#Wooden Lecterns

[pulpitssa]

The Artistry of Wooden Offering Boxes in South Africa

In the heart of South Africa, where tradition and craftsmanship converge, there exists a profound connection between spirituality and artistry. At the intersection of these two worlds, you'll discover a remarkable entity - Pulpits SA. This renowned company, known for its exquisite range of Acrylic Pulpits, Wooden Pulpits, Acrylic Podiums, Holy Communion Cups, Pulpits Podiums Lecterns, and Holy Communion Trays, also has a hidden gem that has long been revered in the world of worship - Wooden Offering Boxes.

[poisonlove]

Study Session | c.s

pairing: Cairo Sweet X fem reader

Summary: Y/n is terrible in literature and needs a hand

Words: 11.58 k

"Miss Y/S, could you come here for a moment, please?" Mr. Miller asks kindly.

I blink in surprise and walk towards the lectern, my feet almost stumbling on the wooden floorboards. I blush with embarrassment, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Cairo looking towards us with seriousness, organizing her belongings.

I swallow nervously and bite my lower lip, my eyes first glancing at Cairo and then at Professor Miller.

Now is not the time to think about your one-sided crush, y/n I mentally scold myself.

I force a smile and look at the professor with genuine curiosity. "Do you need something, sir?" I say, smiling happily, trying to hide my nervousness.

"I'm not sure how to put this..." Professor Miller sighs and takes off his glasses, looking up to meet our eyes. My smile falters seeing the concern and distress behind his eyes. Professor Miller sighs and takes the assignment I had done last week in his hands.

"It's... It's a mediocre work," he says hesitantly, almost embarrassed.

"To be honest... If you don't do something that impresses me, Miss, you'll fail my class," he says with a tone of voice almost guilty.

My palms sweat, and I try to remain calm. I knew I was really bad at literature, but I didn't expect to fail the year altogether. But what can I say? No matter how hard I try, I can't adequately transcribe what I think onto paper.

"I'm sorry," I whisper reluctantly, deeply ashamed of myself.

Professor Miller gives me a gentle smile, tilting his head slightly as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You have great potential," he states with conviction, trying to instill confidence in me. "But you simply have a few more difficulties," he concludes with a compassionate tone, seeking my gaze empathetically.

I stare into his eyes, noticing the intention of conveying moral support.

"Miss Sweet," Professor Miller calls Cairo's attention, making her focus on him.

"Yes, Professor Miller?" she responds with a radiant smile, her eyes shining for... some strange reason.

"Could you help Y/N?" the professor asks, looking at me sideways.

His request makes me feel slightly offended for not having a say, but at the same time, it puts me in a state of anxiety because I would have to work with the girl I've always liked.

Cairo's eyes focus on my figure with curiosity, making me feel nervous and embarrassed by her enchanting beauty. A small smile spreads across her lips before she looks at the literature professor.

Brown eyes looking at Mr. Miller.

"Alright," Cairo responds with a shy smile, which also makes the professor smile.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, observing this strange scene with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Cairo's smile is kind but enigmatic, as if hiding something behind that seemingly calm façade. I wonder what it could be, but I decide not to delve too deeply into it at that moment.

Professor Miller seems pleased with her acceptance and nods with a pleased expression. "Great! I'm sure you'll make an exceptional team," he comments enthusiastically, encouraging us to work together towards our common goal.

"Cairo," says the professor, maintaining a dazzling smile, "if you succeed in the task, you'll earn an extra credit," he announces proudly, turning his gaze towards his student with a mixture of hope and trust.

Cairo smiles weakly, visibly embarrassed by the attention she's received.

"Well then," I intervene timidly, trying to dissipate the strange tension that has arisen, "shall we?" I add, looking at the girl I've always had a secret crush on with flushed cheeks.

Despite my shyness and the nervousness that overwhelms me, I strive to maintain a calm and decisive tone, hoping to convey confidence both to myself and to Cairo as we prepare to face this new challenge together.

(...)

"So... What do you think?" I say nervously, my hands fidgeting with the threads of my jeans.

I roll a thread around my finger and pull it, tossing it into the grass.

Cairo's eyes fixate on my paper attentively, her pupils moving along my essay with seriousness. The brunette lowers the sheet and looks at me carefully.

"Well?" I say, feeling my stomach tied up with nerves. "Hmm..." She starts hesitantly, tilting her head and leaning against the tree behind her.

The day was perfect, and we had mutually agreed to spend it outdoors doing literature. The rays filtering through the branches highlight Cairo's face, making her eyes appear light brown

She was... Beautiful.

"Is it okay?" She says timidly.

Cairo hands me back the paper, and I sigh in frustration. I could sense that something was missing.

"Come on... Tell me the truth," I say, looking at Cairo curiously. The brunette bites her lower lip and adjusts her posture.

"So... It's not bad, but..." she starts and bites her lower lip, thoughtful. "It lacks emotion... I don't see the passion... I don't perceive anything," she confesses, and I pout.

Darn it... I wanted the truth, but it was entirely heavy

"I knew I shouldn't have spoken," she quickly says, quickly moving her hand, noticing my frown on her lips. "It's perfect," she smiles broadly, and my eyes soften seeing how sweet and cute she was with that expression on her face.

The dimple was adorable, and her eyes sparkled when she talked about something related to writing.

"No... I asked you to be honest, and you were," I say quickly, smiling.

Her eyes look at me with curiosity, and I try to maintain eye contact as much as possible. "Okay..." Cairo murmurs before giving in to this staring contest, taking her notebook.

"I... " I start hesitantly, "have an old piece that I'd like you to read," I say timidly.

I was aware of the risk that she would realize it was about her, but despite that, I thought it was my best work. After all, I wrote it with all the love I feel for her.

"Oh... I'd be happy to," she says sincerely, her pearly whites showing her beautiful smile. Cairo's eyes light up at the mention of reading something, and she quickly reaches her hand towards me.

Shyly, I grab my backpack and search for my work, immediately noticing that it was sandwiched between two notebooks. My cheeks were red from embarrassment for having something so special to me crumpled and carelessly thrown in my backpack.

Cairo takes it without making any comment on its sorry state and begins to read it.

"In the twilight of our intertwined destinies..." The brunette had a focused expression, her voice soft and enveloping.

I wait with trepidation, observing every nuance of her expressions

"she emerges like an elusive shadow, a siren of my lost dreams, with chestnut locks like the earth." Cairo sighs "Her eyes, deep as the abyss of the soul, reflect falling stars and unfathomable secrets, like dark water on a moonless night, where the lost traveler wanders." Cairo suddenly stops, lips still suspended on the sentence.

Her gaze drifts amidst the words as a wave of emotion envelops her voice.

I remain silent, captivated by her interpretation.

The brunette continues, her voice now softer, almost whispered. "Her smile, a fleeting glimpse of light, a glimmer of hope in the darkness, yet also an echo of sadness in the relentless passage of time, a memory of what could have been."

Cairo voice resonates with the melody of the words, conveying every nuance of emotion contained within the text.

I was completely captivated by her facial expressions.

"Yet, amid the folds of uncertain destiny, remains a lost innocence and an unspoken love, an incomplete harmony, an unexpressed desire, like a melody interrupted in the night wind."

"In her breath dance promises of another life, where perhaps our hearts will meet, in the stillness of a world without end, where time is not the master of our destinies."

Cairo tightens the grip on the paper.

"But for now we part ways, like the waves leaving the shore, destined to wander alone in the depths of time. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my being, her essence remains engraved like an ancient melody."

As she reads those words, Cairo's tone of voice becomes soft and melancholic, conveying a sense of nostalgia and sadness. Her words are filled with emotion, with a slight tremor in her voice reflecting the depth of her feelings. Cairo seems to be carried away by the intensity of the text, and her reading is infused with an aura of melancholy and reflection.

"And so I venture into the night, with her memory as my guide, suspended between the pain of loss and the hope of return. In the silence of my soul, I continue to dream, hoping that one day our destinies will intertwine again."

After finishing the reading, Cairo remains silent for a moment, her gaze lost in deeper thoughts. I can sense her mind in turmoil, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Then, slowly, she lifts her gaze towards me, a spark of interest shining in her coffee-colored eyes.

"Who is the muse behind this extraordinary piece?" she asks, her voice warm and full of curiosity, while her expression reflects a sincere desire to understand the hidden meaning behind the words.

I knew perfectly well that I couldn't say it was her, so I just shrugged nonchalantly. "No one in particular," I add calmly, even though my heart was beating rapidly inside me.

"Yet it seems so specific," Cairo observes, glancing at the paper.

Her words make me uncomfortable, but I try to maintain composure. "It's just a product of my imagination," I say with a forced smile, hoping to divert attention away from myself.

"The only certainty is that she's a brown-haired girl with brown eyes," Cairo asserts with a mischievous smile, and a shiver runs down my spine. "The classic always attracts, it seems," she adds, chuckling softly.

Her observation makes me feel like butterflies are doing acrobatics in my stomach.

"Don't be stubborn now," I blurt out in embarrassment, trying to deflect attention from the imminent truth that Cairo is about to uncover with her acute intelligence.

Cairo bursts into laughter, a sound so genuine and contagious that it makes me feel special. Her laughter fills the air around us, wiping away any traces of embarrassment and fear, and I find myself laughing along with her, feeling light and free.

Cairo stops laughing and smiles, a look of sincerity painted on her face.

"It seems you were good at freelancing after all," she observes with a light and friendly tone.

Her comment makes me feel appreciated and recognized for my abilities, and I smile in response. "Thank you," I reply with gratitude, feeling encouraged by her approval.

"I think Professor Miller will like it," Cairo continues, biting her lower lip, lost in her thoughts.

A strange sparkle lights up her eyes, and at that moment, I decide to ask her a question that has tormented me for too long.

"Cairo do you have a crush on Professor Miller?" I ask timidly, curious but also intimidated by the possible answer.

Cairo blushes deeply. "What on earth are you asking?" she responds sharply, clearly embarrassed.

"From the way you react to his mention..." I say with curiosity, "and also you're completely red," I add with a timid smile.

Cairo shakes her head firmly. "No, no," she responds promptly, "I admire Professor Miller, but I don't have a crush on him. He's old, and, above all, he's married." Her tone is decisive.

"Well, gray hair isn't very attractive, right?" I ask with a smile on my lips, while I observe Cairo nodding slightly, smiling broadly and showing her dimples.

Freckles surround her face as her hair falls gracefully around her shoulders.

Cairo looks up at the sky, which is turning orange at sunset, a sign that the day is coming to an end. "I think it's time to go," she says timidly, almost regretfully.

"Is the study session over already?" I say in surprise, pouting.

Cairo nods and smiles. "So, do you like literature now?" she winks, teasing me.

"Not exactly, but the lesson goes better with you," I reply, aware of what I'm saying and noticing the slight blush on Cairo's cheeks.

I realize what I've said afterward and feel terribly embarrassed. A wave of nervousness overwhelms me as I notice a hint of pink on Cairo's cheeks.

Oh darn, I want to die, I think dramatically.

Cairo looks away. "Well, see you tomorrow.""Ah, yes, of course! See you tomorrow," I reply, trying to hide my embarrassment behind a smile. I feel the heat rising in my face as the embarrassment grows inside me. "Thank you for today, it was... interesting," I quickly add, hoping to alleviate the strange tension that had arisen.

"Thanks to you," she says softly, her gaze warm and comforting.

With a smile on my lips, I watch Cairo walk away. Despite the day starting off badly, it ended in the best possible way.

[brainrotbabe24]

Ways Thorin’s company will remember you while they are on an adventure!

Balin: In the art books, it said Balin has a lectern he would write on while traveling. So in keeping with that idea, I would say his quill pens would remind him of you. I imagine he has a busy life and tends to forget about the little things. So when he is on a journey, he will curse himself for forgetting quill pens. But lo and behold in his bag would be a new set. He would chuckle to himself knowing that you always looked out for him. 

Dwalin: Dwalin seems like the type of guy who would get a tattoo for you. Not your face or a heart saying “I love y/n” but something small and sentimental. For example, if you were into gardening or the outdoors, he would have a tree sapling on his leg. If you were into baking, he would have a bread knife on his forearm. If you were a singer, he would get lyrics across his chest. Each night he would take some time to look at the tattoo, and images of you would flutter in his mind. 

Óin: You know his skills of healing are important on any adventure. So in the months leading up to it, you see him gathering herbs and other medicinal supplies to bring. To help him out, you would’ve bought a pouch to hold his supplies in. Oin loves it and regularly puts his most precious herbs in there. He doesn’t let anyone touch it and makes sure it’s secure to his body at all times. Oin loves feeling the material and will unconsciously run his fingers over it when thinking about you. 

Glóin: Isn’t it obvious he will have a picture of you in his pocket lol. He can’t stand not seeing your lovely face while on the road and basically demanded a portrait of you made. He made sure on the day of the portrait he adorned you with the most beautiful jewelry, beads, and braids. You loved it! So when he looks at the picture, he sees all his work/love was being worn proudly by you. He likes having your face be the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees in the morning. 

Bifur: Such a sweetie! He would’ve kept a wooden toy you tried to carve… and failed at. Back before he left, you would’ve tried making a toy. You had seen him do it a hundred times, so you didn’t think it would be that hard. A little surprise for him would be perfect. Welp, you messed it up and got so frustrated you threw it out. He found it of course and kept it. He carries it everywhere and takes it out when there is free time. He would never tell you he kept it, knowing you would be embarrassed but loves you for trying his craft. He is beyond proud! 

Bofur: Bofur knows you long for adventure and would feel bad when he couldn’t take you on trips. So to help you “see” the world, he makes sure to learn a song from the area. You guys have a tradition: he leaves, learns a song, comes home, and sings to you. I imagine when he is out in the wild he will keep the song stuck in his head thinking of your reaction to it. 

Bombur: Oh, you spoil him!!! Once you heard he was going on a journey, you would instantly go out and buy him new cooking utensils. He would cherish it, though. He would delicately bring them out every evening and refuse to let anyone else touch them. He would clean the utensils until he could see his reflection thinking of you all the while!

Ori: Before he leaves on a journey, He will set up a knitting date with you. You will both make each other socks, a hat, a scarf—whatever comes to mind! Before you give each other the gift, you make sure that your initials are sewn into them. In times when he is uncertain of his journey, he will look to your initials and think of you. 

Dori: I would imagine since he prides himself on appearance he would have jewelry, and one ring (lol) would stick out to him. You can find him fidgeting with it and even staring at it for long times. It was your present to him, and even if he is covered in mud and his appearance is less than perfect, he will make sure to clean his hand/that finger with the ring first.

Nori: He stole something of yours, but you have to guess. It’s less about the object and more of the joke/tradition that reminds him of you. He will look at whatever trinket he stole and think about you looking all over the house for it. He will chuckle at the thought and will smile, knowing that once he returns and shows you the missing object, you both will giggle. 

Thorin: In the book, Thorin had a harp. I feel the rough and tumble adventure would occasionally get the strings to snap. So when he sees a neat bundle of wire in his bag, he would be thinking of you. His face would get red and a small smile would appear on his face. He loves knowing you think of him! I guarantee when he gets home he will play the harp for you, as a thank you.

Fíli: While I want to say a knife... because it fits him perfectly. I would have to say pipe weed. Fili would be the type to enjoy a smoke while by the fire, and since his trips are always long and filled with danger, he savors the nights he can relax. He would sit back, relax, watch the fire, and “inhale you." The pipe weed would remind him of you, the smell bringing back memories of your hands, hair—anything really. And if he was able to share this precious weed with everyone, he would thank you secretly for helping everyone relax. 

Kíli: Kili seems like the type of dwarf that brushes his hair. It’s less in braids, so it probably gets knotted up more. So having a small comb/brush gifted by you to help detangle after a long day is exactly what he needs. Kili uses it so much and will ask Fili to help brush his hair. He will then close his eyes and imagine you are brushing his hair…His dream would be interrupted, of course, by Fili saying, “Brother, please tell me why you have mud in your hair…”lol

Bilbo: He will keep a book! Maybe one of your favorites that you wrote your notes in. He loves looking over your scribbles, ideas, and thoughts you wrote in the margins! His favorite lines are ones he isn’t supposed to know. For example, he once found a note saying, "Bilbo’s birthday surprise will be on Tuesday. Get Cake!” He would blush and think about how much he loves you. 

Gandalf: He was a tough one to think about....Out of everyone, I feel like he will be gone the most. So, he would love it if you helped him sew up any holes in his outfit. When he is out in the world the stitching will remind him of you and how much you care for him.

[kk43mi]

good girl.┊ scaramouche

PAIRING ┊ perv!scaramouche x innocent f!reader GENRE ┊ pure smut. WC ┊ 1.8k+ WARNINGS ┊ he’s a perv , panty stealing , corruption , dub-con(?) , praise(if you squint) , not proof-read, cussing , scara just being gross!!! , lowercase intended!! SYNOPSIS ┊ coming back from your college classes and hearing your roommate making little grunts and moans, calling out your name, thinking he was in pain—but turns out, it was more than that. A/N ┊ written by kam , hope you guys enjoy ! (melody helped with the process !) first fic.

