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moonchildreads · 10 months

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small town

Chapter 22 - Let's Dance

IN THIS CHAPTER: Matching outfits, a parking lot talk, and Hellfire does Prom [10.5k]

WARNINGS: underaged drinking (no one gets drunk), mentions of teenage delinquency, Eddie being an unreliable source of info about Hawkins' recent oddities, shitty former friends and partner

A/N: so. this chapter was supposed to come out last week but i got food poisoning, which turned into me taking a day off work because i felt like shit and when i returned, it got insanely hectic to the point where i did three extra hours today. life is lifing, friends! in order to keep myself sane (i cried at work again today, it's not looking good folks) i'm gonna throw away the update schedule and post whenever i feel like it. i'm still gonna aim at one chapter per week though! i just won't make promises on dates anymore because nothing is working out irl at the moment. anyways, enjoy the chapter and i'll see you when i see you (soon, i promise)!

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Put on your red shoes And dance the blues

Friday, June 6th - 1986

On Thursday afternoon, Eddie Munson made the mistake of not telling Dottie Burke - his girlfriend that wasn’t actually his girlfriend because he hadn’t asked her out yet - why he couldn’t drive his friends to Donny’s family restaurant for dinner before prom. They’d been lounging on her bedroom’s window seat, radio playing at a low volume while they lazily kissed and cuddled, taking full advantage of the fact that her Dad hadn’t arrived from work yet when Eddie mentioned having to run an errand with Wayne on Friday after school. He said he was probably going to arrive late to the gathering, so they should make plans without him and he’d meet them at the restaurant whenever he was done. The metalhead noticed how Dottie freezed in his arms, lifting herself up from her comfortable position on his chest and put a little distance between them, but since she didn’t inquire further, he simply left a few hours later without ever explaining himself, leaving her to sink into a spiral of self-doubt and very familiar anxiety that left her equal parts jittery and exhausted.

That night after dinner, Dottie called her Auntie Rachel to ease the pang of rising panic, desperately seeking reassurance from the older woman who was always plenty eager to provide a pep talk to her favorite niece whenever she needed one. Everything will be fine, Rachel had said while nursing a glass of red wine all the way in her apartment in New York, her kids already tucked into bed and a newly acquired romance book waiting for her on her bedside table. Stop worrying about it, bug. Senior prom will be the best prom of your life. But as much as she tried to help, Auntie Rachel hadn’t been made aware yet of the change in her niece’s relationship with the older boy, so her advice rang hollow in Dottie’s ears, and the teen had ended up having a pitiful and unsatisfactory sleep before what was supposed to be the most exciting day of her senior year up until that moment.

Still, Eddie had behaved completely normal on Friday at school towards her and their friends, which had eased her nerves slightly. He didn’t make any comments about being anything less than happy to attend his first and hopefully last senior prom, and once he’d dropped Gareth off at his house, he’d lingered in Dottie’s driveway for ten long minutes. Eddie let himself enjoy the feeling of her mouth against his while a gentle drizzle hit his van windows before she finally headed into her house and he sped away towards his mysterious errand. Her best guess that the reason he had never really explained himself was because he was off to do something that was private to his uncle, and she hoped it wasn’t anything health related; Wayne wasn’t exactly old, but he also wasn’t young, and she didn’t like the idea of him having to go through any kind of medical emergency or invasive treatment. And so Friday evening found Dottie at her desk putting the finishing touches on her makeup look, and Eddie on the other side of Hawkins pleading to the stars above his head that his not-yet-girlfriend would understand his weird need for secrecy by the time the night had ended. Hopefully.

“How are you feeling, honey?” James asked, leaning against Dottie’s door frame as she took the last rollers out of her hair and sprayed her curls into place.

“Excited? Honestly a little bit terrified,” she confided in him. “I keep thinking that I’m gonna look around at some point and everyone will have gone home without me.”

“I really don’t think the guys would do that to you, but if they do or you want to leave at any point and for any reason, you can call me, okay? Don’t come home alone.”

“No, I know,” she smiled at him, but it looked more like a nervous grimace than anything else. “I promise I’ll call, I put coins in my purse just in case.”

“Great,” he came to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “But don’t go in there expecting the worst either. Everything’s gonna be great, honey, you’ll see. Just have a little faith.”

“I really hope you’re right this time, Dad.”

For the next few seconds, each of them were lost in their own painful memories from barely a year ago; James vividly remembered sitting down on their old couch with a can of beer in his hand and a rented movie in the VCR before a younger Dottie barrelled through their front door, shoes dangling from her fingers and black mascara streaking down her cheeks, running towards her bedroom where she locked herself into for 12 straight hours. In turn, all Dottie could think about was how she’d never gotten to see the inside of the gymnasium that was supposed to have been transformed into a fairy wonderland. Her Dad squeezed her shoulders with a comforting touch, dislodging the dark thoughts from her mind before dread overtook her and left her paralyzed once more. She picked up her Mom’s wedding earrings from her little jewelry box and quickly put them on, completing her outfit. Dainty gold pieces secured in place at her earlobes, she rose from her chair and twirled once to show off her full look, fluffy dress glinting as she moved.

During their weekend visit to Hawkins, Aunt Mary Elizabeth had put her sewing skills to good use and shortened the floor-length gown until it reached Dottie’s calves, the golden metallic heels they’d gotten at that heaven-sent Indy thrift store perfectly on display on her feet. She felt like a movie star, ready to walk down the red carpet with a handsome date and be adored by her fans, camera flashes blinding her as she glided effortlessly through a crowded room like she’d always belonged there. Except there were no fans, no paparazzi, and no handsome date either, just her Dad helping her into the front seat of their car so they could pick up the first of her friends for what was surely going to be a night to remember.

Their first stop of the night was at Gareth’s house. James hadn’t even put the car into park before the poor boy was jogging down his front lawn, trying to escape his mother who had been obsessively taking pictures of him in his rented black tux and bright red bowtie in various places around their home. Much to Gareth’s dismay, James insisted on saying hello to his parents before they left, so while he chatted amicably with dad Gavriel, Lydia made her son and his best friend pose in front of her bushes as a backdrop to fulfill the role of nosy journalist in Dottie’s movie star dreams. As much as they complained, the two teens hugged each other and smiled for photos until their eyes were wet from the flash going off and it was finally time to wrap up the shoot and head to their next stop.

The scenario repeated itself at Jeff’s house. His mom, Tricia, prompted Dottie to stand between him and Gareth in the middle of the living room, her son’s white suit jacket with black lapels contrasting nicely with his friend’s black jacket and white button up. As the two boys crowded their friend and planted big wet kisses on both of her rosy colored cheeks while the flashes kept going off, their vision for the night started to become clear: Dottie’s red dress, Gareth’s red bowtie and Jeff’s red Chuck Taylors and cummerbund were difficult to not notice, their club colors proudly and prominently on display leaving no doubts as to whom they belonged with. There might not have been a fancy date à la Rob Lowe or Ally Sheedy to walk hand in hand with into the packed Hawkins High gym, but the Hellfire Class of ‘86 didn’t need any of that to face their prom night - they just needed each other. Tricia promised James she’d get copies of all the photos printed for him and so the teens packed once again into the car and drove away to their final destination.

Donny’s family restaurant wasn’t as fancy as Enzo’s, but in their opinion, it was definitely way more charming. With its big sign spelling Giulia’s in cursive and a homely feel that could be experienced since before they had even walked in, big flower boxes decorated the outside and stereotypical checkered tablecloths were visible from the huge front windows. Donny had been waiting for them at one of the booths near the counter, flowers on every table and tea candles setting the mood for all the couples and groups of friends stopping by to have some authentic Italian pizza or pasta before dancing the night away in their heavily decorated school gymnasium.

“Hey, Don! Looking sharp!” James exclaimed from the driver seat when he pulled up to the restaurant as Donny rushed to keep the front door open for his friends.

“Thanks, Mr. Burke!” he beamed, blue eyes twinkling under the streetlights. “You wanna stay over for pizza?”

“No, thank you, you kids have fun, okay?” he turned to his daughter who lingered in the co-pilot seat. “Take care, honey. I love you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you too,” Dottie said, giving him a big hug.

James was so thankful she’d never gone through an I’m ashamed of showing my parent affection in public phase. He watched how Jeff hurried to catch the door when Donny left his post to greet Dottie, spinning her around once and making her laugh, her anxiety visibly melting as the boys made her feel more cared for and loved than she’d ever thought a friend could make her feel in her life. They all waved James goodbye as he drove away, his eyes glossy at the knowledge that his baby was rapidly growing and would inevitably stop needing him, but also incredibly proud of not only her but Donny, Jeff, and Gareth for being such good people to one another. It almost made him wish they’d moved back to his hometown earlier if it meant he’d see his daughter smile as bright as she did every day now.

“Hey, welcome!” Donny’s dad Angelo shouted from the door to the kitchen, his white apron stained with red sauce and his balding head covered with a stripy black and white bandana. “Thought you had gotten lost on your way over! Everyone likes margherita, right?”

“That the one with anchovies we had last time?” Gareth asked as they seated themselves into the booth, ignoring the looks they were getting from the other guests as they talked loudly over their heads.

“That’s the romana,” Donny said, going through the big beverage fridge at the back of the counter where his older sister Isabella was fiddling with the register. “Margherita is sauce, cheese and basil.”

“Oooooh, I love basil,” Dottie said, caging Jeff between herself and Gareth.

“We’re good with margherita, papà!” Donny placed glass soda bottles for everyone on the table and plopped himself down besides Dottie. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

“Thank you! You clean up nice too,” she smiled at him, and he chuckled shyly, not used to all the attention.

“Angelo, why didn’t you say the kids were here already?” Bianca, Donny’s mom, said coming out from the kitchen carrying pasta dishes for another table.

“They just arrived, cuore mio,” Angelo said, kissing the side of her head as he walked past him before he returned to the kitchen and busied himself with more cooking.

“Let me see you, boys, you’re looking handsome!” Bianca beamed at Gareth and Jeff, the two rowdy teens she’d known since before they could tie their own shoes. “And this is Dorothy, right?”

“Just Dottie is fine, mamma,” Donny corrected his Mom.

“Isn’t she a doll! Donatello said you’re interested in joining us for the summer, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’d love to work for you,” Dottie said, ignoring how her friends were snickering at the mention of Donny’s full first name.

“Do you have any experience?”

“Not as a waitress, but I was a babysitter back in New York since I was 13. I took a Red Cross course and everything. And I have CPR and First Aid certification if that helps.”

“We’ll talk more after graduation, but job’s yours if you want it,” Bianca said with a kind smile before hurrying over to attend to a customer.

“That was the quickest job interview I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jeff laughed.

“If we’re all gonna have money in our pockets, summer’s gonna be fucking awesome,” said Gareth, and everyone couldn’t help but agree with him.

By the time only pizza crust and empty cups of tiramisù remained on the table, everyone was feeling ready for some good old teenage fun on a sweaty dance floor. At some point during the dinner, Donny’s older sister Isabella had brought out a camera and taken a couple of snapshots of the group, wanting to preserve the memory of her little brother going to his first ever high school dance. Donny was acting like a peacock in his maroon suit with a matching black button up and tie; he’d even gelled his curls back, his stud earring glinting in the candlelight whenever he turned his head. As their classmates started leaving but their group remained behind, Dottie began to worry once again. Where in the world was Eddie, and why hadn’t he shown up yet? When she excused herself to the bathroom to reapply her bright red lipstick in an attempt to hide her nervous breathing, the boys huddled up in the booth, voices dropping to a low mumble, heads close together above the table.

“Where the fuck is he?” Gareth hissed.

“He said he was gonna be late, but this is too much,” Jeff said.

“You think he chickened out?”

“No way,” Donny said, confidently. “He was really excited about the surprise, he wouldn’t flake on us like that.”

“Well, he better show up or I’m beating his ass,” Gareth said. “Dot doesn’t deserve to go through another sucky prom.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about her,” Jeff’s eyes went wide. “She’s gonna be devastated if he doesn’t come.”

“He’ll come,” Donny nodded. “He’s not gonna stand her up. Like, if anyone knows how much this means to her, it’s probably Ed. They tell each other everything.”

“Okay, I’m ready to roll,” Dottie said, making their heads snap up at her voice. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah! You wanna get going now or do we wait for a bit longer?” Gareth asked.

“I… I dunno, guys. I don’t think Eddie’s coming,” she said, resigned. Jeff and Donny looked at each other.

“I’m gonna call him,” Donny decided. “You guys wait here.”

He shouldn’t have called, because when he returned to the table and said no one had picked up, the way Dottie’s face fell was enough to make them all feel incredibly guilty about something that wasn’t even their fault. They watched her school her features, masking the disappointment behind a friendly smile while she gathered her purse and slid out of the booth like nothing was bothering her. They said their goodbyes to the Vitale family, nonna Giulia coming out from the back to see her only grandson off (and pinch all their cheeks), and finally headed towards Donny’s car with a false sense of cheeriness but the best intentions at heart. The boys weren’t gonna let anything ruin the night for their friend, insisting on opening doors for Dottie and taking turns to offer her their arms to hold onto. Donny was unlocking his car’s doors when a very familiar brown van pulled up behind him, Eddie spilling out hurriedly without turning it off first.

“Jesus Christ, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he breathed out, jogging to catch up with his friends.

“You jackass, where the hell were you?” Jeff scolded him, but his words lost all edge when he pulled the long haired boy into a side hug.

“I’ll tell you later, but fuck man, I really thought I wasn’t gonna make it,” Eddie laughed, turning to hug Gareth.

“Is Wayne okay?” Dottie asked.

“Yeah, he’s fine, don’t worry about him,” he turned around and felt his soul leave his body when his eyes rested upon her. “I, uh- wow.”

“What’s wrong?” she said, looking down at her dress with a frown.

“Nothing! You- you look really nice,” he couldn’t hide his smile even if he tried, and he didn’t want to.

“Oh. Thank you, you look nice too,” she smiled back.

“Let’s take a picture before we leave now that we’re all here,” Donny said, waving through the window at Isabella, who immediately understood the assignment.

“We should take the camera with us,” Gareth proposed, and Jeff nodded in agreement.

