slow song, lit up the space, and your stomach tightened, fearing that Troy would ask you to dance. As he escorted you to the floor, you tried to keep your head down and stay to the back of the crowd, but Troy kept maneuvering you closer to the stage.

I get so lost, sometimes

Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart

When I want to run away

I drive off in my car

But whichever way I go

I come back to the place you are

You watched the performance from over Troy’s shoulder and followed his lead, shifting from foot to foot. You were mesmerized by the muscles in Eddie’s hands as he played each note, and the way Chrissy came in like an angel on the chorus.

He’d captured the attention of everyone in the garden at that moment, and there was a group of women watching him from the sidelines, whispering to each other, possibly about how they wanted to eat him alive.

They were all thinking the same thing you were: Eddie was magic.

He liked to close his eyes when he sang, so you weren’t expecting him to be staring right at you when he opened them again.

All my instincts, they return

And the grand facade, so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside

He wouldn’t break eye contact, so you eventually had to; the intensity of it was giving you butterflies.

Troy stepped back and tried to get your attention. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

You nodded, but your gaze only drifted back to Eddie. Troy followed your line of sight and then dropped both of his hands with a frustrated cluck of his tongue.

"What the hell is he doing up there?" He hissed to himself when it dawned on him that Eddie had been behind the mic that whole time. "That's our goddamn maintenance guy. He shouldn't be up there."

In a huff, Troy pushed through the crowd and headed over to one of the other staff members against the fence. Bird could see him shouting and pointing over at the stage. Whatever the staff guy said did not seem to cheer him up a bit, and he came back to your side, shrugging his shoulders.

"I guess our normal front man Drew has the flu," he reported back. "It's just so hard to find reliable help these days."

Eddie was making the song his own, and that was what you liked about it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Troy put his hand on your lower back to escort you out. “The music sucks.”

—--

It was 9:30 when you made it back to the main foyer, standing in the middle of the lobby next to an obnoxious floral arrangement, when Troy tried to get you to go back to his cabin and watch a movie, only to get respectfully declined.

“Don’t worry about your parents,” Troy said, brushing his finger over your chin. “They know you’re with me, so they’re probably the happiest parents at Hawkins Landing.”

The guy had quite an ego on him, you had to give him that. It was unsurpassed by most.

In the end, you got away, and as soon as your Mary Jane’s hit the cobblestones outside the front door, you could feel yourself trotting at a quicker pace, eager to put some distance between you and Troy and everyone else, for that matter. You didn’t stop until you were far enough away from the main hotel to be able to check over your shoulder and not see it through the trees.

It was then that you realized that you had a free chunk of time, and you could do with it whatever you wished. Your dad would think you were still with Troy, and as long as you made it back to the cabin before midnight, they wouldn’t worry.

As much as it was the dead of summer, Indiana by the water had very cool nights, and you buttoned up the jean jacket you were wearing just as you noticed a yellow sign on a lamppost to the right that said: Staff Quarters, No Guests Allowed Beyond This Point

And that made you want to venture in even more.

You checked around to make sure there was no one there to notice that you blatantly ignored the sign, and just kept going. The path at your feet changed from stone to a well-worn dirt path through the grass, and it wasn’t long before you could hear the sound of music erupting in the distance.

You passed by staff quarters, a few weathered red cabins with white trim, lined close together, and there were some people hanging out on their porches who gave you curious looks, but didn’t seem too concerned with your presence.

Following the source of the music, you descended down into unknown, poorly lit territory that no longer looked like it was part of the Hawkins Landing property.

(song playing in the distance is Dangerous Meeting by Mercyful Fate)

It was then that you noticed a pale yellow light coming from the windows of a building up ahead. Just as the dirt path turned to gravel, you identified the music you were hearing as heavy metal, and it was bolstered by distinct shouts and cheers, even a high-pitched scream or two.

“Hey,” a voice startled you from out of the dark and you jumped. “What are you going out here?”

Heart racing, you spun around to find out it was Robin.

She was struggling to carry several things in her arms as she walked and you rushed over to her.

“Where did you come from?” You asked, grinning ear to ear at how glad you were to see someone familiar.

“My cabin is right over there,” she bucked her chin in a direction behind you.

She had a crossbody bag over her shoulder, an amp in one hand, and she was juggling two guitar cases, one of which she fumbled, and you managed to catch it before it hit the ground. You wrapped your arms around the hard case with the Scorpions sticker on it, silently offering to carry it the rest of the way.

“You don’t have to—” Robin started, adjusting the bag over her shoulder.

“I want to,” you looked back up at the house where the music was coming from, assuming that was where she was headed. “I carry that big cello around all the time, remember? I’m used to it.”

Robin moved her jaw from side to side and she looked conflicted. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Your eyes were still locked on the house hidden in the trees. “What is that place?”

“Listen,” she gave you an imploring look. “I will get in so much trouble if they find out you came out here. Your dad won’t want you here, trust me.”

Her warning did nothing to squelch your curiosity. “I’m a big girl, I go wherever I want. Plus, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Besides,” she gave you a knowing look, raising her eyebrow. “If your boyfriend Troy finds out you were here, Brenner will fire all of us.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you snapped. But then, softer, you added, “I barely just met him tonight.”

Robin wasn’t in the mood to try and rip the guitar out of your hands, and so, with a heavy sigh, she caved.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But stay close to me, okay? You’re not at the resort anymore, sweetheart.”

You nodded, waiting for her to lead the way.

She took a step forward and then stopped and turned on her heel to point at the instrument in your arms.

“Be extra careful with that, it’s Eddie’s baby. He’ll grow horns if anything happens to it.”

----

Hi! If you are familiar with the movie Dirty Dancing, you have an idea about what scene is coming up next. I've really enjoyed lining up certain events with the movie, but things will obviously be different in this because I want it to have some surprises in store for you.

Every chapter from here on out will start with a list of the songs, ones that will give hints for what to expect. I wanted to make music a big part of this fic, because it was a huge deal in the movie, and the original soundtrack is still dear to me.

as always, thank you so much for reading and interacting with this story! Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated. or send me an ask and let me know what you think ❤️

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taglist: @tlclick73 @micheledawn1975 @kurdtbean @katethetank @elvendria @spookysqaush86 @somethingvicked @stylesxmunson @laurenlokirby @sapphire4082

#Dirty Metal Summer #dirty dancing au #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson smut #Stranger Things fic #Steve Harrington #robin buckley

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leclsrc · 1 year

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a charles drabble with love language/s pls.... its all i want its all i have ever wanted

real love baby – cl16

You express love differently, but it’s love all the same.

genre: fluff

auds here... i hope you enjoy it! this is a scheduled post – my brain is so wonky and i absolutely needed to get back into writing before my hands atrophied and i wasted away into dust …. so i worked on a months-old req that i previously scrapped. am i happy w this? well i’ll answer that honestly and say

It happens first when you’re still friends.

Charles gets off a late meeting that’s wormed its way into the late hours of night, costing him hours of rest or training, and the paddock is empty save for staff members setting up for Sunday. He’s still got Sauber merch slung over his arm when he clicks on his car keys—when the lights flash, he notices a shadow by an adjacent car. “Hello?” He calls out, apprehensive. They let anyone into the area these days.

“It’s me,” says your voice, amused at the clear nerves his voice exhibits. “Why’re you leaving so late?”

“I couldn’t leave without making sure everything was set for tomorrow.” There are circles under your eyes, obscured by the lens of your glasses, the ones you wear when you’ve been staring at text or a screen for hours too long. You work a lot in the crux of a season, coordinating investors for Mercedes and making sure money is where it’s supposed to be every single day. “We’re getting budget breach accusations.”

“I planted them,” he jokes half-heartedly, leaning his side against the trunk of your car. You laugh, rolling your eyes. It’s not the funniest joke in the world—it wouldn’t pass at all if he did that at an open mic—but something makes it easy to do so, to throw your head back and affirm his attempt at comedy.

Charles is so tired—from driving in the morning and results in the afternoon to a meeting that lasted hours and discussed basically his entire fucking future—but he enjoys having you laugh at something he’s said. He doesn’t really know why, just savors the way your necklace glints in the dim light of the parking lot and the leftover lighting from the paddock several metres away.

“Funniest joke I’ve heard in a while,” you say mutely, sarcastic. Your car is on but you’re not getting in.

“Does Henry not entertain you with jokes of his own?” He asks lightly, smiling. “Henry? Harry? Or is he busy with… what was it, an online rap career?”

“Harvey.” You’re not laughing, and in fact displaying some expression that’s half amusement/disappointment, but he can spot the beginnings of a smile on your lips. “You knew that. And he’s not an online rapper.” Anymore, you leave out.

“Oh, that’s good. Was worried he was out to get Drake’s career.” You raise a hand to threaten him playfully, a genuine laugh escaping your lips. Your teeth flash and your eyes crinkle and his head doesn’t hurt so much anymore. “Appreciate the jokes while you still can,” he says anyway. “My migraines lately have made me very sluggish.”

You blink, reaching into your patterned handbag and producing a tiny bottle of Advil. “Take it,” you tell him, lips pursed. “Can’t have this year’s best rookie having chronic headaches.” You push it into his hand and smile tightly.

“Thanks,” he stutters, his throat dry. “I’ll see you around. With Harvey, maybe. You could introduce us.”

“Hah. Not sure that’s something I’d… I’d really want,” you dismiss quietly, watching him round the space to open his car. Louder, you add, “Let me know when you’re okay.”

He looks at you then downward. Then at you again, smile on his face. “I will.” He raises the Advil and gives it a shake. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” you say, grinning.

—

The next time it happens (the next time you can both remember well, at least) you’re in the sweet little in-between of being friends and something else. He calls it his courting stage; you, your begrudgingly allowing it stage. At that point things had gone awry with Harvey, since he’d decided to jump back into his pursuit of Soundcloud fame.

“Hey.” You duck into the gym room, your head just in between the door and the frame. Seb sees you, bumps his teammate to catch his attention further; Charles jogs to you and leans against the wall, crossing his arms to hear you continue. “I’m leaving early today. No money issues.” You nod squarely. “Parce que I stole the funds.”

“I warned you. If you keep talking about embezzlement I’m going to have to kiss you,” he whisper-jokes, smiling.

He watches you hide a laugh, visibly flustered and stuttery, and he swears his chest hurts from how much it affects him, how strong his attraction is to you. He’s almost terrified of it, comforted only when you open your mouth to respond: “Are you gonna be in early tonight?”

“I, uh—” He turns to Seb. “We’ll be done in an hour, but I’m driving so I’ll wait around ’til later. Just… I’ve been too sore to properly get these moving for long so I need to rest for a bit.” He wiggles his arms and fingers. “It’s, well. The price you pay for being very muscular.”

“Jokes write themselves with you,” you scoff, cocking your head. “Okay, then. Um—I’ll see you.”

An hour later he leaves to take a piss and dick around while waiting for the dull ache at the nape of his neck to relax, and instead finds you in the Ferrari motorhome, close to sleeping. Your eyes snap open when they hear the pad of his sneakers against the floor. “Oh.”

“Oh?” He smiles, his heartstrings tugging. “What’s… what are you doing here?”

“Waiting.” You mirror his expression with quiet grace. “I can drive you back, Charles. It’s—you shouldn’t be driving yourself in this condition. I got Andrea to drive your car to your hotel.”

Despite his protests, he does end up becoming the passenger, and by extension the navigator and deejay, queuing up songs for you both to sing along to. In the unfamiliarity of the city and the dull exhaustion seeping into his bones, though, he’s asleep to a Police song before long. His hand rests softly on the centre console.

At the red light right before the hotel, you interlock your pinkies to wake him up. “Mmmff?”

“We’re near,” you notify, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Thank you,” he yawns. Then for good measure, “Didn’t know I was in such good hands.”

“You ever gonna stop with the jokes?” You ask amusedly, turning right.

“Not if they make you laugh.”

“They do,” you murmur, fond. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he says quietly, holding your hand fully.

—

Life became a blur of little moments like those after that night.

Sure touches, words of assurance from Charles; little deeds from you. Whispered in French or Italian or English while he wrapped you in an embrace on bad days. A spout of cheers on the better ones. A water bottle with a Post-it: Finish before noon!!! when he’d gone to bed mouthing off about being thirsty. A cup of coffee on the counter the way he liked it on days you both had the time.

Sometimes it would switch: that time you were sick and he showed up to the Mercedes motorhome, Evian and meds in hand every six hours to make sure you were up to sched with your cold medication. That time you wrote him a letter for your third anniversary and watched him wipe tears off his face before he even made it halfway. Another time he organised your flat’s entire bookshelf according to all your standards (only to ask you to move in a week later and redoing the organisation at his place). And another time you gave a speech on Charles at a gala and he accepted the award, again, tearily.

But every action, every word, every joke, every hug, has always been motivated by love. The kind of tender love, that was unfamiliar in the same way it felt so much like home. The kind of love you read about or your parents would send you off to sleep talking about. Love so foolish, but so sure—neither of you have ever needed to doubt for a second. The kind of love so big it should be confusing, but you’ve both come to find it’s anything but, that you always seem to be on the same page, or at least capable of getting there. Closeness, intimacy, friendship—that’s all it’s ever been.

And everything, punctuated with the same sentiment, the same words, ever since the first time:

“Thank you,” he says in one breath, his voice heavy with love, with overwhelm. “Thank you, thank you.” He finds your ring finger and slides the diamond atop it.

“Anything,” you say, smiling in-between kisses, “anything for you.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #f1 x reader

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heartysworld · 7 months

Text

Hope || Azriel × Fem!Reader

A/N: I decided to start posting some of my old ACOTAR fics here since I'm feeling nostalgic. Keep in mind that it's been 2 years since I wrote these, so they might be a bit shabby. I'll try and find time to edit them as best as possible, bit for now enjoy these rough drafts.

Also, tell me if you prefer them in 1st or 2nd POV!

W.C:1.6k

Warnings: childbirth

My entire body was hurting,ankles swollen,back sore and constant headaches. I couldn’t complain thought. That was the price you have to pay in order to create a new life inside of you.

Azriel and I couldn’t be happier when we found out. Both of us suffered a terrible childhood,and having a loving and stable family was one of the things we dreamed of the most.

Fae children are rare,that’s why when we found out we were expecting we cried and laughed together for hours.

Right now I was in the kitchen,preparing a cake for when Az returned from a month long mission. He left when I was in the seventh month and I have grown a lot since then. It was my birthday today too,so thr only thing I wished for was a big hug from my mate,and for us to have a nice,peaceful evening.

Evevrything was finally finished and so I waited and waited for my husband to return,only to go to bed alone that night with a heavy heart and a tear-stained face. He never came home. I was worried,he would have called out for me through our bond if something important held him,but I had no news from him.

Time skip

The next morning I was awoken from the sound of the front door opening and closing. It was Az, I could feel him. With a heavy sigh I got up,putting all my energy in as my baby bump was quite the big obstacle for me.

Paddling down the stairs I went in the kitchen where the noise was coming from. There stood my husband ,a smile on his face as he looked through the cabinets for something to eat.

‘’You’re finally back !’’- I exclaimed as I gave him a big hug as much as my belly let me.

"I am back, my love. Back to my family. How's our little princess been? She's grown I can tell." - he asked,loving tone in his voice as he put his hands on my lower stomach as our baby kicked.

"Both of us missed you dearly. Seems like she can sense her father is back too." - I smiled, giving him a small kiss.

"I expected you last night, Az. You had me worried. What happened that kept you for so long?" - I asked.

"Elained asked if I could visit her, when it was time to leave it was already late so she offered me to sleep over and come back in the morning." - he explained, a smile still on his face.

My face faltered.

"You... You went to see Elain?" - I asked again, needing to hear that sentence one more time.

"Yeah, that's what I said." - he replied.

In this moment nothing but fury resided in my body. He left me alone on my birthday to go meet with another woman!

"You left me here alone last night so you can go see Elain!" - I shouted, making Azriel jump.