"anything that needs to be clarified?" your professor asked as he finished writing the formula on the board, turning around to face the class in front of him as he rest his arms on the lectern. a still silence preforms in the room, as the only sounds heard can be from other students taking notes, pencil moving in motion on the wooden table. finishing up your notes, your professor had now dismissed the class, signifying that the lecture was now finally over. wanting to seek solace in your comfy dorm and avail yourself of well-deserved respite after a long day.

a groan falls from your mouth as you now exited the lecture hall, stretching out your arms while walking towards the direction of your humble abode, where you share the room with a long-known acquaintance, scaramouche. scara—for short is what you liked to call him. "ah, im hungry...ill just eat some instant ramen back at the dorms." you exclaimed. soon enough, you were now in front of your dorm, grabbing the keys from your pocket to unlock the wooden door that was in your way.

twisting and turning the knob, you entered your abode, then taking off and carelessly throwing your shoes with the other pairs of shoes that were lined up nice and neatly, too drained out from the lecture to really care about any mess you make right now. walking and passing by the other rooms, you had to pass your roomies to get to yours. which you had no problem at all doing, until you heard faint groans and grunts coming from the other side of the door. "n-ngh...uh...fuck...y/n.." falls out of scaras lips. and there you hear a thud coming from the room.

you knocked on his door "ah-? scara, are you okay? i heard a loud thud! did something happened? are you in pain?" you asked in concern, pressing an ear against the blue tinted door to make out what he would say next. "y-yeah im fine. just go away argh..." he sounded annoyed, did you perhaps bother him? you didnt mean to, all you wanted to do was figure out what had happened. you stopped your thoughts as he hear his footsteps approaching the door, seeing his shadow beneath the creak of the door, slowly and subtly retreating from the door, your gaze meets scaras purple orbs.

his irritated look gives it away and you immediately feel bad. "im sorry if i bothered you.." you muttered out quietly as he let out a scoff, walking towards the bathroom. your eyes follow his before sighing. turning to walk to your own bedroom, before the corner of your eyes spots something out of the ordinary from his room. his room was usually just filled with neutral colors like white, grey, and black, but you spotted a pink cloth on his black bedsheet. out of curiosity, you enter the room, going closer to the object before realizing what it was.

"what the..? my underwear?" you looked in confusion, why would your panties be in scaras room? observing the undergarments a bit more, you spot little wet patches on them. and a weird smell emitting from it...maybe...this could explain the reason why the quantity of your panties had reduced. so scara has been the one stealing them?! you had lost your trance of thoughts after hearing a door slam shut behind you, making you turn around, "well, well look who we have here, y/n. figured it out hm?" he said, followed by with a menacing laugh, it sent shiver done your spines, waiting for your response as he leaned against the door with his arms crossed, looking down at you with a shit eating grin.

"you perv! youve been stealing my underwear!" you gritted your teeth, absolutely disgusted with your roommate. "and? what of it. not my fault youre wearing those kinds of underwear. i really cant control it yknow?" he grinned at you as he retracted his arms and took a couple steps towards you. the sudden instinct made you grab your garments, and throw it up at his face, but the quick motherfucker he was, he caught it. "well that wasnt really nice now was it?" he said before bringing the used panties to his nose, inhaling the scent of the soft pink undies, the smell of his pre-cum and your heat mixed in together brought him to heaven. his face turning red, eyes having hearts in them now, and breathing uncontrollable.

the sight of him smelling your panties had you tensed, as your eyes lowered to see such a noticeable bulge forming down. saliva forming in your mouth, to which you had swallowed. "do you see what you do to me..? for you to find out like this is such a shame, but whatever, its nice you know i crave for you now. every single part of your body. so please, allow me to indulge in this exquisite pleasure that awaits me." he bit his lips in excitement, his hand, motioning to touch his bulge, palming and shifting it around to reduce the pain, his other hand, still holding onto the precious sacred panties up to his nose to whiff at to get off to.

"uh..erm.." your face gave a look of confusion and hesitation. sure scara was a handsome boy, you never thought he viewed you that way, but you always had the thought of what it was like to be in the act of intimacy. but still, you werent too sure about this. "oh c'mon, you didnt even let me finish, im pent up. i just need one release." he grinned as he stepped closer to you, kneeling down to your height to harshly cup your cheeks with one hand, planting his lips on yours, giving a sloppy kiss. you pressed a hand on his chest, trying to pry him away, as his other free hand grabbed your wrist to stop your resistance. your eyes were shut closed, but you can feel a smile forming out of him. soon, you gasped and your mouth was left agape, the perfect opportunity for scara to insert in his tongue, exploring your inside, tasting and savoring every nook and cranny.

little moans falling out of your mouth, this...it was all new to you, never knowing or feeling the touch of another man. let alone, this kind. your resistance has stopped, knowing your strength wasnt compared to his. he may seem small, but he sure was the strong one. scara pulled back, a string of saliva connected from his mouth to yours, both of the individual breathing heavily, trying to catch up each others breath. a sickening smile appeared on his face again. "on your knees, c'mon." he commanded. as he sat on his bed. eyeing down on you. you just stood there in silence, just trying to comprehend everything that was happening right now. first the stolen undies, he likes you, then kissed you. just what was going on.

scara let out an annoyed scoff as he ran out of patience, pulling your arm to put you down on your knees, your face landing onto his pelvis, face dangerously close to his crotch. "oh? excited too? well then ill let you indulge in what you want of course~" his voice sounded high, as he unzipped his pants, his length raised up, the tip hitting his cloth stomach. he was girthy, and veiny in the right places, his tip, a pretty pink mushroom. its like it was perfect. you stared at his cock, intimidated already. your trail of thoughts were lost as you soon felt scaras hand grab your wrist, forcing your hands to touch the base of his cock. out of shock, you tried removing your hand, but he kept it in place. "dont be shy, i know you want this too. now move." you eyed up at him, a gulp forming on your throat, as you felt gross doing this. slowly moving your hands up and down, feeling his veins and stiff cock.

"f-fuck...this feels way better than that damn panties of yours...i always imagined it as your hand stroking my cock. now i finally get the feel of it. youre so good." he threw his head back due to the pleasure, moaning at the way your hands gripped his cock so tightly. "ugh..." you let out a disgusted sigh, it felt so slimy, and the stench was already hurting your head. "ah-shit im out of patience, open your mouth." a hand was placed on your head as his other supported his balance to sit up. "what..? why.." you meekly respond back. "hurry up and just do as a i say." he gripped a handful of your hair locks and it made you wince. as you obliged and open your mouth, without warning, his cock is shoved into the small mouth of yours. you gagged, both of your hands placed on his thighs for leverage and support.

"shit, your mouth is even better..." he fucked your face thru it all, tears that were threatening to spill down to your cheeks from the pain you were trying to endure. soft little cries and whimpers come from your mouth, hoping it would signal him into slowing down a bit. "tis hwurt..plese...stuop.." you were slobbering on your words...you couldnt say anything, not when he was thrusting his hips into your mouth so harshly as he was pulling your hair along with it. "youre such a good girl...taking me so well." it was like your pleas fell on deaf ears, as he just kept thrusting. "breathe thru your nose baby." as if it would make anything better. it hurts. you were gagging like crazy. saliva coated everywhere on your mouth, even dripping down onto the floor, creating a wet mess.

his thrusts were harsh and it made your mouth sore, you dont know how long you could keep this up honestly. "f-fuck gonna cum, you gonna take it all like a good girl alrigh'?" his pace fastened, and it left your eyes crying a river now. tears trickling down to your cheek and to your chin, mixing in with the pool of saliva down on the floor. "ah-! fuck, fuck, fuck..!" with one last harsh thrust, the tip of his cock touching the deep parts of your throat as his cum gushed out, forcing you to take it all, as some of it spilled out. he rides out his high by stilling himself in your mouth, taking in your warmth, before finally pulling out. which had you coughing out, mouth all sore as you laid on the wooden floor. trying to catch up with your breath. little bits of scaras cum still lingered on the corners of your mouth. a laugh falls from his mouth as he enjoyed the sight he was viewing.

"this is just the beginning. im not done yet. now be a good little girl and get on the bed."

"but you said you just needed one release...?"

"I said im not done yet."

requests open!

[queenshelby]

The Law Student (Rewritten)

Part One: Starting Out

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (20) & Reader (30)

Note: This plays in 1996, just before Cillian drops out of law school.

Today was your first day as a lecturer at the University of Cork, and you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness.

After completing your law and teaching degrees, you started working at a local law firm. You had a successful career, but your soul craved teaching and interacting with young minds.

As such, when the university at which you had studied yourself reached out to you with an irresistible offer, you couldn't turn it down.

Even though you had never lectured at a university before, you were still confident in your abilities. You knew that this where you wanted to be right now in your life and the only issue was that your ex, James, was employed there as well. 

You had been married to James for several years , but eventually, things went south and you both mutually decided to part ways. It was an unpleasant breakup that left you both drained.

James had never really forgiven you for leaving him for bigger and better things, and he constantly reminded you of the time you both spent together. You were thirty now and rented a nice apartment in the center of Cork.

You had no children with James and, luckily for you, he was a science professor rather than a professor at law, so you knew that you wouldn't see each other often. His faculty was far away from yours and, keeping that in mind, you accepted the position the university had offered you. 

*** The First Lecture ***

Your first day at the faculty  finally arrived and you stopped by to check your lecture schedule. You noticed a lecture hall number for which you had to find your way.

Arriving at the given classroom number, you glanced around the area. You felt intimidated as you entered the ancient gray lecturing hall with its high ceiling, tall windows, wooden benches and old, but friendly-looking, portraits mounted above.

A wave of anxiety came over you. The room was almost filled to capacity. Students sat scattered throughout the hall, laughing, chatting, and seemingly relaxed.

They reminded you of a wave of colors, with some sporting all black, while others wore bright, vibrant pinks and oranges.

Their expressions reflected excitement, mixed with anxiety, and you could sense the tension due to the first day of the school year.

For every person in the room, there was a unique set of circumstances that had led them to attend this lecture. This reignited your dedication towards mentoring and teaching these young minds, which eased your nerves.

Retaking a deep breath, you flashed a charming, confident smile and walked over to the lectern.

"Hello Everyone, my name is [Your Name], and I will be your Law Professor this semester," you announced, projecting your voice while placing your notes calmly down.

A sudden eruption of chatter and movement ensued as the students received this information. You took a moment to soak it all in, making sure to scan the room for any familiar faces and, of course, there were none. 

During the first year, you knew that the students would mainly be under your supervision as you taught the introductory law course, Law 101 and Law 100. You were well aware that around thirty percent of your students would not continue into the second year and you also realized that not everyone was cut out for studying law, so you made an effort to make the subject interesting for your students.

"Unfortunately for you, you will be stuck with me this year as I will be covering off all of the introductory law subjects and, whilst some of the coursework may be dry, I promise that I will make your learning experience here as enriching as I can," you continued. "What I need from you is dedication, passion, and an open mind."

You paused for a moment, drinking in the environment, and stared into the eyes of the sea of attentive young faces.

"As part of this journey, I would also like to get to know you a little better, so I have prepared some questionnaires for you all to fill out. This will help me gauge your understanding levels and any unique, personal interests or experiences you might have."

You then pulled out some sheets from your briefcase.

"Now, if you would take these out and pass them forward to the nearest person to you, and once filled in, pass them back, we can proceed to understanding who you are better."

A collective scribbling of pens ensued as students started filling out the questionnaires.

It was amazing to see the diversity that lay here before you. Each entry was a life, a story, a legacy that had individual values, fears and expectations and, after all of the students handed back their papers, you dove straight into the lecture content for which students were required to read thirty pages from their textbook. 

As you were speaking about the material covered, you noticed that a group of young men in the second row were not paying much attention to what you had to say. Instead, they were actually looking at a magazine while happily discussing its content .

You recognized their behavior as being disengaged from the lecture and, just as you were about to lower your rating for their participation, you noticed that the young man on the far left of them was pushing the magazine away.

He was staring at you now as if he was a deer caught in headlights. He knew that he had been caught for not paying attention and as you followed his line of sight, you noticed how adorably flustered he was, all pink cheeks and disheveled hair.

"Now that I have your attention, can you tell me why the judge 's rulings in this scenario would establish the doctrine of foreseeability?" you asked, addressing him directly, causing even his fellow students to put the magazine aside. 

He looked bewildered, slowly gathering his thoughts and in that moment.

Fumbling his way around the answer, his vulnerably and clearly unpracticed nature showed as his hands gripped onto a textbook placed upon his lap. The vulnerable energy exuded by this raw and real response captivated you.

"Uhm ... Mhm. Yes, well, I suppose the judge's ruling," he stammered , followed by a deafening pause while you waited for the continuation of his answer. He glanced around nervously at the other students as if seeking validation for what his answer might be. "What case was this, Miss Y/LN?" he then asked, raising his right eyebrow in genuine confusion and you couldn't help but feel even more captivated by this young man, who still seemed to be embarrassed from being caught.

He had a subtle accent that hinted at coming from the country.

"It was Hart v Hart," you explained with a smile.

"Right, sorry. It was Hart v. Hart," he repeated as he furrowed his brows and continued to examine the pages spread before him. "In Hart v. Hart, the judge  ruled that if a person engages in an inherently dangerous activity, such as driving under the influence of alcohol, then that person can be held partially liable for any harm that results from their actions even if the other driver was actually at fault," the student then explained nervously, making you realize that he had, indeed, read the prescribed reading. 

"Yes, that's correct, uhm...I am sorry, I need to really memorize all of your names. I promise, I will try," you replied, not recalling his name. 

"Cillian," he answered, holding your gaze firmly while pushing his hair back with his free hand.

The moment our eyes met, you noticed that his were the most captivating deep blue eyes you had ever seen. He flashed you an enchanting smile, and you couldn't help but become conscious of your own smile as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

You recovered quickly, clearing your throat and stating, "Thank you Cillian,"  as you darted your gaze back to the students before you, trying to easily move on from this moment.

As soon as you were finished with the lecture, he approached you while his friends walked out of the lecture hall, giggling and whispering to each other as they watched their friend 's interaction with you.

Cillian now stood before you, looking a tad bit intimidated as he ran his hand through his hair nervously.  

"Cillian, right?" you  asked to confirm, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Yes," he replied with a smile, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

"How can I help you?" you asked, your curiosity welling up due to his lingering presence, as you noticed the intense look in his eyes.

"Well, I just," he stammered. "I am sorry about earlier Miss Y/LN ," he said sincerely, averting his gaze, manifesting in a newfound confidence that, surprisingly, didn't intimidate you at all.

"It's alright. It happens," you admitted with a chuckle.

"So we are good?" he asked, lifting his gaze back to yours.

"Yes, we're grand," you confirmed with a smile, finding his nerves endearing.

The way he was fidgeting before you reminded you of a curious young boy rather than a young university student.

"Okay. Good," Cillian murmured, the relief washing over him. He smiled again, exposing his dimples. "Then, have a good day, Miss Y/LN," Cillian stammered, glancing at you one more time before walking away to follow his friends. 

*** Cillian's POV ****

"Someone has a thing for our new professor," his friend Ben teased as Cillian walked over to them, and they left the building together.

"Don't be an eejit ," Cillian replied, playfully shoving his best friend as his cheeks burned up. "I was just trying to be polite ," he muttered, feeling flustered at being put on the spot.

Ben and the others laughed, enjoying the spectacle of their now clearly flustered friend.

Ben shook his head amused. "Suuuure!" he drawled, skepticism oozing from his tone. "You could have fooled us, because you sure looked like you could hardly take your eyes off her," he continued, teasing him relentlessly.

"She's our teacher for fuck sake," he retorted and it was rare for Cillian to get flustered like that, but there was something about you that drew him in.

"And she is one good looking MILF," Ben quipped and they all burst into laughter at his comment, but Cillian couldn't help the feeling of annoyance bubbling inside of him. He couldn't exactly say why, but the thought of his friends objectifying you made him angry.

You were smart and confident, and Cillian had to admit that your intellect intrigued him, but it was more than that. He couldn't explain it and tried to simply ignore his attraction towards you, hoping it would go away. Cillian knew that he had to focus on his studies and his future career prospects even though his passions were laying elsewhere. Law was not for him but, even at twenty years of age, he had yet to realize what his real calling was.

His father had always been proud of Cillian and supported his education, but at the same time, he, like many fathers of his generation, believed in the importance of material success. Law was a well-paid profession and, at least in his father's eyes, Cillian not having chosen a suitable career path yet was a source of concern.

His mother, on the other hand, had recognized the fire in his eyes at a young age.

She sensed his innate desire to create and to perform. Even at fifteen, he would spend hours, almost obsessively, learning musical pieces and theatre scripts. He found beauty in unfolding stories told through music and film and, by sixteen, he was performing with a band - an unstable career path, one that wavered with uncertainty.

His heart and soul belonged to art and performance, but the fear of letting his father down haunted him a little so he went to law school instead. 

*** Your POV ***

The fact that law wasn't his calling also became evident to you when you began to read the questionnaire Cillian had submitted.  It contained answers that demonstrated genuine interest in the subject, but at the same time, you noticed that he had written entire paragraphs about his passion for theater and music.

You smiled at this realization.

You chose to believe that some people simply haven't yet found the courage to pursue what they truly loved and you pondered about how often this happened when it came to students choosing courses and careers in college.

Most of them were at an age where they were experimenting and discovering who they were, what they liked, and what they weren't particularly fond of.

It was during this period of self-discovery that many of them realized that their passions lay elsewhere - that their more practical choices were not aligned with their true callings.

As you continued to read through Cillian's questionnaire, you realized that his passion for acting became apparent in his answers. The cases he chose to delve into on the questionnaire were cases that were made more interesting due to their underlying personal and emotional aspects rather than just the black tops and white bottoms of legal principles.