Isabella had a few stern words towards Eddie for being late, but when she made them pose on the street, the light spilling out from the inside of the restaurant illuminating their happy faces, she couldn’t stop a fond expression from gracing her features. Donny hadn’t had an easy time throughout his school years, but it was this group of kids in front of her that had made everything better for him. She remembered the summer barbeques in the backyard with a younger Jeff, that one time Gareth lost a tooth munching too harshly on a cannoli, and that first day Donny brought Eddie over. She had asked her boyfriend (now husband) to help her keep an eye on the older boy throughout his visit, worried about what a junior could possibly want with her little brother. They’d talked about Lord of the Rings and played checkers for hours, and she’d heard Eddie warning a freshman Donny about certain teachers and how to avoid getting on their bad side, which softened her attitude towards the lanky teen considerably.

Truthfully, Isabella wasn’t one to judge quickly, but she had been worried about Dottie when Donny first began dropping her name in conversations at family gatherings. Girls had never been particularly nice to her brother while growing up, and as the eldest Vitale sister, she could be a little overprotective when it came to her siblings, especially towards her only brother. But here Dottie was, huddled up between Gareth and Donny, head resting lightly on her brother’s shoulder to be captured in a picture forever and looking happy about it, and Isabella knew this new addition to the group had been good for everyone. They were all wearing matching formal outfits, for Christ’s sake! After Isabella returned inside and everyone started heading towards Donny’s car again, Eddie grabbed Dottie’s wrist and stopped her from following their friends.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Ride with me?”

“I, uh…,” she turned to look at the rest of the guys who were waiting for her a few steps ahead.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“O-okay,” she said, heart sinking into her stomach. “I’m gonna ride with Eddie, guys.”

“Everything okay?” Jeff asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you later,” Eddie said. “Meet us in the parking lot?”

He guided Dottie towards his van with a hand on the small of her back, holding her little gold purse for her as she climbed inside and clicked her seatbelt on, their friends slowly driving away without waiting for them to catch up. Once she was seated and her skirt was out of danger from getting caught in the door, Eddie closed it, jogged to the driver’s side and jumped inside, turning on the van and heading towards Hawkins High School. They stayed quiet for a whole block and when Dottie moved to turn on the radio to fill the awkward silence, he caught her hand in the air and brought it to his lips for a quick peck, the loving gesture helping her relax into her seat.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he said. “I had to do something important and it took me longer than I thought it would.”

His hair was still a little bit damp from his hurried shower, and he was wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves barely rolled up, his good black jeans without holes in them with the chains on the side, and black boots. Chrissy’s birthday gift was the only pop of color in his all black ensemble, the red tie carefully ironed and knotted at the base of his throat.

“You look really handsome,” Dottie muttered with an airy tone, interlacing their fingers.

“And you look stunning,” he smiled softly, glancing at her before he turned his eyes back to the road. “Kinda took my breath away when I saw you.”

“Was worried you weren’t gonna show up,” she admitted.

“And leave my girl hanging? I’d never,” Eddie said, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. My girl. She could get used to that. “I should have just told you what I was up to, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“Check the glove box,” he said, pointing to it with his chin.

Dottie retrieved her hand from his grasp and opened it as instructed, pulling out two envelopes from the inside: one was white and looked like it contained a letter or a folded piece of paper, the other one was big and brown. She looked at him warily with a million questions in her eyes; he grinned mischievously in return.

“Open the small one first,” Eddie said.

Curiously, she opened the white letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper, finding in her hands a copy of Eddie’s school transcript. At the bottom, written in what she recognized as Ms. Kelly’s handwriting after seeing it for almost six months straight during their check-ins, were Eddie’s final grades for his third senior year. Not quite believing what she was seeing, she read them again and again, the information in front of her eyes staring back at her impassively.

“Stop the van,” she said, her gaze still stuck to the paper.

“What?”

“Fucking pull over, Ed!” she clicked her seatbelt off and threw the papers towards the dashboard, barely waiting until he’d hit the brakes before throwing herself onto him and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Wait, wait-” he laughed loudly, pulling her out of her seat and into his lap, her poofy dress covering his legs.

“I’m so- fucking- proud of you-” Dottie said, kissing him over and over, not caring if her lipstick was transferring onto his skin.

“Yeah? You are?” Eddie asked, giddy. “I had a meeting with Ms. Kelly today,” he began explaining, and she stopped kissing him to hear his story, her hands dropping to his shoulders where she played with his hair as he melted under her touch. “Dropped you off and booked it back to school. Last two times she called me to her office a week before graduation, she told me I wasn’t making it so I kinda shit my pants there for a minute but I knew I did good this time, I could feel it.”

“You did, babe, you did so good,” she grinned at him with hearts in her eyes.

“We did it,” he pressed a noisy kiss to her cheek, making her giggle. “We’re graduating together.”

“Hell yeah we are!” she moved to kiss him again but he dodged her, leaning to the side to get the other envelope from his dashboard.

“Hold on, that was only half of the surprise,” Eddie said, offering the papers back to her. “Open this one next.”

“Is this gonna say you got a full ride to come to Michigan with me or what?” she joked, pulling out the documents. “Oh, a job application! You mentioned this the other day-”

“Turn to the second page.”

“Holy shit! You got it?”

“I got it!”

In her hands, was a copy of his filled out job application and an informal looking contract, but a contract nonetheless. It was missing Eddie’s signature at the bottom, but that was merely a formality: she was looking at Thatcher Tires’ newest employee, with his starting date stamped as Monday, June 16th, the day after graduation weekend. It was only a part-time apprentice position, but it came with the promise of being promoted to assistant and eventually to full-time if he did well, and it was so much more than anyone else had been willing to give to Eddie before. Dottie looked at him with wet eyes and so much love inside her she didn’t know what to do except scoop him into her arms and squeeze him tightly against her chest like she never wanted to let go, lest he thought she wasn’t as equally over the moon about the news as he was.

“I’m just… fuck, Ed, this is huge,” she pressed her nose to his neck and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in deeply.

“I know. It feels huge,” he chuckled. “Never thought I’d graduate and get a real job, y’know. Wayne cried when I told him.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed. “I decided I’m not gonna deal anymore either. I’m just selling what I have left now and then I’m done with that shit. Forever. I… I wanna be good for you, darling. I wanna be the kinda man you deserve.”

“Ed, you don’t have to change who you are for me,” she lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him, her hands coming to hold the sides of his face tenderly. “I fell in love with you like this, I’m not gonna change my mind all of a sudden. I’m so sorry if I made you feel like you had to be anything different than who you are, I-”

“No, no, that’s not it,” he said quickly, hands settling on her waist. “I’m just… You deserve a good man, Dot, and I wanna be that. I wanna be a good man. I- I just didn’t think I could be good before, y’know? Everyone’s always talking about how I’m so fuckin’ stupid, and how I’d never do shit with my life, and I guess at some point I started believing they were right, and- I dunno. I don’t wanna be useless and I don’t wanna end up in jail with my asshole Dad like everyone in this shit town thinks I will. And- and when I met you and you were all like you’re really smart, Eddie, you’re just lazy, you were right, darling, you were so fuckin’ right. You always are,” he was looking at her with so much intensity she had to close her eyes and lean forward, their foreheads resting against each other’s. “I wanna look at myself in a mirror and see what you see. I wanna be good.”

“You are,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose. “You are so good, Eddie. You are the best thing in this whole town and I love you so much.”

“Say that again, please.”

“I love you.”

“One more time?”

“I love you, Edward Munson,” Dottie kissed him sweetly. “I love you.”

“Shit,” he grinned. “You really love me.”

“Of course I do.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so much.”

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Dottie sitting on his lap, her thighs bracketing his, his thumbs rubbing circles on her sides and her hands cupping the sides of his jaw, noses pressed together. They didn’t kiss, because it didn’t seem enough to express what they were feeling right at that moment. It almost felt childish to do so, like kissing was something they usually did for fun and the real intimacy came from just existing in the same space, breathing the same air, feeling each other’s warmth under their hands and just how alive the other felt when skin was pressed against skin. A truck full of rowdy classmates that were clearly somewhat inebriated sped down the street, the loud music coming from their speakers breaking their fairytale bubble and bringing them back to real life. With a shy smile, Dottie collected all the documents strewn around them before moving back to her seat and clicking her seatbelt back on while Eddie tried to wipe her lipstick from his face with a tissue he’d stolen from her purse and water from an old plastic bottle. Once she’d reapplied her makeup and he was sufficiently clean so as not to raise suspicions, Eddie pulled back into the road towards the school, holding Dottie’s hand in his for just a few more minutes.

“You know what I realized the other day?” he said, stopping at a red light. “I didn’t used to be scared of jail when Chief Hopper was still around.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because Hopper didn’t give two shits about me selling. He busted me a couple of times, gave me a talking to and dropped me off back home. I think he knew I was just doing it ‘cause we needed the money, I wasn’t gonna become a career criminal or some shit like that. He was cool.”

“And the new chief isn’t?”

“Powell’s useless,” Eddie scoffed. “He’s still trying to convince everyone he has what it takes to be like Hopper and no one believes he’s got it. And Callahan is a fucking moron. You know those handcuffs I’ve got in my bedroom?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get those in a magician’s kit,” Dottie joked.

“They’re Callahan’s,” he grinned. “He caught me buying when I was like 15, put the cuffs on me and everything. Took me to the station and when Hopper saw me at his desk, he turned around and called him a drama queen, told him he was “wasting police resources” over nothing. It was awesome. I swiped the cuffs before Hopper took me home. Wayne wasn’t too happy about it though, he grounded me for like a month but I thought it was worth it.”

“So you stole a police officer’s cuffs? And just… hung them in your bedroom like they were a dreamcatcher?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At first I kept them ‘cause I thought they made me look badass,” he turned into another street, their final stop looming closer and closer. “Now I look at them and kinda get chills. I think Wayne would die if he saw me in those but for real this time. Like, I think he’d actually have a heart attack or something. Can’t do that to my old man, he doesn’t deserve that.”

“And Hopper didn’t know you took them?”

“He absolutely did, he just didn’t care,” Eddie laughed. “As far as cops go, Hopper was pretty cool. He actually gave a shit about us when it really mattered. I mean, yeah, he could still be an asshole when he wanted to, all cops are, but he was pretty chill most of the time. Kept to himself a lot. It kinda pissed me off how everyone started pretending like he was their best friend after he died.”

“Nancy told me he saved people in the Starcourt Mall fire.”

“Yeah. A true American hero: Vietnam war vet, died heroically saving children from a fire during the Fourth of July… doesn’t get more patriotic than that.”

“You said Dustin and Mike were there, right?”

“Yeah. And Erica.”

“What?”

“They were all in the cinema, I think. Dunno much about it, the kids never talk about what happened. Just know they were there ‘cause they mentioned it on the news. Nancy was there too, she didn’t tell you?”

“Oh,” Dottie said, like something had clicked in her head. “Well, that makes more sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it was weird that Nancy’s boyfriend’s mom just, like, adopted the Chief’s daughter after he passed away, but it makes sense. They must have been friends.”

“What are you talking about?” It was Eddie’s turn to be surprised.

“Nancy’s dating a guy named Jonathan-”

“Yes, Jonathan Byers. I know him. Fellow weirdo,” he raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“Well, his mom adopted Hopper’s daughter before they moved to California last year. She’s dating Mike, he told us about her, remember?” Dottie explained. “So she must have been in there with Mike and their friends if Nancy and Jonathan were there too.”

“Hopper didn’t have a daughter. I mean, he did have one but she died when she was a kid,” Eddie said.

“Nancy said he didn’t know he had a daughter until recently, maybe her Mom passed away or something and she left her with him. She was here all summer with Mike and Dustin, she’s really pretty!”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“They showed me a picture! She’s taller than I expected, has brown hair, brown eyes. Looks a little bit like an elf actually, she has, like, sharp cheekbones?” Dottie pointed to her own round cheeks that looked nothing like the girl’s face on a Polaroid currently stuck to the inside of Dustin’s locker.

“Well, damn,” he chuckled. “Look at Wheeler go, totally thought he was lying about that one. Hey, uh, did Nancy tell you anything about the Byers?”

“About Jonathan, mostly. I know he has a brother that’s friends with Mike and Dustin too.”

“Will.”

“I think so, can’t remember his name. I know Mike’s girlfriend is named Jane though.”

“So she didn’t tell you about all the weird shit that happened a few years ago, huh?” Eddie eyed her curiously as he pulled into the school’s street, the building waiting for them just a few blocks further.

“Define weird shit for me, please.”

“This town is fucking cursed, babe. That Will kid went missing in the woods and then the feds found a random body in the quarry and thought it was him. Everyone thought Mrs. Byers was insane because she kept saying that the body wasn’t Will, but she was right - Hopper found him alive a few days later. It was a huge mess, like, they had held a funeral and everything and now the kid is back like nothing happened?” Eddie shook his head in disbelief. “I thought maybe Nancy would have told you because around that same time, everyone thought this girl named Barb that was best friends with her had run away but actually she died from getting exposed to some weird chemicals from that lab in the middle of the woods where Will went missing and there was a whole conspiracy to cover it up. And also y’know, the fire thing last year.”

“Those are like a lot of strange as fuck things to have happened in such a short span of time,” Dottie frowned.

“I know, right? And Mike and Dustin are always in the middle of it somehow. Must suck.”

“Poor kids,” she said, sadly. “It’s probably hard for them to deal with all that and have to pretend everything’s normal.”

“People get crazy good at hiding things they’ve been through, especially when they were fucked up,” he shrugged.

Eddie finally pulled into the school’s parking lot, quickly locating Donny’s car and their friends standing around waiting for them. He honked the horn twice to call their attention and they waved at him to hurry up. Dottie looked at the boys through the windshield and thought about what Eddie had just said. He was right and she knew this because she’d gotten pretty good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, not looking for pity or compassion because she’d simply assumed others would judge her for it. Being around Eddie had helped her open up, but there were some secrets that were buried too deep to unearth so casually, particularly when they filled her with shame. But maybe it was about time she stopped doing that. Maybe she owed it not only to her friends, but to herself, to stop feeling sorry for something that had been out of her control and such a special night seemed like the perfect moment to tell them the things that had been eating her from the inside out for a year now. But for now, Eddie was offering her his hand to help her get out of his van, and her friends were grinning at her like the cat that got the cream, so the truth would have to wait until later. There was a prom to attend first, and she was determined to enjoy this one to the fullest.