"Hey, calm down. I don't see a problem, love. I'm here now am I not." - he replied, trying to take my hands in his, but I shoved him away.

"Why are you mad Y/N. Elain is my friend, I have the right to see her." - he said.

"And I'm your wife! The woman pregnant with your child! And instead of coming home to us you went to another woman!" - I screamed now.

"You being my wife doesn't mean I can't visit my friends, Y/N. If you're jealous just say it. Don't act like a child." - he raised his voice.

"I have nothing against you meeting your friends, but not friends who you have a romantic past with. Ever since I got pregnant you have been away more time than you've been home. I'm staring to feel like you're not ready to become a father. In case you've forgotten it was my birthday yesterday. That's why I expected you to come back-you promised. "-I said, my voice was starting to crack as my hormones took their turns.

" Y/N... "-started Az. His voice was laced with pain and regred.

" There's food in the bottom left cabinet if you're hungry. I'm going to bed. You can do whatever you want, go give the cake to Elain if you wish. I don't care." - I murmured as I waddled up the stairs as tears started going down my cheeks.

A few minutes later I heard the front door open and close, indicating that Azriel left. He actually left. That was the last straw as more tears appeared and I crumbled down on our bed, crying.

As if once again being able to feel my pain, my baby started kicking energetically.

"Calm down, my love. Daddy loves you. I hope he will never abandon us, or at least he will never abandon you."-I said quietly as I patted my belly.

I have fallen asleep when I was awoken late at night by a sharp pain in my lower stomach.

Fear filled me as I got up from the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

I took off my underwear only to see a big spot of blood on it and more streaming down my legs.

"Azriel... Azriel please if you can hear me, something's wrong with our baby, there is so much blood. I'm scared. Please come back!"-I sent down for him as I came back to the ned holding my stomach as I cried.

There was no one else I could call for. The only thing I had for communication was my bond with Azriel, and he was Gods know where.

" Please baby, don't leave us so soon. We waited for you for centuries. Don't do this to us." - I cried more as I layed in our bed, pain shedding me into pieces.

I dont know how much time passed, I was barely keeping myself conscious, my breaths slow and shallow. It was then when I felt someone's presence in the room and someone else coming to my side.

"Y/N... hey look at me, love. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, I'm sorry. I brought Madja with me, everything will be alright. Please just hold on." - he said as he caressed my cheek with his rough hand.

"Azriel..." I barely got it out of me "Save our baby, if I don't make it-tell her about me..." I breathed out. "Let her know her mother loved her.... endlessly." - I finished, I was starting to see dark spots when I heard Madja speak.

"The baby's wing tore a part of the inside tissue, that's where the bleeding's from. Aside from that, it is too early for it to be born. The chances of survival are low,but I'm going to give my best." - she said as she got to work.

"Azriel."-I loomed into his beautiful eyes once again. "I'm sorry for screaming at you.... I love you. So much." - I said as I put my hand on his cheek.

"Stay with me,love. It's all my fault. I should've came back as soon as I could, and I shouldn't have left you in the morning. Stay with me, ans we'll see our beautiful girl very soon. You hear me?" - he said as he shook me so I could stay conscious.

Time skip

Hours went as I layed on the same spot in our bed as I pushed and pushed. Madja gave me some kind of tonic to keep me awake and make the pain bareable.

The rest of our friends winnowed in soon after Azriel arrived. Feyre was at my side, guiding me through the process. Azriel went out of the room after lots of convincing from me. He needed a break from the awful scene before him.

I have no idea how much longer it went before I heard a small cry echo in the room as I felt instant relief. My body healed itself hours ago, but our baby was still very small and hard to take out.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as they put her against my chest. She was so small, smaller than normal, but she was here and she was alive.

Both of us fell asleep before seeing Azriel, I was too tired to keep my eyes open, much rest was needed.

I don't know for how long I slept but when I woke up I was greeted by the beautiful sight of my husband holding our daughter, whispering sweet nothing to her as he showered her with kisses.

"Azriel." - I said as his head snapped in my direction. He slowly came to my side, nestling the small child in my hands.

"I am so sorry for what happened yesterday Y/N. I want you to know that I love you much. I never intended to hurt you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." - he said, giving my forehead a kiss.

"I'm sorry too, Az. I was tired and on edge. And when you told me where you went I lost it. I hope you can forgive me too." - I said, offering a small smile.

"So... have you thought of any names?" - he asked, looking at our daughter once again.

"Hope, I want to name her Hope. Because she's what will give us power and will to keep going. For her." - I said.

"So Hope be it." - he said as he kissed me again.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying our new addition to our family and thinking about tje bright future that waited for us.

If you're interested in more of my fics let me know!

#acotar x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel angst #azriel fluff #acomaf fanfiction #acotar #acosf fanfiction #azriel x y/n #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #booktok fanfics

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lxclerc · 1 year

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... charles' lonely call breaks your heart further requested... yes! warning... angst pairing... charles leclerc x reader

note... a little drabble requested back in november 2022. i'm so sorry for it being super super super late but if whoever requested it is still here then i hope you enjoy it! feedbacks are very much appreciated and encourages me to write more! extra note... also i'm taking a semester gap year so i will be trying to post more and get through requests so let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

you’re exhausted, having just got home from a forty eight hour shift. being a surgical resident is absolute hell and you’re not quite sure how you’re managing but somehow you’d manage to drag yourself back home, frowning as you reach for the light switch only to find the wall empty.

right. you’re in your own apartment, a place you hadn’t really lived at for months. mostly you’d come here when you needed something but more times than not, you go home to his apartment. it had been your home rather than this sad, lonely place void of his laughter.

you sigh, letting your bag drop to your thrifted couch. you suddenly wished you’d stayed in the hospital on call room instead of here. being back in this place reminds you of all the things you no longer have, of the person you no longer call yours.

god the self pity is getting tiring and you’re far too tired for another midnight crying session and so after washing the grime off your skin, you’d settled on your sofa with a bag of chips, flipping on the TV to some trashy american series to drown out your loneliness.

however, as fate would unfortunately have it, you hadn’t even reached the second episode before your phone started ringing, his smiling face displayed on the screen. you’d frozen on your spot. you remember the exact date you’d taken that photo of him and you still had the ringtone you specifically chose for him.

you’re haunted, your body full of memories and his fingerprints imprinted in your soul. even now, three weeks, two days and twelve hours since he’d called it off, he still haunts. you wanted to let out a bitter laugh as the ringing stopped. who’s counting right?

you refused to be his lonely call. you might be absolutely miserable and pathetic but you respect yourself enough for that. you won’t be his lonely call just because his friends and his girls are gone. you’d been his six am good morning but you will never be his midnight number whenever he starts wondering if he’d made the wrong choice.

your phone lights up again but you let it ring. if he had more things to say to you then he can say it after the beep.

he calls more times after that, keeping you awake as you stare at your ringing phone. a few times, you catch yourself reaching for it, reminding yourself that he’d been the one to make this choice. he’d been the one to make excuses about both your schedules being too much. and it was so unfair how he tormented you for it. this entire thing was unfair. you were willing to give everything to charles. you loved him far too much and you’d been under the impression that he felt the same but if he was willing to give you up so easily, did he really love you as much as he claimed he did?

he’d made his bed and now he needed to get used to sleeping on it.

it was around two am when he finally stopped calling and you’re sure you’ll have a headache come tomorrow morning from staying up too late. you decide to call it a night and end your self inflicted torture, putting your phone on silent as you turned off the TV and chucked your empty bag of chips in the trash. you were just about to turn off the light when the knock came and you knew without checking exactly who it was.

you sigh, frozen in your tracks as the knocks became more and more insistent.

“y/n,” his voice is rough, scratchy as though he’d spent the entire night screaming at the top of his lungs and you felt a tear slip down your cheeks. he sounded so broken. maybe as broken as you felt. “s'il te plaît, mon amour.” please, my love.

you stay rooted to your place. this is unfair. this is so fucking unfair. he’d been the one to give up. charles gave you up. how dare he come crawling to you now?

“Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé. Je pensais que je pourrais apprendre à moins t'aimer. Tu me manques,” he rambles. “i miss you so fucking much i didn’t even think it was possible, baby.” I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought I could learn to love you less. I miss you.

a sob rocks your body as you fall to the floor, clutching yourself as though you’re trying to hold yourself together.

“please, baby,” he begs and you can hear the way he’s crying too. “J'ai besoin de toi.” i need you.

and then you open the door. because you loved him too much. because you could never give up on him.

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @writing-about-current-obsessions @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerr @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr

#formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 10 months

Text

(found this in the archives/dust of my computer desktop and figured why not post it to tumblr. please enjoy this lily and sirius friendship dribble or whatever this is.)

A Good Nights Sleep

It was late November and the entirety of the Gryffindor house had celebrated a Quidditch win the night before, resulting in nothing other than a mess in the common room and a hoard of students nursing headaches and exhaustion. Lily Evans didn’t know who brought the alcohol (a seventh year perhaps), and she didn’t know what possessed her to drink it alongside Marlene (who was on a table by the end of the night), but she had, and she struggled to open her eyes the next morning.

She was tempted to go back to sleep, the curtains around the four poster bed shut entirely blocking out the rest of the world, and it was impossibly warm even with the cool early winter temperatures. Her head nestled against the pillows, making to grab the comforter and roll over to get some more sleep, but instead of a blanket, she grabbed an arm.

Instead of rolling over into another pillow, there was the unmistakable presence of another person in bed with her. Her eyes sprang open, no longer exhausted, her brain scrambling to remember what the hell happened last night.

You were drunk

Mary was in the room with someone.

You wanted to go sleep

Remus! You asked Remus for his bed!

Just until Mary finished and then you would go back to your room.

Lily tried to sit up, her brain connecting the dots and realizing this definitely wasn’t Remus. There was too much weight, too much hair. She kept wiggling in hopes of waking up the sleeping form of Sirius Black on top of her that was the culprit of the warmth she had woken up to. Any closer to Lily and they would’ve been a single person, his leg thrown across her hips, his face near her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her like an octopus. Sirius stirred briefly, not opening his eyes.

“Stop moving, McKinnon,” he mumbled, “Go back to sleep--”

“Not McKinnon,” hissed Lily, “Get off me, Black!” Sirius made a noise of confusion before sitting up rapidly, running a hand over his face and hair at the voice that was definitely not Marlene.

“Oh god, ah, shit,” Sirius said, his long black curls rumpled from the sleep. Lily would’ve found this less composed and less aloof version of Sirius endearing had it not been for the fact he had just been on top of her moments before. He moved off her rapidly, a rush of cold air hitting Lily’s body, Sirius staring wide-eyed at her trying to make sense of the situation.

Lily sat up as well, her hand reaching to her own hair that she was certain was a messy, red waves falling onto her shoulders chaotically, “What the hell are you--”

“Shhh,” Sirius gave her a look, his eyes widening as he put his hand over her mouth.

Lily was tempted to bite him, but she saw Sirius reach for his wand, casting a silencing charm around the bed before removing his hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked him

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” he responded back, “This is my bed!”

“This is Remus’ bed.”

“No, it’s not,” Sirius said looking at her in utter confusion, “This is my bed, which is why I’m in it.”

“What do you mean it’s not Remus’ bed!”

“You’re not very bright in the morning, are you Evans?” asked Sirius, tiredly pressing the heel of one of his hands into his eyes before reaching to his wrist for a hair elastic to tie his hair back.

“All I know is that I was drunk and came up here because Mary was in my dorm doing merlin knows what and I thought I would be able to just nap in Remus’ bed until I was sober and figured it out but now I’m in here, with you, and thank god we’re both fully clothed.” Lily was still in the jeans and sweater she wore the night before, Sirius in a long-sleeve shirt and--, “Or I guess as clothed as you possibly can be.”

Sirius looked down at himself, closing his eyes and muttering something to himself in another language Lily didn’t understand as he realized he was in a pair of boxers, “I was drunk too,” he said as a means of explanation.

“I should hope so,” Lily said, her fingers tangling in her hair as she attempted to finger comb it, “Do you have an extra hair tie?” she asked,

“What?”

“I would really like to leave the dorm not looking like a bird built a home in my hair overnight,” she looked at him.

“Oh, right…” Sirius looked around briefly before sighing, taking his own hair down once again and handing it to Lily, “Just take that one, I’ll find another.”

“So what’s your excuse?”

“It’s my bed!”

“When I got in it, it was empty. So you saw me sleeping and just thought ``oh why don’t I go have a lie in with Lily?” she asked, “Really?”

“I was drunk and I didn’t pay much attention to who it was. Honestly, I thought it was Marlene, I dunno, I...didn’t look too hard.”

“Charming, Black.” Lily rolled her eyes. Sirius, for all the qualities that Lily found redeemable, had a reputation for being a bit of a...well, a bit of a...tease and a flirt and everything that followed that subsequently. According to Marlene and Remus, it wasn’t uncommon for Sirius to have guest’s in his bed, nor for him to be a guest in someone else's. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sirius separate from his friends after dinner to chat up a girl from Ravenclaw or a bloke from Hufflepuff. And now Lily was just another girl that Sirius Black had in his bed.

To her surprise though, Sirius actually looked slightly embarrassed by his explanation, rubbing the back of his neck slightly, “I was drunk and...I just saw big hair and obviously I passed out, so it’s...fine.”

“Yeah, this is fine,” Lily said dryly, gesturing to the two of them in Sirius’ bed. He was now farther away, his hair tossed to one side and the blanket on his bed pulled over his body as he sat with his knees drawn up, leaning against one of the posts.

“You didn’t see the bed just over there with all the bloody books?”

“I mean, maybe! This one was the neatest! Drunk Lily logically said it had to be Remus’.”

Sirius gave her a quiet lopsided grin, “Oh, Evans…” Sirius shook his head, “I’ll let you continue to think that. Be blinded by Moony’s good-boy image, prefect and all--”

“Exactly! Prefect’s make their beds.”

“Mhmm,” Sirius nodded sarcastically.

“Shove off. So I was wrong,” she said, “Now can you get me out of here?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Are we in agreement that this never happened?”

“What never happened?”

“Good girl,” he winked at her before moving to step outside his four poster, and Lily let out a breath. She wasn’t sure which part of the scenario was the most mortifying.

The fact that she had been drunk enough to crawl into someone else’s bed.

The fact that she thought Sirius’ bed was Remus’.

The fact that she had spent an entire night next to and sleeping with Sirius Black

The fact that she had woken up feeling warm and comfortable under Sirius’ bodyweight. As much as she wanted to get out and get back to her dorm, she was also tempted to lie back down in clean, soft sheets, still warm from where they had both been lying all night.

The fact that, shock factor aside, Lily didn’t actually mind waking up next to Sirius who gave her his hair tie off his own head and thought to put a silencing charm around the bed. She didn’t mind the arms that were around her, and hadn’t woken up at all throughout the night to realize her mistake. The fact that cuddling with Sirius Black had given her a great night's sleep.

The curtain to the four poster opened, and Sirius was standing there, in a pair of sweatpants and his hair tied back now.

“James is gone already, the other two are sleeping,” he whispered and inclined his head, towards the doorway. Lily stood up out of bed, already missing the heat from the covers, and stepped onto the hardwood, not even bothering to look for her shoes. Sirius opened the dormitory door for her

She pointed her finger up at him, “Never happened.” Sirius gave her an amused nod and Lily turned back around, rushing down the staircase to make it back to her dormitory before too much of Gryffindor started stirring.

After spending the remainder of Sunday after breakfast trying to restore the common room and wake-up just enough to do some studying for the day, Lily hardly bumped into Sirius at all. Aside from the table where he was more content to make conversation with their housemates and flirt with a Ravenclaw girl sitting behind him. Indeed they were both quite content to pretend it never happened at all, even if Lily hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sirius’ arms around her.

Sirius was a big bloke. He was tall and broad and had a loud laugh and took up physical and emotional space wherever he went. And not in a bad way. Though Lily would be one of the first to admit Sirius was arrogant as all hell and impulsive and lost just as many points for Gryffindor as he won them, she couldn’t deny that he made everyone feel at home.