He related these cases to his own experiences in story telling. For instance, in answering a question about an interesting case of tort law, he wrote about "The Deer Hunter" movie and the emotional turmoil the character had to go through due to his experiences in the war. He then compared this scenario to what happened in the case and his answer grabbed your attention not only due to the co-relation between the movie and the case, but also because it pulled at your heartstrings and made you feel something profound and unforgettable.

Cillian had a way with words, and you found yourself reading through Cillian's answers multiple times, simply because they were so much more than just the mere facts.

He weaved stories within stories, connecting the dots between fiction and reality, between law and life. You recognized a young, fresh, and overflowing talent in him, although clearly, this talent was not going to be one in law. 

*** The following two weeks ***

Over the next two weeks , you spent a considerable amount of time crafting the perfect lecture content for your students, ensuring it catered for their different learning styles.

You designed a series of hands-on workshops for your students and introduced practical lessons to illustrate the concepts learned in your lectures. It was important to you to teach them in an engaging and interactive manner so that they would have greater retention and overall understanding of the concepts.

For each workshop, you created different scenarios where students would have to analyze, argue, and debate the legal issues presented before them.

This allowed them to think critically, discuss differing viewpoints, and most importantly, experience firsthand what it was truly like to be a lawyer.

In doing this, you incorporated your own past experiences as well. This allowed you to connect with your students on a personal level while teaching them valuable communication skills that they could use for their future careers.

Cillian, for instance, showed remarkable passion for this type of activity, demonstrating an ability to argue thoughtfully and eloquently, while always remaining respectful when disagreeing with his classmates and you couldn't help but praise him for his particpation.

"Dude, you are trying way too hard," Ben teased Cillian after the workshop which was a comment you overheard but chose to ignore.

Instead, you observed Cillian share a look of irritation with his friend. "I am not even trying, seriously," he replied flatly with an eye roll that made you stifle a giggle.

"Yes you are. You are trying hard to impress our professor, whom you still have a massive crush on. You are nowhere near as engaged in Torts and Contracts," Ben retorted, poking fun at his best friend, causing him to blush with embarrassment.

"Shut up man. I am not having a crush on her," Cillian muttered, trying to downplay it while you found this exchange rather amusing, overhearing it while still grading student assignments.

You had heard some rumors amongst your peers that a couple of your students may be having a crush on you and you heard from others that this wasn't really unusual. Many students had innocent crushes on their teachers and, while you could understand how that might happen, you had to remind yourself to always maintain a professional distance.

Keeping your distance from Cillian, however, soon proved much harder than you anticipated when he started to struggle with some of the course content in another subject for which it was recommended that you tutor him.

By the fourth week, you already tutored three other students for subjects you did not, yourself, teach to them and singling Cillian out from tutoring because of his little crush didn't strike you the right way. Thus, when he asked you for help during the break in your next lecture, you did not hesitate.

*** The Beginning of Tutoring ***

"I've been having some trouble with contracts and torts," Cillian said, running a hand through his hair, looking nervous and uncertain. "And my lecturer in those subjects recommended that I seek additional help."

"Of course," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'd be happy to set up some tutoring sessions for you. I think it's great that you're taking the initiative to seek help in areas where you're struggling," you said, maintaining a professional tone.

Cillian nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you, I really appreciate it. I want to do well in this program, you know," he stammered  , his eyes flickering nervously around the still-bustling lecture hall. "I can't afford to fail any subjects," he added, biting his bottom lip.

His vulnerability struck a chord within you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy towards him. You understood the pressure that students faced when it came to academic performance, and you admired Cillian's determination to succeed.

"Of course, I completely understand. How about we start on Thursday?"  you suggested, favoring an informal approach. "I'm available from four until six-thirty, so we should have plenty of time to go over any areas you're struggling with without feeling rushed."

Cillian nodded, grimacing slightly. "Yeah, that'll be grand," he replied, managing a weak smile. "I'll see you then, Miss Y/LN," he added, before gathering his belongings and rushing off to his next class.

You couldn't help but watch him leave, taking in the sight of him as he walked confidently through the crowd of students. The way his hair fell onto his forehead and the determined look in his eyes stayed with you even after he had left.

You let out a long sigh, trying to shake off the odd sense of familiarity that washed over you. The idea of tutoring Cillian ignited a spark of excitement in you, mixed with a pinch of anxiety.

You were nervous at the prospect of spending two extra hours alone with him every week, given what you had picked up from the rumor mill about his crush, and, to make matters even worse, no matter how much you tried to deny it or push it away, the truth was that you, yourself, had started recognizing a certain level of fascination towards Cillian. It was a fascination you knew you shouldn't have. Not only were you ten years older than him, but he was also your student. 

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[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Don’t Read The Last Page

So, here he was.

At the end of this long adventure, finally having delivered the Book of Truths to the Spiral Labyrinth, Magnus was going to turn away from where the book rested on its lectern. Step out of the library, into his home, into his beloved’s arms.

There were doubts, though.

Magnus had found a great deal many things on his long odyssey. A recipe for a rare potion. An antique golden ring. A new friend or two.

Love.

His love was now standing outside the library doors, laughing along with Catarina, his most beloved friend. No doubt talking about Magnus. No doubt talking about the events of the past few months.

He wanted to know.

400 years of experience. It never taught you enough. Not how to love, not how to be loved, not how to nurse your heartbreaks afterward.

He needed to know.

Would he even be able to see his archer’s face 10 years later? Or would they be parted, their adventures only a mere tale to regale other future loves with? Would the red string of fate allow them to cross paths again, or would all Magnus have left of his beloved be the faint muffled sounds of laughter from behind heavyset doors?

Magnus wanted to kneel at the altar. Wanted to beg, plead for the answers.

Not that he would have to go that far. It was so, so simple, to obtain answers in this book. A mere thought, the mere turn of a page, and there it was, written out in fresh black ink.

Magnus reached out a shaky hand and laid his hand on the embossed red leather of the book.

Please.

Please, will he stay?

Will he?

A faint memory crosses his mind. The scent of sandalwood and humid salty air. Magnus’s wide feline eyes and the shaky breaths that came when your world was falling apart. Alexander’s arms around him, holding him together, whispering sweet nothings into his ears.

There is laughter outside the library.

Magnus swallows. Sweat blooms across his forehead.

He doesn’t open the book. Instead, he takes one last look at the book with all the solemnity of a funeral, drops his hand, and turns on his heel.

Away from the book. Out of the library. The heavy wooden doors fall shut behind him.

Outside, he is greeted by the brightest of smiles and shimmering blue eyes.

Inside, a stray draft wind blows, and the book flips open, a single word emblazoned on the page.

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 24 - Up Where We Belong

IN THIS CHAPTER: Graduation gowns, strawberry milkshakes, and Wayne asks a question [9.9k]

WARNINGS: dealing with grief (nancy, dottie, eddie to a less extent), writer not knowing how graduations are in the us

A/N: happy new year!!!! i hope everyone is having a wonderful start of 2024, here's your belated christmas gift from yours truly. if you read this and think "that's not how that works", then i don't know what to tell you bestie but i tried. i watched a TON of graduation ceremonies on youtube and i pulled heavily from those, aside from borrowing things from my own not-american graduation. i hope you enjoy it anyways! (and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!) <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

All we have is here and now All our life, out there to find

Friday, June 13th - 1986

Wayne Munson had walked the halls of Hawkins High School several times throughout recent years courtesy of his nephew’s misbehaving, but never making it past Principal Higgins’ office was turning out to be a problem. Resigned, he stomped on his cigarette gently before following a family that looked like they knew where they were going, regretting not taking up Eddie’s offer to escort him inside before he disappeared in search of his friends and fellow graduates. Graduation. Ain’t that a funny thing to think about, Wayne mused. The auditorium, he noted as he finally found it, was decorated in bright orange and calming forest green, a Class of 1986 paper banner hanging from the dark curtain that was doing its job as an unassuming background at the very back of the room. On the stage, there was a regal-looking wooden lectern, and a small table with stacked up rolls of paper tied with orange and green ribbons; next to it, a bunch of black chairs where teachers would probably be sitting during the event had been carefully lined up into a single row.

Excitement filled the air. It was in the murmurs of the people taking their seats, skimming their programs to proudly find the names of their kids printed on the semi-matte paper. It was in the way the school’s faculty could not stand still, barely having time to say hello to everyone walking in before they were off to check yet another little detail so everything could go as smoothly as possible. Wayne walked down the central aisle trying to find a good spot to sit in while feeling a bead of sweat go down his back. The last time he’d worn a suit, any suit, had been to his mother’s funeral eight years before; in fact, he still only owned that one suit. The temperature in Hawkins was steadily rising as June turned into July, and Wayne felt incredibly stuffy in his clothes but he didn’t dare wear anything less for such a special day. Eddie had defied all odds and was now a High School Graduate, the first Munson to walk to stage in three generations. Truth be told, his Uncle was willing to bet that he was actually the first one to do so in their entire family history, and thus, Wayne wore the suit, and the shirt, and the tie, and searched for a seat near the front to witness his nephew doing the exact opposite of what the whole town had always expected him to do: succeed.

Bianca, Donny’s mom, was fussing over her youngest grandson, Francesco, when she saw Wayne looking a little lost in the crowd and waved at him to wordlessly invite him to sit with them. The eldest Munson approached them with a smile, settling himself on the row behind the Vitale family who was so very busy trying to keep little Francesco and his (barely) older cousin Marco from running down the aisles and bothering other families.

“Good to see y’all made it,” Wayne commented, shaking Donny’s dad Angelo’s hand before turning to Vittoria, Donny’s heavily pregnant older sister. “Though I coulda sworn I heard you were on bed rest, missy.”

“I am, but what my doctor doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she laughed, hand resting over her swollen belly. “This little lady hasn’t stopped kicking me all day, I think she’s more excited than I am to finally be outside the house!”

“It’s a special day, I’m sure the doctor won’t mind too much as long as we take it slow,” her husband said, kissing the side of her head. “Say hi to Mr. Munson, Marco.”

“Hi!” the little boy said, standing between his parents’ seats. “Whose Grandpa are you?”

“Marco!” his dad exclaimed, but Wayne laughed loudly.

“That’s not a grandpa, you dummy! That’s Eddie’s dad,” said Francesco, before grabbing his cousin’s hand and leading him towards Nonna Giulia down the row in search of the candy she always kept in her purse.

“I’m sorry,” Vittoria said with an apologetic smile. “They read this picture book about families at pre-school and now he thinks all men with white hair are grandpas.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I know I’m not gettin’ any younger,” Wayne joked, his eyes straying to the side of the auditorium where the seniors were finally getting ushered into formation.

The Vitale family craned their necks to see their boy, and Wayne in turn searched for his: Eddie was standing near Jeff towards the middle of the line, the two of them engaged in conversation as they waited for everyone to get into their respective places. It wasn’t that Eddie wasn’t paying attention to what his friend was saying; he was clearly answering back and keeping the chat going, but it seemed to his Uncle that he was searching for someone in the crowd, eyes scanning rows of unknown family members for a face he hadn’t yet found. Wayne was about to lift his hand to let him know where he was sitting, but it soon became apparent that Eddie hadn’t been looking for him - he had been looking for the short haired girl who had just ran into the auditorium with a panicked look on her face and an askew cap on her head.

Dottie hurried over to where her classmates were standing, enveloping a curly haired girl Wayne wasn’t familiar with at the very back of the line in an enthusiastic hug before doing the same with Donny. Wayne saw with an amused smile how Eddie waited patiently for his turn while she hugged Jeff, and how all his anxiety looked like it was melting away as he embraced her, eyes closed and face buried in her hair. After saying their hellos, Dottie kept walking to the front of the line where she greeted a strawberry blonde girl with excited hops and shared an equally loving hug with both her and Gareth. Her dad watched her with a fond smile from his place near the doors, a program held tightly in his hands. Taking pity on the poor man who Wayne knew was attending the event alone much like he was, he motioned for James to join their mismatched group who gladly took the offer, walking briskly towards the still empty seat next to Eddie’s uncle. James greeted Donny’s family before getting comfortable on his wooden chair and let a long breath out. Finally.

“Long morning?” Wayne asked, knowingly.

“Be grateful you don’t have a teenage girl in your house, Wayne. It was near impossible to get here on time,” James scoffed.

“Can’t be worse than Ed’s allergy to his damn alarm clock. It went off for a whole 15 minutes before he got up today.”

“Did it wake you up?”

“Nah. Was already up reading the paper but I wasn’t about to turn it off for him. He just rolls over and keeps sleeping if I do,” he said, and James shook his head with an affectionate smile on his face.

“Teenagers, right?”

“Yup. Teenagers.”

Over the few short months Wayne and James had known each other, they had learned to appreciate the quiet but hard work the other did for their respective kid. It wasn’t easy to be a single father, and even though Wayne wasn’t Eddie’s biological dad, there was no doubt in James’ mind that he fulfilled that role wonderfully in the boy’s life and heart. The Munsons and the Burkes had gone through a lot over the years, that much was undeniable, but on that hot Friday morning both fathers could be proud that their kids had made it to the other side relatively unharmed, all the while somehow finding each other to rely on along the way. If Dottie and Eddie were going to be inseparable all summer as they had been since the day they met, it was only fair James and Wayne got to compare notes on parenting and commiserate over the little annoying things they’d miss once the kids had left the comforting safety of their family homes.

Before they could continue their talk however, teachers began herding the seniors into a neat single file and getting into their places on the stage, Principal Higgins taking his spot behind the lectern. Excitement amplified as the crowd hushed - only suppressed coughs and a few little children’s voices could be heard in the quiet room. Wayne saw Higgins approach the mic and took a deep breath letting the pride he’d been feeling all morning take over him. The heat of the almost-here summer was forgotten outside in the parking lot, along with his smushed cigarette butt and the heavy weight he’d been carrying since a CPS agent left a scared 8-year-old Eddie on his doorstep all those years ago.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Hawkins High School Principal Thomas Higgins,” the man began, voice booming across the room with the aid of loudspeakers; Dorothy peered at him over the shoulder of the taller girl standing in front of her. “On behalf of the faculty, staff, and administration of Hawkins High, we’d like to welcome family and friends, and most importantly, to our seniors to the Commencement Exercises of the Graduating Class of 1986.”

Higgins paused for effect and the crowd followed his cue by breaking into happy applause - the aforementioned seniors gleefully waved to the few family members they could find within the sea of heads straining to look at them. The Class of ‘86 stood patiently to the side towards the back of the auditorium, waiting to be called into the main aisle where their names would be announced one by one and they’d go up the stage, accept their diploma, and go back downstairs to the rows of chairs at the front left that had been reserved for them. The full graduating class was small, no more than 40 students, and Dottie wondered how different things would have been for her if she were graduating with her New York classmates in a year that comprised around 400 kids instead of doing it in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Please, rise from your seats and join us in singing the National Anthem, followed by the Hawkins High School Spirit Song,” Higgins announced, and the sound of creaking wooden chairs filled the air as everyone followed his request.

Dottie sang along to the National Anthem without thinking too much about it, but when the first notes of the Hawkins High school song came through the speakers, she realized she had no idea what the lyrics were. No one had told her they’d be singing it during their only rehearsal, and certainly no one had spared a moment to teach it to her in the last six months. She wasn’t even sure she knew a spirit song even existed before that very moment. Eyes surveying over the crowd of family members, she saw that most if not all were singing along - the only ones not joining in were probably those who hadn’t attended Hawkins High and lived in a different town, perhaps even in a different state altogether. Heat rising up her chest under her dark green gown, she turned her head to the front, feeling very much like an outsider amongst her peers for the first time in months. Bryan Butler right behind her sang louder as the song was ending and she tried to not call attention to herself to let him take the spotlight. Once the music stopped, Principal Higgins neared the lectern to continue his speech.

“Thank you, you may be seated now,” Higgins said, and the wooden creaking resumed for a second as everyone sat back down to watch the rest of the ceremony. “The Hawkins High School Class of 1986 has experienced many memorable moments over the last four years, and Hawkins is proud of how these young graduates have worked and persevered through hard times to get to this day. We as faculty could not be prouder or more thrilled to celebrate with them, and we look forward to sending them off onto the next chapter in their lives. Parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and other family members, we are honored to have you here today as our guests to celebrate our graduates and we thank you for your support. Please clap along as the Class of 1986 proceeds to their places.”

The speakers began playing Pomp and Circumstance March No.1 in D and the crowd broke into fervent applause once more, Michael Allen leading the way for his fellow seniors to stand in the central aisle right below the middle set of stairs where they’d wait to be called to the stage. As they fell into their designated spots, Dottie finally recognized who had been assigned to stand right in front of her; it was Robin Buckley, the shy band nerd she had met at Family Video a few weeks earlier and briefly bonded with over their shared love of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. She was wearing white Converse sneakers with little drawings in blue and black ink, and the edges of her black rolled up jeans could be seen poking below her gown. She’s so cool, Dottie thought, not knowing that Robin was desperately trying not to scan the audience lest her nerves paralyzed her. Not even painting her nails bright orange had saved them from being chewed on this time around.

“Hawkins High School’s Class of 1986 was given the opportunity to choose a member of our staff to read their names as they cross the stage today,” Principal Higgins explained as three people already on stage stood from their seats. “I am honored to announce that this year, our Assistant Principal Mrs. Elaine Chandler will present the diplomas to our newest graduates. Mrs. Suzanne O’Donnell, Mr. Leopold Hauser, and myself will present them with their diploma cover, graduation medallions, and honor cords if applicable. Elaine?” he motioned for her to switch places with him.