Gareth Coleman had never been known to be particularly patient about anything throughout his goddamn life. He was always eager to spill the beans, and he always wanted to spill them now, so the fact that he’d managed to keep this specific secret for almost a week had been impressive. Him, Jeff, and Donny had discussed Eddie’s weird behavior while on their way to the school, and they were all equally curious as to what was taking him and Dottie so long to arrive. Donny had already smoked a cig and Jeff had checked the bag in the backseat thrice by the time those two finally rejoined the group, looking a little bit suspicious and plenty cozy with one another. The boys didn’t have too much time to ponder on why though, because immediately upon arrival Eddie revealed that the reason he’d been late for dinner and why he’d stolen Dottie away for a private chat, was that he’d seen Ms. Kelly after school and had gotten confirmation that he’d finally be graduating high school with his friends. Hellfire Class of ‘86, baby, he’d said, pulling his friends into a huddle as they cheered and hollered at what was probably the most anticipated piece of news they’d gotten in a long time. However, Gareth was still impatient as ever, so he quickly peeled away from the group hug and dove into Donny’s car to retrieve their final surprise of the night and keep emotions running high.

“Since we’re all here and in a good fuckin’ mood,” he began saying, making everyone turn to him. “We have something for you, Dot.”

“For me? What did I do?”

“Well, it wouldn’t really be prom if you didn’t have one of these, so… here you go,” he pulled a white box from inside the bag and extended it to her; she accepted it curiously before peering inside.

“Wow, this is…,” she said, taken aback. “You guys! You didn’t have to buy anything for me!”

“Yes, we did,” Jeff said, moving forward to help her get her surprise out of the box.

In his hands, he held a very special corsage they’d all pitched in to buy for her since she didn’t have a formal date to the event to get it for her. The flowers were bright red, with the ribbon in black and gold; he slid it over her fingers until it sat prettily on her left wrist, her eyes filling with heartfelt tears at their thoughtful gesture. She didn’t have time to thank them, however, because soon enough Gareth was pulling smaller boxes from the bag and giving one to each of his friends.

“Could you help us with these?” Donny smiled, opening his box for her to see what he was holding.

Each of them had gotten themselves a boutonniere, two different styles but all in matching colors. Jeff and Eddie had chosen red flowers with black and gold ribbon much like her corsage, but Gareth and Donny had white flowers with red and gold ribbon. Between wet laughs, she pinned all decorations to their chests, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky to have these four men in her life who were all so eager to make every moment count when it mattered the most. Dottie tucked herself between Eddie and Jeff, and Donny turned his sister’s borrowed camera towards the group, blindly taking a picture and hoping he hadn’t accidentally cut any heads out of it. After checking on each other for the final time, the five teens turned towards the gymnasium doors and headed inside to get the party started.

The Hellfire Class of ‘86’s big entrance had been something to behold. No one had really been expecting the freaks to show up, much less dressed to the nines and arm in arm with that one girl that had moved to Hawkins a few months ago right in the middle of the school year, but there they were, and they demanded to be seen. Their matching outfits made them stand out in a sea of bold colors, pastels, and satin fabrics, but the fact that they moved like a cohesive unit anywhere they went was weirdly fascinating. First, they headed to get their picture taken and the photographer had been happy to capture what looked to be a healthy group of friends instead of awkward looking couples that would probably not make it anywhere further than a few months beyond graduation. Then, they lingered at a corner of the refreshments table when Chrissy Cunningham excitedly greeted them and chatted with them for a few long minutes, gushing over Dottie’s vintage dress who in turn couldn’t stop telling the blonde how beautiful she looked in her baby pink gown.

It was silly, really, how the most non-conformist friend group in Hawkins High had found some sort of genuine amusement in participating in what was probably the most stereotypical event in the life of any high school student, but they’d long ago stopped trying to explain themselves to others. Prom to them was a celebration of their friendship, a culmination of four shitty years (or six, in Eddie’s case), and the hope of a better future that felt as equally glorious as every moment spent together. They sipped on cheap vodka from a hip flask Gareth had smuggled in, they pestered the DJ to play Black Sabbath, Metallica, or even some Mötley Crüe to no avail, and they danced in a circle until their feet hurt. Dottie excused herself for a bit to dance with Chrissy to a Queen song, and then she’d stolen Nancy away from her friends for a few minutes, but she stayed pretty close to her boys all night, and in turn, they never left her alone. She’d been twirling around the dance floor with Jeff while Gareth escaped to the bathroom for a couple of minutes when Donny came to stand next to Eddie, who was watching her from the side with the most lovesick expression on his face known to man.

“Might wanna be less obvious with the staring there,” Donny nudged him goodnaturedly. “People are gonna notice you’re drooling.”

“Don’t really care if anyone sees me,” Eddie admitted. “Now that we’re all getting out of here I’m gonna ask her to be my girlfriend, so I don’t give a shit about what this lame ass school thinks about me anymore.”

“Damn, good luck, man,” he looked at him, impressed. “I mean, she’s totally gonna say yes but still, good luck.”

“Thanks, Don. You’re a good friend, you know that, right?”

“Been told once or twice but it’s always good to hear.”

“I should tell you more often,” Eddie smiled. “We’re all best friends, but… I dunno. I feel like you always got me the most.”

“Always thought you got me the most, actually,” Donny said, smiling back at him.

“Hey, Eddie!” Chrissy called, hurrying towards him all giggly and secretive. “We're up next!”

“Shit, already?”

“What’s going on?” Donny asked, looking at the blonde.

“I'm his Best Man," she said, like that explained everything before grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him towards the dance floor.

Without having to squint too much, the gymnasium didn't look like the sweaty room the majority of the school's populace hated with a passion anymore. Chrissy and her fellow Prom Committee members had worked really hard to turn it into a different place, from the red carpet and fairy lights at the entrance to the golden streamers obscuring the bleachers to the sides, all the way to the myriad of rented mirror balls hanging from the ceiling; everything came together to create a portal to a world where Hawkins’ senior class could pretend like they were movie stars for a night. The theme was perfectly captured in the décor, and Eddie found it very fitting that the Hellfire Club's colors matched it so well - it made everything that much more special and movielike than they had intended when they agreed to display their club’s allegiance so blatantly.

Chrissy maneuvered them past several people towards where Jeff and Dottie danced to Falco’s Rock Me Amadeus, immediately joining in and not caring that classmates around them were looking at her like she'd grown two heads. She had worked her ass off so everyone could have a wonderful night and if she wanted to dance with the freaks, she felt like had rightfully earned her prize. After all, Eddie had said she was a freak too once and she took it to heart, considering it might as well have been the biggest compliment she had ever received in her 18 years on planet Earth. Jeff was still wary of Chrissy, not having had a full conversation with her in all four years of high school but he knew Eddie thought of her as a friend, and Dottie seemed to like her as well so he followed their lead and danced along with her, making both girls spin at the same time in tune with the song.

"Are you having fun?" Chrissy asked Dottie, holding onto her hands.

"So much fun! I voted for you, by the way."

"You did?! Oh my god, thank you!" the blonde beamed at her. "I'm so nervous, I hope I get it!"

"Are you kidding me? We all voted for you, you're totally gonna win," Dottie said with honesty, because there was no other way the night could end without Chrissy Cunningham winning Prom Queen.

"Don't jinx it!" she laughed, as the final notes of Rock Me Amadeus played out.

"Alright, alright, Hawkins High! Is everyone having fun?" the DJ asked over the music; everyone cheered in response. "Let's slow it down a little bit, shall we? This one's for the lovers in the room, but remember to leave space for Jesus in the middle, okay? Don’t want any teachers getting upset."

Dottie laughed at the DJ’s silly joke while the next song began, head whipping around to find Eddie who was already turned towards her and, dare she say, looking mighty sheepish. Oh, darling, please believe me, crooned Paul McCartney as the dancefloor became a little bit less crowded and couples began partnering up to share a sweet moment with one another. Eddie offered his hand to her and Dottie looked at their friends before taking it, but there was no need - Chrissy was fulfilling her Best Man duty to perfection, already swaying away from them with her hands on Jeff's shoulders. He looked mighty confused as to why a pretty cheerleader was slow dancing with him instead of going to find her jock boyfriend, but he was enjoying the small talk about what colleges they'd attend after graduation and Chrissy seemed to be having fun too so beggars couldn't really be choosers. Dottie let herself be pulled closer to Eddie and he held her in a way that didn't look entirely platonic, but they both silently agreed that they’d deal with whatever teasing they could get in the future. Right now, being in her not-yet-boyfriend’s arms while The Beatles played in the background was probably one of the happiest moments of Dottie’s life and she was going to enjoy it as much as she could without overthinking it.

"Got any other surprises up your sleeve I should prepare myself for?" Dottie asked, eyes shining under the disco balls.

"This was the last one for tonight, I promise," he said, fighting the urge to cradle her head into his chest; Mrs. O'Donnell was standing to a side looking for students who didn't leave space for Jesus and he didn’t want to risk it. "How are you feeling, princess?"

"Like this is the best prom I could have asked for."

"Yeah? Is it how you dreamed it would be?"

"It’s so much better. I'm lucky enough to be dancing with the prettiest boy in the room, what more could I ask for?" she smiled.

"Don't know, I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room so I'm feeling pretty lucky too," he smiled back at her, his dimples on display.

“God we’re corny. How did you get the DJ to play our song?”

“I thought our song was Hot Patootie.”

“We have multiple. Answer the question, Munson, Donny and I asked him to play some Bruce Springsteen earlier and he said no.”

“I have friends in high places,” Eddie said cryptically, but undermined the mystery by looking at Chrissy who was laughing at something Jeff had said.

“You totally told her about us, didn’t you?” Dottie asked, but her grin told him she wasn’t mad about it.

“She’s gonna be my Best Man, I had to,” he shrugged, making her snort and shake her head.

“Already thinking about the wedding and he hasn’t even asked me out yet. You’re getting awfully cocky,” she raised an eyebrow, and he had the decency to look shy about it.

“I’m working on it, darling. Just give me time to make it special.”

Eddie pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear as they danced, not realizing that both Donny and Gareth were watching the pair like hawks, smirking at how obvious their affection was in a sea of couples that ranged from uncomfortable to loving. They, however, looked downright sickening, like they had been plucked from a cheesy coming of age movie where the two leads finally came to terms with the fact that all they’d ever wanted had been right in front of them all along.

“He’s totally head over heels for her, isn’t he,” Gareth said, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Absolutely,” Donny said, taking a sip of his spiked fruit punch. “But she’s not far behind either.”

“Yeah,” the wild curly haired boy turned to look at his friend. “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take for them to get together?”

“I say twenty for graduation day.”

Nearing the end of prom night, their feet hurt from standing for so long and they were all starving for some salty junk food. Chrissy had, of course, ended up winning Prom Queen; Hellfire had cheered for her extra loud which hadn’t made the basketball team very happy but they couldn’t retaliate when there were so many teachers around. Besides, Andy’s eye was still very much purple and no one wanted to be sporting a face injury in their graduation photos. Jason Carver had won Prom King too, but much to his dismay, rumor had it that he’d barely beaten the football team’s captain for the title. Nonetheless, the newly crowned couple was dancing in the middle of the gym surrounded by other partnered up classmates when Eddie proposed what was probably the best plan of the night: leaving early and going to get fries and milkshakes at a cheap diner.

Dottie went in the car with Donny and Gareth this time, trying to avoid alerting their friends to her and Eddie’s blossoming relationship anymore than they’d already had, and the teens spent the entire ride gossiping about things they’d noticed had happened during the event, like how this girl from the swimming team had very publicly broken up with her boyfriend in front of everyone or how their History teacher had been dancing with the pretty Science teacher every freshman (namely, Dustin Henderson) had a crush on. When they arrived at the diner, Eddie opened the doors of his van and they sat in the parking lot to eat their fries and share various flavors of milkshakes, debating on which one was better. The boys were rowdy as they always were, Gareth fighting hard for peanut butter versus Jeff’s chocolate and Donny’s orange creamsicle, when Eddie went to grab more fries from the basket he was sharing with Dottie and noticed she was staring at her corsage, a blank expression on her face.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying not to startle her by rubbing the back of her hand with his pinky finger. “You okay? Wanna go home?”

“No, I’m okay. Just thinking.”

“Wanna tell me? I’m a good listener.”

“I know you are,” Dottie afforded him half a smile. “I… there was something I wanted to tell you but don’t wanna bring the mood down.”

“Uh-oh,” he pouted dramatically. “Am I in trouble already?”

“Shut up,” she shoved him lightly. “No, it’s just… it’s about New York and- I don’t know, we’re having such a fun time. Feels like I’m gonna fuck it up. It’s fine, I can tell you guys some other time.”

“Tell us what?” Jeff asked, making her notice that all the boys were quietly looking at her.

“You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to,” Gareth hurried to say. “-but we’re always down to hear you if you wanna, like, get something off your chest or whatever.”

“Yeah! You’re not fucking anything up, we’re just talking,” Donny said.

Dottie looked around at her friends who were waiting to follow her lead whatever that may be and knew that if she was ever going to say anything, then this was it. This was the moment where she let them all in, where she let them see just how truly damaged she was, and they’d have to decide whether this baggage was something they wanted to help her with or if it was too much for them to handle. Eddie’s ringed hand sneaked behind her, caressing her spine back and forth on top of her dress for support. She took a deep breath and set the basket of fries to the side.

“I, uh- you know how I said my junior prom sucked and that’s why I kinda didn’t wanna come tonight before we made plans?” she began, and they all nodded. “So, there’s actually a pretty big reason for that.”

“You said you didn’t have a date for junior prom and you felt bad so you didn’t go. That’s why I said we should all go together,” Gareth said, making the other teens turn to him in surprise. He clearly knew more about it than they all did and he hadn’t said anything.

“I lied. I did go and I did have a date. I had a boyfriend actually,” she said grimly.

“Oh.”

“How long did you date that guy?” Donny asked, sparing a glance at Eddie who was staring at her nervous hands playing with her Mom’s engagement and wedding rings, spinning them around her left middle finger.

“Around six months. His name was Tyler, we went to school together. He was… nice, I guess? I really liked him,” she muttered. “And like, not to overshare but he was my first real kiss, you know? My first everything. And he made me feel special for a while.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, frowning and shifting closer, his hand coming to rest on her ankle.