She had seen him a few times talking with first years late at night in the common room, offering quiet words of comfort.

He didn’t blink when he loaned out his textbooks to younger years (the textbooks that Lily knew Sirius read front and back and made notes in the margins was, even if he pretended he didn’t). As much as space as Sirius took up, he tried his hardest to make room for everyone else to be the loudest and the brightest.

It shouldn’t have surprised Lily that this translated to the bedroom as well. Even though they had only literally slept together, given the size difference between her and Sirius, his body on hers should’ve been noticeable.

She should’ve felt crushed underneath the weight of someone twice her size but she didn’t. Lily hated sharing a bed. She liked having space for herself and loathed the nights her roommates insisted on sleepover’s in one bed. There had even been a night or two where she had left the company of a boy to go back to her own dorm to sleep alone. Lily Evans didn’t cuddle. She was not interested in the holding or someone else's body in her space while she slept.

Unless that someone was Sirius Black, which was annoying in about a thousand ways.

Monday morning, just after breakfast, she exited the Great Hall with her friends only to have someone grab her elbow from behind, pulling her backwards.

“What--”

“Got a second, Evans?” asked Sirius, tilting his head and grinning at her. He had pulled his dark hair back with a headband that day.

“We have class,” she looked up at him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, “Also, you don’t need to man-handle me to get my attention.”

“So much more fun though,” Sirius grinned, and Lily rolled her eyes.

“Class?”

“I know, I’ll be quick,” he said leaning against the wall and ducking his head down to catch her gaze better, “I...I know we said that it never happened but...I actually...thought it was bad form.”

“Which bit?”

“Oh, the...whole thing, really,” he said, putting his hands into his pockets. It was rare that Sirius dropped his cool exterior. It was rare that anyone, let alone Lily got to see Sirius for who he perhaps really was and not just who his reputation made him out to be, and who Sirius preferred the world to see. “I was drunk and I really did think you were McKinnon, that aside, I...don’t want you to think I was trying to take advantage or anything like that. I know it was probably alarming for you to...wake up with...me on top of you and uh then I was in my underwear, but I swear I didn’t..and...I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re apologizing?”

“Trying to.”

“You don’t...need to do that, Sirius,” she said looking up at him.

“But I do because I…” Sirius paused, “respect you and that...wasn’t exactly respectful yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Lily smiled softly, “But it’s really okay. I promise you.”

“And also that James is my best friend and this very much violated our code of ethics even if it was just...sleeping.”

“Of course.”

“And I...also don’t much like you thinking I just...launch myself into bed with anyone who happens to be in my bed already. I was drunk and I--”

“I thought you didn’t care what people thought.”

“I don’t. I care what you think.”

Lily was struck by the honesty of that comment, looking away from Sirius to a point on the wall, “It’s okay. I’m not...upset or mad. I know you weren’t taking advantage or anything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I...may have thrown a bigger fit than warranted,” she admitted and Sirius laughed, “Appreciate the apology though.”

“Alright?” he asked, catching her gaze again so Lily was forced to look into grey eyes that she had frequently heard about from whispers in the castle. Lily also couldn’t deny that Sirius Black was very good-looking, which just added insult to injury

“Alright.” she nodded, “Question for you?”

“Sure, Evans.”

“The people you do...share beds with...do they stay the night? Like that?”

“More or less.” Sirius admitted

“Because it’s no wonder there's a trail of broken hearts after you in these halls. Sleep with people like that, giving them the wrong idea… honestly Sirius, I can’t even be mad because I slept so bloody well.”

Sirius laughed, the two of them beginning to walk to class after Sirius pushed off the wall to stand up again, “I’m sure you’re a good shag, but if you’re going around letting people wake up next to you when you’re up in their entire business...that really seals the deal.”

“You slept well?”

“I did! It was horrifying. I can’t remember the last time I slept that well,” she told him and Sirius grinned, “Is that what you do? Do you like to cuddle?” she teased, raising her eyebrows playfully. But Sirius just shrugged, “You do?”

“It’s like….a reflex or something, I dunno. Sometimes James and I have sleepover’s and I do the same thing--”

“Of course you do.”

“Mostly I...just really hate sleeping alone. And...I think part of me thinks that I...can make people stay like that. If...I just lay on top of them, they can’t leave...and I don’t know, maybe they don’t want to go that way either.”

Lily turned her head slowly towards Sirius, “Did you just give me a real answer?”

“I did.”

“That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“You probably also weren’t expecting an apology.”

“No, I wasn’t….” she said in disbelief.

“There you are then,” he smiled at her slightly and Lily tried to prevent her face from giving her away the flurry of emotions inside her head.

She knew Sirius. She had seen the darker parts of him before, late at night in the common room when everyone else was sleeping, especially before school breaks. She had seen the way he sat up straight in class sometimes, paying such close attention that Lily knew it was to avoid talking with his friends.

She knew that past the facade of SIRIUS BLACK was just...Sirius. Who she liked a great deal. Who made her laugh, and who had thrown a punch at a Slytherin before he was even able to get the first syllable of mudblood out.

But even understanding all of that. She never understood the appeal, nor had the desire to date him. Sirius was just Sirius. Annoying, frustrating, unexpectedly generous and soft all wrapped together.

“I’m...going to need you to say something obnoxious so I can keep myself from falling in love with you, I think,” she said finally, and Sirius laughed, “I’m being serious. You’ll find me in that bed of yours tonight and I won’t even blame it on alcohol. Because how you’re talking and looking at me and...I slept well. So say something annoying to remind me that it’s you and I’ve absolutely no interest.”

Sirius laughed, running his hand through his hair as he thought, “Oh! How’d you do on the last transfiguration exam?”

“98. What about you?”

“105.”

“Are you kidding me, Black?” she asked, scowling and Sirius laughed. Lily made a noise of frustration briefly, remembering that Sirius Black was one of her biggest academic competitors across all subjects. Sirius had told her years ago it was mostly to keep his parent’s off his back. They had no control over the sorting, and if he didn’t want them involved, he needed to do well academically. She had thought that once Sirius was no longer living with them that his grades would start leveling out, but it hadn’t been the case. Sirius had received 10 OWL’s and still annoyed Lily to no end.

“How’d you do that?”

“Extra credit.”

“You said you didn’t answer extra credit questions because you didn’t need the credits!”

“Yeah, that was before McGonagoogles gave me detention for not applying myself in her class and lectured me for the duration of the detention.”

“That was your detention? A lecture?”

“While I alphabetized her bookshelf,” Sirius groused, “So, now I answer extra credit…”

“Unbelievable.” she said, shaking her head as they reached the door to history of magic. “Annoying. That definitely did it.”

“Good.” Sirius grinned and they separated, Sirius going to take his spot next to James on the bench and Lily by Marlene.

“What’d Black want?” she asked

“Don’t worry about it.”

Later that night, Lily and Remus had gone to the library, textbooks and chocolate in front of them as they waded through Herbology together. Remus had his palm on his forehead, bent over his notes, his eyes moving to Lily briefly.

“I think Sirius had a girl in our dorm a few nights ago…” he muttered, and Lily’s eyes went wide. Remus had been pining over Sirius since the latter part of fifth year. They had grown closer over the summer, since Sirius was no longer with his parents and spent the entirety of the summer break with James. It didn’t help matters that Sirius was well-liked and Remus was often witness to flirtations and hook-ups on the other boys behalf.

“What makes you say that?”

“His bed curtains were closed all the way,” he said, “He never closes them all the way unless he has company. I know Saturday was a party, but I don’t remember...seeing him with anyone.”

“Maybe he...just wanted privacy after drinking.”

“Sure.” Remus shrugged, “It’s just...nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s just...frustrating. It’s like his new self-destructive bender is shagging anything that moves--it’s like he came out of the closet just so he could have more options-- and he doesn’t even have the decency to do it, not in our dorm? With all of us there?”

“Remus,”

“I know, I know, I can’t be frustrated when I’m not exactly doing anything but…” Remus shook his head.

“It was me,” Lily said, looking up at the ceiling of the library.

“What?”

“I was the girl in Sirius’ bed on Saturday,” she told him, and Remus stared back, immediately going to pack his things up, “No, no, no, not like that. You remember I asked to sleep in your bed?”

“Vaguely?”

“I thought Sirius’ was yours because it was clean and made-up,” she said, “And I was drunk and it looked the most inviting. I didn’t get a chance to ask him but...does Sirius make his bed? Really?”

Remus smiled wryly, “He does. Every single day. He used to make all of ours, somedays still does, but we’ve...collectively had an intervention. Especially after he organized all of our sock drawers.”

“A...bed...making intervention,” Lily whispered, looking at Remus with mixture of horror and curiosity, “I have so many questions.”

“He cleans,” Remus offered, “Just...he cleans.” Lily couldn’t help but notice the way Remus ducked his head, concealing a smile. Concealing just how endearing he found this particular quality of Sirius’ to be.

“Anyway,” she said, “You...don’t need to get annoyed because it was just me. And uh, I don’t want to date him. And we just slept. I was drunk, he was drunk, fully clothed.”

“Oh…well, alright. Sorry about that. I should’ve told you which one was mine.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, “He...apologized to me after it all happened, and kind of explained it. And...honestly, Remus? I have never been held like that in my life, I was this close--” Lily held up her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, “to being repeat offender and--”

“What? I’m not hearing this.”

“Imagine being me now! I was conflicted all Sunday.”

“If this is a joke--”

“It’s not,” Lily laughed, putting her hand under her chin and staring at her best friend, “I wish I was kidding. But...I dunno, Remus. You spend more time with him and know him better than most people I would guess and...probably get to see what I saw yesterday and today when he apologized more often...like Sirius Black without the smoke and mirrors?”

Remus stilled and looked at her, “You can’t date him, that is a--”

“Oh, no, no. Absolutely not,” she clarified, “I suppose….I get it now. Why you would.”

“You...get it?”

“Besides the obvious...physical reasons,” Lily told him, “I get it now. I get...why you fancy him, why you want to date him, why...anything. I get it. Didn’t always before but...now.”

“Because he held you? God, this is my nightmare,” Remus grabbed Lily’s wand on the desk lightly, “Do me a favor and just shove this into my temple.”

Lily laughed, “I’m not going to do that. I just...think that...if I figured out all of this in, what? Twenty four hours? It’s not going to be long before someone else does and that someone else might have way less self-control and stubborn pride than me.”

“Are you suggesting I get drunk and sleep in his bed?”

“I mean...when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?”

#sirius black #lily evans #remus lupin #hes there too #i very much love a sirius and lily friendship #and i was pleased to find this #i think its like two years old at this point

78 notes · View notes

sexybabystevie · 2 years

Note

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!”

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you.

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam.

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs.

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway?

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all.

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.”

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago.

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together.

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word.

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance.

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door.

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight.

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same.

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse.

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you.

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you.

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright.

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before.

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket.

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you.

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now.

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his.

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified.

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again.

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that.

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too.

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

#stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things four #stranger things 4 #st #st4 #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #lovely requests #dear anons

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lunarmoves · 1 year

Text

these summer nights (chapter two)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: summer camp au, gender neutral reader, post-drinking headache, consumption of painkillers, uhh moon being a shithead but what else is new

word count: 10.6k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

Part of you had hoped you’d be able to sleep in the following morning after your little hang out session with the other counselors. It was late when you had eventually managed to slip into a deep, blissful slumber and you knew you’d regret it come morning when you’d have to face all the tasks Henry would undoubtedly saddle you with. But you figured you could just catch a few extra winks of sleep and blame it on all the traveling you did yesterday—not like anyone could fault you for that.

However… A few hours after the sun had started to peek in through your open window, you were woken up by a very loud, very ebullient voice.

“Wakey, wakey, new friend!” the voice shouted just above your head, and you were jolted out of sleep with a small snort.

“Wuh?” you groggily answered, squinting your eyes at the sudden switch from the darkness of your eyelids to the brightness of your room. A grinning face with blank, white eyes hovered over yours, and it took a moment for your sleep-addled brain to process what you were looking at before you realized it was Sun. You blinked slowly up at him, mind moving at the pace of a snail. “...Time izzit?”

His grin widened, as though amused by your sleepiness. “It is almost eight in the morning! Time to wake up, wake up!” The rays around his head did a little spin as he chirped out his words.

“Eight?” you echoed, then groaned lowly and rolled over so you could stuff your face back into your pillow. It was too early for this shit. A dull headache thrummed gently against your temples, but it wasn’t as bad as you’d expected. Still, you pressed your face further into your pillow in the hopes that you could make it disappear. Your words were muffled when you spoke, “Five more minutes.”

“That’s what you said five minutes ago! I gave you your extra sleep time, now up up up!” Sun clapped his hands—a weird sound; metal striking against metal—and reached down to pull your blanket away from your body. You protested lightly, but were too out of it to do much other than flap your hands at him blindly. “We have much to do today! Get up, get dressed! Come on! Don’t make me tickle you!”

“Okay, okay…” You knew when to admit defeat, and it seemed like Sun was nothing but persistent. You sat up slowly in your bed and let out a large yawn as you stretched your arms out above your head. You rubbed your right eye as you looked over at Sun. He was diligently folding your blanket for you, swaying side to side in that animated little motion of his. “When’d you get back?” You hadn’t seen nor heard Moon enter the cabin at all last night—at least before you fell asleep. You wondered if he spent the entire night doing that “security free roam” thing Vincent had told you about.

“Oh about half an hour ago!” he told you and shooed you off of your bed so he could lay your blanket neatly over the sheets. Well, that answered that question. You stumbled to your feet and slipped on your flip-flops. Sun fixed your pillow for you and flicked his hand at you without turning around from his spot. “Go get ready!”

“Yes, Mom.” You rolled your eyes in good nature as you gathered some clean clothes and disappeared into your little bathroom. You could hear the sounds of Sun bustling about as you brushed your teeth and once you emerged—fresh and significantly more cognizant than before—you found out he’d been stripping the beds in the main room. You leaned against the open door frame of your room, still holding onto the pajamas you’d been wearing.

“Laundry day today, huh?” you asked, more to yourself than anything, but Sun still answered.

“Yup! Gotta get all these sheets clean! Don’t want any allergies acting up, no no!” he responded brightly, arms full of cloud-patterned sheets as he dashed over to the small laundry room and filled up one of the washing machines. You watched him work for a moment, then turned back into your room so you could dump your pajamas onto your bed to wear later. Then you joined Sun in stripping the rest of the beds and filling up the four washing machines that lined one of the walls in the laundry room.

It was quick work. You dumped some detergent into the last machine, then closed the lid so you could start the cycle. The sounds of water flooding into the little chamber filled the air. You closed the detergent bottle and shoved it back onto the shelf you’d grabbed it from. You could still feel your headache thrumming away and wished you had a glass of water or something to help ease it up. Maybe an Aleve. You’re pretty sure there were some outside water fountains dotted across the camp grounds.

“All done on my end,” you announced, just as Sun closed up the washing machine he’d been dealing with and pressed the little start button. His head and torso swiveled to the right so he could look at you and give you a thumbs up.

“Great! And just in time for breakfast, too!” He grinned and spun himself back around so he could bounce out of the laundry room. As though on cue, your stomach rumbled. You hadn’t had much to eat yesterday, in hindsight. Just a few snack bars and the fast food you’d grabbed on the drive over. You followed after Sun and watched as he stood by the front door of the cabin. He waved at you. “Come, new friend! We must go to the mess hall!”

Oh! That made sense. “One sec,” you told him and darted into your room so you could swap your flip-flops for some sneakers and grab the water bottle from your tote bag that Henry had given to you. Yesterday, you’d emptied out the contents of your tote bag onto the little nightstand next to your bed. You’d already put away your counselor shirts, so there was only the keychain, name tag, and water bottle sitting on the wooden surface. The water bottle was decorated with the stickers from the bag—little cartoon drawings of Sun and Moon, as well as the actual sun and moon—that you’d decided to slap on for the hell of it. Not like you had anywhere else to put them.