“Thank you, Principal Higgins,” said Assistant Principal Elaine Chandler, adjusting her glasses on her nose as she looked down the list of names in front of her. “Allen, Michael,” she called first from behind the lectern, and the crowd clapped as Michael went up to her and received a hug and a rolled up certificate before moving down the stage towards the other teachers to shake their hands.

Dottie’s palms began sweating as more names kept being called and her time as a Hawkins High student slowly came to an end. Even though she had felt very much like an intruder looking in through a window during her first few months in the town, she had to admit that was happy here now - certainly much more happier than she’d ever been back in New York. Here all the teachers knew her name without having to read it from a file. Here she had a group of friends she’d go to literal Hell and back for, and she had a boyfriend who loved her the way she’d always thought love should be: easy and gentle. Here she had attended the best prom of her life, and her face would be permanently attached to a club that had given her the safety she’d never gotten anywhere else to finally, truthfully, be herself. Here Dottie had been at home.

While Barnes, Kathleen was getting her extracurricular honor cords for being part of the cheerleading team, Mrs. Chandler called upon Buckley, Robin and Dottie suddenly found herself at the front of the line. Robin climbed the steps with as much grace as she could muster while being pretty much mortified, and Mrs. Chandler soothed her with friendly pats on her back before presenting her with her diploma. The tall girl accepted it with shaky hands, her rings glinting under the stage lights, when a loud cheer rang above the polite applause of the crowd. Robin laughed, half embarrassed and half grateful, and when Dottie turned to see where the sounds were coming from, she found not only Dustin and Erica hooting and hollering besides a couple who were clearly Robin’s parents, but also that Steve guy that worked at Family Video with her, the one that Robin had described as her strictly platonic best friend with a capital P. It looked like retail did bond you forever after all.

Mr. and Mrs. Buckley looked between confused and amused as Steve pinched his bottom lip and let out a loud whistle - a chortle escaped Robin’s mouth while a cheerful Mr. Hauser, who had been her favorite teacher all four years of high school, put her graduation medallion around her neck, nerves all but forgotten before she skipped her way down to Mrs. O’Donnell to receive her extracurricular honor cords for being in band. Huh, that’s curious, Dottie thought distractedly. Didn’t know Dustin and Erica were such good friends with her and Steve. I wonder how they met.

“Burke, Dorothy,” called Mrs. Chandler through the speakers, jostling Dottie out of her musings.

This was it. The moment of truth. Dottie climbed the stairs and accepted a hug from Mrs. Chandler, hearing her friends cheering for her loudly in the background when her damp fingers came into contact with her diploma. She glanced at the crowd and time seemed to stop when her eyes found her Dad, a proud smile on his face and his program tucked under his armpit so he could clap loudly for his daughter. She waved at him and Wayne, who had also stood up to cheer for her, and time resumed after a blinding flash went off and she was whisked along to where the rest of the teachers were standing. She shook hands with both Principal Higgins and Mr. Hauser even though she hardly knew both men, and accepted her diploma cover and her graduation medallion before turning towards Mrs. O’Donnell. She was about to hug her teacher when the old woman presented her with her own honor cords, entwined green and orange ending in delicate tassels dangling from her manicured hands.

“That’s not- I’m not-” Dottie began.

“You have one of the highest GPAs in your year, besides being involved in two extracurriculars. Congratulations, Miss Burke. You’ve earned this,” O’Donnell said, and it was perhaps the only time in the whole semester Dottie had seen her genuinely smile.

“T-thank you,” she managed to get out, letting the woman drape the cords on her shoulders and rushing to her seat before she began bawling on stage.

“Hey, congrats!” Robin whispered once they were both seated next to each other, shaking her own cords lightly. The ceremony continued with no regards to their little chat.

“You too! Didn’t know I had qualified for any of this, I think everyone saw me have an aneurism up there.”

“Nah, everyone’s too nervous about not tripping down the stairs on their way back, don’t worry about it.”

“Coleman, Gareth,” Mrs. Chandler announced, grabbing Dottie’s attention.

Carver, Jason hadn’t even reached the sidestage stairs to go down after accepting his diploma when Gareth, in his haste to get everything over with, tried to climb two steps at a time and got his feet tangled in his dark green gown. Cunningham, Chrissy, who was right behind him, quickly caught his arm before he could lose balance and hit the floor. He quietly thanked her with red cheeks and embarrassed eyes before he finally went up the stairs, one step at a time. Chrissy went back to the front of the line while other classmates around Dottie and Robin snickered at the little mishap; Gareth accepted his diploma and other paraphernalia, and got the hell off the stage as quickly as humanly possible.

“Thank God that wasn’t me,” Robin muttered, and Dottie grimaced in agreement.

Gareth ended up awkwardly sitting between Jason and Chrissy, but much to his relief, they had all been assigned to the row behind Dottie. Taking advantage of the proximity, he leaned forward to talk to his friend as the ceremony progressed and Chrissy quickly joined, stopping to give Dottie a kiss on her cheek from her seat behind her as a second greeting. Jason watched the scene unfold and asked himself when had his girlfriend started hanging out with people he didn’t know. He thought he knew everything about Chrissy - when had that changed and to what extent? Selfishly, he couldn’t help but think about what the future would look like for them when they left for college. Chrissy was headed to OSU and he would be at Indiana State, almost four hours and more than 250 miles between them. Would this be their last summer together? He didn’t like to entertain that thought.

Davis, Monica, Foster, Kyle, and Hanson, Randall were some of the names they didn’t pay much attention to until Humphrey, Andrew was called to the stage. Jason distracted himself from his anxiety over his relationship possibly having an expiration date by clapping loudly for his best friend. Dottie and Gareth shared a mischievous look: Andy wasn’t wearing any bandages on his nose anymore, but the dark purple shadow under his eye was still very visible with the bright stage lights illuminating his face. After him came Hurley, Marcie, one of Dot’s colleagues from the newspaper club, and Kemper, Lucy, the girl who had sold almost everyone their prom tickets. Morgan, Theresa was on stage when Dottie realized she knew almost all the people in her graduating class by name now, even if they had never spoken to one another before. In New York, she’d never known the names of all the people within a single class, not since elementary school at least. She wondered if they remembered her, but then decided she didn’t care that the answer was probably a resounding no.

When Munson, Edward was called to the stage, Dottie and Gareth stood up to make as much noise as possible, both infinitely proud of the long haired boy with the charming eyes who was accepting the one piece of paper that had seemed so elusive all this time. Dustin and Erica hollered at him, and the rest of the Hellfire Club, still in line waiting to accept their diplomas, joined them in their antics. When Principal Higgins went in for a handshake, Eddie pulled him into a hug; the older man laughed and let it happen, a sort of fondness for the metalhead’s unwavering resilience present in their interaction. He accepted his medallion and his own honor cords for being the Chapter Leader of a student organization, and just before he climbed off, he approached the edge of the stage with a dazzling grin.

“Here it comes,” Dottie muttered, anticipating her boyfriend to give the middle finger to the entire town and bolt as he had declared he’d do on multiple occasions.

What Eddie did instead was find his Uncle in the crowd and bow deeply in his direction as people clapped for him like it was the end of a play. Wayne pretended to not be choking back tears as his nephew got off the stage, lips pursed behind his fingers trying to hide the grin threatening to break out on his face.

“Coward,” Gareth said, and Chrissy hit him in the shoulder.

There was no time for Eddie to do anything more but find his seat, because immediately after him came Patton, Jeffrey, and exactly ten names later, came Vitale, Donatello. The teachers laughed and cooed at his excited nephews jumping up and down the aisle, cheering for his favorite Uncle. One day in the not so distant future, they’d probably be handing them their diplomas too. Just how many faces in the crowd had walked through these same halls, attended the same classes, and some of them even had the same teachers as the Class of ‘86? A much younger and recently married O’Donnell, a Higgins as a History teacher prior to his Principal days, a Kaminski after his eldest son had just been born. Never before had the kids in the Hellfire Club felt as much part of the Hawkins High community as they did now - it almost felt unfair that they had to permanently leave the place to finally feel that way.

“And last, but certainly not least,” said Mrs. Chandler when there was only one person left to climb up the stage. “-Wheeler, Nancy, the valedictorian for the Class of 1986 who will say a few words for us and her fellow graduates after receiving her diploma.”

The crowd broke once again in loud applause as a red cheeked Nancy in her dark green gown and bright orange valedictorian stole greeted all her teachers with a few flashcards containing her speech in her hand. Karen Wheeler looked at her daughter with shiny eyes, infinitely proud of her little girl that’d grown into a smart, capable woman right in front of her. In a few months she’d be far away, following her dreams, and taking a piece of her mother’s hopes with her as she did so, but none of her fears. Holly raised her arms, silently asking to be lifted up so she could see better, and Karen picked up her youngest daughter, pointing at her big sister in the distance so she could wave at her. Nancy took her place behind the lectern and looked at the audience, a carefully put together mask over bittersweet eyes that Dottie had almost become used to seeing on her friend. If she stared into a mirror too deeply, she could recognize the dents in her skin of her own mask, now laying shattered at her feet.

“Honorable guests, Principal Higgins, Hawkins High School faculty, academic and supporting staff, friends, families, and graduates - good morning,”  Nancy began, voice soft but pleasantly clear. “It is with great pride that I stand here before you on such a special occasion to deliver this speech, which I promise I’ll try to keep short and sweet,” she lightheartedly smiled at her audience before she grew solemn once more. “However, before I start, I would like to ask you to join me in a moment of silence to commemorate the students and family members who could not be here today with us, and to remember the victims of the Starcourt Mall Fire on July 4th, 1985.”

Not a sound could be heard for a few heartbeats, and Dottie watched the faces of the town she’d come to love morph from amused to weary. There was real mourning here, a deep gash left open in a community that couldn’t heal properly because some wounds were just too deep to scab over. Eddie had told her everything he knew about what had happened, the official story everyone that hadn’t been involved in the tragedy repeated when asked, and her heart constricted when she saw Dustin and Erica in their seats with their heads down. They looked downright haunted. Steve sat next to them, watching over them with such turmoil in his eyes that Dottie had to wonder if there was something they were all missing about what happened. Had Steve also been in the mall with them? Had Robin, who was quietly sitting next to her like she was reliving a horror movie behind her eyes, her fingers absentmindedly tangling and untangling themselves in her honor cords?

Karen, sitting next to her unaware husband and emotionally closed off son, took a few deep breaths to keep her tears at bay and gently kissed Holly’s head before shifting her baby on her lap to hold her against her chest more tightly, like someone could snatch her off her arms at any given moment. Dottie twisted her mom’s engagement ring on her left middle finger and bit the inside of her cheek while blinking away the wetness gathering on her lash line. Not now, she scolded herself. Later.

“Thank you,” Nancy said, breaking the silence and moving onto her next flashcard. “Four years ago, we arrived at Hawkins High as children, and we are now leaving as young adults with our whole lives ahead of us. Some will go on to college, others will enter the workforce, but all of us will take the lessons learned here and let them guide us to become who we were always meant to be,” she turned to look to her side. “I'd like to thank our teachers for sharing their knowledge with us, for being patient and pushing us to achieve great things. With their help, our Hawkins High Mathletes reached their first ever state finals and brought home the silver medal earlier this year.”

There was a loud cheer coming from somewhere in the auditorium that sounded very much like Rick Stewart, exiting Captain of the Hawkins High Mathletes. Some people laughed goodnaturedly and joined in, the teachers clapping proudly at their labor being recognized. Nancy smiled and continued, knowing the applause would only get louder as she read the next part of her speech.

“I'd like to thank our coaches and counselors for making school more than just homework. You taught us about discipline, teamwork, and integrity, which led our basketball team to win the 1A North Central Conference Championship for the first time in 22 years,” the applause that followed was deafening, and it took several minutes for it to die down before Nancy could keep going. “I'd like to thank our families for supporting us in more ways that we could ever count, for chaperoning our dances and field trips, cheering for us at our sporting events, and attending all our plays with so much love and commitment, that our Drama Club was able to extend their winter run of West Side Story with a packed audience every night until their closure.”

The cheers this time were much more subdued, yet polite and sustained enough to not be embarrassing to the Drama Club members and their families in the audience. It was clear, however, where the town’s loyalties stood: Indiana’s love for basketball was known throughout the country, and Hawkins wasn’t the exception to the rule. Nancy looked at her graduating class and grabbed the last two flashcards in her pile.

“No one achieves success alone, and we are truly grateful for the help and guidance we’ve received during our years as Hawkins Tigers. However, if my classmates indulge me for a second, I’d like to ask each of you to think about a moment where you felt proud of yourself. Think about the things you’ve accomplished here, and the challenges you’ve overcome. A great woman by the name of Eleanor Roosevelt once wrote, you gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do. Our time as Hawkins High School students has come to an end. We did it, Class of ‘86. We did the thing we thought we couldn’t do, and we’ve learned that we can take the next thing that comes along, so keep moving forward. I’m proud of you, and I hope you are too. Thank you, and congratulations to us all.”

Dottie followed Nancy with her eyes as she shook Principal Higgins’ hand once more and left the stage towards her seat. Her hands were shaking lightly, and her lips were pursed, but she almost looked lighter, like she’d left significant weight behind that had nothing to do with public speaking related nerves. Nancy’s speech had been beautiful, there were no doubts about that, but it was strange to think about someone like her looking at her high school years as something that had been horrific to live through. She was popular enough to not have been bullied, pretty enough to have been desired and looked up to, smart and well-off enough to never have to worry about not fitting in.

High school was certainly hard for almost everyone, but the way Nancy had spoken about it left a familiar bitter taste in Dottie’s mouth. If Eddie had been right when retelling her the town’s recent strange happenings, Nancy had probably been thinking about her friend Barb when writing her speech. She would have most likely graduated alongside her, maybe she’d be headed to a nearby college where the two girls could still see each other often, or to a completely different one across the country and they’d have to call every weekend with updates on their new lives. Holland, Barbara should have been called up to the stage between Hall, Suzanne and Humphrey, Andrew, but now she was just another name added to the always-growing list of people who ought to have been there, but ultimately couldn’t be.

“Thank you for that inspiring speech, Miss Wheeler,” said Principal Higgins, returning to his place behind the lectern to close out the ceremony. “Graduating is an amazing achievement for these students, and we here at Hawkins High are excited to see the things they’ll accomplish in the future. By the authority vested in me by the Governor of the State of Indiana, Mr. Robert D. Orr, I confer the appropriate diplomas for the Class of 1986. Graduates, please move your tassels to the left,” he smiled at his now former students. “Congratulations Tigers, you can now throw your hats!”

As they had been instructed during rehearsals, they threw their hats directly above them, not wanting to lose them on the way down before they could take pictures with them but in the excitement and elation of the graduates, some caps ended up on the floor, prompting kids to search for the lost items under their chairs while their classmates cheered above them and congratulated one another. Dottie hugged Robin again while Principal Higgins said his goodbyes through the loudspeaker without anyone really hearing him, families eager to leave the auditorium and get into their cars quickly to avoid the inevitable bottleneck at the entrance of the parking lot.

“Thank you all for coming and being part of this special moment,” Higgins said, voice ringing above the loud chatter and scraping of chairs. “Please drive safe and have a good weekend!”

“Dad!” Dottie called upon seeing James talking to Gareth’s family near their cars. He waved at her in acknowledgment and she turned to her friend to say her goodbyes. “I’ll call you as soon as I have my new schedule down, okay? We can go to the movies some day!”

“I’m gonna go see family up North next week, but I’ll call you when I get back,” Chrissy said, arm still tangled with hers. “We have to go see the new Karate Kid coming out soon, Ralph Macchio is so cute.”

“I’m not even gonna correct you on that because I do wanna see it with you, but just know I think you’re crazy,” the brunette said, laughing at her friend.

“Well, excuse me, bad boys aren’t everyone’s type,” the blonde retorted, a secretive grin gracing her fairy-like features before she pulled her into a goodbye hug. “I’m gonna miss you!”

“We’ll see each other soon! You go have a great trip, forget about this boring town for a while.”

After the girls said their goodbyes and went in separate directions, Dottie watched Chrissy greet her family with curious eyes. She didn’t know much about the Cunninghams and was surprised to see that her newest and most unlikely friend had a little brother she had never mentioned before. He must have not been the right age to be in high school yet or he’d probably be under Jason’s overprotective wing, especially if he was athletic like his big sister.

Chrissy might have looked small and dainty, but there was a certain fierceness cheerleaders had in their step - their aura had been painstakingly trained to command a room and demand attention. And yet, Dottie noticed that as Chrissy turned from her unassuming Dad to her elegant Mother, the brightness she radiated seemed to dim ever so slightly, even if her charming smile stayed in place.

“There you are! I was looking for you everywhere,” James exclaimed, her thoughts instantly lost to the wind. “Congratulations, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Dottie melted into his hug, knocking her cap even more askew with his shoulder. “They gave me honor cords, did you see? I didn’t know I had earned them!”

“I’m seeing them now! You worked so hard, good job.”

“Congratulations, sweetie!” Lydia, Gareth’s mom, said, pulling her into a hug. “Have you met Gretchen yet? Gare’s big sister?”

“Hey, congrats,” Gretchen said with a polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, hi! It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Gretchen said, eyes sparkling with mischief as she saw Gareth approach with two more kids toddling behind him. “I’m always really curious to meet any girl who would even talk to my brother in the first place, but you seem normal enough.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Gareth said, and Erica snickered.

“Honestly, he’s lucky we’re nice to him,” the middle-grader joined in, making Gareth groan in annoyance.

“You’re my friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Congrats, Dot!” Dustin said, hugging the older girl from her right side, prompting Erica to cuddle up to her on the left. “We’re super proud of you.”