“We went to prom together. Flynn, his older brother, took us and the whole ride was so awkward because he kept trying to talk to Tyler and he would just stare ahead, like he was angry or something. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Flynn or Tyler wouldn’t look?”

“Tyler. Actually, Flynn was pretty awesome, best older brother ever. He was pre-med, just… a really cool guy. Kinda miss him, he was fun to be around. He had wild stories about college, but not like drunk wild, just general weird things that happened around campus,” Dottie smiled, remembering the nice older guy that gave her advice on how to apply to colleges.

“He sounds nice,” Donny said.

“He was! Honestly, I think the best part about dating Tyler was that I could hang out with Flynn a lot.”

“So… what happened at prom?” Donny prompted her to continue.

“Um, Flynn dropped us off and Tyler said he wanted to talk before we went in. I thought he was nervous, y’know? I mean, I was nervous too. But he basically said he didn’t wanna date me anymore because he was gonna go to this science whatever camp during summer, and we were gonna be so far away and he just couldn’t deal with long distance so it was over.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyebrows raised on his forehead until they were hidden completely by his bangs. He was prepared to wait for her all four years of college and this fucking guy couldn’t handle being two months apart? “That’s such bullshit!”

“That’s what I said!” she exclaimed, getting angry again at the memory. “But then he said that he didn’t like me anymore because I didn’t put in any effort, and that other girls got pretty for their boyfriends and- and that hurt because he knew that I hadn’t been able to get a dress I liked for prom, so a friend’s sister let me borrow an old one from her.”

“What a fucking douchebag,” Gareth said, scoffing. “You always look pretty, what was his deal?”

“Wish I didn’t know, but, um, that one hurt way more when I found out,” she said, tears starting to form along her waterline. “Because I obviously went home after that, right? He didn’t want me there, and I didn’t want to be there either, so I got on the first bus I saw and that was it. I didn’t show up for the final week of school, and then I went to see my grandparents and stayed away from everyone all summer.”

“What about your friends?” Jeff asked.

“My Dad returned the dress for me and I called Tracey to say thank you, and that was it. She didn’t ask about what happened and no one else called.”

“You mean that no one cared you went missing for months?” Eddie’s face dropped.

“That’s kinda how summers were like for me in New York anyway,” she admitted, and he moved his hand from her back to her hip to bring her closer to him and into a side hug. “I was sure that everyone knew and that’s why no one called. Like, what would they even say? It would have been so awkward. But then school started again and I found out what happened during the holidays and everything made sense.”

“Why? What happened?” Gareth frowned. “What did they do while you were gone?”

“Tyler went to his dumb summer camp two weeks after school ended and got together with my friend Jeannie,” Dottie said, fat drops finally falling from her eyes. “God, why am I still crying about it? I don’t even care about them anymore, I’m pathetic.”

“Fuck that! You’re not pathetic, they are!” Jeff exclaimed, gripping her ankle tighter to get to look up from her hands. “What a bitch, how could she do that to you?”

“Okay, I’m gonna kill both of them,” Gareth deadpanned. “We should totally kill both of them, right, guys?”

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” Donny said, shifting closer until he was on Dottie’s other side, squishing her between himself and Eddie. “Do you want us to kill them? Because you know we would. I’ll bring the shovel, Eddie has the van, we can make it happen. Just say the word and we’ll be there.”

“I know you would,” she managed to chuckle through the tears. “It’s fine, I just… I never really told anyone this other than my Dad. The only reason my family knows is because he had to explain to everyone why I was locking myself in my room to cry all the time and wouldn’t leave home. I worried everyone a lot those days.”

“You were keeping this one really close to the chest, huh?” Eddie said, things clicking into place for him. Her sudden desperation when he mentioned Chrissy’s name mid freakout, her willingness to hide her own heartbreak if it meant they’d still be friends, the way she kept to herself all those months before she joined them. “Can I ask… did someone tell them anything? Did your other friends know?”

“They all knew. Tracey and Benji said they were sorry but that was kinda it. And all of them sat during lunch with Jeannie, who kept bringing Tyler over to our table and literally fucking sitting on him every day so I had no friends for six months except for Mrs. Randall.”

“Who’s Mrs. Randall?” Eddie asked, vaguely aware that he’d seen that very same name signed at the front of her well-loved Anne of Green Gables copy.

“The school’s librarian. I had lunch with her every day and she helped me write the essay I sent to UMich. She’s awesome, honestly. Dunno what I would have done without her.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all that,” Jeff said. “You didn’t deserve it, and I’m glad you aren’t friends with those assholes anymore.”

“Yeah! You have us now!” Gareth smiled, throwing himself over Eddie’s legs to join in on the hugging party. “We played D&D together which means we’re bonded for life. Can’t get rid of us anymore.”

“He’s right, princess,” Eddie added, hand coming up to brush her tears away. “It’s in the Player’s Handbook. You signed a blood contract.”

“I love you,” she said, looking at him earnestly before turning to her other boys. “I love all of you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything before, it was just so embarrassing to admit and I didn’t want you to know I’m the biggest loser on Earth and decide you didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

“You’re not a loser,” Donny said. “And those people weren’t your real friends, they were shitheads. That’s not on you, Dot. And we love you too, or else we wouldn’t be wearing suits right now.”

“Everything you guys did today… thank you. I’m gonna remember this forever, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

“We know,” Gareth said, looking at all his friends. “That’s why we did it.”

In the back of Eddie’s van, with the doors open to the empty parking lot waiting to be filled with teens looking for a snack, Dottie shed yet another layer of fear and anxiety. The air smelled vaguely of weed and fries, their forgotten milkshakes sweating rings onto the hard floor, but no one made a move to get themselves out of the puppy pile they had sunk into, five sets of legs and arms tangled with one another and the calm understanding that physical comfort was something they all needed at that moment. They had all been outcasts, freaks, easily disposable and replaceable throughout their lives, but here, in this van, they were invaluable and unique. Here the Hellfire Class of ‘86 was home, and there was nothing in the world that could convince them otherwise. Here they belonged, and birds of a feather flock together after all.

taglist (comment below or send me an ask if you wanna be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

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beanghostprincess · 6 months

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when did you start watching the anime (also how/why)

and how many episodes do you watch per day to go that fast??? (im asking because im genuinely impressed)

It's a funny story, I think-

Basically, I was hanging out months ago (like, the start of this year?? End of last year?? I think??) with my brother and his friend at his friend's house and they were like "Oh! What if we watch One Piece? The first episode, cmon, Robin!" and I was like: "Fuck, no. Shit's too long. Not watching all that. I'm sure it's cool and you two love it but I'm sooo not getting into this". But then they wouldn't stop insisting and the show started playing out of nowhere and, like, I just wanted to eat my salad so I guess I just didn't care if they made me watch a few episodes. The salad was really good, btw.

Anyway: I watched the first two episodes and I kind of?? Fell in love?? With everything about it??? Luffy was so charming and early OP is amazingly beautiful in all the ways. I kind of miss the energy, honestly, sometimes. But I loved it. I laughed. And I was like "Oh, okay. This is good. I'm probably not watching the rest because there are a lot of episodes but, like, cool show, guys!"

Spoiler: I did watch the rest.

But I didn't watch more until February. I was on my period and when I'm on my period I get really, really sick and I feel like shit in general. And I wanted to watch something to distract myself from that torture. So I asked my brother where he watched the show in Catalan (here in Spain/Catalonia it's also dubbed in Catalan and let me tell you, it's one of the best dubs I've seen. It's SO good) and I started watching it for real then.

The thing is, I was really, really slow watching the show because I was studying at the time and I could only watch at night sometimes and in between classes or whenever the teacher wasn't in class (or, you know, I just did it without the teachers noticing. The hyperfixation was growing). Besides, I started talking to my brother's friend more and more and more (now he's kind of like my best friend??? What the fuck lmao) and I literally told him every fucking thing that happened so, yeah, I wasn't quick watching the anime at the time. I would've probably caught up by now if it wasn't because I didn't have much time to watch it then.

Then I started Arabasta, and ever since, me and my friend have been watching the show together on Discord (I started watching it in Japanese and subbed, then). We watch the show every single night (except when we're busy, but it doesn't happen often) and we usually watch, like, 6-10 episodes every day. That's the average amount, but we've pulled all-nighters before when we've watched like 20 episodes during the night (we watched Marineford like that and we kind of did that too with WCI).

I think I don't go THAT fast tbh I could watch more every day if it wasn't because I watch the show with him only because it's sort of an 'us' thing. Now I'm on episode 1015, so I guess I'll catch up with the anime soon! Then I'll catch up with the manga and then I'll cry because I'll have to wait for episodes/chapters every week. What a torture.

TL;DR: I started watching in February, because my friend and my brother told me to and I fell in love with the show, and I watch 6-10 episodes every day unless I'm busy or I pull an all-nighter.

Fun fact: I watched the Baratie arc exactly on Sanji's birthday this year. I think he was truly meant to be my favorite character.

Oh, and the only reason I wasn't online commenting on my experience watching it before is because I physically stopped myself from looking for content because I didn't want to get spoiled. When I got to post-time skip, I created this side blog!! So, if you want a lil bit of a timeline: Started watching in February, got to post-timeskip in September when I created this blog (so 516 episodes in kind of half a year) and now I'm on episode 1015 (so 499 episodes in three months). I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not studying anymore and I'm just working 20 hours a week, huh.

#okay so i'm insane basically #the hyperfixation is too much #and i have so much merchandising now lmao y'all don't want to see the mental illness that is my room #anyway i love this show a lot aefnjkdfnalsndlanewflk #actually thanks for this ask bc i've been meaning to do math about my experience with op for a while and i never do it #one piece

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age-of-greta · 1 year

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The Moon

The Moon represents illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

Author’s note: hi!!! Welcome back. Sorry it’s been taking about two weeks per chapter, life has been busy. Anyway you know the drill! I proofread but typos happen. There is no posting schedule, but all parts will be posted on Wednesday at midnight. Also this is a slower burn, but trust me spice is coming… enjoy!!!

Parings: Sam x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption

Word count: 4.6k

PART 4:

Wednesdays have never been your favorite days. They always seemed to drag by the longest. This Wednesday was no exception. You were in a bad mood. Blame it on Wednesday, blame it on work, blame it on the hot weather. But the root of your problem was something different entirely. It was Jake. You hadn’t spoken to him since your kiss. In fact, the next morning you woke up you had lingered around perhaps a little longer than you had planned- but Jake never came out of his room. Josh kept making jokes about how Jake can never handle being crossed and you tried to laugh at them- but in the end you left feeling empty. That feeling hasn’t gone away. Jake hasn’t texted you or tried to speak to you since. You felt so many things. Sad. Angry. Confused. All of it. That has carried on into your week. You tried to just forget about it, chalk it up to stupid drunken behavior, but you couldn’t. It was now nearing the end of your day and you were ready to climb back into bed and watch something distracting on tv. It’s basically all you had done all week; order food and binge watch Netflix. At least this morning you had made yourself shower. You were still in pajamas however. A brown Aerosmith vintage tee riddled with holes and short black pajama shorts was the current outfit. Your hair was down, it had air dried from this morning. You also had on a pair of fluffy slippers. Usually they make you feel a little better, but not today. You groaned as you hit send on your final email of the day. Then you heard a knock at your door. You furrowed your brows together. You hadn’t been expecting anyone. Although you supposed it could be Margo, you had seen her a few days ago but not since. You got up from your chair and shuffled towards the door.

“Hello!” Danny greeted when you opened the door.

There stood Sam and Danny at your doorstep. You quickly flicked your eyes around but there was no sign of Jake nor Josh.

“Hi.” You say back in a puzzled tone.

Danny side steps and starts heading inside and Sam follows behind giving you a smile.

You cock your head to the side, trying to figure out if you had made plans and somehow forgotten them.

“Are you off yet? It’s like almost seven o’clock.” Danny says.

Was it really that late? You felt like maybe you were starting to lose it as you checked your watch and it read “6:48pm.”

“Oh yeah I’ve just been responding to emails.” You say trying not to sound conspicuous. “What are you guys up to?”

“I dunno. Thought we could come by and hang. We haven’t seen you in a few days.” Danny says nonchalantly.

Did Jake tell them? No, no he wouldn’t do that. At least you didn’t think he would. But this still strikes you as odd.

“We can order food. Maybe watch a movie or something.” Sam suggests.

You nod your head. “Yeah, it sounds good. Sorry it’s a mess and I’m a mess. I wasn’t really expecting anyone.”

Sam lightly laughs. “You’re good. You don’t look like a mess.”

“Can we order Indian food? I’m craving curry.” Danny says.

“Actually that sounds great. I think there’s a takeout pamphlet on my fridge.” You say.

“Perfect. I’m going to go check it out.” Danny says heading towards your kitchen.

You nod and watch him take off.

Sam is eyeing you a little awkwardly. “Hey I just wanted to say sorry if last weekend was weird or anything. I know sleeping in my room wasn’t the ideal situation. I just didn’t want you on the couch or anything.”

You make a face at him. “Sam, what are you talking about? It wasn’t weird. I thought it was incredibly nice that you did that for me. So thank you.”

“Oh okay. I just didn’t know because the next morning you seemed a little off and I didn’t want it to be because of me.”

You let out an unintentional sigh. “No, not you at all. I was just tired I guess. Come on, let’s go order some food.”

The night turned out to be rather pleasant. You, Sam, and Danny had ordered in food and started watching comedy specials. You all laughed at the dumbest jokes whilst also reminiscing on stories from your childhood.

“Hey Birdie, remember when you and Jake went to homecoming and got kicked out for the flasks?” Danny asked with a laugh.

You flinch a little at his name, but force a smile in its place. “Yes. Jake was a fucking idiot of course we were going to get caught.”

Sam lets out a laugh. “You’re right about that. That homecoming sucked anyway.”

“Didn’t you go with- ugh what’s her name? Oh yeah Emma Greene?” Danny asks.

You threw out your hands. “Oh yeah! I totally remember her. She was cute Sam! Why did it suck?”

Sam takes a minute before replying. “Eh homecoming/prom is never as fun when you don’t get to go with who you actually want to go with.”

You make a face. “Aw Sam! Who broke your heart and crushed your dreams?”

Sam shakes his head and puts on a small smile. “Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

Danny clears his throat. “So Birdie, have any plans this weekend?”