You rejoined Sun by the front door, bottle clutched in your hand. “Okay, ready!”

“Let’s go!” He opened the door and allowed you to exit first. You breathed in the fresh morning air as you walked down the steps. The sun winked at you from above the treeline, not a cloud in sight in the bright, blue sky. You waited for Sun to close the door and jump down the stairs, then off you both went, following the path to the mess hall. You saw a water fountain off to the side of your cabin, but you figured you could just refill your bottle at the mess hall itself.

“So,” you started as your sneakers crunched over dirt and leaves, echoed by the much louder footsteps of Sun right by your side, “did you have enough time to recharge this morning? I didn’t hear you at all if you did.”

Sun turned his head so he could look down at you. “Oh! No, silly! We’d already charged earlier in the day yesterday, so we didn’t need to! We can last quite a long time without needing to recharge, you know.”

“Really?” You glanced up at him. “How long?”

Sun made a sound as though he was thinking. It sounded a bit strange, coming from his voice box and overlaid with a bit of static. “Anywhere from twelve to thirty-six hours!”

You let out a low whistle. “Wow! That’s some battery life. How long does it take you to recharge, then?”

“Maximum battery life can be achieved in just two hours!” he proclaimed, and it sounded like something straight out of a phone commercial. “But we don’t really charge for that long due to stored power from our solar technology.” His rays did a little spin as if to emphasize his point, catching the little sunlight that poked through the trees’ canopies from above.

“That’s so fucking cool,” you blurted out, then immediately heard Sun let out a tut.

“Language!” he chided you with a long, wagging finger. “Although there are no children present, it is a good idea to practice withholding your profanity!”

“Sorry.” You gave him a sheepish smile. “That’s so cool,” you repeated again. “My phone can’t even last that long with its shitty battery.” You then paused for a moment and felt your eyes widen slightly. You turned to face Sun and waved your hand in front of you, a burning sensation heating up your face. “Not— Not that you’re comparable to a phone! You’re uh, much more advanced than that—“

Sun tilted his head and laughed—a loud thing that made you clamp down roughly on your tongue and turn back so you could focus on the path before you. Good job, idiot, making a fool out of yourself on your second day. “Don’t fret, new friend!” He set a large hand down on your head and gave your hair a little ruffle. You let out a little “hey!” and smoothed your hair down once he let go. “We understand what you were saying!” The tension that’d previously lined your shoulders disappeared at his words.

“Right…” you trailed off and rubbed your free hand against your cheek in the hopes that you could eradicate the remaining tinges of embarrassment there. You cleared your throat. “So… where does all the power come from for your charging stations? I imagine it would use a lot of electricity… Plus the rest of the camp’s lights and cameras…”

“Ah, there is a small power plant located a few miles away that the camp utilizes to power it,” Sun explained. You raised an eyebrow at his words. A small power plant? That would honestly still produce an insane amount of electricity. “It is not located on any of the camp maps for obvious reasons and is also used by the closest town to power its homes as well.”

“Huh,” you let out as you and Sun broke out of the path through the woods and onto the main pavilion area. Without the shade from the trees, you could feel the steadily warming sunlight caress your face and arms. The mess hall was just up ahead—you could see its doors were open. “That’ll definitely be enough to power the entire camp and then some. Is the plant within walking distance? Do you know?” You were just asking out of curiosity, mostly.

“Depends on how you interpret ‘a few miles’!” Sun replied cheerfully. You frowned slightly.

“So… not really.”

“Nope! Unless you are really, really determined!” The two of you made your way up the stairs of the mess hall. “But I would advise against that. Power plants are certainly not safe, no-sir-ee!”

You nodded and found yourself stepping into the main room of the giant mess hall. Immediately, you got distracted by the high-rising windows that practically flooded the place with golden light. To the left of the hall were some spare chairs and a water fountain that you eyed for a moment. There was also a closed door, tucked into the far left corner, that you figured either led back outside or to another storage room of sorts.

Your gaze then drifted across the walls, where colorful cartoon depictions of the robot counselors were painted across them. They were all wearing hearty grins and waving at the viewer. Your eyes trailed from Freddy, to Roxy, Chica, Monty and… some purple bunny. You stared at him in quiet observation. You… hadn’t been introduced to any purple bunnies, you were pretty sure. Not a counselor, then. Maybe you’ll meet him later.

You forced yourself to move on from the purple bunny and instead ended up looking at the paintings of Sun and Moon. Both of them were next to each other—Sun’s arms were thrown up into the air, while Moon’s was down low as though he was about to grab someone. From what you knew about them, that seemed pretty on brand.

There was something about their paintings, though, that caught your attention. You couldn’t really put a finger on it—not from where you were standing, at least. You squinted slightly, as though that could help you, but before you could ruminate further on the difference, you heard someone call out your name. You were startled out of your thoughts and looked in the direction of the sound.

All the way to the right of the mess hall was an open stage with a microphone stand sitting in the center. On each side of the stage, on the ground level, were two doors that were partly open. In front of the stage were long picnic-esque tables that were positioned parallel to it. A quick count let you know that there were about ten tables total split evenly into two rows. Gathered at one of the tables were most of the human handlers—all in varying levels of wakefulness. You noticed only Chica was hanging around, sitting next to Jeremy. You wondered what the others were doing. Preparation things, probably. You made a beeline straight for them once you noticed them, giving Sun a little “c’mon” as you walked.

“Hey, you’re alive,” Michael greeted you as you stopped by the empty seat to the left of him. There was a tray in front of him along with a cup of what looked to be coffee. He pushed it towards you after eyeing your face for a bit. “Here. You look like you need it.”

“Thanks, man,” you replied in gratitude as you grabbed the cup and took a large gulp. It was still warm and a bit bitter. You tried not to make a face out of courtesy, but Michael laughed anyway.

“Yeah, it’s not the best,” he chuckled and leaned back from the table so he could look up at you. “We don’t order a lot since it’s only us and Henry who really drink it. The kids aren’t allowed to. Means we get the shittier brands.”

“It tastes like motor oil,” was all you said dryly before you set the cup back down on the table. Chica let out a giggle at your words.

“Believe me when I say it’s better than that!” She laughed and it came to your attention that there was an empty tray in front of her as well. You raised an eyebrow at it, but decided not to question it.

“You out here drinking motor oil?” You grinned, voice light to let her know you were just teasing her. She didn’t answer, only grinned back at you, one of her eyes closing in a wink.

“T-This is why I stick to milk,” Jeremy stuttered out, a milk carton gripped in one of his hands. As though to emphasize his point, he took a swig out of it and set it back down like it was a mug of beer or something. You held in a snicker and let your gaze drift over to Vanessa sitting on Jeremy’s other side.

There were two empty coffee cups resting in front of her. She was quietly nursing a third in her hands. “At least one of us likes it,” you said pointedly while you looked at her. Vanessa only gave you a deadpanned look.

“Who said anything about liking it?” She blinked heavily at you, squinting her green eyes slightly. “It just gets the job done.”

You hummed. “Sure, sure. Where did you guys get the food anyways? I’m starving.”

Chica pointed to the partially opened doors on the right and left side of the stage. “Those doors lead into and out of the kitchen built behind the stage. It’s where everyone has to pass through to get food!”

“Oh, word? Thanks, I’ll be back, then!” You made a motion as though to move towards the kitchen, then remembered the empty water bottle in your hand. You turned to look up at Sun—who had been hovering right behind you, hands politely clasped together in front of him—and held out your water bottle to him. “Actually, can you fill this up for me while I grab some food? Please?”

Sun gave you a jovial salute and took the bottle from you. It looked nearly miniscule in his hands. “Sure thing, new friend!”

“Awesome, catch ya in a few.” You turned and rounded the table so you could approach the door to the right of the stage. Beyond it, there was a buffet-style organization to the food, with one long bar that spanned the entire length of the room. You grabbed a tray from a shelf underneath the bar and slid it along the little, metal ledge. There wasn’t anyone on the other side of the bar—where your typical lunch lady would be, spooning out servings—so you had to help yourself to the meager amount of food that’d been set out for breakfast. There weren’t too many mouths to feed just yet, after all.

After filling your tray with some fruit and other breakfast items that’d caught your eye, you grabbed a cup of juice from the end of the bar and exited through the door to the left of the stage. As you headed back towards the table with the other counselors, you noticed Sun had returned before you, water bottle clutched in his grip.

“Thank you!” You beamed at him as you set your tray down on the table and grabbed the bottle from him when he offered it to you. He perked up, his sunrays doing a jolly little spin.

“Anytime! Always happy to help!” he responded eagerly with that big, bright grin of his. Sun’s energy sure was contagious. You wondered how long you’d be able to keep up with him. You smiled and sat down at the table next to Michael, swinging your legs over the little bench to make yourself more comfortable. As you unwrapped the tiny spork from the wrapping it was in—both biodegradable, nice—you tuned in to the conversation the others had been having in your brief absence.

“Yeah, he said he’d be here around breakfast time to drop off radios and stuff for you guys,” Michael said as he leaned his arms against the table. A movement at the corner of your vision caught your attention, and you noticed Sun had taken a seat next to you, his back against the table’s edge and his long legs stretching into the available space between this table and another. You figured that was better than him trying to pretzel his way into sitting properly, long limbs and all.

“Who, Henry?” you asked for clarification and Michael nodded.

“He’s probably gonna distribute tasks for the day, too,” he added. “I don’t think we have much else to do around camp, though. Mostly final touches. Taking final inventory and the like.”

“Ugh, it’s all so boring!” Chica complained, using her arm to prop up her head. “The days before reopening always suck!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Freddy right now?” Michael squinted his eyes at the animatronic, who raised her hand against her chest in feigned indignation.

“And miss out breakfast with my favorite assistant?” she mock gasped as she reached over to pinch at Jeremy’s cheek. He made a muffled sound and bent his head towards Chica to avoid getting his cheek tugged on too harshly. She smiled, all beak and mischief. “No offense, Michael.”

“None taken.” He shrugged and looked over to you. By now you’d tucked away most of the fruit you’d picked up, your appetite practically voracious now that you had things in front of you to eat. He raised an eyebrow, amusement lining his expression. “I take it the food’s good?”

“You’d be this hungry too if all you had to eat yesterday was a sandwich and some protein bars,” you said through a mouthful of fruit. Sun chided you to finish chewing before you spoke, so you quickly gulped down what you had in your mouth, then winced when your headache pulsed through your temples with a vengeance. Right. You’d nearly forgotten about that. “Ough. Anyone got a painkiller or something?”

“Luckily for you, I came prepared.” Michael dug around in his pocket and slapped a tab containing a small, nondescript blue pill on the table in front of you. Alright then.

“Lifesaver,” you praised as you unwrapped the painkiller and popped it in your mouth to down with some of your juice. You wiped your mouth after. “I’m guessing you carry them around based on experience?”

“All from taking care of Vincent.” Jeremy snickered and speared a grape on his tray with his spork.

“And himself,” Chica added and you snorted at the fact that even the animatronic chicken knew of his drunken adventures. Michael’s ears tinged strawberry-red.

“Speaking of Vincent,” you cut in, your eyes sweeping around the table once more, “where is he?”

“Probably still passed out in bed.” Vanessa snorted into her coffee cup. She didn’t seem like she was a morning person either, you noted.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he was laying in a ditch somewhere.” Michael rolled his eyes, then jumped slightly when something heavy plopped into the open seat on his other side. You peeked past him to see what it was. “...Speak of the devil.”

“Heard you guys talkin’ shit,” Vincent rasped as he slumped onto the table. He looked just about as elegant as one would look after a night of drinking. “Hate waking up at eight in the morning. We needa get Henry to change the breakfast time.”

“You’d think he’d get used to it after four years of being here, but apparently not,” Michael deadpanned.

“Listen,” Vincent argued back in a muffled voice as he laid his head face down on the table, “I haven’t had to wake up this early since high school. All my grad courses are in the afternoon.”

“Wait,” you interjected with furrowed brows, “so what I’m hearing is we need to wake up at eight every day?”

“That’s right, new friend!” Sun replied, and you nearly jumped out of your skin at hearing his loud voice. You’d nearly forgotten he was sitting next to you; he’d been so quiet. Seemed like he didn’t talk much in larger groups, go figure. “Counselors wake up first at eight, then have to get the kids ready to be in the mess hall by nine!”

“The only exception are weekends,” Michael added. “We’re all allowed to sleep in an hour later. Everything should be in that packet Henry gave you.” Right. The packet that you definitely studied last night. Yes. You just nodded. Maybe you should’ve listened more closely during the orientation.

“All I’m saying is the world would be a better place if breakfast was pushed back an hour instead!” Vincent ranted, then winced almost imperceptibly. You watched as he lifted one hand and made a grabby motion at Michael. “Drugs.” Ah, so he was plagued with a headache too. Sucker.

Michael shook his head and chuckled. He pulled out two more tabs from his pocket and set them in Vincent’s palm. Vincent immediately unwrapped them and practically chucked them into his mouth, teeth crunching down onto the little pills. You made a face, and it seemed like you weren’t the only one, for Vanessa did the same.

“Dude, what the hell? Are you chewing them?” you asked, flabbergasted. You were pretty sure that was… not the best idea. “Swallow them whole like the rest of us!”

“Vincent’s just like that,” Jeremy told you dryly. “Ignore him. It’s just to get a reaction.”

Vincent snickered and stole Michael’s coffee cup to take a swig and wash out the taste of the painkillers from his mouth. “I live life by picking the most chaotic route.”

“Clearly!” You were disgusted, and maybe a little bit disturbed. Not that you’d say that out loud; it would probably only further fuel his fire. “How are you not dead yet? Or even like, egregiously injured?”

Vincent shot you a sly grin. “Pure spite, baby.”

“That’s a lie, I’m sure he has a contract with the devil, or something,” Michael teased, his amusement growing enough for him to let out a laugh at the betrayed look Vincent aimed at him.

“Bro, stop giving away my secrets!”

Michael rolled his eyes and slapped Vincent on his back. “Oh shut up and go grab some food. You know it’ll help you feel like you didn’t just get your shit rocked by Monty.”

Vincent only groaned and slumped back down onto the table face first. “Too lazy. Much work. Many effort.”

Chica made a sound like she was clicking her tongue, which was strange and a bit funny coming from her voice box. “You and Moon have been spending too much time together. He’s starting to rub off on you.” Yeah… putting them together seemed like it would be a recipe for disaster.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sun said dryly and you had to stifle a laugh at the change in tone from his typical bubbly one. “I always end up cleaning up the mess afterwards!”

“Pssht, that’s all on Moon,” Vincent dismissed with a flap of his hand in the air. Somehow, you doubted that. He then turned his head to the left so he could stare at you. Or well, not at you, but past you—at Sun. Talk about déjà vu…

“Hey Sun,” Vincent started in a not-so-innocent voice, “do me a solid and grab me some food.”

“Stop taking advantage of Sun’s kindness!” Michael scolded him with a clap to the back of Vincent’s head that made him sit up to aim a proper scowl at his assailant.

“Come on! It’s a solid!” He reached over to shove Michael on the shoulder.

“I didn’t realize we were in elementary school,” Vanessa said flatly as she eyed the two men across from her. Vincent only stuck his tongue out at her.

“Hmm”—Sun rubbed at the bottom of his faceplate as though considering the solid—“I don’t know, friend…”

“Hey now,” you piped up as you twisted yourself to shield Sun from Vincent’s view—at least, to the best of your abilities, “he’s mine. Get your own animatronic! Ask Monty!”

Vincent tilted his head back in exasperation. “He’s aaalllll the way at the lake house right now. And after he suplexed me awake, I’d rather not.” Well, you supposed that was one way to wake someone up…

“I’ll grab you something,” Jeremy finally offered with an amused shake of his head. Immediately, Vincent’s demeanor did a 180 and he reached over to clasp at one of Jeremy’s hands.