“Aw, Dus,” she pouted, leaning her head on his. He really was like the little brother she’d always wanted and never had. “Thank you, you’re so sweet. I’m happy you two could be here!”

“It was fun! We enjoyed it.”

“I saw you guys with that Steve guy earlier, did you come with him?”

“You know Steve?” Dustin said, curious.

“Yeah, he works at Family Video with Robin!” Dottie said.

“You know Robin?” it was Erica’s turn to ask.

“Uh, yeah, we’re classmates? She was sitting next to me throughout the ceremony- wait, how do you know them? What am I missing here?”

“Nothing! Steve’s, uh- Steve’s our babysitter!” Dustin hurried to say. “Did you know he used to date Nancy a while ago? That’s how we met, through Nancy. And we know Robin through Steve. Hawkins is a very small place.”

“W-what? Nancy and…”

“Yeah, she dumped him in front of everyone at a party and he’s been all mopey and sad since then,” Erica said, prompting Dustin to elbow her. “What? Just the facts!”

“Uh…,” Dottie looked at Gareth, dumbfounded.

“Anyway,” Dustin continued, aware that multiple eyes were on him. “He’s our babysitter.”

“Dustin, you’re fifteen,” Gareth laughed. “You’re a little old to still have a babysitter.”

“My Mom’s protective of me, okay? I’m an only child.”

“And he’s a good babysitter?” Dottie asked, amused.

“The best. Steve’s… yeah, Steve’s great. More like an older brother figure than a babysitter,” Dustin smiled, clearly fond of the older boy. “You should hang out with him, I think you’d like each other.”

“Stop. Just stop,” said Erica, knowing where Dustin was headed.

“What?” he shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Alright, let’s take some pictures!” said Lydia, not having paid any attention to the kids’ conversation.

While they were in the middle of taking photos, the remaining Hellfire Class of ‘86 joined the group with their respective families. Eddie snuck up behind Dottie while she was distracted taking a picture with Jeff and picked her up, arms encircling her middle and spinning her around while she giggled unabashedly, hands coming to rest on his forearms when he put her down but didn’t let go. Wayne had to hide a chuckle while he talked to the other parents; his nephew really wasn’t as smooth and mysterious as he thought he was, and Wayne had been around the sun too many times to not recognize what he was seeing between Eddie and his little lady friend. Gretchen, in turn, looked at Donny and lifted an eyebrow at him quizzically.

“What have I missed?” she quietly said, a smirk lifting the corner of her lips. She’d always liked Donny the best out of all his brother’s friends, and was aware that as much of a good confidant as he was, he never shied away from gossip.

“He said he wanted to wait until after graduation to ask her out so I don’t think anything has happened yet,” Donny muttered back, crossing his arms and leaning closer to her friend’s big sister. “They’re totally gone for each other, though.”

“You don’t say,” Gretchen said and turned to Erica who looked very interested in their conversation. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s too chicken to ask her out,” Erica laughed. “But they have been looking really cozy lately. That’s suspicious.”

“Eddie knows she’s into him,” Donny said, making Erica’s eyes widen. “Forgot to tell you about that.”

“You bastard, I thought we had a good thing going and you’re withholding information from me? Nuh-uh, this is betrayal. I want reparations.”

“Oh, she’s feisty,” Gretchen said.

“Come to the restaurant this weekend, I’ll give you ice cream and we can catch up and compare notes,” Donny offered, genuinely interested in keeping his friendship with the fiery younger girl intact. “But it has to be this weekend, Dot starts working with us on Monday.”

“How big is that ice cream?”

“Big as you want.”

“Deal,” she put out her hand for them to shake on it, but it was merely a formality - Donatello Vitale had no intentions of ever crossing the one and only Erica Sinclair again.

As families began saying their goodbyes and heading to their cars, it soon became clear that Eddie and Dottie did not want the festivities to end so fast. They’d already taken multiple photos with everyone and with each other, waved Dustin and Erica off as they climbed into Steve’s red BMW, and even said hello to the Wheelers, but they would just not leave each other’s side, always fluttering around one another no matter what was happening. If James thought anything strange about it, he didn’t mention it, but as Wayne looked at his nephew’s beaming smile, he realized he didn’t have the heart to cut his happiness short when there was such an easy solution to their problem.

“You two have any plans for lunch?” Wayne asked James, finishing up another smoke.

“Not really, no. I was thinking of picking up some burgers to celebrate. Why? You have any suggestions?”

“Well, me an’ Eddie like to go to the diner down on Randolph on special occasions. Thought you might want to join us,” he smiled at the kids who were now both staring at him expectantly.

“Can we go, Dad?” Dottie asked with hopeful eyes. “They have crinkle fries - you love crinkle fries!”

“That’s really kind of you, Wayne, but we don’t want to intrude,” James was saying, but Eddie hurried forward.

“You wouldn’t be intruding, sir. We both graduated today, we can celebrate together!”

“Come on, Dad, they wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want us there.”

Both older men looked at each other with knowing eyes and James sighed theatrically before conceding, his daughter cheering happily at the new impromptu plans. The teens quickly headed in the direction of their cars deep in their own happy little world; their parents amusedly looked as Eddie opened her door for her and helped her in while they talked about burger combinations and debated about their orders.

“Meet you there?” James asked Wayne, also getting into his car.

“You bet. Come on, boy, quit the yappin’. You’ll see her again in ten minutes, she’s not gonna run away from you!”

“Jesus Christ, Wayne!”

Eddie and Dottie had already been to the diner down on Randolph a few times; some of them before they’d begun dating and once after, but never with their parental figures as unofficial chaperones. The booth at the back they loved to sit at was occupied, so they chose a table near the front instead - the diner was bustling with energy as multiple families had had the same idea as them and got a headstart on their kids’ summer holidays. Eddie helped Dottie with her chair, thoroughly enjoying how shy she’d get whenever he did something remotely gentleman-like, and plonked himself next to her, quickly engaging in conversation about the menu she was holding. James had no option but to sit in front of his daughter as Wayne took the seat in front of Eddie, both of them also busying themselves with their own menus.

The teens tried to act normal in front of their elders, they really did, but it was such a lovely day, and they were celebrating one of the biggest achievements in their short lives that it was as if they’d forgotten that friends didn’t usually look so smitten with one another. Wayne took little peeks at them over the bright laminated piece of paper in his hands, catching how Eddie was stroking the side of her arm resting on the table with his pinky finger while she talked; he loudly coughed when James put his menu down and took his reading glasses off, the unexpected sound making them jump and separate instantly just in time for him not to see them. A young and friendly looking waitress approached their table, pad of paper and pen in her hand.

“Hi! Are you ready for me to take your order or are we waiting for the wives to arrive?” she said with a perfect customer-service smile. Dottie blinked up at her twice, her face morphing into a blank expression.

“No, thank you, it’s just gonna be us four today,” James said politely.

Today, he’d said. Like Margaret and Maureen were off doing other things, like working or shopping or attending a jazzercise class, and couldn’t join them for lunch but they’d probably be around later. Like they weren’t gone forever. Like they were still alive. Nancy’s speech rattled around in Dottie’s brain, her eyes glazing over and her ears filling with invisible cotton. James and Wayne ordered their food, and Eddie ordered for both himself and her, very much aware that something was bothering her. Her sight was stuck to her Dad’s hand resting on the cheap laminate tabletop. The gold band that had been there on his finger since Margaret and him had said I do all those years ago taunted her, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the diner. They’d promised each other forever, and what did they get? What did she get?

“Dot,” Eddie muttered, hand sneaking down the table to settle on the exposed skin of her knee. “Darling, can you hear me?”

“Huh?” she turned to look at him in a daze.

Behind him, there was a table where a family sat: a father, a mother and a daughter, barely older than she’d been when she’d lost the most important woman in her life. The baby gurgled in her Mom’s arms, and the woman cooed at her, noses nuzzling against each other’s. Dottie turned her head towards the other side of the diner where a mother was cleaning up a little boy’s face, chocolate staining his chubby cheeks.

She had just graduated from high school and her mother wasn’t there. She hadn’t been there when she got her first period, during her first heartbreak, or when she won a spelling bee at age seven. She wouldn’t be there when she graduated college, when she got her first job, when she got married to the boy who was holding onto her leg with worried eyes. She would never be there, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. It was always going to be just them.

“Honey, are you okay?” James asked, leaning forward.

“I-I’m sorry,” she managed to get out before she stood up and bolted outside and into the parking lot, her chair scraping against the floor in her haste to get out of the diner.

“I’ve got it, sir,” Eddie said before he sped after her, his chains rattling with every long step he took to catch up with her.

In silence, James and Wayne watched their kids through the huge windows next to their table. When Dottie saw Eddie running behind her, she turned her back on him, hugging herself as she tried to keep her emotions together. She lifted a hand to wave at him over her shoulder and said something - probably that she was okay, that she didn’t need help so he should go back in - but as he came closer, it was evident that the storm that had been brewing inside her all morning was on the brink of overtaking her. All it took was feeling his hand hovering on her shoulder for her knees to buckle as she folded onto herself, Eddie instantly rushing forward to catch her and pulling her into his chest, her back rising up and down violently as she sobbed into his graduation gown. He chewed on his lower lip as he held himself together, never one to cry in public where people could see him and judge him for it. He muttered something into her hair, his chin resting onto the crown of her head, gently rocking her side to side as her sobs subsided.

“She was really lonely until we came here, y’know,” James said, breaking the quiet that had fallen on their table. Wayne could only look at his nephew, the gentleness he’d always known he’d possessed perfectly on display. “All her new friends are great to her but Eddie… you’ve got a good boy there, Wayne.”

“They’re both good kids,” Wayne said, matter-of-factly. “It’s a damn shame they’re so young and been through so much already.”

“Yeah, it is.”

In the parking lot, unaware that they were being watched, Dottie lifted her head from Eddie’s chest, an embarrassed smile on her lips as she fanned her face with her hands in an attempt to dry her tears without ruining what was left of her mascara. Eddie, still holding onto her, blew on her cheeks; she laughed, heart feeling equally heavy and light at the same time. There was joy and levity to be found in shared grief, that was something new she had learned from him.

“Sometimes I feel like Eddie understands her better than I do,” James admitted, fingers toying with his wedding band.

“They understand each other in ways that you and I never will,” Wayne mused. “That ain’t a bad thing. Actually, I think it might be healthy.”

“Mhm,” James agreed, half lost in his own thoughts.

Dottie squeezed Eddie one last time like she was mentally preparing herself, gathering strength for whatever came next, and nodded once to let him know that it was okay to let her go. Eddie followed her inside quietly, holding the door open for her as they filed in and sat once again at their table. They both looked very tired, and perhaps even a little bit flustered at having to face their guardians after bolting out of the diner so unexpectedly. Dottie leaned forward to grab a napkin to blow her nose.

“M’sorry,” she said, eyes low. James grabbed her hand gently.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. S’just a lot, you know?”

“I know,” her Dad said, watching her glance at Eddie next to her.

“Can I… is it okay if Eddie and I go to the lake after lunch?” she asked, shy. “We want to burn some cards.”

“Yeah, of course,” James said, knot tightening at the base of his throat and fingers tangling with his daughter’s.

Eddie was silent through the entire interaction, hands hellbent on shredding the paper napkin in front of him to minuscule pieces. Wayne could feel their table shake as he bounced his leg frantically, something he had long understood as his nephew’s tell when holding back tears. The waitress, unaware of what had just transpired, came back at that moment with their drinks and two milkshakes for the teens. Dottie smiled at them with wet eyes, and Eddie had the indecency to look sheepish: she hadn’t mentioned to him she wanted one, but he knew she loved strawberry milkshakes from this specific diner because they made them with real strawberry ice cream and not the powder. He must have ordered them when she blanked out. The simple gesture felt like balm for her anguished soul.

“Well, I’d like to propose a toast,” Wayne said, dissipating the remaining uncomfortable tension at their table. “To the Class of ‘86.”

“To the Class of ‘86,” James joined him, clicking their bottles of Coke together in the air.

Food arrived shortly after, and as an easy conversation sanded whatever edges were still sharp for the moment, Wayne observed the tender behavior of the kids sitting in front of him. It wasn’t as playful as it had been before, no, this felt much more… intimate. Considerate. Muted, yet still softhearted. Not missing a beat in the story she was telling to her Dad, Dottie grabbed the cherry on top of her milkshake and left it on top of Eddie’s. He gave her a toothy grin before popping it into his mouth, and she shook her head at him fondly. Yeah, this ain’t a bad thing at all, thought Wayne, taking a bite out of his food and laughing along with James at the ridiculous gossip Dottie and Eddie were sharing about their now former classmates.

“Okay, hold on a second before you run off,” Wayne said, as his nephew ushered his friend towards his van.

After lunch was done, it was decided that Wayne would drive Eddie and Dottie back to their trailer so they could get Eddie’s van and head to the lake for what they were calling The Card Ritual. The eldest Munson didn’t really understand what it meant, but it seemed that James knew what they were talking about so he didn’t ask too many questions about it - all he knew was that the kids were going to buy some cards at Melvald’s and then burn them, and that Dottie was emotional over the whole thing. If burning some paper brought peace to her heart, then who was Wayne to judge? He’d indulged in far more destructive coping mechanisms throughout his youth, evidenced by his unshakeable smoking habit.

After they’d said goodbye to James, they climbed into Wayne’s truck and headed to Forest Hills, graduation caps, gowns, and his suit jacket now discarded into the backseat. The heat kept rising in the early afternoon and Wayne just wanted to get out of his clothes, drink a glass of icy cold water, and take a nap in his undergarments next to his trusty fan, but he felt like there was a pressing conversation to be had before he went in and could finally relax on his day off.

“What’s up?” Eddie asked, Dottie coming to a stop next to him.

“I just gotta know, kid,” Wayne turned to her. “Does your Dad know about you two or do I have to play dumb with him?”

“W-what? What do you mean?” she asked, nervously.

“I may not be young, but I ain’t blind, sweetheart,” he smiled. “You’re not in trouble, I just wanna know how to act around your old man, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t know,” Eddie muttered, grabbing Dottie’s hand and surprising her with how quickly he confessed. “No one knows, we haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Except Chrissy,” Dottie said.

“Except Chrissy,” he conceded. “She knows because I asked her for advice, but she’s the only one.”

“How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long has this been going on?” Wayne asked, pulling his lighter out of his pocket.

“Uh, like two weeks? We’re not, like- we’re not official yet,” Eddie scratched his neck uncomfortably.

“Not offi- Edward,” his Uncle hardened his stare. “I taught you better than that.”

“Shit, I swear I was gonna do it today! Wanted to wait until after graduation, I’m not trying to be a flake-”

“It’s okay! We talked about it,” Dottie said, hanging onto his arm. “I don’t mind waiting, we just thought it’d be best to keep it a secret for now,” Wayne turned to look at her, wary. “Mr. Wayne, please, I’d announce it at the next Town Hall meeting if he’d let me.”

“We share all the same friends,” Eddie explained. “They’ll wanna know all the details, and I just- she breaks up with me and I’m the biggest loser in Hawkins, you know how those assholes are.”

“Oh my god, stop calling yourself a loser!” she whined.

“Don’t break up with me, and I won’t be!” he argued back, but it was clear he was being silly about it.

“Okay, so what’s the situation here? You two dating or not?” Wayne asked, getting back on topic.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, smiling down at her with hearts in his eyes. “We’re dating. I was gonna ask her to be my girlfriend officially later today but I might as well do it now since you’re so nosy.”

“It’s not like anything’s changing anyways,” Dottie said. “We just didn’t put a label on it, but I’ve kinda been his girlfriend since that party we went to a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hell yeah you are. And I’m your boyfriend, right?”

“No, you’re my private driver,” she deadpanned. “Of course you are, Eddie, what kind of question is that?”

“Just making sure, darling,” Eddie said, and Wayne snorted at how smug his nephew looked.

“Well, then… you two can go now, I guess. I’ll keep the secret.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Dottie said, coming to hug him. “We’ll tell people soon, we just want a little bit of privacy for now. The guys can be so nosy sometimes.”

“Don’t I know that, kid,” he chuckled. “I’m real happy for you two.”

“I’m really happy too,” she whispered to him, a bashful smile on her face.

Eddie finally let her into his van, her white sundress and summery sandals a stark contrast against his ripped jeans and chains. They were an odd couple if one only looked at their clothes, but it was so clear that they vibrated at the same frequency that Wayne couldn’t help but think that he should have expected this development sooner. He didn’t know why he’d chosen to believe them when they’d said nothing had happened between them the night of the party. His nephew went towards the driver’s seat when he called to him again.

“Ed, a word,” he was dead serious as Eddie jogged to where he was standing.

“Yeah?”

“You treat that girl right, okay?” Wayne said, voice low so she wouldn’t hear from the van. “I don’t wanna hear shit from her Dad about you bein’ stupid with her.”

“I know.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not gonna fuck this up, Wayne. I love her,” Eddie told him, so sure of what he was saying that it knocked the wind out of his Uncle’s lungs for a bit.

“Love, huh?” Wayne laughed softly, and Eddie shrugged with red ears but looked so very happy. “Go, have fun. And take care of her.”