“Nope. Probably going to grab brunch with Margo or something.”

“So you’re not busy Saturday night?” Sam asks.

“No, why?”

“You really don’t know?” Danny asks.

You make a strange face at him.

“We have a show Birdie! It’s like an hour away at an amphitheater. You have to come.” Danny says excitedly.

“Oh shit I had no idea.” You say, starting to feel a little bad.

Danny waves his hand. “It’s a pop up show announcement we just announced a few days ago. It’s for charity. You haven’t seen us play since our underage dive bar days.”

You ponder for a minute. “Okay I’ll go. Can Margo come?”

Danny replies with a smile. “Can we come to brunch?”

You huff a laugh. “Yes.”

“That works out perfectly actually. We can meet for brunch and then head over to the venue after.” Sam adds.

“Great, I’ll tell Margo. Can we resume our movie now?”

Saturday had rolled around faster than you anticipated. Friday night Margo came over and stayed with you. You two had spent all night picking out concert outfits. Honestly, you think she was more excited than you. Now you were getting ready to meet the guys for brunch. You felt nervous? This will be the first time you had seen or spoke to Jake since that night. You had on a pair of ripped up light wash jeans and a white tank top with a chunky black and gold belt. You threw on a pair of black heeled booties and a lot of gold jewelry. Margo had curled your hair and put in enough product so it would last all day. You had done light makeup and brushed out your lash extensions. You felt ready. Margo had packed a huge bag full of more makeup and touch ups for later. You packed both of your outfits for later.

“Hey! Your phone is ringing. It’s Danny.” Margo yells from the other room.

You fastly shuffle to her and grab your phone to answer it.

“Good morning!” Danny beams from the speaker.

“Good morning Danny. What’s up?” You respond.

“Just checking in on you. Are you guys about ready for brunch?”

“Yeah, actually we were just about to leave here.” You say, walking back towards your room to grab your last minute things.

“Perfect!” Danny says. “Because we are outside. You can’t miss us. It’s the big tour bus right in front of your door.”

You furrow your brows together. “What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You peer out of your window and see a giant black bus outside.

“Holy shit. Okay yeah. Give me a minute.” You say wide eyed.

“Take your time.” Danny says before hanging up.

Oh fuck. This was going to be awkward with Jake. At least at brunch you had the distraction of eating. Now you’re about to be in a confined vehicle with him. How would he act? You shook your head and took a deep breath. No time to sit and think- they’re outside.

“Margo! So uh they’re outside to pick us up and they’re here.”

She makes a slightly confused face. “Oh? I thought we were driving. Are we all taking an Uber?”

You huff a laugh. “Something like that.”

You two grab all of your things and start to head out. You might have put on more lip gloss and perfume before going outside, but who was keeping track.

“No fucking way!” Margo exclaimed when she saw the bus.

You slightly shake your head. “Tell me about it.”

The doors open and Josh is awaiting you. “Birdie! Margo! Climb aboard!”

You breathe a laugh. “Hi Josh.”

He hugs both of you and ushers you onto the bus. It’s incredibly nice inside. There are couches straight ahead with a small kitchenette to the side. Then there is a room with beds and a bathroom to the side. Though you can’t see much because the door is cracked.

“What do you think?” Danny asks, throwing his hands out.

You scan the room once more. You hadn’t seen Jake or Sam.

“It’s really nice. You guys are such divas now.” You tease.

Josh snorts a laugh at that. “I wish. This is just for today. Our last tour bus didn’t have running water for about a week. We had to stop at gas stations to brush our teeth.”

You laugh at that and find a seat on one of the couches as the bus starts to pull off. Margo is on the other couch already off in a conversation with Josh. Danny is messing around in the kitchen. You look out the window and watch as you pass the familiarity of your street. Then you feel someone plop down next to you.

“Hey Birdie.” Jake says with a smirk. “You look lovely.”

You turn your head to him and try not to make a face. “Hey Jake.” You say flatly.

He throws his arm over you. “I’m excited you’re coming to the show tonight. I’ll make sure to be on my best behavior on stage. Can’t mess up with such a VIP guest in attendance.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh right.

He grins at you. “I’m going to impress you Birdie.”

“We’ll see about that.” You quip playfully.

Just like that you’re putty in his hands again. Damnit. You had to admit you were a little taken aback by the way Jake was acting after no contact for over a week.

Sam walks over and nods at you. He eyes Jake noticing he’s so close to you. He doesn’t make a face or say anything. The rest of the car ride was filled with comfortable conversation, then you were pulling up to brunch.

“We look so inconspicuous rolling up here like this.” You say, standing up and preparing to exit the large bus.

“C’mon babe. You know we’ve always had a flair for the theatrics.” Jake says, giving you a smile.

Babe.

Brunch went well. You had all gotten a variety of different brunch foods and plenty of mimosas. You had decided on strawberry french toast- to which Sam insisted he try. He had gotten an omelet and the guys had given him hell for it with his Pescatarian life. All of this had escalated into a debate about whether or not eggs are vegetarian. You and Sam were very clear that they are; but everyone else seemed to be enjoying teasing you two about it. Now you were all back on the tour bus heading towards the venue. You didn’t know where you were going but you knew it would probably be a smaller venue, which meant it would probably be packed full. Jake was splayed out on the couch with his guitar in hand striking chords and chiming in on the setlist. You sat with Margo and Sam on one of the couches while everyone else was on the opposite one.

“What should we do for an encore or our final song? Has to be something where we can draw out a jam session.” Josh says.

“What’s your favorite song Birdie?” Jake asks you with a smirk.

You pretend to think about it, but you already know. “Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd?” You say with a hint of sarcasm.

Jake lets out a laugh. “Very funny Birdie. But you know I meant by us.”

“Edge of Darkness.”

Jake makes a rather surprised face at you. “Good choice.”

“I didn’t know that one was your favorite.” Sam says.

“Yeah. It might be the nostalgia, but it’s my favorite.”

You said this because of the slides that Jake does with this one. You once saw him use a beer bottle during this song. You’re pretty sure that altered your brain chemistry.

“Hey, it's a good jam song. Write it down.” Danny adds.

“Edge of Darkness it is.” Josh says writing it down. “Hey Margo, did anyone ever tell you what Edge of Darkness us about?”

Everyone groans simultaneously.

Margo makes a confused face. “No, what is it about?”

Josh can’t wipe the smirk off of his face. “It’s about an edge of darkness.”

Margo laughs at that- and truthfully you do too. You hadn’t heard that one in a while.

“Never change Josh.” You say through a smile.

“Oh I already have. We’re divas now, remember?” Josh says, giving you a wink.

You had pulled up to the venue shortly after. It was a smaller venue but a lot bigger than you had originally thought. You have seen them play countless dive bars or small auditoriums. But this was larger.

“This way!” The production director says, taking you all back through a series of doors.

You all follow in line as you’re given a mini tour throughout the place. You and Margo decided to hang back in the dressing rooms while they went through stage set up and logistics.

“This is so nice!” Margo says flopping down on the couch.

You lightly giggle. “It is.”

Margo frowns at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just strange seeing them like this. It all feels a little surreal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond happy for them. They have wanted this since we were kids.”

Margo takes your hand and makes you plop down with her. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Jake is way more into you than the groupies. I mean did you see the way he was with you earlier?”

You scoff at her. “That is absolutely not what I mean and let the Jake thing rest. It’s not like that.”

“Mhm whatever you say Birdie. Can we start getting ready now?”

“This shit is not budging.” Margo says, setting her face with a ton of spray.

You two had just finished up getting ready. You both looked incredible. You had on a short dark red bodycon dress that mimicked a corset. You wore a pair of sheer black tights and black go-go boots. You had on a pair of red earrings in the shape of hearts that matched your dress. Your hair was curled in rather tight curls that you had brushed a few times. Your makeup was classic, accompanied by lashes and winged liner. Margo had on a long dark blue dress with a high slit. She wore black boots and liner that matched her dress. It was so her style.

“We look fucking hot.” She says, gawking at you both in the full length mirror.

“We do.” You respond with a smile.

Just then the door knob twitches and in walk the boys, already in full stage attire.

“You two are trying to upstage us at our own show huh?” Josh says.

Jake raises an eyebrow and looks directly at you. You just shoot him a small smile.

“Wow you look great. I mean both of you.” Sam says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You all do too. I love the outfits.” You say, gesturing towards their eccentric looks.

“Curtain is in about 30 minutes. Anyone care for a drink?” Danny asks, walking towards the small bar in the corner of the room.

“Please!” Margo says.

“I’ll help.” Jake says walking over with Danny.

You sit down on the couch and Sam finds his seat next to you.

“Are you excited?” Sam asks.

You give him a smile. “Very. Are you?”

“Very.” He responds back.

“Okay whiskey sours for everyone.” Danny announces as he and Jake make their way over to the couches with glasses in hand.

You all take a glass and clink them together.

“Oof this is strong.” You announce as the liquid burns your throat.

Sam gives you a look of amusement.

“Oh come on now. I made it. Take it like a good girl.” Jake says to you with a devilish smirk.

Margo chokes on her drink for a minute while you try not to allow your face to flush.

Danny gives him a weird look. “Okay so the show tonight-“

Then Danny rambles on about timing and much more that you sort of tuned out. While Danny was speaking Margo looked at you and widened her eyes slightly laughing at you. You raised your eyebrows at her, signaling to stop.

“5 minutes until curtain!” The stage hand says busting in through the door.

“Ah shit. Okay let’s do this.” Josh says, slamming down his drink.

The other four follow suit and they all get up to head towards the door.

“See ya out there Birdie.” Jake says, pushing his hair back. You could tell he was electrified by the energy of the impending performance.

“Break a leg.” You say.

Sam gives you a small bow then they’re all out of the door.

“Sooooooo.” Margo starts.

“Not a word.” You say cutting her off.

“Hey ladies. This way, the show’s about to begin.” One of the stagehands says ushering you out.

They take you to a small section in the front that’s barely separated from the rest of the crowd. Wow. It was packed. You saw thousands of people wearing their logo amped and ready to see them. You felt a sense of pride in your chest. Then the lights began to dim and the cheering started.

Jake was a guitar god. You had made up your mind on that one. Fuck he looked so hot. Sweating, fingers moving at lightning speed, and his whole body leaning and bouncing with the music. The faces he made caused you to squeeze your knees together just to feel something. There had been a few times where he would look in your direction and smirk or purse his lips. It felt like he was edging you without even touching you. The whole entire performance was electric. Josh hit notes so high you thought glass would break. Danny beat the drums into oblivion. Sam plucked at that base like it was the last thing he’d ever do. And Jake… yeah. You were amazed at how great they were. They had come a long way since the dive bar days. Margo had swayed along with you to the beats, but you felt enthralled after that performance. When the show had ended you and Margo were ushered back through the tunnels to the dressing room.

“Whoo! That one was incredible boys.” Jake said with a smile.

He had just cracked open a bottle of water and started guzzling. There was still sweat shining all over him. But, when you looked around the room you noticed they were all pretty much covered in sweat.

“You guys were amazing. Like seriously, I am blown away!” You say excitedly.

Sam comes over and wraps you in a hug. “Thanks Birdie.”

You cackle and attempt to peel him off of you. “Sweaty!”

He laughs and heads off to grab a bottle of water for himself.

Jake walks up and approaches you, wrapping his right arm around your neck. “You’re too sweet.” Then he plants a kiss on the top of your head.

You try your best to play it off. “Ew! Sweaty again!”

Margo gives you a smirk and you cut your eyes at her.

“Can we please change and go out? I’m awfully bored.” Josh says casually, kicking his feet up on the couch.

“Yes. But no repeats of the last time we went out. I am talking to you Jake and Sam.” Danny says.

Jake lets out a chuckle. “No promises.”

Sam huffs a laugh in response. “Birdie, you’re coming right?”

You lightly whisper to him so no one else can hear. “Only if you’re the one ordering drinks.”

He lets out a laugh. “Deal.”

“No Margo, you can’t be serious!” You shout into your phone.

“I’m sorry! But in a way it’s your fault for making me go out after the show. I tried to tough it out today at work and blew chunks before lunch in the bathroom.” Margo says in a sickly voice.

Fuck.

It had been a few days since the night out. All had gone well. Jake was flirty, Sam bought you drinks you had actually liked, and everyone got trashed. So trashed, that when you and Margo had gotten back to your apartment that night you were so convinced that you needed to go to another concert that you had both paid insane resale prices to attend a music festival for this weekend at the beach. It was unlike you to make such rash decisions but that was the alcohol talking. Due to the festival, there were zero hotel rooms available. So you two had rented a tiny one bedroom shack on the beach via AirBNB. You weren’t proud of how much you had paid for that either.

“But you still have like three days to get better!” You pleaded.

Margo sighed. “Listen babe I’m sorry. I really am. But there is no way I’m going to be able to sit in a car for nine hours then party on the beach for the weekend.”

“But it’s The Red Hot Chili Peppers!” You yelled.

“I know and I’m fucking depressed. You still go! Find someone to go with you. I don’t even want to be reimbursed for anything. I just want you to go and have a good time.”

You fake a cry. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Margo huffs a laugh. “I know it won’t. But I need to go. I feel like I’m about to shit myself again.”

“Again?” You ask.

“Fuck off. Love you. Bye.”

Then the phone disconnects. You groan and throw your phone onto the couch before throwing your body in a similar spot. You sat on the couch and sulked for hours. Then you swallowed your pride and texted a friend from college inviting her. You paced around anxiously awaiting a response. Then there was a knock on your door. You raced to the door hoping it was Margo and this was all some sick joke. But alas it was Sam and Danny. This had become somewhat of a regular occurrence. They would show up randomly, unannounced, with food and just hangout for hours.

You huff a little. “Hi.”

Danny makes a face at you. “Who pissed in your cheerios?”

You move out of the way of the door insinuating for them to come in. “No one I’m just-”

Then your phone buzzes. You frantically unlock your phone just to see a polite way of “I already have plans.”

“Fuck!” You groan.

“What is your deal?” Danny continues, shuffling past you and putting paper bags of food on your counter.

You sigh. “Kind of a crazy story. But basically after Sam pumped me full of tequila soda the other night I wasn’t thinking straight and Margo and I bought festival tickets.”

Sam snickers a laugh at that. “Okay, go on.”