“You’re a saint, Jeremy!” he wailed dramatically, eyes shining with crocodile tears. “An angel sent from above!”

“Oh shut it.” Jeremy huffed out a laugh and downed the rest of his milk. Once he was done, he stood up and casually placed it on Chica’s empty tray. She immediately snatched it up and shoved it into her mouth, the cardboard crunching and snapping in her beak as she chowed down like it was a tasty snack. No one batted an eye. Okay then. You sipped at your cup of juice. You wouldn’t mention it either.

As Jeremy walked off towards the kitchen, you felt something tap you on the shoulder. A glance to your left showed that Sun was the culprit, and he waved his hand at your tray of food when you tilted your head at him in question.

“New friend, don’t forget to finish your own food!” he said with a pointed look. Right. You’d gotten so caught up in the conversation that you forgot to keep eating. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all!”

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” you appeased him as you picked up your spork to tackle the rest of your food.

“So,” Chica started with a glance at you then at Vanessa, “you both seemed to have settled in pretty well, yeah?”

Vanessa only nodded, but you smiled and reached over to pat Sun’s arm. He tilted his head down at you. “Yep! All thanks to this guy”—you gave him an appreciative look and his rays spun happily around his face at it—“though I… can’t really say the same about Moon.” You made a face. You were still pretty salty about the jumpscare he gave you last night.

“Oh don’t worry about Moon”—Chica flapped her hand in a dismissive manner—“he takes some getting used to. He’s just a big ol’ softie inside. Though, don’t tell him I told you that!” She said that last bit in a hushed whisper, her hand covering her beak in a conspiratory manner.

“You know he can hear you!” Sun remarked amusedly. You turned to look at him, a questioning look on your face. You didn’t even need to say anything—Sun seemed to pick up on the source of your confusion rather easily. “He’s right in here!” he said as he knocked his hand against the metal of his forehead. “Aware even when I’m in control!”

“And vice versa,” Michael added in. Jeremy returned just then, setting a tray down in front of Vincent (who thanked him profusely), before sitting back down next to Chica.

“That’s so fu—” you started, then caught the disapproving look Sun was giving you and corrected yourself mid sentence. “...freaking cool.” And it really was! You couldn’t imagine the kind of code that would have to go into that. Or maybe it was something they developed on their own later? Who knew. You were starting to better understand why engineering students would find Camp Fazbear to be a goldmine.

“That just means it makes it harder to rope Sun into helping plan shit against Moon.” Vincent snorted as he dug into a bowl of cereal. “They like… inadvertently snitch on each other.”

You wanted to ask more about it—their dual A.I.s and how they worked together—but before you could even open your mouth, there was a loud “Good morning, all!” called out from the entrance of the mess hall.

Immediately, two things occurred at the same time. Chica snatched up the empty fruit container you had on your tray and stuffed it rapidly into her beak, not even chewing as she seemingly swallowed it whole. Jeremy snatched the empty tray that was in front of her and slipped it underneath his own, wrapping his arms casually around its sides. Then they both acted like nothing had happened, wearing innocent looks on their faces as Henry approached the table. You exchanged befuddled looks with Vanessa. Vincent snickered into his cereal and nearly choked on a spoonful of milk.

“Hey Henry,” Michael greeted the man once he’d stopped at the head of the table, where Vanessa and Vincent were sitting. A smile tugged at his lips, but he squashed it down as he looked up at the older man.

“Good to see everyone up and ready so early!” Henry set down a small bag atop the table and immediately started rummaging through it. He pulled out a few walkie talkies and started passing them around the table to everyone except for the two robots and Michael (the latter of which already had his own). “Got everyone’s radios and keycards for the summer. Please keep them on your person at all times, just in case.”

You accepted a walkie from Michael as he passed it over to you and observed the different knobs and buttons. Henry explained how to use it—which channel to switch to in order to talk to the other counselors as well as the private one you would have with your robotic partner. He also noted that every morning you were to do a radio check with the others to ensure that both the walkie was working properly and that everyone was accounted for.

“Now, the keycards will give you access to all the locked buildings,” Henry explained once he’d passed them around to everyone as well. Yours had your name on it and was colored like the morning sky with the sun in one corner and the moon in the other diagonally from it. Cute. “This includes the storage buildings, the maintenance buildings, the lake house, and so on. The buildings the kids are able to get into don’t have key readers locking them, but we obviously don’t want them getting into anywhere important, so the cards will come in handy for you all when necessary.” Man, they had key readers too? Add that to the list of things you wouldn’t have expected from a summer camp…

You nodded as you took in all the information, flipping the card in your hand before stuffing it into one of your pockets for safekeeping. Hopefully you wouldn’t lose it or anything. But just in case… “What do we do if we lose our card?”

“Just grab either Michael or I,” Henry responded, rummaging around in his bag once more so he could pull out a small notepad. “We should have backups. Actually, some of the storage rooms in the lodge require an actual key, so if you ever need access to them for whatever reason, just radio Michael. Now”—he cleared his throat and flipped open the notepad—“on to the tasks for the day.”

Michael was right earlier when he said the camp just needed some final touches. Your tasks mostly consisted of tidying up your cabin and helping Jeremy take inventory in the kitchen later. It beat having to lug around supply boxes, you supposed. You had a feeling Chica wanted to be the one doing the kitchen assignments, but a knowing look from Henry had her shoulders drooping as she resigned to her not-kitchen duties.

Henry flipped his notepad closed and dropped it back into his bag once he’d finished the task distribution. “After you’ve all finished your duties, you may relax. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow; it’s sure to be exhausting. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.” He made to step away towards the exit, but paused for a brief moment. “Oh, and Jeremy,” Henry started with an expectant look aimed at the younger man, “take Chica to maintenance to get her chest cavity cleaned out. Your double trays aren’t fooling me.”

Jeremy slumped over in his seat as Vincent started cackling, nearly inhaling the yogurt he was eating in the process. “Yessir.”

You grinned at Jeremy—partly in confusion and partly in amusement—while Henry walked away. “What was that all about?”

Michael snickered. “Chica’s not allowed to eat garbage anymore. It’s a hassle to clean out her chassis and messes with her wires.” Right. The robot chicken ate garbage. Maybe it was one of her features to help with composting or something.

“And why is she eating garbage in the first place?” Vanessa asked dryly, one of her thin eyebrows raised in question. “Doesn’t seem very delectable to me.”

Michael opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Chica beat him to the punch. “It’s an acquired taste!” she squawked out, hand splayed on her pink chest as though in offense. “It helps reduce trash around the camp… kind of. I just gotta be sneakier so Henry doesn’t catch me.”

“Henry always knows though!” Sun tutted with a waggle of his index finger. “There’s no fooling him!” Chica only made a face. If she could, you think she’d be sticking her tongue out at Sun.

Michael shook his head in mirth and stood up. “Alright, alright, I should head out. Gotta lot of shit to go through with Freddy, especially since someone isn’t helping him check gear at the ropes course.” He gave a pointed look at Chica who glanced away and twiddled her thumbs together innocently.

“Yeah, I should get going too.” Jeremy stood as well and collected the two empty trays in front of him. You glanced over and noticed Vanessa was leaving too—having finished her last cup of coffee—and looked down at your own tray so you could shovel down the last bits of your breakfast. You were basically done anyways; might as well get going with your own chores.

“Hey— wait, wait, you’re all leaving? I just got here, c’mon!” Vincent exclaimed once he’d noticed you had finished your food and were about to leave with the others. “Rude! Utter blasphemy! I’m offended!”

“Should’ve woken up on time, then,” Vanessa sneered at him. While Vincent exploded into a tirade about why the comfort of his bed was too good to leave (all while scarfing down his food as quickly as possible), you noticed Chica was not-so-subtly eyeing the trash on your tray. You looked down at your empty containers, then to the side where Michael and Jeremy were already heading over to one of the large garbage bins littered around the mess hall.

Eh, she was getting her chest cleaned out anyways. What was the harm?

You slid your tray over to her with a wink and your index finger pressed against your lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Chica grinned at you and snatched up your leftovers so fast her hands were a blur. “You’re the best! Pleasure doin’ business with you!” And then she started stuffing the plastic and cardboard into her beak without even an ounce of shame. It was like you weren’t even in front of her anymore. Good for her.

Sun suddenly gasped from next to you, and you turned to give him a questioning look. Even with you standing and him still sitting on the table’s bench he wasn’t much shorter than you. His hands raised up to his faceplate so he could clutch at it. “Am I witnessing a crime? Right in front of me?!”

You suppressed a snort and reached your hands over to wiggle your fingers in front of his blank, white eyes. “Oooo you didn’t see aaanythingg! Reality is an illusion playing tricks on you, oooooo.”

“I don’t know, new friend,” Sun started, not bothering to move back as you continued to wiggle your fingers in a weak attempt to hypnotize him or something. “That seemed very, very real to me!” He leaned forward suddenly and you had to pull back your hands before you’d accidentally poke him in the eyes. Not that he would feel it, you supposed. Mischief lined his smile as he asked, “And how are you going to buy our silence, hm?”

You paused and let out a thoughtful hum, one of your hands rubbing at your chin in thought. He was playing around with you in light jest, you knew he was, and you wanted to return the energy. What could you— Aha! You snapped your fingers, mind thinking back to a previous conversation. “I’ll do you a solid!”

Sun’s rays spun delightfully around his head. There is no hesitation before his response. “You’ve got yourself a deal, my friend! Put ‘er here!” He leaned back and stuck a hand out towards you. Grasping it, you gave him a swift handshake and a nod of your head like you’d just signed a big business contract with him. His palm was much larger than yours—disproportionate like the rest of his body—and oddly cool. At least the silicon that covered most of his metal was soft and cushiony.

You shook your head in good nature and drew back your hand. It likely wouldn’t amount to much, though you felt like you were in elementary school again for real. Better get used to it. “Cash it in whenever you feel. Just don’t go making me do something stupid, you hear?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” His eyes upturned in amusement.

“Are you guys staying orrr—?” a voice abruptly called from afar and you turned to see Michael and Jeremy idling by the entrance of the mess hall. Vanessa, it seemed, had gotten tired of Vincent’s rambling and was already walking past Michael and Jeremy to tend to her tasks for the day, her hand raised in farewell.

“We’re coming!” you called back and gathered up your tray in one hand and your water bottle in the other. “Let’s go,” you said to Sun with a jerk of your head. The clicking and whirring of his internal mechanisms followed you as you trotted past Vincent (still shoveling food into his mouth) and towards Michael and Jeremy. You lifted up the tray with a questioning look and Jeremy pointed to a large container set atop a small table by the garbage bins. They’d need to get washed later—a task you and Jeremy would likely have to do when you came back later for inventory.

After depositing your tray in the container, you and Sun joined up with the two men, then glanced back when Vincent called out a “Wait! Wait! I’m done!” He scrambled after you all, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he practically tossed his tray into the container (void of any garbage, you noted, trying to suppress the urge to look in Chica’s direction) and skidded to a stop at your side. “Jeez, you guys couldn’t have waited like, two more minutes?”

Michael gave him a sly grin. “Knowing you? It would’ve turned into ten minutes, then ten more minutes, and nothing would’ve gotten done.”

Vincent scoffed. “Says who? I am very serious when it comes to my job, you know.” He waved you all forward and your group took that as an indication to start making your way out of the mess hall and into the warm sunlight of early morning. A breeze gently pushed around stray strands of your hair. Chica lingered back in the mess hall, and you had a feeling she’d go through the garbage bins once you were all gone. You respected the hustle.

“Right,” Michael snorted, “the radio station’s that way.” He pointed off to the left of the mess hall, where the maintenance building was—away from the path you were all currently on to take you in the direction of the rest of the camp.

“I know that! I just wanna grab my headphones from my room, first,” Vincent responded with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh yeah, Henry said you’re on radio duty?” you asked curiously as you looked at Vincent striding next to you, his hands in his pockets. Sun was right behind you, his long shadow casting itself on the ground before you. “I didn’t know we had a camp-wide P.A. system.”

“Yeah, it’s completely new, actually,” Vincent told you. He gestured a hand off to the right of the path, and you followed it to see two workers doing some touch-ups on a speaker positioned near the top of a lamp post. “Just got installed last month for morning announcements and the like. Henry put me in charge of it.” He flashed you a wicked grin and you had to wonder if that was the best idea. “I’m gonna run through some final checks to make sure it’s working properly. Might hear me do some mic tests later.”

“That definitely won’t end in chaos,” Jeremy added, then yelped when Vincent reached over to aggressively noogie the top of his head, poor guy. “My hair, dude!”

“You all have no faith in me, whatsoever.” Vincent sniffed and drew his hand back to place it directly over his heart. “I’m heartbroken. Really.” You snickered at his words.

“Yeah well, with good reason!” Michael shook his head, then started making his way down another path that split apart from the main one you were on. “Anyways, I’m heading this way, catch you guys later!”

“Wuh— Wait! I gotta go that way too!” Jeremy yelped and jogged after Michael, nearly tripping over his own two feet in the process. Michael chuckled and placed an arm around the shorter male’s shoulders to help him catch his balance.

“Bye guys!” You waved them off, then paused as you squinted after Jeremy’s receding back. “Wait… wasn’t he supposed to be cleaning out Chica?”

“It’s better to do that at the end of the day, new friend!” Sun replied. He gestured at you and Vincent to continue your walk towards the cabins. You tilted your head at his words.

“She’ll just go back to eating more trash otherwise and the whole process will have to be repeated more times than necessary,” Vincent explained once he’d noticed your confusion. Your mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ in understanding. That made sense.

“Seems like you’re all accustomed to her eating habits, then,” you mused as you swung your water bottle back and forth. Leaves and dirt crunched under your shoes and blended in with the cacophony of sounds that bustled through the woods around you.

Vincent let out a small groan and threw his head back. “Newbie, you wouldn’t believe how many times we’ve had to do this song and dance with her.

Sun nodded as he bounced with every step he took. “Chica’s a force to be reckoned with!”

You chuckled. “I bet.”

It wasn’t much longer until the cabins came into view. Vincent waved goodbye as he made a beeline for his cabin, leaving you and Sun to head up into yours and start tidying around the place. The sheets had to be thrown into the dryers, the floor needed to be swept and mopped, the beds needed to be further dusted and resheeted, and cobwebs needed to be removed from the corners of the main room.

It wasn’t hard work, but it was kind of tedious. You wouldn’t have had as much of a good time if it was only you, so you were thankful that Sun was there to help and chat with you about this and that. He was quite funny when given the chance and very energetic. You both shared a quick laugh when Vincent’s voice filtered through the P.A. system (“Testing, testing, one two three,” Vincent’s voice echoed through the speakers around the camp. “Oh sweet, we’re live.” He cleared his throat. “We interrupt this program for an important announcement: Michael smells.”) and you found yourself wondering how exactly a sense of humor was coded into an animatronic.

One thing was for sure, though. Sun was certainly more efficient than you, you noticed, as you struggled to resheet one bed while he’d already finished three. Robots, you pondered to yourself while you fluffed up a pillow. Such interesting creations… if not a bit intimidating.

With all the cleaning done at the cabin, you eventually ventured out to the kitchen to get started on inventory. Sun walked you over, then skipped off elsewhere to help Roxy with doing a maintenance check on all the charging stations. You radioed Jeremy to let him know you were there, then spent the next few hours talking with him as you went through a list of supplies Henry had given him. He was quite the video game nerd, and you both found yourselves immersed in a conversation about the graphics and plotlines of various franchises.

Eventually—as the sun dipped towards the horizon and cast the sky in a gradient of burnt mandarin and pastel pinks—you found yourself lounging around in your room as you flipped through the packet you’d gotten from Henry. You were fresh out of the shower and content to lay in bed and listen to the emerging sounds of nightlife as evening came and went. Crickets chirped under your window—the curtains open to let in the dewy moonlight that contrasted against the warm light inside the cabin—and leaves rustled in the distance from the trees swaying gently back and forth.

It was calm—peaceful.