“I will,” he nodded.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Wayne said, ruffling his hair roughly like when he was just a boy barely taller than his own hip. “And your Momma would be too.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, eyes full of unshed tears. “I’m proud of me too.”

taglist: @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

[thepaperpanda]

Spooky Encounter || Kirishima x f!Reader

Summary: Kirishima and you made the decision to explore an eerie, abandoned mansion, well-known for its haunted reputation

Warnings: None

Word count: 1421

Author: Bear

Kirishima Eijiro, the tough and sturdy hero from Class 1-A at U.A. High School, had always been a guy who loved a good challenge. Kirishima and his girlfriend were eagerly anticipating Halloween. You decided to spend the evening exploring an abandoned mansion that had long been rumored to be haunted. The dilapidated structure was said to have a dark and eerie history, which made it the perfect setting for a spooky adventure. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon began to cast eerie shadows on the mansion, Kirishima and his girlfriend, Y/N, arrived at the foreboding place. You approached the decrepit entrance, vines and thorns curling around the wrought-iron gate. Kirishima, always the fearless one, flashed a grin and said, "Ready for a spooky adventure, Y/N?"

You nodded, your heart pounding with excitement and a hint of trepidation. The rusty gate creaked open, and you ventured into the dark property.

As they stepped through the gate, Kirishima couldn't help but notice how the wind seemed to whisper in eerie voices. The old mansion's windows were shattered, and the overgrown garden was filled with skeletal, leafless trees. Cobwebs adorned the dilapidated entrance, and the air was heavy with the scent of decay.

"Kirishima, this place is seriously creepy," you whispered, rubbing your shoulders. Kirishima, trying to appear brave, put his arm around you and reassured you, "Don't worry, I'm here to protect you, babe. It's all for fun. Plus Ultra, right?"

Inside, the atmosphere was even more foreboding. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling inside as well, and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath your feet. It was as if the house itself groaned in agony.

You led the way, a small flashlight guiding your path. The dim, flickering light created eerie shapes that seemed to come to life.

"Why did I agree to this?" Kirishima muttered under his breath. He couldn't help but grip his girlfriend's arm a little tighter.

The couple explored room after room, their hearts racing at every unexpected sound. It was in a dusty, cobweb-covered library that you made your first chilling discovery. A book lay open on a lectern, its pages filled with strange symbols.

You picked it up, your eyes alight with curiosity. "This is amazing!" you exclaimed. "I wonder what it says, I don't know ancient Japanese unfortunately..."

Kirishima, being a protective and loyal boyfriend, couldn't let you dive into the unknown alone. He scanned the pages, his crimson eyes catching a passage that sent a chill down his spine. "The souls of the damned haunt this place, seeking release. To banish them, one must sacrifice something of great value," Kirishima read aloud.

The words hung in the air, and the room suddenly felt colder. Your eyes widened, and you looked at Kirishima with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "Do you think it's true?" you whispered.

Kirishima, although typically the fearless one, felt a lump in his throat. He was a hero who had faced villains, but this was something entirely different.

The realization that the abandoned mansion might hold something more than a simple spooky adventure began to sink in. Kirishima and you exchanged uneasy glances, their flashlights casting eerie shadows on the old library's walls.

"You don't think we stumbled upon something supernatural, do you?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

Kirishima took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, determined to protect his girlfriend. "I'm not sure, Y/N, but let's be cautious. If there's something here, we'll face it together."

With that resolve, you decided to continue your exploration of the mansion, keeping the mysterious book with you. As you ventured further into the dilapidated building, the air grew colder, and you could hear faint whispers again, like faint echoes from a distant time. The oppressive atmosphere weighed on you as you descended deeper into the darkness.

In one room, you discovered a dusty portrait hanging crookedly on the wall. It depicted a family from another era, their faces etched with sorrow. The longer Kirishima and you stared at it, the more you felt like the eyes in the painting were following your every move.

"We should get out of here," you suggested, unnerved by the strange sensation.

Kirishima nodded, but just as you turned to leave, the door slammed shut with a deafening, echoing thud. Panic surged through you both as you realized you were trapped. Kirishima tried to open the door but unfortunately, the doorknob stayed in his hand. "We need to find another way out," Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the mounting fear. He led you to other door in the room, and using them you went out on another long, narrow corridor.

You continued through the mansion, trying doors, but each one led to a new disturbing discovery. In one room, you found a collection of old dolls, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the abyss. In another, you stumbled upon a room filled with forgotten letters, each one chronicling the tragic history of the mansion's former occupants.

As you explored deeper into the mansion, seeking the exit, the whispers grew louder, forming words that sounded like cries for help.

"Dark and cold...."

"Bastard!"

"No peace...."

Kirishima and you could feel a presence around you, a force that seemed to feed on your fear.

Your flashlight beams fell on a narrow staircase leading to the basement. Hesitant but driven by the need to escape, you descended into the darkness. The basement was even colder, and your breaths turned to mist in the air.

Suddenly, you came upon a room filled with chains and shackles, remnants of a dark history that sent shivers down your spines. In the center of the room, you found a peculiar-looking stone altar, and next to it, a small, ancient-looking box.

You reached for the box, your hand trembling. "This must be what the book was talking about. The sacrifice."

Before you could open the box, the room's temperature dropped drastically, and you heard a mournful wail, echoing through the basement. A spectral figure began to materialize in front of you, its presence dark and malevolent.

Panicking, Kirishima and you realized that, in some way, you had awakened something ancient and vengeful. The ghostly figure reached out toward you, and in that moment, Kirishima knew he had to act.

With a determined expression, Kirishima pushed you behind him, shielding you from the ghostly entity. "We can't let it consume us, Y/N. Whatever this thing is, it's our greatest challenge yet!!"

You nodded, your fear replaced by determination. You opened the box after some struggles, revealing an old, golden key inside. With it, you managed to unlock the shackles in the room, and as you did, the ghostly figure's form began to waver.

With a final, powerful blast of courage, you used the key to unbind the spirits trapped in the mansion, releasing them from their torment. As the ghostly figure dissipated into the shadows, leaving behind an eerie silence, a wave of relief washed over Kirishima and you. But at the same time, the adrenaline and fear that had been coursing through your veins caught up with you. Trembling, your shoulders slumped, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"It's okay, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're safe now. I've got you, and we're getting out of here."

His soothing words and the strength of his hug began to calm your racing heart. You clung to him, allowing the fear and anxiety to ebb away as he held you close. In Kirishima's arms, you felt protected and loved, and that was all you needed at this moment of vulnerability.

As your sobs slowly subsided, Kirishima continued to hold you, his touch a source of strength and comfort. He didn't rush you or push you to speak; he simply held you close, allowing you the time to process the intense emotions. "Whatever it was, it's gone. Don't worry, babe."

The oppressive atmosphere began to lift, and the whispers faded away. The mansion, once so foreboding, seemed to sigh with relief.

Kirishima and you knew you had faced a truly supernatural challenge and come through it together. You exited the mansion, hand in hand, knowing that your bond had grown stronger through this spine-chilling Halloween adventure.

As you stepped out into the cool night, you couldn't help but share a relieved and affectionate smile. You might have uncovered a dark secret, but you had also proven that love and courage could conquer even the most haunted of places.

[schar-aac]

"government minister"

image: a figure standing at a wooden lectern with a silver seal on it. from a silver chevron resting on top of the lectern, like an open book, a grey circle surrounds the figure's head.

"prime minister"

image: a figure standing at a wooden lectern with a silver seal on it. from a silver chevron resting on top of the lectern, like an open book, a grey circle surrounds the figure's head. behind them at head height is a green line, with green arrows pointing up to it.

(both also here.)

[poisonlove]

Miss Ortega | j.o

Part 1 part 2

part 3

As I reached the third equation, I heard the sound of heels approaching. I shivered and tried not to look at the person responsible, intending to stay focused. When I placed the tip of the pen on the paper, I felt a presence behind me. It seemed that Professor Ortega had made her way around the desks, curiously observing her students' work.

At this moment, she was standing behind me.

A hand rested on my chair, and the other spread its fingers on the side of the desk. An intoxicating perfume invaded my nostrils, and a shiver ran down my spine due to Jenna's sudden proximity. A cascade of black hair fell to the side of her head, brushing against my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I saw the professor attentively looking at the paper, analyzing each equation with her gaze.

She had a relatively perfect profile. A button nose, full lips that extended when she smiled, and coffee-colored eyes that pierced through anything or anyone they focused on. I noticed a dimple on her right cheek when she smiled. My cheeks turned red when I saw that the professor had slightly turned in my direction, catching me in the midst of my contemplation. She smirked mockingly, making my cheeks turn even redder.

I looked back at the desk, focusing on her hand. It was... small, and I almost had the urge to reach out and confirm my observation. Her nails were painted an intense black color, and her fingers, wrist, were adorned with rings and bracelets. I swallowed, feeling my throat strangely dry.

Our fingers were close. If... I moved a few centimeters, I could check if her skin was soft.

I mentally scolded myself.

"Here... take a closer look," her voice suddenly husky, brought my attention back from my thoughts. Jenna was whispering, so as not to disturb the other students. Her index finger moved towards the result of my second equation. With confusion, I reread what I had written and widened my eyes when I spotted an error.

Damn, this is ridiculous.

With flushed cheeks, this time from embarrassment, I drew a line over the incorrect result and wrote the correct one above it. In a quick motion, her hand landed on mine, giving it a slight approving squeeze. Jenna moved away and made her way to her desk, sitting on it.

The contact of her hand still burned on my skin.

After 10 minutes, I stood up from the chair, drawing the attention of some curious students. I walked towards Jenna with a smile on my lips. I was very proud of my exam. Professor Ortega mirrored my gesture and reached out her hand towards my sheet, grabbing it.

Once again, our fingers brushed against each other.

"Are you sure? Do you still have... an hour?" she exclaimed in surprise after checking her watch. I nodded, and she smiled softly, her eyes gleaming with pride.

I released my grip on the paper and returned to my seat.

"T/N?" I lifted my head upon hearing my name. Jenna looked at me with a smile.

"Come here, I wouldn't want the others to be distracted," her hand tapped lightly on the wooden surface, indicating that I should come and sit beside her.

I looked at Enid guiltily, my heart pounding in my throat as I walked straight into the lion's den.

With a shy demeanor, I approached Professor Ortega, who looked at me with a half-smile. I sat next to her figure, perching on the lectern.

My feet scraped the floor, swinging my legs back and forth. I tried not to let a smile escape when I saw Jenna's feet only reaching halfway down the lectern. Despite the heels, she was at least 10 centimeters away from the ground.

Nervously, my hands intertwined, resting on my lap. Jenna watched her students like a vulture, giving a disappointed look when she saw two girls whispering to each other, probably asking for answers. I absentmindedly bit my lower lip while watching Enid write on her paper.

I hope she wrote something.

Jenna cleared her throat, tilting her head in my direction. My hairs stood on end as I felt her breath against my cheek.

"What color do you like?" she asked, and I was perplexed by her question. I could feel her gaze on the side of my head. "Really?" Inevitably, the corners of my lips lifted, forming a shy smile. My gaze was focused on the class.

"Blue," I replied, avoiding eye contact between us. Jenna smiled faintly. "Yours is black, right?" I asked, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.

She nodded slowly, looking confused.

I looked at her hand beside my hips. With a tilt of my head, I indicated for her to look down, and she smiled when she saw my range of action.

Her black nails.

She raised her hand, making her bracelets jingle. With her arm in the air, she held her hand steady, spreading her fingers. "Do you like them?" she simply asked.

Instinctively, I took her wrist, taking a quick glance at her hand. "Yes... they are really beautiful," I smiled.

"Do you like mine? They're skin-colored," she joked. She didn't have nail polish on, and she chuckled shyly at my joke.

We fell silent, enjoying each other's presence. The atmosphere was pleasant and not at all uncomfortable. I must admit that I liked Jenna; I enjoyed chatting with her. I think it was mutual because she attempted a conversation to establish a kind of friendship between student and teacher.

"Nice ring," the dark-haired girl suddenly remarked. Jenna took my hand to get a closer look at the ring my grandmother had given me. Her eyes marveled at the beauty of the white metal.

With a laugh, I took it off, placing the precious ring in her hands. "Try it on," I smiled. I knew it would be too big for her hand, but trying wouldn't hurt. As I predicted, it was too large for her fingers, but she still managed to make it fit on her thumb.

The sound of a chair being pulled back made her look towards the middle of the classroom. The teacher clenched her jaw in annoyance, closing her eyes at the squeak. Deborah walked towards our direction, handing out the exams.

She gave Jenna a stern look. Jenna smiled at her, placing the test on top of mine.

"And tell me..." I redirected my attention to the dark-haired girl. Her eyes were attentively focused on my face. "Why this passion for Calculus?" She raised the corner of her upper lip. "It's not a true passion... I simply understand numbers," I shrugged indifferently, answering her question.

"Well... in a few months, there will be a competition. You should participate," she confessed, and I fell silent, pondering her words. Jenna stepped down from the lectern, capturing the attention of those who were still taking the exam.

"Guys... you have..." she emphasized the letter 'e', "...10 minutes." Panic-filled groans resonated in the room at the news. Jenna stood in front of me, observing my legs swinging from side to side. She lightly tapped my leg with her hand, indicating that I should stop. I obeyed her request and stopped in mid-swing.

The vibration in my pants pocket made me jump in surprise. I grabbed my phone and saw a message from Erick.

Erick was one of my best friends and openly gay. I smiled when I saw the message, and this caught Jenna's attention.

"Who is it?" she asked, leaning her head towards my phone with curiosity. "Oh, just a friend," I smiled, puzzled by the sudden question. Jenna nodded with a smile.

The sound of the bell prompted a series of movements, and one by one, students handed in their exams, many of them furrowing their brows at how it had gone. Within seconds, the room was empty.

Enid jumped with her backpack on her shoulder and approached us, handing me my backpack. I gave her a grateful smile, and she winked at me.

"Shall we go? We have history now," she said, walking towards the doorway.

"Miss T/N, can you stay for a moment?" Jenna exclaimed, arranging the papers. I nodded and gestured to Enid with my hand to go ahead without me. I would have caught up with her in a few moments. Enid gave me a mischievous smile and left the room, leaving me alone with Professor Ortega.

"Do you need something, Professor Ortega?" I asked, nervously biting my lower lip. Jenna genuinely smiled as she put the tests into her backpack.

"Oh, call me Jenna. We're only a few years apart," she laughed at the thought. I nervously tightened the strap of my backpack.

Anyway, yes, I do need something," she cleared her throat. "As I told you before, there will be a competition in a few months, and I would really like you to participate. You have talent," she looked at me with a half-smile. "I'll be your tutor, of course, and I can help you with the exam," she tilted her head to the side. "You just need to stay a couple of afternoons a week. Do you accept my proposal?" she asked with a hint of hope.

I blinked in confusion, surprised by her proposal.

"Umm... can I think about it and give you an answer by the end of today?" I suggested, feeling a strange pressure on my shoulders. I didn't want to make hasty decisions; I wanted to avoid getting her hopes up for something I hadn't thought through yet.

She gave me a big smile. "Then I'll see you later, T/N," she winked playfully and with a giggle, she left the classroom, leaving me completely alone.

The sound of heels fading away.

My cheeks turned red, and I started fidgeting with my fingers. My thumb didn't feel the familiar sensation of the metal ring around my finger, and with agitation, I looked at the missing ring on my left ring finger.

Jenna still had my ring, damn it.

A notification on my phone snapped me out of my trance. I turned on the screen and saw that it was from Enid.

Enid: Having fun with the sexy teacher, are you?

I rolled my eyes at her stupid comment and quickly walked to my next lesson. History awaited me, along with an Enid who wanted to hear gossip. But the back of my mind kept replaying the conversation with Jenna, making me think about the upcoming meeting this evening.

You need to stay calm, you can do this, T/N.

(...)

At one o'clock, it was time for lunch. Most of the students chatted among themselves, eating in the meantime. With my lower lip caught between my teeth, I waited for the line to move. I was really hungry, and when I was hungry, I could be quite grumpy. Enid looked curiously at the fries a guy was receiving. My knuckles clenched tightly on the still empty tray.

"Do they have fries? Since when?" Enid was very excited. I shook my head, letting her know that I didn't know the answer.

All I cared about was getting some food in my stomach.

"I'll have... this," I said when it was finally my turn. A mush they called pasta sat in a corner of the kitchen. It looked awful, but I was still starving. The cook rolled her eyes in boredom and put the mush on my tray. The sound and smell made me tremble slightly, and with my head lowered, I glared at the woman with anger.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked, placing a bottle of water on my tray. I shook my head, suppressing the urge to tell her that we didn't deserve to eat that garbage.

With a frustrated sigh, Enid and I made our way to the table where Erick was sitting.

The blushing boy genuinely smiled at us as he held hands with his boyfriend. I have to admit, Diego is a good guy, and they look so cute together.

With a thud, we sat down at the table.

I was sitting across from the lovebirds.

"I heard there's a new Calculus teacher. What's he like?" Erick put a french fry in his mouth. "We have him tomorrow, but I'd like to know your opinion," he swallowed loudly and immediately took another fry from the tray, dipping it in mayo.

"Well, actually, it's a female teacher," Enid genuinely smiled. "She made us take a test, but despite that, she seems pretty chill," she shrugged indifferently. "She's really young, and, well, really sexy," she raised her eyebrows mischievously, and I rolled my eyes at the comment.

"Is it true that she kicked Edward out of class?" Diego asked, placing a hand on his boyfriend's tray and receiving a small slap on his fingers. The brunette rubbed the affected area, looking at Erick with a furrowed brow.

"Yep, that idiot called her 'doll'," I smiled. "I'm glad she kicked him out. Sometimes that guy can be really stupid," I said, playing with the pasta.

Reluctantly, I took a bite, struggling to swallow the unpleasant taste.