“And the festival is this weekend at the beach and Margo is super sick and now I have to find someone to go with and I can’t think of any of my other friends I want to go with so now I’m thinking I’m not going to go and we dropped about a grand total on tickets and a place to stay and yeah.” You say, catching your breath after rapid firing off that information.

Danny looks at you with somewhat wide eyes. “Shit. Uh yeah that is a bummer. Can you get a refund?”

“Nope.” You say, crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry sweet cousin. I would volunteer to go with you, but I have a golf session booked this weekend and I’ve had it on the books for a while.” Danny says, feeling bad for you.

You shake your head. “No, no. I wouldn’t expect you to drop your plans and go with me.”

“I’ll go.” Sam says, stepping closer and putting his hands in his pockets.

“Huh?” You say giving him a confused look.

“Yeah. I’ll go. Since you know it’s obviously my fault that you bought the tickets and all.” He says with a smirk.

“No Sam you don’t have to-“ you start.

“Nonsense. I’m not busy this weekend. But if you don’t want me to, that's okay.” He says with a chuckle.

“No! It’s not that at all. If you are down to go then let’s do it.” You say giving him a smile.

“Okay.” He says giving you the same smile. “Now who exactly are we seeing?”

You laugh. “Oh shit I didn’t even get to the best part. Red Hot Chili Peppers. We only bought Saturday tickets just to see them.”

Sam grins. “Oh hell yes. They’re so cool.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head. “You’ve met them?”

Sam tries to hide his bashfulness. “We did, just once though.”

“Well good it worked out. But I’m starving. Can we eat now?” Danny asks, rummaging through the bags.

You nod your head.

Thank god. Sam had come in incredibly clutch. You felt such a relief. But something had crept into your mind. There was only one bedroom. But that was a problem for another time. Right now you are taking your win. This weekend would be one for the books.

***

-thanks for reading :))

#greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #sam gvf #sam kiszka #sam kiszka x reader #the lovers #the moon #jake x reader #sam x reader

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ladydorian05 · 6 months

Text

A Home for Broken Hearts ~ Chapter 2

Co-written with @made-ofmemories (she also made the header)

What's this!? Two chapters in one day!?

Yup, two chapters in one day!

You can expect one chapter per week, we'll most likely be posting on Saturdays. And last but not least, we'd love to read what you think of this fic! ❤️ Enjoy!! :D

Word count: 2,810

Master Post

AO3

Chapter 2: Of broken hearts and healing ideas

Robin thinks she’s stealthy, sneaking into Steve’s room, but she might just be the clumsiest person in the entire city and she is not as quiet as she thinks she is, creeping around the admittedly cluttered space. He wakes the minute she opens the door.

“Rise and shine, Stevie!” She sounds far too chipper, ripping the curtains open and sending him burrowing under the covers when the sunlight hits his squinting eyes.

“Go away, Robin.” His voice is muffled by the comforter bunched up around his face. It’s too early, his head is pounding and he would very much like to go back to sleep.

“Not until you tell me what happened last night.”

He must have woken her when he stumbled into the apartment last night. He doesn’t remember much after passing the threshold, but he must have been loud because Robin sleeps like the dead.

The bed dips as she flops down beside him. He lets out a sigh then rolls over to face her. She’ll drag it out of him one way or another, she always does. Steve had never believed in soulmates, until he met Robin and it was like staring at a part of himself that he hadn’t even known was missing.

Steve peeks his head out from beneath the blanket and sees Robin’s blue eyes staring back at him expectedly. Laying like this reminds him of the sleepovers they’d have as teenagers, staying up too late talking about everything and nothing. He misses those days, back when all they had to worry about were highschool grades and their shitty part time jobs at the ice cream parlor in the mall where they met.

“I had a date with Heidi. Well, I thought it was a date, turns out she only invited me there to dump me.” He contemplates hiding under the comforter again when he sees the expression on Robin’s face morph into sadness, “Please don’t look at me like that. I’m fine, Robs.”

“Sure you are,” she says, but her tone doesn’t match her words. Damn her and that ability she has to see through every last one of his lies. They do this a lot, Steve pretending he’s unaffected by everything even though they both know he’s got a much bigger heart than he lets on, “So where were you until 3am?”

“Some dive bar downtown.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

“How did you get home?” There’s concern creeping into her voice now and he hasn’t even gotten to the best, or maybe worst depending on the point of view, part of his story.

“Some random guy from the bar gave me a ride in his van.” He deadpans.

“What?”

“Yeah, we actually stopped at this- I guess you could call it a construction site?” Steve contemplates without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Will it make you feel better if I say I am?”

“Oh my god. How have you even survived this long?” Robin asks, tangling one of her hands in her hair the way she always does when she’s stressed. She’s taking it better than he expected in all honesty. She’s always been a bit of a worrier.

“Dumb luck mostly.” He shrugs the shoulder he isn’t lying on, “Now that we’ve established that I’m an idiot, can I please go back to sleep?”

“No. You’re going to drink a glass of water, the biggest one we have. Then we’re going out for lunch and I want to know more about van guy.”

“Lunch? What time is it?” It feels early, too early, not time for lunch. Though that could be down to his pounding headache and the fact he didn’t go to sleep until long after 3am.

“12:30.” He feels the mattress shift again, this time when Robin gets up. She grabs his discarded shirt from the floor and it hits him in the face a second later, “Get dressed I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“I hate you,” He says into his pillow, there’s no venom behind it. He looks up just in time to watch her flipping him off as she leaves.

Robin is sitting on one of the counter tops when he wanders into the kitchen 10 minutes later despite the perfectly good chairs a few feet to her left. She tosses a bottle of tylenol at him, he catches it and mumbles his thanks as he grabs an empty glass from the side of the sink.

Robin’s socked foot pushes into the soft flesh of his side, “That’s not the big one and you know it.” He sets the glass back down and pulls out another from the cupboard, holding it up so she can see it and awaiting her nod of approval before he fills it.

“My car is still at the bar, so you’ll have to drive,” He explains to her, suddenly very thankful for all those driving lessons he gave her over the years. They can pick his car up later, he doesn’t think he’s in any fit state to be driving right now anyway.

“Alright, you ready to go?” She asks once he’s shaken 2 pills from the bottle and swallowed them with a gulp of water.

“Yeah,” He pats the back pocket of his jeans and frowns when he finds it empty, “let me just grab my wallet.”

He finds his keys on the table by his bedside where he set them after stumbling in earlier that morning, he was sure he’d dumped his wallet there with them but it’s not there. There’s no sign of it after he’s turned the rest of his room upside down either leaving him scratching his head as he sits amidst the pile of laundry he’s dragged out from the basket under the assumption he must have left it in a pocket somewhere.

“Have you found it yet?” Robin calls. He’d tasked her with searching the couch in case it had somehow ended up wedged between the cushions, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“No.” He sticks his head out of his room to check up on her progress.

“I’m starving,” She whines, “let's just go. I’ll pay. We can tear the place apart looking for it later.”

“Just, let me check my room once more then we can go I swear.”

There’s a knock at the front door and Steve’s pretty sure that’s the only reason she doesn’t argue with him.

“Make it quick, Harrington!” She calls and he darts back into his room whilst she goes to deal with whoever is knocking at their door on a Saturday afternoon. They hadn’t been expecting company, at least none that he was aware of.

He abandons his laundry theory and turns instead to rifling through his drawers. It’s got to be in here somewhere. He’s onto the second drawer when he hears Robin’s voice ringing through the apartment.

“Hey, Stevie! I found your wallet.”

She’s holding the front door open, a smirk on her face as she watches him come barreling out of his room then freeze in his tracks when he sees none other than Eddie standing in the doorway holding up what appears to be Steve’s wallet.

He’s wearing an outfit similar to the one from the previous night, only this time there’s a leather jacket over his t-shirt and there’s a different yet still unfamiliar logo on the front of it. The only major difference in his appearance is his hair, it’s untied today, falling in loose curls down to his shoulders.

“Figured you might be missing this.” He’s smiling as he holds out the Wallet in Steve’s direction, “Found it under the passenger seat this morning.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

He tucks the wallet into his pocket and thinks that’ll be the end of it, but Eddie lingers, twirling one of his rings around his index finger. Steve doesn’t know him well enough to tell whether it’s a nervous habit or just something he does.

“There’s actually something I wanted to show you,” Eddie says, “if you’re not busy.”

“We were just heading out to get lunch.” Steve explains, jabbing his thumb in the direction of Robin.

“Oh Lunch can wait, I want to see this.”

“What happened to ‘I’m starving, Steve, I’m going to waste away if we don’t get lunch within the next 10 seconds, Steve’.”

It’s a poor imitation of Robin’s voice, one that has her curling her lip at him in disgust. It makes Eddie chuckle though, a sound Steve finds himself really liking, which is maybe a little concerning given the fact they’ve known each other for less than 24hrs. That’s an issue for future Steve to unpack.

“Come on, what’re you waiting for?!” She throws both of her hands up in frustration, the keys in her hand jangling with the movement. She’s already halfway down the hallway while Steve and Eddie haven’t moved.

Steve and Robin take her car, a modern, bright yellow vw beetle that she had started saving for since before she even knew how to drive, and Eddie leads the way in his van.

Hellfire looks pretty much the same as Steve’s slightly fuzzy memory of it. There’s a little sunlight streaming through the cracks in some of the window coverings and a lot more people milling around, but it still looks just as much of a construction site.

“Eddie? Is that you?” It’s a feminine voice, cheery and light. At first Steve can’t determine where it’s coming from until a head of strawberry blonde hair pops up from behind the bar.

“I brought some visitors,” Eddie says to the mystery woman who is making her way over to them, then turns his attention to Steve and Robin again, “This is Chrissy my…”

“Business partner,” She supplies when he struggles to find the words.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

“Robin.”

“Chrissy helps me out with just about everything.” He pulls her into a one armed hug and she pushes him away playfully with a smile. It’s clear they’re close, but Steve can’t quite figure out what the story between them is. He is, however, sure there’s more to it than simple business partners, “She’s pretty much the only reason anything gets done around here.”

“Yes, I am, which is why I need to get back to work,” She shares a glance with Eddie that Steve can’t quite decipher, it’s the same type of silent communication he and Robin have perfected through many many years of friendship, “It was lovely meeting you both,” She says, her face morphing back into something more open and friendly when she addresses Steve and Robin.

Chrissy leaves them, navigating through the mess of covered up furniture and construction equipment with so much ease Steve is sure she could do it blindfolded.

“Ok, it’s just over here,” Eddie explains, returning to their original task and the whole reason they’re here in the first place.

He leads them to the wall where Steve had left the scrunchie last night, but now there’s something beside it, two tickets pinned to the wall with messy handwriting scrawled next to them.

‘James skipped town 3 days

before this concert

and didn’t bother to tell me.’

“Heidi?” Robin questions, ignoring the tickets entirely and looking at Steve’s message from last night, “Steve, did you do this?”

“Yeah,” Steve waves her off, he’ll catch her up on everything over lunch, “but who left those?”

“Don’t know.” Eddie shrugs, “Found them when I got here this morning. Could’ve been anyone there’s people in and out of this place all the time, construction worker, delivery guy, who knows.”

“Holy shit,” Steve says, running his fingers over the edge of the tickets.

“Yeah, holy shit,” Robin echoes, “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get him to lose some of the ex memorabilia?” She asks Eddie, “Seriously, you should see his room, it's like a mausoleum in there. He once kept a gum wrapper, with a wad of chewed up gum in it for over a year.”

“Alright, thank you very much for that Robin, but I think that’s enough.” Steve cuts her off with a stern glare.

“A mausoleum for broken hearts,” Eddie muses.

Robin’s face lights up with an idea at Eddie’s words. She grabs the marker from the table they had passed on the way over here, the same pen Steve and presumably whoever left the tickets had used to scrawl on the wall.

‘The broken hearts gallery, leave your heartbreak here’

“There,” She says, stepping back to admire her work, “It could be like a community project, maybe there’s more hoarders like Steve out there who need a place where they can learn to let go.”

“I am not a hoarder,” Steve protests, indignant at the mere suggestion, “It’s a good idea though, maybe it’ll help people.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie interrupts, waving his hands in front of him as he steps between them, “as much as I’m all for self expression. Maybe a literal construction site isn’t the best place for your little art project?”

“It’s the perfect place,” Robin insists, “I can set up some social media accounts, start spreading the word.”

“We could ask for tips for each donation too,” Steve suggests, “You can put the money back into this place.”

“And Steve can help out with the labor, you guys look busy, an extra pair of hands would be good right?” Steve’s glaring at her again, but she’s unphased, “Oh what? It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

She’s right, she usually is, it’s annoying.

“It would,” Eddie confirms, taking a moment to consider the offer before he says “alright, deal.”

They agree to meet again on Monday at 8am, Chrissy seems thrilled with the news when Eddie calls her over to let her know about their newest volunteer and they share another one of those silent conversations passed through a series of unreadable expressions.

Chrissy and Eddie are an unusual pair, it was evident the moment Eddie had introduced her to them, and it continues to be evident now. Chrissy is wearing a pair of light wash jeans and a peach t-shirt with a white ribbon tied into a bow holding up her slicked back ponytail, meanwhile Eddie is all dark denim and leather. They couldn’t look more different if they tried. And for all her caution, Robin seems to have taken to them both rather quickly, so much so that he’s surprised she doesn’t invite them to lunch.

They eat at their usual haunt, a little cafe they frequent so often because Robin insists they sell the best apple pie in the whole city. Steve is just glad to have a good cup of coffee placed down in front of him.

Robin spends most of the time with her nose buried in her phone, occasionally passing it across the table to ask Steve’s approval on whatever social media page she’s setting up now. Should it be the broken heart gallery or the broken hearts gallery? Does he think this picture is better or this one?

“Sure,” He agrees despite not really knowing what the question was. She frowns at him, wrong answer, “Sorry.”

“I know I kind of just sprung this on you,” Robin starts, her voice is soft a tone she reserves only for serious conversations, “but we don’t actually have to go through with this whole gallery thing if you’re not into it. I just thought it would be good for you to have something to focus on that isn’t...” She stalls, making a few vague gestures with her hands.

“My failed love life or my non-existent career?” He says and she cracks a smile at his bluntness.

“Yeah, that.”