…And it had suddenly been broken by a quiet, eerie creeaaak.

You looked up, your head lifting from your pillow as you stared at your open bedroom door leading into the main room. The lights were off in there, the darkness interrupted only by the bulb you had on in your room. Were you… hearing things? You slowly sat up and slipped your flip-flops on, your hand still holding onto your packet as some sort of flimsy weapon (just in case you needed to chase out a raccoon or something). Maybe a window accidentally opened?

You shuffled gently over to your open doorway and peered out, eyes narrowing when you noticed the front door was slightly ajar. Did you not close it properly earlier? You frowned, and before your nerves could get the best of you from your thoughts spiraling into what-ifs, you made your way over to the door. Your flip-flops slapped against the bottoms of your feet with every step. You reached out a hand and quietly shut the door—ensuring that you heard the click that signified it was properly closed.

There. You let out a breath and made a motion as though to turn back around. But before you could, you noticed the top half of the door had taken on a red hue broken only by your shadow—a light from behind you that hadn’t been there before. You paused, then nearly jumped out of your skin when something cold and hard gripped tightly onto your shoulder.

You abruptly spun around—the hand still gripping your packet whipping through the air to smack against whatever was behind you. A slight metal clang rang through the quiet cabin air. There was a short moment of silence.

“Ow,” Moon’s voice droned flatly from behind the packet you’d smacked onto his faceplate. He was hanging upside down somehow, right behind you. It felt like your heart was about to explode out of your chest.

“Moon!” you wheezed out, lifting the packet just enough to see him gazing at you with those red eyes of his. You gave him another soft smack. “Stop doing that what the fuck?!” How did he get you with the same jumpscare twice?! What was that saying again? Fool me once, shame on you… You decided not to finish that thought.

“Language,” was Moon’s response as his eyes upturned into crescents. His head made a soft clicking sound as it rotated around until his face was the right side up. His hat moved with it (how had it not fallen off??), the bell attached to the end jingling faintly with the motion.

You ignored him. “Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! Again! I would’ve been dead on my second night here!”

Moon snickered at your heated words. “The look on your face. Funny.”

You huffed and stuck a finger at him, right between his eyes while you made your voice as threatening as possible. “I’ll remember this. Sleep with one eye open.”

“We don’t sleep,” he replied in amusement, then lifted himself back up towards the ceiling. Your gaze followed him, watching as he crawled along the slanted ceiling on all fours like he was some kind of creepy supernatural creature. You could barely make out his figure in the dark, aided only by the light from your room (that Moon avoided) and the red glow of his eyes.

“How are you even doing that?” you asked, wholly flabbergasted as your eyes trailed after him. He hardly made a sound—not a jingle of his bells nor a thump of his hands and feet.

“Magic,” was his short response. You huffed.

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and made your way back to your room so you could lay back in bed. No reason to be standing in the main room, after all.

“Do you need to recharge or something?” you called out once you’d thrown yourself atop your blankets. Your flip-flops were kicked off to the side as you made yourself comfortable and cracked the packet back open to the spot you’d left off at. Your feet ached with all the walking you’d done both yesterday and today, soothed by the softness of your sheets.

“No,” Moon rasped, and his voice sounded closer than you’d expected. You peered over the top of your packet to see a long arm descending from the top of your bedroom doorway. One of your eyebrows raised as the hand attached to it roamed down the inside wall of your room until it found a small switch. And without any warning, it flicked off the lights.

You blinked and widened your eyes as much as possible in an attempt to adjust to the sudden change. It didn’t stop you from seeing Moon crawl his way into your room along the ceiling, though. It was like a scene fresh out of a horror movie. Creepy. He stopped right above you and looked down at you laying on your bed beneath him. The red lighting from his eyes tinted your body in a hellish glow. You tried not to feel too perturbed by him, but it was a bit hard.

“...You need something?” you asked as you stared up at him. His head cocked to the side, and before you could even react, he reached down and snatched up the packet in your hands with his large fingers. You made a swipe up at him, but he quickly retreated out of your reach. “Hey!”

“Pop quiz time,” he told you in a low voice and flicked almost lazily through your packet.

You snorted and gave up on trying to get your packet back. You laid back down, your arms crossed behind your head. “This is a summer camp, not school.”

“Doesn’t matter. Do as Professor Moon says,” he dismissed you and finally stopped on one of the packet’s pages. He made a sound as though he was clearing his throat. “Question one… Where are the first aid kits located?”

You rolled your eyes and decided to indulge him. “There’s one in every building, though if a kid were to get injured it’s preferred to take them to the health center by the main pavilion. The one in this cabin is right there.” You pointed over to the top of your armoire, where a small, red box was tucked neatly upon it.

“Ding ding ding! Correct!” Moon flipped to another page. “Question two… What does a typical camp day look like?”

You hummed and did your best to recall the words you’d memorized earlier. “Wake up at eight,” you recited slowly, “get the kids ready. Go over the schedule for the day with them, take them to breakfast at nine… then the first activity of the day… and so on.” It was a pretty linear schedule, all in all.

“And as assistant counselor you are to…?” Moon’s gaze lifted from the packet to peer down at you.

“Help you and Sun, mostly,” you said. “Watch over the kids for each activity. Walk around camp when they’re allowed to go off on their own.”

“Correct!” Moon chuckled and flipped to another page. “Keep this up and you’ll be my best student yet.”

“I’m your only student, Moon.”

He ignored you. “Next question! What time is the radio check supposed to be?”

You had to think a little, but it was pretty simple. “Eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Ding ding ding! Little smartypants.” He hummed and went all the way to the back of the packet. “Let’s up the difficulty, shall we?” Uh oh. “What… are the radio codes?”

Shit. You hadn’t really studied that part too much yet. Your face scrunched up slightly as you did your best to remember what you’d skimmed. “Uhh… Code red means injury… blue means incoming storm… silver means…” Hell, you didn’t remember. “...Missing child?”

Moon made a sound like a buzzer on a T.V. show when a question was answered incorrectly. “Wrong!” He reached down and lightly slapped the top of your head with the packet. You let out an indignant “hey!” and moved your hands to shield your face, just in case. “Purple means missing child.” He tutted at you and waved one of his fingers side to side. “Someone didn’t stuuudyyy.”

“Oh come on, I was close! Kind of!” you protested and peeked up at him through your arms. His faceplate rotated to the side, a steady click click click sound coming from it. The unnatural way some of his body parts moved would take some getting used to for sure. You moved your arms to cross them over your chest when it didn’t seem like he would smack you again. Talk about payback… “I hadn’t gotten that far in the packet, yet.”

“Excuses, excuses.” He slowly shook his head as though to show his immeasurable disappointment in you. It only made you roll your eyes at him again.

A sudden thought struck you. “Hey, speaking of the radio…” you trailed off as you turned your head to the left to look at the small nightstand positioned near your bed. On top of it was your water bottle and the walkie talkie. You reached over to grab the walkie and held it in front of your face so you could stare at the dials and small, digitized screen. “You can talk through this thing too, right?” It was kind of cool that the animatronics could tune into the correct radio frequencies, not that you’d say that out loud.

Moon cocked his head to the side, but nodded. “Our private channel is…?”

It took you a moment to realize he was still quizzing you, so you turned one of the dials on the walkie and lifted it up towards him so he could peer at the screen. When he only nodded again, you grinned and brought the walkie down to your mouth. You pressed one of the buttons on its side. “Moon? Come in Moon, over.”

You didn’t hear your voice or anything from his end, but the way his faceplate slowly rotated around let you know it had worked. There was a moment of silence. Then, Moon’s voice started filtering through your walkie. It made your grin widen. It was weird hearing his voice from the walkie and not from directly above you. It was also overlaid with so much more static. “Yeeees, newbie? Over.”

“Wow, talk about trippy,” you said delightfully, your mouth away from the walkie. You brought it back to your face. “Come closer, over.”

If he could, you think he’d be raising his eyebrows up at you. He seemed to contemplate your request, then slowly lowered himself down towards you. Suppressing a smile, you spoke into the walkie again. “Closer, over.”

He inched down further. You had to bite your lip. “Closer!”

“Is this good enough? Over.” Moon dryly asked once his face was directly above your own, a foot of space in between you both. By now, his faceplate was back in its normal position.

You grinned wildly and set the walkie back down on the nightstand. “Perfect!” And without further ado, you reached your hand up to swipe your fingers across his faceplate—right above his smile. “Got your nose!”

You practically threw yourself off your bed with a laugh and scampered over to your armoire to stand next to it. When you spun yourself around to look back at Moon, you saw he was still in the same position he was in before—only now he had turned his torso around to look at you. A snicker left your lips as he seemed to reboot, then he flipped himself down from the ceiling to land lightly on the floor like a nimble cat, not a single sound coming from him. Color you impressed, though you couldn't deny it was... worrying.

“We don’t have a nose,” he growled out playfully at you as he stalked slowly closer. His arms raised up to splay out in a grabbing position, legs positioned in a wide stance.

“Then what do I have right here, huh?” You taunted him as you waved your hand in the air, your thumb trapped between your index and middle finger to mime a nose. His gaze followed your hand and he moved one of his own to his faceplate in a way that made you laugh. You walked slowly to the right, towards the window. “Bet you weren’t expecting that! I told you you’d made yourself an enemy last night!”

“Trickster, trickster,” Moon rasped as he bent down slightly as though to lunge at you. Your gaze flickered down to his legs, then back up to his face. His eyes narrowed. “That was sneaky!”

You only stuck your tongue out at him. And before he could dart forward to grab you, you dove down to the floor so you could scramble between his legs and make a run for your open doorway. A laugh lingered on your tongue, but unfortunately, you were a human. And he was a robot. A particularly dexterous robot.

“Gotcha!” Moon snagged the back of your shirt and dragged you back towards him. You yelped and felt him grab onto the sides of your arms to hoist you into the air. His hands were cold, and it made a shiver run involuntarily down your spine. You wriggled around and turned your head to look back at him, but you couldn’t see much other than his shoulder.

“Moon! Let me go!” You struggled something furious, but you couldn’t break the iron grip he had on you. He chuckled lowly and spun around towards your bed. With just two long strides, he came up to the side of your bed and dumped you on top of it. You bounced slightly and turned yourself around on your side so you could look up at him, but he was already leaning over you and reaching for your hand. One of his hands pressed against your shoulder to pin you to your bed—no matter how you fought against him, you couldn’t escape. Your eyes widened and in that instance, you did the only thing you could think of.

You raised your hand up to your lips so you could mime stuffing his nose into your mouth and swallowing it whole. There was a pregnant pause.

“You ate my nose?!” Moon asked incredulously and you bursted out into peals of laughter at the offended sound of his voice. A stitch was starting to form on your side. “Troublemaker! Nuisance!”

“Haha! Yes! And what’re you gonna do abo— Hey!” You barely had time to taunt him before he was reaching out a hand to pinch at your own nose between two long fingers. You struggled against him, but before you could reach out to smack his chest or something, he drew back. You rubbed at your sore nose as you glared at him dancing back towards the window, his hand waving in the air before you.

“Got your nose!” His grin widened mockingly as he hopped from one foot to the other in delight. His red eyes upturned. His bells jingled with each step. “Bedtime for you! Go sleep!”

“Moooon,” you said warningly as you shifted around on your bed with full intent to lunge at him. But before you could move a muscle, he darted to your window, wrenched it open, and crawled out of it outside like the demon he was. You gaped after him for a second, then scrambled over to the window letting the cool breeze of night into your room.

“Moon!? Get back here!” you whisper-shouted as you stuck your head through the window and squinted around in the dark. Your eyes took a moment to adjust, but by then it was too late. He was gone, just like that, nothing but a quiet laugh echoing through the air.

You slumped forward, then huffed and rolled your eyes. Whatever. There was no way you were going out there to chase him. You’ll get back at him in the morning. Besides, Moon was right. You needed to sleep; you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow.

You closed the window so that it was only open a crack, then moved to plop down on your bed. You breathed in deeply and closed your eyes, the distant jingling of bells following you into your dreams.

a/n: btw, the pills taken were aleve LOL and according to its website u can crush/chew them (with a glass of water), but it's not advised. make good choices kids, trust me, i know everything (i do not know everything)

part three

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deancaspinefest · 7 months

Text

A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse

Author: MrBotanyB | Artist: BasketcaseBetty

Posting on Monday April 1

Look at it this way: Their trip to the far end of space and time to chase a (very) long shot at freeing Dean from the Mark of Cain could have ended a lot worse than it did. It wasn't even the worst idea they'd ever had. The so-called Restaurant At the End of the Universe loops endlessly in time through the final hours of Creation while guests dance, eat, and drink until the very last of last calls. A consequence of it being a time loop is that anybody who visits can meet everybody else who was ever there. Even a centuries-dead witch who likes the challenge of lifting unbreakable curses. It didn't work out like they'd hoped, but they didn't die. True, Cas did get stranded there for a bit but they got him back. Eventually. So it was fine. That was then. And now, Sam and Dean are out of ideas for getting Cas out of the Empty. Dean has been thinking a lot about realizing important truths too late, and missed chances, and (very) long shots. And he wonders if the key to rescuing the Cas he lost might just be enlisting the help of the Cas he left behind nearly ten years ago. If it doesn't work, at least he'll get to see Cas one more time.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

"I don't know for sure if he's the man from your photo, but they do look awfully alike. He'll probably be in the Fomalhaut Lounge. You can take the service passages," Zmallia said. She stepped back into a particularly shadowy corner and pressed a barely-visible panel. There was a whirr as a door he hadn't noticed slid open. "The fastest way is to follow the signs for the engine room until you get to the stairs, then keep going up until you see the big panel of signs for the different bars," she explained rapidly. "And don't take the elevator unless you want an argument. Obviously," she added.

Dean nodded as if this made any sense at all and ducked into the dimly lit passage. "Good luck!" Zmallia called after him.

And just as the door whirred shut: "Sorry I yelled at you earlier!"

As soon as he had rounded a corner, Dean stopped and leaned against the wall, bracing his hands on his knees. The new round of headache and nausea wasn't quite as intense as what he had felt when he stepped out of the portal, but it was still bad enough he couldn't just power through it.

Going soft in my old age, he thought. It wasn't as painful a thought as it would once have been.

Many flights of stairs and about fifteen minutes later, Dean stepped into a high-ceilinged, softly-lit room decorated in dark golds and blues. It wasn't overly crowded, but it was large enough that Dean couldn't tell right away whether or not Cas was actually here. The "room" was almost a balcony, Dean realized: the longest wall was a waist-high glass railing that provided an unobstructed view of what was left of the dying universe, easily observed through the great transparent dome covering the entire restaurant. A good part of the crowd was gathered near the railing, and many others were nursing drinks at the long curving bar, which was backed by open shelving through which you could see the opposite side of the dome. Dean had just decided to ask one of the waiters if they'd seen Cas when he spotted him behind the bar, polishing a glass and looking perfectly at home, solid and real.

He had thought it might be a shock to see Cas alive again, and it was — the best kind of shock. It was beyond awesome to see Cas right there. The recessed lighting from the bar angled off his cheekbones and made his hair look even darker than it was. His uniform was spotless. He looked like a movie star. He almost looked like he was glowing.

But in a rotten, selfish way, seeing him was disappointing: this Cas lacked five years' worth of experience that had shaped the person who had died for Dean (while Dean had stood there, useless and uncertain.) This Cas had never even imagined knowing Jack. The happiness Dean felt choking his throat just meant he was putting his own greedy feelings ahead of his Cas, the one still trapped in the Empty. The one Dean had come all this way to try to bring home.

But thinking that also felt rotten. Dean knew that this Cas was, literally at this moment, waiting for Dean or Sam to help him get home. Maybe he was worrying that they wouldn't be able to. (Or wouldn't bother.) How did the Cas in front of him deserve less?