"Finally, someone put him in his place," Erick smiled, happy with the news. "T/N, do you want some fries?" he asked me later. I guess my friend noticed that my food was terrible. I shook my head, amused by Diego's incredulous reaction.

"By the way... you have an admirer," Enid whispered, smiling mischievously. Her eyes were fixed on a point behind my back.

I turned around and saw Jenna grabbing an apple and a bottle of water from the kitchen. In fact, her eyes were aimed at me, making brief eye contact with me. Her gaze then turned to the cook, smiling at her and saying something I couldn't hear for obvious reasons.

She gave me a quick glance, and with a shy smile, Professor Ortega left the dining hall.

Enid let out an ecstatic scream. Many students turned towards us, looking at us with confusion. With flushed cheeks, I looked back at the blonde.

"You were not mistaken at all, Enid," Erick genuinely smiled, resting his head on Diego's shoulder.

"By the way, what did the sexy girl want?" Enid rested her head on her hand, looking at me intently.

"Her name is Jenna, or you can call her Professor Ortega," I said irritably, giving a reproachful look to the petite blonde.

Enid rolled her eyes in boredom, gesturing for me to continue talking.

"Anyway..." I said, swallowing nervously as three pairs of eyes stared at me without blinking. "There's going to be some kind of Calculus contest in a few months, and she wanted me to sign up," Enid sighed, suddenly bored.

"Then?" Diego prompted, curious to hear what I had to say. "She offered to be my tutor and help me a couple of afternoons a week."

Enid's eyes widened, and she took my hand, squeezing it tightly. A silly smile was plastered on her lips. I think something has gotten into her mischievous head.

"That changes everything! It's a date!" Enid smiled, and I looked at her as if she had two heads.

"A study date," I emphasized, puzzled by her words, breaking the contact between our hands. What's gotten into her? After all, Jenna is my teacher.

I stood up from my seat, suddenly losing my appetite. Enid looked at me with a slight smile on her lips.

"I'm going to the coffee machines. I feel like having a cappuccino," I pointed lazily towards the exit, grabbing the water bottle.

Enid squinted her eyes, trying to figure out my true intentions. Erick smiled at me, waving his hand in greeting.

I began walking towards the exit with quick steps.

"Good luck, lion!" Enid shouted, and with flushed cheeks, I increased my walking speed, avoiding the inappropriate comment.

My real intention was to talk to Jenna. In the hours since her class, I had reflected a lot on her proposal, and it didn't seem like a bad idea after all.

I wanted to accept the proposal and retrieve the ring.

Come to think of it, I was in the mood for a cappuccino.

All I hoped for was to find Jenna Ortega.

I took a few hesitant steps before hearing a familiar voice in the distance. Timidly, I walked toward the sound of the voice, and a laugh made me furrow my brow in confusion. I turned the corner, and a strange sensation hit the pit of my stomach when I saw who it was.

Jenna was engaged in animated conversation with Professor Asher Spenser. The sandy-haired professor was flexing his muscles with the clear intention of impressing the Greek goddess in front of him. In return, Jenna seemed to enjoy his antics but was not primarily interested in the young professor's muscles. Asher invited Jenna to touch his biceps with a look, but the brunette politely declined, laughing in embarrassment.

It seemed like the perfect moment to intervene and make my presence felt.

I cleared my throat, drawing the attention of the two young people, and Asher subtly adjusted his shirt, avoiding my gaze. I observed his behavior and approached the couple. Jenna gave me a charming smile, looking at me almost with relief.

I saved her from Asher.

"T/N! So glad to see you! Do you need something?" Jenna looked at me with a smile, putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

I approached Asher, who watched me with confusion and a hint of anger, as I had interrupted the moment with the new Calculus professor. I averted my gaze from him and focused my eyes on Jenna's figure, her brown eyes curiously fixed on me.

My cheeks turned a dark shade of red, and I opened and closed my lips several times, trying to talk to Jenna without stuttering. Asher smirked.

"Well, it's been a pleasure. You can go now," the Gym teacher said with a half-laugh. I clenched my jaw, and... He made a mocking smile, toying with the whistle around his neck. I closed my hand into a fist, trying not to lose my patience.

Jenna looked at Asher disapprovingly, wiping that stupid smile off his face.

"Um... actually, I'd like to talk to the professor alone," I emphasized the last part, trying to make Asher understand that he should leave. I knew Jenna told me to call her by her name, but I wasn't sure if it also applied in public.

Jenna raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at Asher.

The Gym teacher sighed and muttered something to himself, walking away down the hallway, leaving me alone with Jenna.

"Coffee? Cappuccino? My treat," she said, and I smiled, shaking my head.

"A cappuccino, but I'll pay for it myself." She opened her mouth in feigned surprise. Jenna pursed her lips and looked at me with amused eyes.

"I'll pay. How much sugar?" she asked, looking at me seriously. I sighed resignedly at the clear defeat.

"Three," I said, and Jenna inputted the number.

The coffee machine started making its typical grinding noise.

As I shifted my weight from one leg to another, I looked at the coffee machine, aware of Jenna's piercing gaze. A few seconds later, the machine beeped, indicating that the cappuccino was ready. Jenna leaned over and took the cup with the hot liquid, handing it to me. I gave her a grateful smile and timidly sipped the cappuccino, closing my eyes at its warm and comforting taste.

Jenna clicked on the button for a long black coffee.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about two things..." I blew on the cup and finished the cappuccino in one sip. Jenna laughed, and after a few seconds, she took a sip of her desired coffee. With an uncomfortable smile, I threw the cup in the trash.

"I'm totally yours ," she joked.

Her statement made me blush and, at the same time, feel a strange sensation in my lower abdomen. The expression on my face made Jenna laugh.

"Sorry about that. Go ahead," she said, taking a sip of her coffee while keeping her eyes fixed on mine.

"The first thing is... could... let's say... I get my ring back?" I smiled nervously, scratching the back of my neck in embarrassment.

Jenna widened her eyes and threw the cup into the receptacle once she finished. The misunderstanding made Professor Ortega blush.

"Shit, I'm sorry." She took the ring off her finger and handed it to me. "It was so comfortable that I didn't realize it wasn't one of mine." Her cheeks turned even redder, and I couldn't help but think how adorable she was.

I put the ring on my ring finger, feeling the cold metal against my skin once again.

"Mind if we talk while we walk? I have to go to the third floor. I have a class in 10 minutes." She looked almost guilty as she made the request, and I nodded in agreement.

We started walking side by side towards the stairs.

"What else did you have to tell me?" Jenna glanced at me from the corner of her eye as she continued to walk.

We climbed several steps.

"I've considered your proposal, Jenna," I said her name, and she smiled, satisfied. I have to admit it felt strange calling a professor by their first name. I shrugged indifferently and continued speaking.

Meanwhile, Jenna stopped in the middle of the stairs, looking at me expectantly.

"I accept... I don't think it's a bad idea to spend a couple of afternoons together each week," I confessed, and a 32-tooth smile spread across her lips.

Almost instinctively, I grabbed the railing as a body collided with mine, wrapping their hands around my neck.

My eyes widened, and I tensed up at the sudden contact, but I began to relax when I realized it was Jenna. Once again, her perfume filled my nostrils, and I closed my eyes at the pleasant sensation of her body warmth against mine. My hand ran timidly along her back, returning the embrace. Jenna made the hug last for only a few seconds, and I almost complained about the sudden lack.

Professor Ortega had flushed cheeks, and for the first time, I noticed a series of freckles surrounding her nose.

She straightened her clothes, embarrassed and avoiding my gaze.

"Sorry... for the excitement," she justified with a nervous laugh.

"Don't worry," I smiled, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Well... I should go to class now," she pointed in the direction of the classroom as she took a step back, never taking her eyes off mine.

I started descending the stairs, but someone calling my name made me stop. I looked up and saw Jenna. The professor had her head tilted towards me, her unruly hair partially covering her face.

"See you later? I'll finish the lesson, and then we can discuss the details. Does that sound good?" Her voice sounded an octave higher due to the strange angle of her neck.

"Sure, theoretically I'm done for the day. I'll wait for you in the teachers' lounge," I smiled, and she returned the smile, composed herself, and walked toward her destination.

Once again, the sound of heels faded

[copiousloverofcopia]

Because I couldn't help myself... Enjoy 😈

Jesus He Knows Me

Also available HERE on A03!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

He walked towards his car, parked just outside of the house of the Lord he called his own. It was late, street lights lit up like stars illuminating the street as he took his leave. The dear priest sighed to himself, another long day spent with his right hand lifted in praise of Jesus and the other handing out the collection basket. He kept his true self hidden in plain sight from the masses and knew his time for penance would come before the dawn.

Jim pulled loose his collar, tucking the white tab in his pocket as he reached for his keys. His ear, ever listening—waiting. It wasn't long before, and as if by magic, that the telltale sound of blasphemous rock music came rolling up behind him. The eerie melodic sounds coming from an otherwise quiet car. The vehicle was long and sleek. Black as the night and tinted windows that dare not even let the light of God inside them.

Father Jim smiled, pulling his key back out from the lock and turning to face the car as it pulled up behind him. The priest, standing there in the moonlight ready for them. His body shadowed over by the large cross that stood proudly atop the steeple. Within seconds a familiar man in a mask had rolled down the window. Not a man at all but something else, something that looked of science fiction and deceit, beckoning Jim to listen as he addressed him. "Father…"

"Yes, my child?" Jim asked smugly.

"You know where we're going?" The masked ghoul asked, his sharp canines catching the glint off the street lights as he smirked.

"Of course." Jim nodded, the door to the back seat opening up for him.

Before he knew it, they had arrived. Car pulling up to the large wooden doors outside the Ministry. Father Jim bit his lip. Tasting the tang of his blood and feeling his pants tightening up at the mere sight of the building.

The masked man opened the door for him. The father stepped out, adjusting the lay of his jacket as he walked inside. This church belonged to a much more malevolent God, or so he preached compared to that of his own. He made his way to the chapel, giddy as a schoolgirl for what awaited him inside.

The doors pulled wide open, revealing his true place of worship. The chapel was open and quiet, the smell of ashes and incense filling his senses. Father Jim's eyes, darted straight to the lavishly dressed and skull painted man at the lectern. Papa Emeritus IV had called for him—and like a good Catholic boy he did as he was told.

"Jim…" Copia said, acknowledging his presence and finishing up a note before looking up from his papers.

"Papa." The priest responded, falling to his knees before him in the center of the nave. Copia looked down at him, cracking a smile before rounding the lectern and standing before him. He was menacing and beautiful, Jim thought to himself.

"So eager to please are we?" Copia teased, watching the swell beneath the Father's trousers grow.

"Always Papa…ah…" Jim whimpered as Copia pressed his shoe against the his hard cock.

"Hmmm…Jimmy. How delicious is the sin of Lust for which all of his wayward flock succumb." Copia hissed. Father Jim's jaw, becoming lax and mouth falling open. A trail of saliva finding its way along the side of his lip.

"I'm hungry Papa, please." He begged, Copia quickly removed the shoe from his crotch and turned around. Pacing the room in thought as he secretly wanted to watch as the clergyman suffered.

"Have you been sinful? Greedily spreading the so-called 'word' of you God...only for your personal gain?"

"Yes, Papa...I must confess. I have been prideful and gluttonous." He admitted. Copia turned to face him. White eye, burning with need. Jim swallowed back, feeling his heart pounding within his chest and his blood surging through his veins..

"Good. That's what I like to hear. Now come to Papa and receive communion." Copia purred. Jim attempted to stand up when Copia growled at him. "No! Crawl, crawl on your belly like the serpent. Show me how much you really want to be saved."

"Yes, your Excellency." He abided, crawling towards Copia on his belly and slowly moving to all fours. The front of his pants dampened, leaving a streak across the marble tile in his own precum. The scent of lust, emanating from him as he got closer. Copia took a deep inhale just as Jim reached him.

"You smell of semen, fitting for a filthy slut such as you are. Your kind, living in the new Sodom and Gomorrah of the times." He responded, sending a wink to the ghouls to leave them. Copia pushed his ornate blue and bronze robes to the side, freeing himself. Jim could hardly believe it as Papa's magnificent cock hung in front of him. Like a vision from Heaven above, revealed to the Father for worship. Leaky and thick, begging to be taken.

Papa took hold of Jim's jaw, running his thumb along the fluff of beard hair that graced it, pulling it all the way open for him. Allowing Jim to watch as he stroked himself. Jim felt his own cock twitch and pulse with anticipation. The Father's drooling, becoming obscene as he stared hungrily at the phallus before him.

"Please Papa. I have been such a good boy." Jim whined, shifting on his knees below him.

"Tell me what I want to hear. The words so sweet from your lips the night before your God's resurrection… tell me them and I will slip my cock into this greedy, filthy mouth." Copia commanded, running the swollen red tip over Jim's anxious lips.

"Hail Sa–" Jim began before cutting himself off. Suddenly Copia's shoe was back on his erection again. Pressing so hard Jim couldn't help but let out a yelp.

"I said SAY them Father, and I did NOT stutter." Copia snapped, continuing to dig his heel into him.

"Hail Satan!" Jim cried out, feeling as though he might explode. Copia began to chuckle, continuing to pleasure himself—his own hand brought him close to the edge.

"Good boy. Now you want the Eucharist Father? Then you shall have it in HIS name." Papa groaned, hands firmly grabbing the back of Jim's head. Slamming his cock past his lips into his throat. The father gagged a bit, tears pricking his eyes as he swallowed and gulped. Taking every inch of satanic panic he could.

Copia moaned, relishing the feel of his cock in such a pious mouth. Jim hummed along Papa's length, slurping and licking as his other hand reached to caress Papa's tensed sack. Copia panted heavy as the two men worked together as one. Thrusting into Jim's willing throat, the priest desperately trying not to cum on himself as he sucked on Copia's swollen shaft.

"Hsssss….no teeth." Copia groaned as Jim's teeth grazed the underside of his cock. Jim tried to mutter an apology, but his mouth was so full it only sounded like an amalgamation of disconnected, wet syllables between moans.

Soon Papa was close, his belly taut and his cock pulsing and ready. He drove himself deep into the back of Jim's throat a few times before popping his cock out from the Father's mouth. Spit stringing in the air like webs between them. Copia took his sex back into his own hands. Jerking himself hard and fast until he spilled his hot seed all over the father's face. fathery Jim's beard and mouth covered in sinful bliss as he smiled.

The father licked his lips, savoring the bitter yet salty taste of damnation Papa so graciously bestowed upon him. Copia stumbled over to the altar. Breathing ragged and cock soft and spent. Trying to compose himself before he spoke again. Jim got up on his feet, pants covered in cum from his own inevitable release.

Copia saw it, tightening his grip on his alb before letting out a groan. "You slut. How dare you cum without permission. Now be a good Father and drop the pants. Give me that tight hole of yours. Tonight is my time to rise again and make you mine. But not JUST mine Jimmy...you make wonderful fodder for my ghouls once I'm done with you." Copia hissed, Jim nodding in acknowledgement.

The rest of the night was a blur. Sex, fire, pain, pleasure. It all swirled together to where one was no longer distinguishable from another. Father Jim, the devout Catholic who led his parish with a heavy emphasis on giving—without getting, had been got. A man of the cloth, nothing but a heathen in the night. His ass offered up to Papa and his ghouls over and over again until they needed him not anymore. Leaving his clerical suit, covered in sweat and cum from his worship.

Jim was slowly coming to. The memory of the night before, returning to him as he opened his eyes—unsure of how he'd gotten home. It was then he realized the sun was too bright for behind his window. The smell of the air, too crisp and fresh from within his room. The birds chirping loudly finally alerted him to what he feared.

He sat up quick to find his naked body, covered in scratches and sticky from cum, on full display in the front of his church. His true nature—unhidden by his faith or cloth in front of everyone on Easter Sunday. He scrambled to collect himself. Rushing into the church, past the parishioners like lightning crashing to the sky. Papa had outted him on one of his holiest days. He was a whore and a sinner—and what a common sinner that he was.

[open-hangar]

SABBI VOLUNTEER RECORDS

باسم الحياة العظيمة، عندما نجتمع معًا

Name: Taimoor Ismael

Place of Origin: Al’Ahdeth Mosul

Birth Date: [REDACTED BY ORDER OF SABBI]

Height and Weight: ~160 cm, 53 kg

Assignment: Ashurbanipal Special Protection Unit [REDACTED BY ORDER OF SABBI] Unit Gim

Etc.: Highly volatile. Can be either the best on the team or a hindrance to the other pilots. Consider fielding on his own.

100 ADA

“I don’t know why you’re the one who’s so angry, it was your fault.”

Waheeda looked across the otherwise empty classroom/briefing room to the only other occupant, Taimoor. The teen boy was fuming, looking like his short black hair was about to catch fire. His fist slams down on the desk in front of him with enough force to shatter it, had his arms not been so frail and the table not been made from plastic reinforced on the molecular level. He stood up and spun around in a single awkward motion and pointed at Waheeda. Her gaze stayed on him like a steel girder.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and steadied himself for a moment. Then, after a deep inhale, he screamed. “KOL KHARA!!!”

—

070 ADA

Mahershala Habib raised his high-frequency vibrating saif over his head, and brought it down with a delicate swing, cleaving the absurdly thick vine in twain. He then winked his right eye, causing the transparent map overlaying his vision to zoom in. He spoke out loud into the microphone in his safesuit’s helmet so that his teammates could hear. “This should be near the marketplace. If I were to just…”

He reached an arm out to a thick wall of leaves, and dragged his hand down, grabbing plants as he went. Beneath the vegetation was a brick wall, clearly human-made. A woman’s voice comes over his headphones. “We should check inside, we might find something. If we’re lucky, maybe even a computer that hasn’t completely erod-”

“No,” Mahershala interrupted. “We can’t risk getting turned around. We keep going east.” His teammates wanted to disagree, but knew he was right.