“I think it’s a good idea, and you’re right. I can’t just mope around the apartment for the rest of my life.” Oh how he wishes he could.

“Eddie is kinda hot too.”

“Robin!” He scolds.

“What? I’m gay not blind, Steve.”

“Alright we are not having this conversation,” Steve decides, hurrying to change the subject.

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed. Maybe if circumstances were different he’d even consider making a move, but he’s in the midst of yet another failed relationship and the risk of making things awkward with Eddie is too great when the guy is letting them use a space in his property for Robin’s idea free of charge.

She holds up her hands in surrender, “I’m just saying.”

“Show me those pictures again.”

She obliges, passing her phone over to show him the two very rough drafts of a logo she has put together.

“One on the right for sure.”

“That’s what I thought!” She beams, excitedly taking the phone from him and continuing to tap away at the screen.

What has he let himself be dragged into?

#steddiebigbang23 #a home for broken hearts #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #teacher!steve harrington #bartender!eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #broken hearts gallery au #stranger things

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alltheselights · 2 years

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I am so tired for Louis. Look at all the articles because he made a flippant comment about Up All Night (which really is my least favourite 1D album, I like a couple of songs from it but I think the other albums were better overall) and also, Louis - and the other boys too, they have also said things that pointed at this - clearly didn’t completely love the direction of early 1D, hence why he fought for the boys to have more of a say, for them to write more and have more to do with the music side of things. Which they did. All these articles about that comment, yet none of them wrote about a world-record livestream with proceeds donated to charities and his crew, the Away From Home Festival from last year, the fact that the Away From Home Festival 2022 sold out in a few days, nothing really about Walls reaching #1 on iTunes a second time (which I think is actually pretty impressive), a successful solo world tour. And people outside of Louis’ fans think this is normal? It’s not. Niall had more articles about his livestream and he sold less tickets than Louis. I don’t want to compare the boys but doing so just tells you how rotten things are for Louis. I’m just sick of this entire thing and people are using those new articles to drag Louis again - and the comment happened over a week ago! The timing just seems off, but then they always do with negative press about Louis and actions against Louis. It gets disheartening. I also admire him so much for being able to keep moving forward and keep trying, because he knows what has been done to him and he still keeps going when it would be easy to give up and just completely lose faith. How do you deal with the anger towards and the disappointment in the industry which has not been kind to Louis in many ways, if it’s something you feel you can answer?

Yeah, I saw the negative articles and negative comments on ssome of them. Thankfully, despite those articles, it doesn’t seem to have gotten too much attention - not anything like what happened with Liam a couple of months ago. I also think while the general public is hating on him, fans overall agree with him and understand why he would say that. Billboard tried to post about it and fans just bombarded the quote RTs and replies saying he spilled. 😭

I’m not sure if it was a targeted effort or just the media acting like the media, but this yet again makes it very clear that Simon Jones does NOTHING for Louis to help him in the UK press and the rest of his team does nothing to help him elsewhere in the world. He has nobody trying to get him good press and nobody trying to lessen the impact of negative press. Like you mentioned with the livestream and the upcoming AFH Festival, there isn’t even a bare minimum of normal press coverage of those things, but any flippant comment that can be twisted to make Louis look bad, they’re on it. It’s ridiculous and not anything you see with any other artist at Louis’ level.

To criticize Louis slightly for a minute though (and his team again too) - I do think that he needs to go through a fresh round of media training. I don’t want him to be a robot in interviews, but I think it’s clear that after so much time away from having to do them (first with 1D ending, then with the long break from him releasing music after Miss You, then with the pandemic), he seems to struggle with them a bit. He seems very nervous and uncomfortable in many of them, and I actually think that contributes to him repeating the same phrases over and over (”do you know what I mean?” and “to be fair” are said like 10x per interview if not more). He swears even when it’s not appropriate - for example, on U.S. radio and TV shows where it’s not allowed. I have no issue with swearing, I do it all the time, but obviously there is a time and place. And comments like the UAN one - while yes, the media will absolutely always find something to criticize, I do think there are certain things that Louis says sometimes where it’s pretty obvious that it will be used to make him look bad and I think some fresh media training would help prevent him from saying those things or help him to say them in a better way where it’s less likely that it would be twisted.

A strong team that wanted the best for him would help Louis with these things so he would feel more comfortable in interviews AND better portray himself to the general public so he could gain a larger fanbase. Louis is so intelligent and kind and big-hearted and his interviews (and the subsequent press coverage, when it actually happens) rarely reflect that. It’s so frustrating.

#asks

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Saturday 6 October 1832

7 ¼

11 40

wrote and sent by John before breakfast note to ‘Mrs. Christopher Rawson Hopehall’ to say that Mrs. Walker took the pew (pump pew in the old church) at four pounds a year’ 1st October last year Mrs. C.R-‘s brought back the key here Thursday 20th ultimo and I therefore concluded Mrs. W- to be aware that one years’ rent was due – wrote note also to ‘Messrs. Rawson bankers H-x’ to ask for order (on letter paper) on their London bankers for £12.10.0 payable at sight to Miss M.T. Bolland, and wrote also to ‘the sexton of the old church H-x’ enclosing the 2 keys of the pew and saying that tho’ Mrs. Walker paid £4 per annum Mr. Haigh might have it at 3 guineas the price mentioned by the sexton on condition of his (Mr. Haighs’) lining the pew himself and doing the repairs he chose – Had Washington who gave me Mr. Jones’ (of Huddersfield) valuation of the stone of Mytholm quarry at 6d. a yard – W- owns it is worth a shilling a yard – breakfast at 9 – talked a little to my father – then with Booth and his 2 men and Murgatroyde, and his man and the plasterer all at the library passage window – then a little while with my aunt she thought me looking uncommonly well and in unusually good spirits (and so in fact I felt) on the occasion of my [decision?] as I told her last night giving up Miss Walker laughed I felt as pleased that it was over as I had when it began thought whatever is is right etc etc - Out at 11 ½ sauntered down my walk – Dick walling up stalking as yesterday and Charles and James H- thatching with another cover of rushes – they were at it yesterday morning but the rain soon drove them home - went by Lower brea road to Lightcliffe - Mrs P- not at home - then thro’ the village to Cliff hill and sat an hour with Miss W- saying I hoped she would wonder how I got home and I had called to tell her how I took shelter under 1 of her gate posts Mrs WP- came in - returned with her and sat 3/4 hour till 2 ½ she walked with me as far as or beyond blacksmiths’ shop and I returned with her and we repeated this and she hoped I would breakfast there on Monday as she was never busy till 10 very good friends she said inclination would have led her to turn with me again had she been able either my telling her this day week of her being called fascinating had had a good effect on her or she made up to me on Miss W-‘s account somehow speaking of her Mrs P- said we were very thick I had been there every day it was a very good thing for her Miss W- I ought to influence her to patronize this or that I said I did not know that I had any influence but if I had she [should] be careful not to push it too far yes we were very good friends I had not been every day not Tuesday or Wednesday but we could not hold on quite at our present I should not go there today – returned by the old road – long while with Pickles and his son and brother at the new cutting – persuaded me it would cost almost very near as much as if the brook had been turned under the wood as he 1st proposed – there would be 20 roods of this and he had calculated 25 roods of the other – then talked about the road to be cut thro’ the Trough of Bolland wood – he is to trace it out for me to see on Monday – had him up at the house and settled with him – paid him in full for the channelling and all that he and his men have done at the walk up to today – wrote and sent by John to ‘Miss M.T. Bolland, Swinton, near Manchester’ Messrs. Rawsons’ order on Carr Glyn and co. for £12.10.0 at sight and wrote and sent the following to ‘Mademoiselle Pierre, 89 Marine parade, Brighton’ – ‘Shibden hall Saturday 6 October 1832. Mademoiselle – I have received your letter of the 3rd instant and should have written by this post to the honourable Mrs. Herbert, but have unfortunately mislaid the letter containing her address which I had from Mrs. Lawton – I shall, of course, wait the answer to my inquiries, before engaging your sister; and should be glad to know if she is likely to be in London soon; as I might have some friend there who would be so good as see her – I am etc. etc. A. Lister’ – Dinner at 7 25 –afterwards wrote about the last 21 lines of today – sometime in the library passage – with my father and aunt before 9 – skimmed over the paper – came upstairs at 10 ½ - wrote so far of this page till just 11 – very fine day – F57 ½° at 10 50 pm

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shycoconutt · 3 years

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I Need You (Kakashi x Reader Smut)

A/n: Oh boy do I got some smutty smut for you. This is my first time writing smut and I think I did okay! Please let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to send some requests my way! 🤍

Summary: You find yourself unbelievably horny waiting for Kakashi to get home from work. The night goes exactly as planned.

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: NSFW ( minors, there's the door -> 🚪), fem!reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, doggy style, cunnilingus

Gods, why am I so horny?

Sat in the reading chair in the corner of your and Kakashi’s bedroom, you find yourself unable to focus on the new novel you picked up at the bookstore this morning. Each time you try to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes start to drift off the page and fall on your bed across the room. The bed where Kakashi and you have had sex now maybe a dozen times. You two have been platonic partners for years, but it wasn’t until recently where you both allowed your feelings to blossom into romance. Some would say that your relationship with Kakashi came on fast, but those who say that don’t truly know either of you.

After the war, and after keeping your feelings for each other bottled down for years, Kakashi took you on a vacation to a quaint village on the outskirts of Konoha. During your stay, you two could finally relax and find comfort in each other. The future seemed less uncertain, and you allowed yourself to open up in ways you never had before. You both knew you loved each other, that you were meant for each other, but the stress of war and the lack of knowledge that either of you would come out alive prevented anything from happening. The last thing either of you wanted to do was take the other’s heart six feet under.

It was the third night on the trip when he proposed to you. Kakashi and you were naked together in the natural hot spring, embracing each other in the water. The words he spoke to you that night are etched in your brain, never to be forgotten.

“My whole life I’ve been fighting; fighting for Konoha, fighting for my team, fighting for our friends, fighting my demons, fighting the truth, and fighting the feelings I have for you. I never understood why it was so hard to escape you, but it isn’t until now where I finally understand. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Our love is so natural, so pure. It pains me to know that our reality has muddled it for so long. You are the best thing that’s ever come into my life, and the gods only know how thankful I am that you have been by my side through it all. Everything I’ve ever gone through, every challenge I’ve had to overcome, you’ve guided me along the way. I used to think I was undeserving of your love, but now that we both are standing here, bruised and battered by our past, I realize that it was always supposed to be this way. You and me. Forever.”

That was the night you and Kakashi shared your first kiss. The night you first held each other in a naked embrace. The night you touched the skin normally concealed under each other's clothes. The night you trailed kisses down his chest, to his stomach, his hip, and up his shaft. The night you grabbed him in your hand and stroked him while looking into his eyes. The night you felt his tongue draw across your nipples. The night you felt him suck and nibble at your neck. The night you felt his fingers, god his fingers, trace up your wet heat to rub onto your most sensitive spot. The night he held onto your hip and slid into your tenderness. The night you whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears while he pumped into you. The night you made love, four times.

It’s been a week since your mini-vacation of ultimate bliss. Immediately after arriving back to the village, you both moved out of your individual apartments and moved into the Hatake estate, per Kakashi’s request. When you asked him if this is truly what he wanted, he assured you that this was the place he wanted to make a home with you and your future children. He also liked that the estate is largely removed from the Hokage tower, where he will be spending the majority of his time in the future. Renovations are far from over, but your bedroom was the first area of the house to be set up. It’s your shared sanctuary, and to be completely honest, you’ve never felt more at home.

The only word to describe this week between you and Kakashi is passionate. Even with opposite schedules, you both make time for one another every day. You’ve been insanely busy at your new job that you acquired post-war, spearheading the mental health resource center for war veterans and shinobi still in active duty. Kakashi is busy shadowing Tsunade while she sorts out post-war rehabilitation plans for the village. This is your first day off and, unfortunately, Kakashi is out doing future Hokage duties. Though frustrating, both of you are super understanding of each other's roles in this village and you respect that time with each other may be limited in the coming years. That’s why any chance you get, you both check in on each other throughout your day. Whether it’s offering to take his ninken on a walk while he’s in the office, or him bringing you breakfast when you get to work, you find opportunities to be present in each other’s daily lives.

The evenings, however, are a whole other story. Both of you are usually home a little after eight, and you’ve adapted to having late dinners with each other. After cleaning up, the rest of the evening is spent wrapped up in each other. One thing you weren’t expecting about being with Kakashi is that he is constantly touching you when you are alone together. His hands are either on your thighs, wrapped in your hair, caressing your face, squeezing your arms, massaging your shoulders, touching your lips, or any other way he can get them on you. You crave his touch, so to say that you enjoy this side of him is an understatement. Not only does Kakashi adore touching you, he also adores being touched.

Touching leads to caressing, caressing leads to groping, and groping leads to passionate lovemaking.

Well, geez (y/n), maybe if you stopped daydreaming about Kakashi’s hands all over you then you wouldn’t be this goddamn horny.

Here’s the thing with you and Kakashi’s newfound sex life. You are in the early stages. All the sex you have is all about romance, making up for the lost time, and finally expressing your feelings with your body. It’s amazing and you wouldn’t change your lovemaking for the world.

But right now, you don’t desire lovemaking. You desire rough, animalistic, dirty, dirty sex.

The kind of sex that makes you shudder in desire and fear.

The kind of sex that makes in between your legs sore the next day.

Realizing you’ve been daydreaming for the past fifteen minutes, you close your novel shut and toss it aside. You look over at the clock on your nightstand to find that it’s almost time for Kakashi to be home. Usually, you would already be cooking something up for dinner, but you have a feeling that any food you make would just get cold. Eating is not your priority right now, Kakashi is.

A devious smile forms at your lips when you consider what you plan on doing with him when he walks through the front door. Should you take him right there? Get down on your knees and beg for him? Run a warm, candle-lit bath? Put whip cream on your tits and tell him that you’re his dinner? All great options, but none are really representative of how much you need him.

In one swift movement, you are up off your chair and running towards your closet. He could be here any minute and there’s no time to waste. Once there, you take in how disorganized your closet is. You have yet to unpack any of your clothes, as all you’ve worn the past week is your jonin uniform and your pajamas. Rummaging through the boxes sprawled out on the floor, you finally find which box you are looking for. The box looks like any other box, but written on the side in marker is the word intimates.