(continue reading on Ao3 on Monday April 1)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: MrBotanyB #artist: BasketcaseBetty #Time Travel #Science Fiction #Canon-Adjacent

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hetaliaimaginesin2022 · 1 year

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Imagine the Allies and Axis at a rave with a female partner?? Female partner invited them to a rave! Came back from edc and I miss it already!

I'm so jealous, I've wanted to go to one for a l o n g time, I'm glad you had fun! I'll be splitting this in two posts, one for the allies (this first one) and a second post for the axis :) I hope you enjoy

The Allies' Partner Taking Them To A Rave

TW// alcohol and drug use mentioned (past and present)

America • Alfred Jones

Alfred is looking forward to attending one with you the moment you start talking about your interest in them, as in his few hundred years of being alive, he's been to more than a few raves

He's really only been to some big ones in the US though, so he's not too knowledgeable of the rave customs overseas and he will not think to research them beforehand

Because of this, he definingly rocks up in a colorful outfit more belonging to the late night EDM scene regardless of the setting, and even if he sticks out like a sore thumb, he still has a blast

He just loves the loud music and the crowded environment, using his time to mingle with the other attendees, making sure to spend the majority of his focus on you

In fact, it does not matter your height or size, this boy is incredibly strong and he wants you to sit on his shoulders at least once

When the party ends and you two walk back to your little hotel room, he's talking energetically about it, already excited for the next one you two attend together

This is a side note, but he has done acid before and, if you two are close and he trusts you, he will do it again if you two talk it over beforehand

Canada • Matthew Williams

No no no no no

He will be more than happy to help you get ready or listen to you talk about it afterwards, but he's really not comfortable with the environment

He mainly likes to spend his time in nature out on hikes, surrounded by nothing but wilderness and the chilled northern air, raves however, are a loud, crowded, and hot environment, which is exactly the opposite of how he's like to spend his free time

His one issue, however, is that he has a very hard time saying no to his darling partner, so if you ask him, he'll try his best to go to one with you

At first he doesn't enjoy it in the slightest, but after some help from you (and probably smoking a bit of weed,) he relaxes a little

He absolutely stays away from the center of the warehouse and keeps mental track of where the speakers are, and honestly spends the most of his time outside (he could hear the music from the parking lot tbh)

The next morning, even though he's very burnt out, he admits he had fun, but kindly asks you to never invite him to one again

You both spend the afternoon relaxing and recharging together in a quiet calmness

China • Yao Wang

He's around 4,000 years old, he's lived a long, exciting life full of interesting and unique experiences

A rave, however, is (unsurprisingly) not one of them

In fact, he was mainly unaware of the entire subculture before you have told him about your interest

It was very hard to convince him to go to one in the first place, and he knew he wouldn't enjoy himself as soon as he heard the music from outside the building, but he decided to bite his tongue and let you enjoy your night

The entire evening, he just looked out of place

His long hair was tied back neatly, and he was wearing his regular clothing, he had a near constant expression that looked like something crossed between vague confusion and him having a headache

He ended up not particularly enjoying the night, but at least he got to experience something you would talk positively about (plus Hong Kong thinks he's a bit cooler, so it's something)

He doesn't want to go to another one, but doesn't stop you from attending anymore and will always let you talk about them

England • Arthur Kirkland

He would never admit it, but back in the 1980's when warehouse parties started gaining popularity in the UK, he attended a few raves now and then

He much more preferred the underground rock or punk scene opposed to EDM, but a loud fun illegal event is a loud fun illegal event, so who is he to complain

He was pleasantly surprised when you asked him to accompany you to one though, and he readily agreed (he didn't necessarily express his excitement)

When he gets there, he parties

The kind of music that's playing is a bit out of his norm, but he integrates into the environment surprisingly well, dancing (or an approximant of it) along with the music with you

He doesn't tell you in full, but he's very touched that you invited him and because you felt comfortable enough to do so, he offers to bring you to an underground punk/grunge concert

Attending these kinds of events sort of becomes your guys' thing

France • François Bonnefoy

When you asked him if he wanted to go to one with you, he didn't know what to expect, though he went in excited for the new experience

He's kind of enamored with the flashy and colorful rave fashion in the US raves, and while he wouldn't dress up himself, he loves seeing any special costume, makeup, or accessories you have on for it, and he'll try his best to take any pictures for you if you ask

As for the night itself, while it was very loud and cramped, he still had a lot of fun, dancing and spending time with you

At the end of the night, he's pretty exhausted and ready to go to sleep, but he immediately takes a shower when he gets to your shared hotel room before borderline passing out

He sleeps in quite late the next morning

Later he tells you that he wouldn't want to make it a too frequent of an occurrence, but he wouldn't mind going to another one with you

Russia • Ivan Braginsky

He had never considered attending a rave a single day in his life before you asked him

Much like China, he knew they were a thing, but he didn't really know any specifics

However, seeing as you were the one who asked him, he immediately agreed as soon as the words left your lips

While he had heard you talk about raves before, he didn't really know what to expect, but as it would turn out, he's a very useful person to have around in a rave

He's fun and agreeable, and incredibly tall and intimidating, so there's automatically a bubble of air around the two of you, the other people trying their best not to bump into you or the man you're with

Plus? You'll literally never lose him!!

He's so tall that, on the chance you do get separated, he's like a beacon sticking out of the crowd

As the night closes and fades to sunrise, he walks you two home safely, talking about how much fun it was

He'd go to another one with you, though that's not saying much, considering he'd do anything just to spend time with you

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acewithapaintbrush · 2 years

Text

@ramblesanddragons made a post about how Bruno would look into the future and see Star Wars and stuff and how he would love the Mars Rover and then I started thinking if he might rant about those things when sick and then this madness happened. It completely got away from me, especially in the end, I'm so sorry. This doubles as a get well soon story for you @ramblesanddragons hope you feel better soon

🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀🐀

"Tio Bruno? Everything alright?"

Mirabel's question, although uttered silently as to not attract too much attention, has - of course - attracted the attention of the entire family.

'Because they are busybodies, every single one of them,' Mirabel thinks with fond exasperation, conveniently ignoring the fact that she is just as bad.

Hence, her question.

But honestly, Bruno looks… bad. Not 'straight out of the walls malnourished'-bad, but bad enough. He does his best to act like everything is fine, but Mirabel sits next to him at the breakfast table and she can see the sheen of sweat on his brow and the red tint to his cheeks.

Her tio blinks at her owlishly, a vacant look in his eyes. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" Mirabel doesn't bother keeping her voice down. The whole family is more or less openly staring by now.

Bruno blinks some more and then waves his hand dismissively. "Ah sure, sure. Of course. Just a bit of a headache and I stubbed my toe. The force has forsaken me today."

Mirabel blinks. Bruno owlishly blinks back.

"The… the what now?"

Bruno shrugs and tries to put some butter on his knife, but somehow he can't seem to make it stick. "Miercoles. I wish I had a lightsaber right now. Would cut through this butter like… butter. Heh."

"Uh-"

"Luke's lightsaber. I like his color best."

"What are you-?"

Pepa and Julieta groan and get up from their seats. Julieta gives her brother a quick kiss on the forehead (announcing "yep, a fever" to the gathered crowd) and then hurries to the kitchen to make him some healing soup. Pepa takes the knife out of Bruno's hand and butters his bread for him.

"Don't worry about it, kids. When your uncle has a fever he sometimes talks about some weird stuff he's seen in the future."

"It's not weird." Bruno mutters,nibbling his now buttered toast. "It's the war among the stars." He turns to Antonio sitting on his other side and pats his head. "The force is strong in you, young padawan. I can feel it."

Antonio has no idea what that means, but he beams anyway. "Thanks Tio."

"Wait wait wait?" Camilo leans forward. "There is gonna be a war among the stars?"

Pepa tries to shush him, but it's too late. Bruno is already getting to his feet. He wobbles a little but keeps his balance by putting his hand on top of Mirabel's head. The girl is too perplexed to argue. "In a galaxy, far away! It's a period of civil war and the spaceships -"

"Spaceships???"

"Enough." Pepa snaps. "It's the fever talking. There is no war in space. And I don't think there will be, it's just your uncle talking nonsense. We can't go up to space."

"We so will. We will be all over the place." Bruno disagrees. He lights up. "Like Opportunity! Opportunity will be up there." He lifts his head to look at the ceiling and to the horror of all but Pepa, who merely sighs, he starts to cry. "Oh Opportunity! Far away from home, but so brave. Oh, such a brave, little rover. You did good. You did really good. Everyone loved you. Will love you. Will have… Will have been lo-... Will have to have love-?"

"Okay, he's messing up his tenses. That's our cue to get you to bed." Pepa interrupts his confused ramblings. "Tell Juli to bring the soup to his room."

She takes her brother's arm to lead him away. Dolores gets up and walks up to them. "Do you need help, Mama? Should I cancel my date with Mariano?"

Bruno stops and takes Dolores' face between his two hands.

"No! Don't you dare! That's a good himbo you got there. The best. The perfect blend of hunk, jock and decent man. Don't you let him get away, Queen!"

Pepa looks so done as she pulls him away. "Come on Bruno, there is some nice soup with your name on it waiting for you."

They disappear around a corner but the kids can still hear some of their conversation.

"Aw, that sounds fab af. Shut up and take my money, sis!"

"I have no idea what that means, hermanito."

The kids all stare at each other in various states of bafflement, worry and confusion.

"What is a himbo?" Dolores breaks the silence. "Is that… Is that something good?"

"I'm sure it is." Agustin reassures her. "But maybe don't ask what it means either?"

"Why?"

"Well… once during a fever Bruno told me that the women of the future would consider me a dilf. I asked him what that meant and he wouldn't tell me but then Juli kinda forced him to tell her but then she refused to tell me! But every now and then she will look at me and whisper that word and just… giggle."

Felix pats his shoulder with an understanding air around him and all present get the distinct impression that he has a similar story to tell.

The grandkids all exchange looks and silently agree, there and then, to never ask.

#encanto #encanto fanfic #bruno madrigal #Encanto drabble #I don't even know man #I'm so sorry about that ending but I couldn't NOT!#surely you understand #Sick Bruno Madrigal

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with-love-from-hell · 1 year

Text

Melancholia

{part Ten}

Fandom: Obey me!

Genre: Angst

Written for F!Mc

WC: 3k

CW: Kidnapping!, Michael is a heavy antagonist and angels are fucked up, slut shaming/victim blaming, mention of suicide vaguely, fear-based content and lots of tension, angst, depression, mentions to past sexual violence in Vermillion Skies, Torture, anxiety, descriptions of deceit, season 2 spoilers

A/n: Michael is quite the wad in this chapter, just as a fair warning! I will be discussing his character in my brain more in the q&a post later on, so send in your questions about the series to my inbox! Also I apologize if the formatting seems wonky or out of order...tumblr is deciding to test my patience this morning.

Music Accompaniment (Point of No Return thru No Love)

>> Though I have a Masters Degree in Psychology and clinical training in treatment for mental health, I am not your therapist. If you have experienced any form of depression or suicidal thoughts, and are in need of help, please utilize the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, NIMH helpline, or the SAMHSA helpline. <<

Series Masterlist

You can find more of this series by searching the tag #Vermillion Skies or #Melancholia on my blog!

“Are you sure that’s what you saw?” Diavolo’s eyes darted between Simeon and Belphie. He wanted desperately for their concerns to just be baseless anxiety, but the grim look on Luke’s face made his heart sink deeper into his stomach. The phone call he had received from Lucifer hours prior was alarming, but he figured the sounds of shuffling and distant grunts meant he had just pocket dialed him. He never would have expected mc and Lucifer to end up missing, and in the brutish hands of the Archangels, no less. After what he had seen Simeon go through, he only hoped that they could get to them before its too late.

“I’m almost 100% certain that Michael has taken both of them.” Simeon clenched his fists, fighting back his demon form. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but it will surely be nothing good.”

Diavolo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I see...”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut to prevent himself from crying. His grip on Simeon’s sleeve tightened as he tried to make himself calm down. How could this be happening? Michael was a good angel; a merciful angel. This had to have been some sort of mistake!

There was a moment of silence as the brothers looked amongst eachother with uncertainty.

“Well...ain’t we gonna do somethin’ ‘bout this?!” Mammon finally asked, giving a pointed look to Diavolo and Barbatos. "We should be stormin' that fuckin' palace and destroying everythin' in sight!"

A tense sigh passed through Diavolo’s lips as he massaged the slight headache developing at his brow line. “Mammon, it’s not that simple. We have no idea where they’re being held, or why. We have no idea what their next move will be, and we dont know what they'll do when they hear of our rescue efforts.”

“And we certainly don’t have the manpower amongst us to fight the entire celestial army, even with our combined strength.” Satan paced while rubbing his chin, trying hard to think of how they could get both Lucifer and Mc back with the least amount of bloodshed.

“I just...I d-don’t understand...” Luke shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening. “W-why would Michael do something like this?!”

The demons looked amongst each other, unsure of how to respond to the small angel’s query. They felt so much pity for him. He was really having his worldview tested more over the past 4 months than than he had in his entire life.

“Michael is obsessive.” Solomon chimed in as he entered the room, a bag of tinking glassware slung over his shoulder. “He sees Mc as a threat, and it appears as though his desire to renew the exchange program was a ploy to get our guard down so he can neutralize that threat. I only wish i would have picked up on the signs sooner.”

The remaining color left in Luke’s face drained, and he stared at Solomon, wide-eyed. “W-what..? Do...do you mean they’ll...”

Solomon locked eyes with him for a second, a glint of sadness passing through his expression. “They’re going to try to kill her, yes.”

Simeon shook his head, finding himself feeling strangely numb in this moment. "They wont just do that. They've risked too much in even kidnapping Mc.”

Everyone in the room turned to him, looks of pure terror on their faces. The fact that the situation would likely provide Mc with more trauma was enough to try to stomach already, but to run the risk of losing her again made their blood run cold. Each waited with baited breath for what Simeon had to add to suggest that it could get worse than you’re death.

Simeon sighed, avoiding their desperate eyes. “Michael had said over and over that their worst mistake he made during your fall was not ensuring Lilith had been unable to be reincarnated. To ensure that Lilith’s bloodline won’t ever be able to cause a disturbance in the celestial realm again, they are going to attempt to wipe her from existence, along with the one person who could and would stop at nothing to ensure they would never see another day of peace. The one person who, without him, would leave the Devildom vulnerable in the event of an all-out war.”

The brothers each dropped their eyes to the floor, slowly understanding what Simeon was getting at.

Not only would they kill Mc- but they were going to kill Lucifer too.

“But...But...” Luke stuttered, looking amongst the brothers. "Michael's a good angel! He couldn’t...H-he wouldn’t...”

Tears burst from Luke’s eyes, now fully unable to hold back any more. Simeon kneeled, wrapping his arms around him gently, and allowed the small angel to sob into his shoulder. Simeon glanced to Diavolo, who’s expression had become a mixture of grim anticipation, and deep anger.

“My lord, what would you suggest our next move be?” Barbatos did his best to bite his tongue, but was holding onto his sanity by a mere thread. It was bad enough that you had to be taken and threatened with death, but to have a close friend and necessary ally suffer the same punishment made the situation all the more dire. He himself wanted to charge in and swiftly decapitate any angel that crossed his path, but he knew that running in without a plan would be foolish. "If what Simeon says is true, we are already at a major disadvantage given they have been in their grasp for nearly 5 hours. We don’t have much more time left to lose.”

Before Diavolo could even respond, Beelzebub stepped forward, catching his attention. His normal flat expression was turned into an furious scowl, his muscles bulging under his shirt with all the tension he held in his body. The prince didn’t think he’d ever seen the avatar of Gluttony so angry before.

“Our next move should be getting our family back, no matter what it takes.” He stated matter-of-factly, but there was a lust for blood behind his tone that neither of the royals, nor his brothers, had ever heard from the 6th born. “I’ll annihilate their entire army by myself if I have to.”

“While I agree we should prioritize their safety before politics, we mustn’t forget that charging in without a plan only gives them the advantage.” Diavolo sighed. “Though right now, I am frankly at a loss for how to develop one that won’t just be a suicide mission.”