—

100 ADA

Taimoor’s face was contorting in anger, a blood vessel formed on his forehead. “SHE’S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! You couldn’t take the damned shot!” Waheeda could easily tell that he was beating himself up over what happened, but if thought that he could pin the blame on HER, then he had another thing coming. With a quiet, furious voice through gritted teeth, she explained, “Because your laser pointer couldn’t stay on a stupid rock. It was just sitting there and you couldn’t keep your Yusha’s hand steady.”

At this point, Taimoor loses it. He kicks aside several desks and marches towards Waheeda, violence clearly on his mind. Waheeda hates fighting, but when it has to happen, she’s prepared. Taimoor’s slightly larger than her, but she knows that he’s a weakling. Just a quick strike to-

“Both of you, shut up and sit down.”

Rami marched into the room while they weren’t looking, and slammed a stack of papers onto the lectern at the front. Taimoor stopped in his place like an invisible rope had wrapped around his neck, and he turned and sat down onto one of the few desks that hadn’t been displaced in his rage.

“First things first, Syreeta’s not dead. Secondly, Waheeda winging it disabled it long enough for a targeted chargon foam missile to burrow into its carapace and put it into stasis. It’s not dead, but it’ll give us time to-

“Syreeta’s still alive?! How?! She took the full brunt of the laser!!” Of course it was Taimoor who had the bravery and tact to interrupt Rami when he was at the lectern, but the massive adult let it slide this time. “The shield did its job,” he explained. “It dispersed most of the beam into the surrounding area. When the shield failed, Unit Beh’s armor protected the cockpit before the beam completed. She’ll likely be able to pilot Beh once it’s repaired.”

—

070 ADA

The coordinates matched up, they were at the entrance to the original Library of Ashurbanipal. Mahershala’s second-in-command ran past him and pushed the rotten, overgrown wooden doors open to the inside. At one point in the past, it seemed to have been turned into a museum, as a front desk was now being used as a nest for canine-like creatures. One of which was an adult, and was growling through split jaws and an extreme amount of saliva at the intruders.

Mahershala whispered quietly and moved forward slowly towards the teammate who had run in. “Khamala… Step backwards, slowly. We don’t know how sharp this thing’s tee-” The loud sound of a laser blast echoes through the ancient site as the beast’s head disintegrated into a burning pile, as well as most of its chest and one of its forelegs. Its offspring bolt up and disappear further into the museum somewhere.

The gruff voice of the team member who had fired the gun simply said, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s loot this place before something else shows up.”

Mahershala didn’t know how necessary that was, but was glad at least that Khamala was ok. “We’re not looting anything,” Khamala explained to her trigger-happy comrade. “If I’m right, there’s something even deeper that the original discoverers never even knew about. Something that could change everything.”

But Mahershala knew exactly what that kind of roughneck responded to. “But if you light up any artifacts, it’s coming out of your paycheck.” He grunted, and obediently holstered his gun. “Don’t blame me if those puppies come back for blood, then.”

—

100 ADA

Waheeda could hardly believe what she heard. Unit Beh’s head disintegrated. She heard Syreeta’s scream, it’ll haunt her nightmares for sure. How could she have survived that? She wanted to ask if they could see her, but then…

“And now, you can’t see her. You’re all under complete lockdown, starting immediately.”

As Rami walks towards the door, Taimoor bolts up. “But what about Yufin-Yufafin?! If it’s in stasis, we need to kill it immediately!”

Rami turns around with a grim conviction in his eyes. “We’ll handle that. You don’t need to know how, but I figure there’s no harm. SABBI has been developing artificial brain plugs for the Yushamin, which we can use to remote control them. You’re still more useful in a fight, for now, but if all we need to do is remove the core of a sitting rock, then we don’t need you. Any questions?”

If anything, this was a relief to Waheeda, as the sooner she didn’t have to fight the better, but she knew what Taimoor was like. This was the only thing he had going for him. If he wasn’t fighting, then…

“No, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed. Report to your quarters, the only places you’re allowed to go besides there will be the mess hall and the restrooms.”

—

070 ADA

It was just a wall. Perhaps at some point, hundreds of years ago, there had been paintings, a mural, some etched writing on it. But time had done what it had always done, changed things. Eroded them. Replaced them with something new. Khamala rubbed her hand along the bricks, hoping for anything. They had come all this way…

Mahershala checked the remaining air in the safesuits. Enough time to explore the rest of the museum and grab some artifacts, but any longer than that and they’d have to rely on the air filters, which were far from perfect even in safer places. They were looking at almost certain chargon exposure. He walked up to the archaeologist and placed his hand on the shoulder of her suit. “I’m sorry, Kam. Maybe we’ll find some clues in what we can bring back.” He turned to the rest of the team, and started giving orders. “Alright, let’s split up and meet back at the front desk in an hour. Grab anything with writing or images on them and put them into stasis blocks.”

“NO!” Khamala yelled, causing everyone to turn to her. “No! It should have been here! It should have been right! Here!” With each angry exclamation, she punctuated it with a slam of her fists onto the blank wall. “My! Life’s! Work! All! For-” With one more slam, she fell through the crumbling wall, into an empty passage. Inside, etchings began to glow green, spreading down the corridor. Mahershala watched this, and then winked his right eye twice. An overlay in his vision showed him how much chargon was in the air, and he watched it flow down the otherwise empty and clean hall.

“It’s reacting to the chargon. It was completely clean… Everybody!” He waves his team inside the passage, who dutifully climb in. “Take pictures of everything! Khamala, you and I are heading deeper in. I think we found something really important.”

art by @nebularobo

[sentmail]

CEMETERY :  for one muse to find the other at a gravestone.

a comprehensive list of scenarios

The fact that the church is still standing will never cease to feel like a dream, a fragment of a life gone by lingering in the cracks of the floorboards and the few scattered pews… but it is the scent of lilies in the air that gives him pause as he walks past the doors.

For a brief second, in the up swell of emotions within his chest, Kunsel wonders if it is sadness that nests in his rib cage, a presence that leaned against his heart — but it is not an ache, not something he wants to rid himself of. It is an acknowledgement, a melancholy, a memory plagued with affection…

And when his eyes raise towards what was once the flower patch, now a pond of still water as the foundation slowly caves to the tides of time, he sees it — and the feeling is given it's proper name:

Saudade.

The buster sword, now properly maintained, repaired. Standing tall where once Zack sought to spend all his free time at, thrown in the throes of a kid's puppy love. It was fitting - at least more fitting than his own selfish want to take it for himself, admittedly.

He walks the empty church with a light step, not wanting to disturb the stillness in the air, feeling like an intruder in the tranquility present, but he couldn't help himself, wanting to take a closer look, wanting to fill back in the details that were beginning to fade with time.

A hand reaches out to trail over the hilt of the blade, for a moment briefly considering grasping it before shaking his head and leaning back against the wooden lectern behind the buster sword, a small smile on his lips.

"Never did figure out how you managed to wield this thing." It's an admission spoken into empty air, taking his solitude in the church as a chance to vent what thoughts lingered in him still. "I was hoping that you'd teach me for a change… but I guess we'll do that next time around."

That was how it worked, right? They'd all go back to the same place and begin anew… it was a nice sentiment, even if at times he feared as all SOLDIERs did that they were too corrupt, too wrong, to be granted such grace.

But he lingers not on that, his gaze instead fondly focusing on the idle reflections on the water's surface, the lily petals floating on it still.

"… I blamed myself, you know. Thought that I should've done more, looked harder, searched for you myself… but that would've just gotten me terminated for good. We both know that." The laugh he gives rings hollow, but it is earnest in the bitter irony of it all. "Besides, how was I supposed to know you'd be trying to come back to the lion's den, eh? I would've revived you myself only to slap some sense into you if I could've… but I should've guessed."

He lifts his eyes to the sky, feeling a growing pressure behind his eyes - but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the tears swarming his vision. He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry.

"You're stubborn, and you keep your promises. You came back after all that time because you're Zack Fair, and you don't let anyone stop you, for better or worse."

He sighs, raising a hand to wipe at his eyes.

"Bet you two are all caught up now, huh? Must be nice having company over. Me? Well… I'm good." He pauses, as if expecting incredulity. "I mean it. Finally figured out what to do with myself now that the world hasn't been on fire for more than five consecutive minutes. Gonna write a book, write down what I know — some proof that we existed. You'd take up half the book to be honest, but I think I'll save some stories for your parents."

He quiets down with that, thinking about having had to be the one to break the news… even if with a little white lie: Zack died helping people in meteor-fall, a hero until the end.

He chews on his lip as he thinks of all the words that he'd kept in his chest for all these years, of everything he'd once written down with no way of knowing if Zack ever got his messages… but although it hurts to handle them, there is a freedom in letting them go after all this time.

When he hears footsteps breach the entrance of the church he again wipes at his face, trying to conceal the earnest emotion dug out of him just moments ago… and his vision falls on one such Cloud Strife.

Zack really liked Cloud - he probably would've liked for both of them to be friends too… but, well, they were both too stubborn for that, having forged familiarity in their petty animosity, having both grown as people since knowing Zack.

And hey: on a good day it was even kind of fun, in it's own way.

Kunsel lingers in silence a little more, his gaze falling back to the buster sword and then back at Cloud, as if searching for what to say, somewhat bristled at having possibly been caught pouring his heart out… but also feeling disarmed enough by the environment to just.

Let it be, for now.

"It looks good." He finally said, sounding genuine for once. "Could use a little touch up but… the rust's all gone. I can tell you sharpened it. The leather's re-wrapped." He finally looks Cloud in the eye proper. "… Thank you. For bringing it here, for taking care of it."

[dollarbin]

Sandy Saturdays #18:

Fairport Convention's Farewell, Farewell

I know it, my beleaguered wife knows it, and now you know it too: when I choke on my last taco and keel over for good there are two required tracks to play damn loud at my funeral, and they are both by Fairport Convention.

The opening procession, which should feature just a few thousand lucky-to-be-included mourners, each of whom will bear their favorite Dollar Bin record in their arms as emblem of their grief, will feature the band's elegiac Battle of the Somme.

There's no better track to walk in contemplation to. Dave Swarbrick's more patient than usual but still uniquely textured fiddle overlays Richard, Simon and the other two Dave's perfect playing. (Yeah, that's right: the band had three Daves; but that's nothing: my family features not three, but four Daves, and sixteen Buckminsters; sadly all of them are imaginary. Wait; that's not true! One is real: I've got an uncle named Dave. Sorry I forgot about you for a moment Uncle David!)

But back to my funeral...

All you attendees will be tear streaked and spent when The Battle of the Somme draws to a close. But my great-great-grandchildren will then lighten the mood by taking the lectern and recalling just how ridiculous grandpa was in his later days, always dropping the needle on Neil Young's Trans during pancakes at breakfast and showing off his futuristic dance moves long before he took the time to strap on either of his wooden legs.

Next, Stephen Stills will speak. He'll be 186 years old and floating in a vat of formaldehyde, preserved against death by global consensus so as to balance out the cosmic balance between the musically good (as represented by Neil Young, who will also be alive and well at that point without any scientific interventions; Shakey simply cannot quit) and the musically terrible. Stephen will share his profuse thanks to me for having resuscitated his career way back in the mid-2020's: I currently mention him in writing more than any other human being on the planet and all publicity, as they say, is good publicity. You're welcome Stills!

But once Stephen is done bubbling out his gratitude from a basin of preservative goo it'll be time for the ceremony's centerpiece, the song I'd select as my only possession for life on a desert island, Fairport's Farewell, Farewell, which features the loveliest guitar tone, melody and vocals of any song on the planet.

Seriously. Just listen.

Wow. For me there will never be two more beautiful minutes of art. Listen to Sandy dig up and then cradle the root of all human woe and potential during the song's final line.

The winding road does indeed call. And I'm so excited to see where it will take me in the coming decades.

Cheers Everyone.

[rhokisb]

In teams of two they moved forward, Armand sticking close to Dank while Vestare and Shenzu walked the pews confidently. Orlogg and Dante both moved up the center of the worship space to the lectern at the head of the room. Near the steps that climbed up towards the lectern was a large pool of blood that went up the steps and coagulated further in front of the podium.

“Mm, lovely.” Dante said to Orlogg under his breath and the half-Orc raised a hand to quiet him. They climbed the steps together until they were standing side by side at the head of the temple. On the lectern was a note, now spattered with dried blood. Orlogg picked it up and read out loud:

“‘Summer, 345: Garren, I’m feeling unwell. I’ll be seeing Ardur for a potion later this afternoon. Please take over the sermon for me. It’s probably allergies, but I’ll be unable to minister for this evening.’ It’s signed by a Father Clarence.”

“Probably allergies.” Dante repeated in a sour tone. Orlogg smacked his shoulder, “Ardur is who we were supposed to talk to about the vial, too. Seems like he was a busy man. I doubt a priest’s illness has anything to do with the thing in the stables.” Dante shrugged and looked about the lectern more, opening the small wooden drawer at it’s base. He straightened, holding a vibrant blue candle.

~Day 17 of Weyard snips~

[mariacallous]

“As far as matzo-ball soup, my mother made the best,” Ronald Lauder said the other night on the Upper East Side, in the bookshop of the Neue Galerie, the art museum he founded. Lauder, seventy-eight, the younger son of Estée and Joseph Lauder, and a billionaire heir to their cosmetics fortune, was there to celebrate the publication of a cookbook. “Honey Cake and Latkes: Recipes from the Old World by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Survivors” was organized by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial Foundation, of which he is the chairman.

In the shop, before the book’s launch, Lauder sat with a handful of its contributors. How did the idea originate? “When you’re dealing with survivors, when you’re dealing with Jews, everyone has a different version of events,” he said. “But there’s only one version that’s correct, and that’s mine.” In January of 2020, Lauder had invited a hundred and twenty survivors to visit Auschwitz-Birkenau on the seventy-fifth anniversary of its liberation. At dinner one night, talk turned to gefilte fish. The group stayed in touch. Maria Zalewska, the foundation’s Polish-born director, began to gather recipes.

More than one survivor remembers sustaining fellow-prisoners with vivid descriptions of the foods they’d eaten in their earlier lives. Tova Friedman (kasha varnishkes, carrot tzimmes), a sprightly eighty-four-year-old with a silvery-blond bob, was five and a half when she was sent to Auschwitz. “Food is home,” she said. “And if you talk about it the smell comes to you and home comes back.”

Eugene Ginter, eighty-three, who was liberated just before he turned six, had a more complicated relationship with smells. “When I came in Auschwitz,” he recalled, “I looked through the wooden slats of the cattle car, and I said, ‘It’s very pretty,’ because it had trees. But then the smell, it was a sweet smell. It was the human bodies being burned.” Ginter’s contributions to the book are the foods his mother made after the war, to fatten his emaciated frame: dark chocolate shaved over buttered black bread; a boiled potato mashed with buttermilk; kogel mogel, whipped egg whites beaten with yolks and sugar.

Across the hall, in Café Sabarsky, servers circulated with trays of champagne and bite-size versions of some of the book’s recipes: Elisabeth Citrom’s eggplant salad with crispy rye croutons; David Marks’s rakott krumpli, Hungarian layered potatoes with cheese; Goldie Finkelstein’s rugelach. Sitting on a banquette, Lois Flamholz, ninety-four, a survivor who was born in Czechoslovakia, looked at a photograph of herself in the book in which she presses circles of dough together for jelly cookies. “I miss those cookies!” she cried. “I can’t stand,” she explained. “I stopped cooking, I stopped baking.”

On another banquette, the actor and director Joel Grey recounted, to the producer Jeffrey Seller, his experience filming “Cabaret” in Germany, in 1971. “I was terrified on the flight,” he said. “I stepped off the airplane, stood on the ground, and wept.”

Lauder moved to a lectern. “The first title of the book was ‘Auschwitz Recipes,’ ” he said. “It didn’t go too far.” Midway through his thank-yous, he turned toward the door. “Before I say anything else, a very special woman is coming in now, Marion Wiesel.” He went on, “It was Marion who I called to get the recipe from her husband, Elie. And, today, the latkes that you ate were from Elie’s recipe.”

The latke recipe was, unusually, absent onions. Later, a pushy interlocutor asked Mrs. Wiesel, ninety-one, a survivor herself, and a gifted translator, if it was true that her late husband didn’t care for them. She said, “I can’t believe you’re interested in whether or not he liked onions.” Elisha, the Wiesels’ son, said, “My father preferred to focus on the positive. So rather than an onion-hater, I would think of him as a chocolate-lover.” According to family lore, Marion had ensnared Elie with her latkes, and also bribed him into quitting smoking by promising him a Jaguar. “There was no Jaguar,” Elisha said.

In the lobby, on the way out, Tova Friedman, whose TikTok account, TovaTok, has nearly half a million followers, held court. Thanks to her new memoir, “The Daughter of Auschwitz,” she’s been invited around the world to tell her story. “So they took us to this . . . high tea,” she said, describing a visit to London. “We got that thing, full of little sandwiches. So I said, ‘What happened to the crust? That’s the best part of the bread!’ ” She went on, “You eat your soggy white bread, I got an idea. I’m gonna invent chai tea,” as in the Hebrew word for life, pronounced gutturally. “It’s gonna be rye toast, with crusts, and it’s gonna be lox. It’s gonna be gefilte fish.” ♦