Beel closed his eyes, trying to refrain from snapping on the prince. He was terrified for your wellbeing, and didn't think he could handle the uncertainty of your fate for much longer. He needed you- all of his brothers did. And they needed Lucifer too. Without both of you, his family would fall apart. No one would ever be able to recover from such a loss.

Luke stared between Beelzebub and Diavolo, almost as if he couldn’t understand what they were both saying.

“First we should decide who will be doing what.” Simeon stated, now rising from his knees. He gestured toward Solomon to take Luke from him, who quickly scrambled to replace Simeon’s place as Luke’s support.

Barbatos nodded. “We should establish a rendezvous point as well, in case we get separated.”

Simeon looked to Barbatos, nodding in agreement. “I think it goes without saying that Diavolo and Luke will be staying behind.”

“What?!” Luke and Diavolo both yelled at the same time, seemingly insulted by the assertion that they would not be helping.

“Yeah, What?” Mammon added, crossing his arms. “I understand leavin’ the Chihuahua behind, but Diavolo’s got some mad strength. He could take down 10 seraphim at once without even tryin'!"

“Really, Mammon!? You’re going to call me a Chihuahua now?!” Luke wiped his tears, shooting Mammon a glare.

Barbatos interjected, ignoring Luke’s annoyance at the teasing name. “But if he is injured- or worse, killed- during battle, the Devildom will be without a leader. That’s not something we can afford. We would be susceptible to both external invasion and violent anarchy amongst the lower demons.”

“Besides, it might be helpful to have someone here to prepare a space for injuries.” Satan added, tilting his chin toward Simeon. “If his vision is right...Mc and Lucifer could be in pretty awful shape...”

Mammon winced at the idea of Mc being hurt again, not wanting to accept it as a possible reality.

Diavolo sighed. “Fine, we’ll stay back for now. But if things go south...” He gave Barbatos a deathly serious look, “...I will not hesitate to charge in there- full force.”

Luke shook his head, now pulling out of Solomon’s arms and nearly groveling to Simeon. “No! Wait, I...I could talk to Michael! I could get him to s-see reason!”

Simeon closed his eyes and sighed. “Luke, I know this is hard for you to understand, which is why it’s best if you don’t get involved.”

“But...Mc...” Luke swallowed back more tears, looking at the floor. “I...I want to help...t-to do something...”

“I know...I know.” Simeon took a deep breath to maintain the softness in his voice. He pressed both hands to Luke’s shoulder. “But the way that you can help is holding down a place for when we come back. Please Luke...this is what I need from you.”

Luke sniffled, hanging his head and nodding. “O-okay.”

Simeon gave him a firm hug, solidifying that things were going to be okay. He had experienced a loss of optimism for anything for so long. He hadn't felt the ability to cling to any sort of hope to allow him to move forward. Whether it be denial, fear, anger, or just wanting to see Mc smile one last time, the feeling allowed him to be strong enough to stand as an anchor for everyone else, and to make a plan to get them both back. He needed to be a rock for everyone else, who were near the edge of panic because the two who would normally take the lead were now indisposed.

Mc and Lucifer will be brought back alive...they had to be.

Simeon stood, resting a firm hand on Luke’s shoulder. He pointed toward the brothers, giving fervent direction of what he wanted them to do. “Beel, you will be our tank. Belphie and Satan, you’re his backup. Your job is to neutralize anyone in our way of getting to Lucifer and Mc.”

The three looked at each other and gave a single nod to signify that they understood.

“Levi, and Mammon- you two will help me and Barbatos get into the Celestial prison cells to search for Mc and Lucifer. We will need help getting past guards, and the more people we have searching rooms, the better. You'll take the east wing, and Barbatos and I will be on the west wing.”

“Got it.” Mammon nodded to Levi, winding up his shoulders to stretch the muscles. "I'll wipe the floor with any crumby angel that dares to do harm to the family of the Great Mammon!"

“Solomon- You and Asmo will take up the rear. Do what you can to ensure our portal home isn’t infiltrated and that the others have first aid in the event of an emergency. You will also be our center point of contact.”

Asmo nervously glanced to Solomon, who pressed a reaffirming hand to his shoulder. “Not a problem.”

“For the rest of us outside of Asmo and Solomon, our meet up point should be at the treeline just south of the prison.” Barbatos added, giving a nod to Simeon for thinking through the division of the groups. “If we need to change it, Solomon and Asmo will spread the message. No one should break off from their pairs. There's safety in numbers, after all.”

The group nodded amongst each other, now preparing for what they assumed was going to be an absolutely bloodbath, and the beginning of the end of peace between the realms.

“Get up.”

Lucifer groaned as the words echoed through his throbbing head. He tried to bring his awareness back- to figure out who the voice was, and where it was coming from. A swift kick to the stomach caused him to sputter, the pain pulling his consciousness back to the surface.

How long had he even been out?!

He forced his eyes open, trying to adjust to the dimly lit room he found himself in. As he tried to move his weak muscles, he found his arms restrained tightly behind his back. He looked up, trying to push his vision to convert the blurred outline into the image of the individual standing before him.

“I said: Get. UP.”

Lucifer snarled as the individual grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him up to his knees. He gritted his teeth as his vision adjusted to the shape of the blonde angel, who’s nose was only a few inches away from his own.

“Stand, Demon.” Michael commanded, pulling on Lucifer’s hair again to make him stand.

His knees buckled beneath his weight as he tried to remain standing. Eventually he was able to keep his balance, albeit barely. He hadn’t felt this groggy since Diavolo had spiked his tea with tranquilizer a few months prior. His mind wandered briefly to you, and he was desperate to know where they were holding you. He hoped that you were safe, but given the aggressive handling that Michael and the guards were treating him with, he concluded they were probably weren’t treating you much better. Regardless, he knew he had to figure out a way out of his binds- to make sure you were safe again in his arms.

Michael snapped his fingers, signaling for two armored guards came to Lucifer’s side. They hooked their arms under his armpits and followed Michael out of the room. Lucifer swallowed hard, taking note of his surroundings. Clearly, he was in the celestial palace, but he was unsure of his specific whereabouts- that is, until he was brought before the familiar, intimidating council doors.

He narrowed his eyes, staring daggers into the back of Michael’s head. The last time he was here was when he was begging on his knees for Michael to help him to convince father to let Lilith live. An odd sense of familiarity washed over him as Michael grasped the handles on the doors. He swallowed hard, trying to bring back his cold and confident demeanor...but the fear about whether you both would make it out of this situation alive continued to sit like a rock in his stomach, making it hard to turn away from the anxiety.

Lucifer was thrown down to his knees roughly before the council. He gritted his teeth through the pain, trying to wiggle his arms our of their binds enough to where his shoulder wasn't threatening to dislocate. He took a deep breath before looking to the judging eyes of the council, but was surprised to see only two council members other than Michael who were looking at him with glares of hatred. The rest harbored a look of shock and uncertainty.

"Lucifer. It's been too long." Michael mused sarcastically with a wicked smile as he took his place amongst the council members. “I would love to say it’s good to see you, but unfortunately the mere sight of you is very unpleasant.”

Lucifer tightened his jaw, but said nothing.

Michael cocked his head at him, the smile turning into a teasing smirk. "Come now, you're not going to even give us a proper greeting?"

Lucifer hissed his retort. "Fuck you."

Raphael winced as Michael let out a sickening chuckle. He looked to the other council members, noticing Uriel and Saraquael with similar grotesque smiles. Gabriel, Raguel, and Remiel, however, shared in his discomfort, and tossed nervous glances amongst each other.

"Uh, Michael..." Gabriel nervously chimed in after a pause, trying his best to keep a smile on his face, though it was clearly weathered from nerves. "We...we shouldn't delay in discussing why you've brought Lucifer before us so suddenly, especially considering you didn't not get all of our approval before doing so."

Lucifer lifted an eyebrow as Michael's eyelid twitched. The archangel slowly tilted his head back to look at Gabriel, his intense eyes boring holes into the second in command. "Approval was not necessary. I made an executive decision for the safety of the Celestial realm."

Lucifer furrowed his brow. Safety? What was he talking about??

"When you discussed the revamping of the exchange program, I did not expect this to be your ulterior motive." Raguel shook his head in disapproval as he scratched his long, grey beard. "This isn't right, Michael. Send him home."

"And the human too." Remiel added, a furious look on her face. "I know many angels- including yourself- are wary of deceit from humans after what happened with Simeon, but we have no right to-"

"Silence!" Michael slammed his fists on the podium in front of him, breathing hard. The other council members snapped their mouths shut, not wanting to evoke Michael's fury. "Humans as a race are not the problem here. I've explained this to you thick headed fools 5 times already!"

Remiel gasped quietly, looking to Raguel and Gabriel for support. They said noting, only looked on in shock at Michael’s behavior.

Michael continued. "The problem is this particular human, and those who enable her. She should be exterminated for her sins... and Lucifer..."

He glanced to his former brother over the rim of his glasses, seeing his eyes go wide with panic at the acknowledgement that he wanted to have you killed.

He shook his head. "Lucifer is our second biggest threat if we are to get rid of her, and as such he should be imprisoned indefinitely at the very least- if not sentenced to suffer the same fate."

"Agreed." Uriel stated, without hesitation. "It took 5 injections of the strongest sedative we had to bring him down."

"Who knows what destruction he could cause with those brothers of his if we didn't include him in this." Saraqael glared at him, seemingly disgusted by his actions. "We should have executed all of them after their betrayal instead of letting them fall. The blood of their sister still runs through their veins, and the veins of that wretch of a human."

Michael nodded as Lucifer's lips upturned into a snarl. "His brothers will come for him, and prove just how much destruction they're capable of- but they're no match for our army." He turned back to Gabriel, shaking his head once more. "Mercy for blasphemous actions are what lead Simeon to fall in the first place. Are you suggesting you're fine with every angel turning a blind eye to grace and becoming demons themselves? That simply will not do!"

Gabriel gulped, glancing toward Lucifer and then back to Michael. "Demons are allowed to make their own decisions for how they run their realm. Lucifer having the freedom to love a human doesn't concern us at all, Michael. We have already agreed not to become politically invested in the Devildom beyond maintaining peace."

Raguel stood, mirroring Michael's intensity with his hands firmly on his podium. He had enough of Michael's dictator like order over the council, and unfairness in making such extreme decisions without their input. As the oldest member of the council and a man of tradition, he was insulted by Michael's apparent insolence and side-stepping of the parliament rules. "What you've done is akin to a declaration of war! We're you not able to set aside your petty jealousy of father's favoritism for one moment to think of the consequences of your bull-headed actions!?"

"Tch!" He stood and rounded the podium to the front of the room where Lucifer knelt. He paced in front of him, dark brown irises glaring down intensely at the eldest brother, completely ignoring Raguel's words. "Tell me: What would we have done if this human wasn't given the ring of light?"

“I hardly see what this has to do with anything.” Remiel muttered, sharing a nervous glance with Raguel.

“Just answer the question.” Michael demanded, glancing amongst the council. “Tell me what would have happened.”

Gabriel sighed, crossing his arms. "It was told to us by the sorcerer that her pacts with the brothers would have been revoked."

Michael let out a sickening laugh. "And you believed him?"

Gabriel was taken aback by his words. "I beg your pardon?"

"Lucifer needed to die in order to go with that route. Do you really think the demon prince, had he known, would have allowed that?"

There was a pause, before the hesitant council members slowly shook their heads.

Michael nodded, lips turning upwards into a smile. "Precisely. Now, wouldn't there be an easier option that would produce the same results? And it didn't even cross any of their minds."

The room wad quiet for a moment before Michael let out a 'tsk.'

"What they should have done was dispose of the threat. She not only holds pacts with 7 of the strongest demons at their disposal and could be considered a danger to both the Celestial Realm and the Devildom in that right, but weilding that power has made the entire fabric of the universe unstable."

Michael turned to Lucifer, crossing his arms. "Now, wouldn't such a danger to the 3 world's go directly against your precious Diavolo's plans?"

Lucifer swallowed, but remained silent.

"It would." He answered for him, turning back to the council. "And yet, his love for the human resulted in them risking the stability of not just the Devildom, but the Celestial Realm and the human world as well!"

"The solution that was arrived at was a suitable one." Raguel argued. "Providing the human with the ring of light was more than a reasonable solution, And I remember that you had hidden it from the council. Even after Simeon approached us with the option, you were still vehemently against it because of your own pride."

Michael glared at the older archangel. "And what if she were to take the ring off?"

Remiel sighed. "You saw it with your own eyes, Michael. She was terrified. Why in heavens name would she do that?"

"It doesn't matter how or why." Uriel nodded toward Michael. "His point still stands that it's a possibility, and made the option a mediocre one at best."

Raphael gripped his pants tightly in his fist. He wasn't sure who to side with at this point, and kept finding himself thinking back to Luke and the interactions he witnessed between the two of you. Raphael was still indifferent toward you, considering the bias he initially came into the Devildom with, but even a week with you was enough to sway his opinion slightly in the opposite direction.

Perhaps Michael was obsessed and blinded by anger and power, like Raguel had said to him before the meeting.

"Michael...y-you've gone mad..." Gabriel shook his head in a panic. "This isn't the way father would-"

"And how are you to know what father wants!" Michael snapped back. "I am the leader of this council, and I am the direct executor of his will!"

"Enough, Michael!" Remiel shouted, now standing. "The council was elected as a whole to execute father’s will. Cease this absurdity at once, and release these two back to Devildom! They are innocent!"

"Innocent!? Hah!" Michael laughed sarcastically at her. "Even meeting Mc in real life was enough to convince me she is anything but!"

Lucifer growled in warning, wanting desperately to tell Michael to keep your name off his lips.

Michael shook his head, feeling a shiver run through his spine as he remembered his encounter with the human. The way he felt such an unnatural pull toward her made him feel so disgraceful, and only re-affirmed his mindset on how dangerous she was. "Just the way in which she was dressed told me everything about her intentions. She’s clearly well able to use manipulation and seduction to her advantage. No wonder demons and angels alike have a difficult time controlling themselves around her- clearly she's inviting them to defile her!"

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Lucifer finally spat at him, finding himself enraged at the suggestion that your state of dress they had captured you in- that was supposed to be for his eyes only- was somehow an excuse for the trauma you suffered. His eyes bore holes into Michael's as they stared each other down. Lucifer panted, snarling at him as he wrestled with his binds, wanting to beat Michael to death right there.

"Tch." Michael narrowed his eyes. "How pitiful."

"Look, Michael..." Gabriel sighed, "despite your personal feelings on the matter, this entire situation needs further discussion, both amongst the council and with father directly. Until that is done, these two are not to be harmed, and should be returned home."

"We are not doing anything to either of them as long as there is disagreement among the council." Remiel reiterated Gabriel’s words, glaring at Michael with her emerald eyes filled with fire. "That is final."

Michael let out another sickening laugh, making the opposing council members' blood run cold. Even the two who were on his side lost the smirks they displayed through the meeting at the unsettling sound of it.

"This was not a request for any stupid debate, or a vote." He smirked toward Lucifer, who continued to glare at him. "This was just a warning to you that the wheels of retribution are already moving. Her punishment was started well before this meeting, and I saw to it personally."

"Wait...what?" Raphael finally spoke, unsure of what to make of Michael’s words. He glanced uneasily toward Uriel and Saraqael, who shared in his confusion. "Y-you said you would get the councils permission before...before-"

The color drained from Lucifer's face as Michael's smile grew. He felt his stomach churn as Michael folded his arms over his chest, staring Raguel down as the realization of what he had done sunk in to everyone in attendance.

"M-Michael... what did you do to that human?" Gabriel stuttered out, completely blindsided by Michael's descent into madness. He glanced to Lucifer, seeing the Avatar of Pride barely holding on to his emotions.

Michael stayed silent, watching the horror on their faces grow with each passing second. His wicked smile told them everything they needed to know.

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