Bingo.

One might think you are a sex fiend with all the lingerie you own, but that is far from reality. The truth is, lingerie has always made you feel sexy. Most of all, it’s just so pretty. You love the power it gives you. You love the fact that no one knows that some days you are wearing the world’s skimpiest lingerie underneath your uniform. It’s like you have an edge on someone that they don't even realize. Also, when you did happen to end up in bed with a man, you were over-prepared. The look on their faces when you stripped off your clothes was priceless. It was your way of telling them that you expected them to want you.

There are way too many options to choose from, and you find yourself starting to panic as time passes on. You know you’re overthinking this as, honestly, Kakashi would love anything you put on. Some things you know about Kakashi are that his favorite color is blue, he loves your thighs and is obsessed with how soft your skin is. Therefore, you should obviously go for the baby blue lace and silk set. It includes a lace balconette bra, a thong connected to thigh garters, and a silk robe to go over the top. After putting it on and taking a look at yourself in the mirror, you knew you made the right choice.

Before finding a comfortable spot on the bed, you quickly grab some baby oil and rub it all over your body. The oil will allow Kakashi to slide his hands all over you effortlessly, which is exactly what you need. Satisfied, you grab your book and lay on top of your made bed. You weren’t planning on actually reading, but you think your casualness while wearing such a sexy outfit will have Kakashi’s head spinning.

So there you were, belly down, ass out, feet intertwined, book in hand, when you heard the lock click and the front door open. Perfect timing.

You could hear Kakashi kick off his shoes and take off his vest as he walked into your home. Usually, you would be standing in the kitchen where he would come and give you a warm embrace and kiss you until you told him that he has to eat dinner. But, you're not there, and you can sense his confusion.

“Where’s my babygirl?” Kakashi’s voice projects throughout the house, a hint of concern in his voice. You smile at the thought of the pout that’s probably on his face right now.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ve been caught up in my new book. I’m in the bedroom,” you call back to him.

You hear what sounds like a sigh of relief as his footsteps make their way down your hallway in the direction of your bedroom, the sounds of pieces of his uniform dropping off of him every few steps. You make sure to keep your head turned to the door so you can take in his reaction to your state.

“Oh, the new book you got this morning? How is it? Let me guess, you already finished-”

An indescribable feeling shoots through your whole body as Kakashi enters your bedroom. He just finished pulling his mask down his face, as his hand is still caught to the fabric pooling around his neck. With a smile on your face, you soak in his expression as he’s stood in the entrance of your room, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and his mouth still agape in mid-sentence. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to the bottom of your ass that’s hanging out of your silk robe.

Damn, you really did that (y/n).

“What’s wrong, Kashi?” You say in the most innocent voice you can muster. You bat your eyelashes and flip over to sit up so he can get a good look at you. You let your book drop off the bed and land on the floor.

There’s another pause before Kakashi slowly walks towards you on the bed. Without speaking, he reaches a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you up so you're kneeling on the bed as he stands in front of you. His dark eyes bore into yours as both of his hands drop to your thighs. Slowly, he grazes them up over your hips, your waist, up the sides of your breasts, to wrap around the back of your neck. You can feel the hairs on your skin stand in anticipation. With his hands still wrapped around you, he brings his head down to you and grazes his mouth on your jawline. From there he plants small kisses up the side of your face until he reaches your ear where he nibbles before speaking to you in a strained, low tone.

“You’re a very dangerous woman, (y/n).”

He must have felt you shudder because you could feel him smile against your cheek. Standing up straight again, Kakashi’s hands drop to the tie of your robe around your waist.

“May I?” he asks, giving you the sexiest look you’ve ever seen. Kakashi has been so effortlessly attractive since you met when you were young. Having these intimate moments with him almost seems surreal.

“Of course, Hatake,” you smile up at him.

Taking the tie in his hands, he starts to unravel the knot keeping your robe together. Once loose, he lets it fall over your shoulders and off your body completely.

After a few moments taking in the sight of you, Kakashi lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.

“You’re so out of my league,” he confesses to you.

You let out a small giggle.

“Absolutely not,” you protest.

Without missing a beat, Kakashi grabs on to you and tosses you back on the bed so you are laying down underneath him. One of his hands wraps around the back of your head while the other cups your breast. Pulling the fabric of your bra down, he kneads your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. One of his knees lands in between your legs and he brings it up to press on to you. You can’t help the moan that escapes as you feel him all around you.

“So what’s the deal?” Kakashi teases. “I leave you alone in the house for one day and I come back to this?” He looks down at your body and back up again. “Where did you get this outfit, hm?”

“Oh baby,” you start teasing him back, “I guess one thing you don’t know about me yet is that I wear lingerie like this all the time.”

“Oh really?” he questions.

“Yep, all the time.” You smirk at what you’re about to say next. “Actually, remember that one time we were stationed together in the Earth country for a month for that S-rank assassination mission?”

Kakashi nods, confused where you’re going with this story.

“We let our guards down and almost hooked up the last night before we came back to the village.”

“I remember.”

“Well,” you pause for effect, “guess what I was wearing underneath my uniform that night?”

Kakashi remains silent, brows furrowed waiting for you. You smile at him deviously as you say your answer.

“This.”

Kakashi lets out what can only be described as an aroused, defeated groan when you utter your confession. He quickly comes back down and your mouths crash together in a heated frenzy. It isn’t until now when you realize that his bulge is hard against your leg, asking to be broken free from the confinement of his pants. While making out, you reach down and slip your hand under his waistband and grab onto his throbbing cock, stroking it in your hand. Although rock hard, the skin of his cock is soft and velvety.

Kakashi moans in your mouth when you make contact with him, but quickly escapes your grasp and gets up off of you. Sprawled out on the bed, you watch him strip down naked in front of you, starting with his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His body is truly something to marvel at, as decades of being a ninja have carved his body into perfection. You love the way his member slaps against his lower stomach when he pulls it from its confinement, excited and eager for you. He stands for a moment, contemplating what to do with you.

“I don’t want to take that pretty outfit off of you just yet. I guess I’ll just have to work around it for now,” Kakashi says as he stands at the end of the bed. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you towards him and bends your legs upward until your knees meet your chest. Holding both of your legs up with one hand, he takes the other and spanks your ass cheek with a loud slap. You whimper from the sting while he rubs the mark he left. Kakashi sucks in another loud breath.

“Ugh, (y/n), you look so good for me.”

Before you can respond, Kakashi takes your thong and slides it over so you are exposed to him. Getting down on his knees, he brings his face to your glistening cunt and flattens his tongue against it. There he gives you one long lick up your slit to taste you. A moan erupts from him as your wetness meets his taste buds.

“You’re already so wet for me baby,” Kakashi breathes before going in to suck on you.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confess through your moans. “I only get this wet for you.”

“That’s because you're mine and mine only.”

Kakashi takes his time with you, almost as if this is his last meal on earth and he wants to savor it. He’s delicate in some moments and fierce in others. Incorporating his fingers, he slides them into you and curves them up to hit your g-spot repeatedly while eating you. Your hand instinctively cradles his face while the other intertwines with his silver locks. You start to feel tightness in your lower stomach as he brings you close to climax. The sound of his moans muffled inside you is enough to send you over the edge.

“Kakashi, baby, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me, baby,” Kakashi nods, giving you permission to let go.

Letting go of Kakashi, you grip onto the sheets around you, feeling the tightness build and drop out of you. Closing your eyes, the waves of ecstasy ripple throughout your body causing you to scream out in pleasure. Riding with you, Kakashi slowly continues to work you through your climax, cleaning up whatever juices spill over.

“Good girl,” He says to you while bringing your legs back down onto the bed. Slowly, he kisses up your thighs while hooking onto your thong, bringing it down off of them. While he does this, you reach around and unclasp your bra, throwing it aside. Once the thong is thrown aside as well, Kakashi lifts himself off the floor and flips you over so you're laying on your stomach, another smack landing on your ass cheek. The high from your orgasm is immediately replaced with anticipation for what he plans on doing to you next.

You feel Kakashi’s naked body slide on top of you until he's flush against your skin, his body completely enveloping yours. Once his face is level with yours, and his cock is hard against your backside, he brushes your hair away from your face.

“Are you ready for me?” Kakashi whispers into your ear.

You nod into the mattress, chest rising and falling with every strained breath.

“You need to use your words, (y/n),” Kakashi scolds you while tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I need you, Kakashi. Please, I need you.” Your words come out as a plea, not being able to take his absence any longer.

You feel Kakashi’s weight lift off of you as he reaches around your waist and lifts it up so your ass is tilted upwards. From there you can feel him position his tip at your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down to spread your wetness.

“Please, Kashi, I need your cock inside me,” you beg.

Without further hesitation, you feel every inch of him slide into your folds until he’s bottomed out inside you. The feeling of him deep within you sends you into euphoria and you can feel yourself tighten around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Kakashi whispers.

Starting off slow, he pumps into you with control. You feel pleasure and pain as Kakashi kisses your neck while grabbing onto your hair. After each thrust you feel him going faster and harder, your bodies smacking against each other. To gain more leverage, he lifts off of you and brings you up onto your hands and knees. With his hand gripping your shoulder, he pumps into you with ferocity.

“For years I’ve touched myself thinking about getting to fuck you like this baby. You’re so beautiful and so good to me. Everything about your body draws me to you,” Kakashi says in between moans. You feel him start to twitch inside you, his thrusts getting more out of control. You look over your shoulder and meet his gaze.

“We deserve this baby. You deserve this. Give me everything.” You both know your words mean more than just sex, and Kakashi relishes them.

Lifting you up by your neck, Kakashi brings you toward him so you're both kneeling while he continues thrusting inside of you. He brings one hand around your front to circle your clit and the other cups your breast. Your hands lift up behind you to grab onto his face. Turning your head to him, you kiss him with every ounce of passion you have left. This new position is hitting you at your core and you can feel yourself tighten again. Kakashi must have felt it too, as he broke free from your mouth to tilt his head back in pleasure. Without exchanging words, you know you both are at your limit.

With a few last staggering thrusts, both of you reach climax in unison. Feeling yourself go limp, Kakashi wraps his arms around you to keep you steady. You feel streams of his hot semen pool inside of your contracting walls. With Kakashi’s moans singing in your ear, you can’t help but smirk at his vulnerability. With him still inside, you hold onto each other, trying to catch your breaths. After a few beats, you both begin to laugh at your exasperated states.

“Stay here, I’m going to get a towel,” Kakashi says while shifting out of you. After pulling a towel from the cupboard in your bathroom, Kakashi brings it to you and cleans up between your legs. Before you have time to move, Kakashi picks you up bridal style and spins you around in his arms.

You scream and start to laugh as he plants kisses all over your face. “Kakashi!”

“Hm?” he hums in your ear, pretending he didn’t just lift you with little to no effort.

Holding you up with one arm, he grabs a blanket off the bed and carries you to the chair in the corner of your room. There he sits down and places you sideways on his lap so you’re facing each other. He then takes the blanket and wraps it around you both so you can stay warm while cuddling each other. Kakashi has always had a knack for knowing exactly what you want at any given moment.

“I thought we could get some inspiration for our next round,” Kakashi says with a smirk as he pulls out a copy of Icha Icha Tactics from underneath the cushion.

“What? How did that get there?” you laugh.

“Oh, I have multiple copies of these everywhere,” he jokes, waving the book in the air.

You laugh and lightly hit his chest. Tucking the blanket up closer to your face, you lay your head down on Kakashi’s shoulder while he flips open to a page in the book.

Before he starts to read to you, Kakashi lifts your chin to kiss you. Every time your lips touch his, flashes of your joint past enters your mind. Although it was hard, and you faced many difficult trials on the way, you are forever thankful that you were both able to live long enough to experience these moments. You took care of each other, lifted each other up when they were in the dirt, and now you can finally share the love you’ve always held for each other. You wouldn’t change any of it. After your kiss, before pulling away from you, Kakashi looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you, (y/n).”

You smile up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I love you too, Kakashi. Forever.”

A/n cont.: Well, whattdaya think? :)

#kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi fanfic #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi imagine #naruto fanfiction #kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi one shot #kakashi x yn #kakashi sensei #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake smut

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sunsents · 3 years

Text

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

IT'S. OVER. Holy shit, this took way longer than I expected it to be. Yes, it’s 20k mf words and what abt it. Don’t look at me like that. I warned ya’ll 🙄. Now, I definitely made up some words while writing this. Like a shelved corridor, the heck is a shelved corridor?!?! Please tell me it makes sense…please for the sake of my sanity. The smut is kinda tame so I’ll whip out the chains on the next one.

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

Summary —> Years later you find yourself face to face with the person that caused your ruin - yet this time, somethings different.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 20k... honestly I completely get it if ya'll wanna sit this one out

Warnings: *deep breath* a poor attempt at humor / gingers / pining idiots / normal idiots / excessive cursing / fred weasley in slacks / alcohol consuming / very little angst (its mostly just overthinking) to fluff / minor character death / smut / oral, (fem) / fingering / cum play / sexual mf intercourse mfs / protected sex (dont be silly protect your willy) / dirty talk / sappy stuff

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

tagged: @opalsheart @ronsbadidea @uselessmoonlight @boxofbadaddiction @lovenonymously @sergeantkilowog @rudypankowisdaddy, @nobutfredweasleytho some names didn’t come up when I tried, so what do we get from this? I can't properly use Tumblr <3

Five Years Later, 2003

"____, will you just calm down." Aleyna lets go of the book box full of bathroom supplies and they clink together, to which you wince because these are your stuff and you’re in a far too dangerous position to lose more money.

"How can I calm down?!" you exclaim dramatically, tossing your wand on the nylon wrapped couch. "It's all Stacey's fault."

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

"That one chick from Magical Catastrophes who always has lipstick on her teeth."

"I don't think her name is Stacey though."

You send Aleyna a look that screams, stop being reasonable at a time like this. No, this was when you overpaid your TV cable to air The Twilight Zone and drank cheap wine while cursing out your boss who cared about your well being. Hermione had become The Minister of Magic, and of course you were proud of her. Though, this didn't mean she could let you have time off work whenever something insignificant happened.

"Probably not," you mutter, opening your fridge and coming face to face with the painful truth that it’s empty, and you’re hungry. Your hand unintentionally flies to graze over your scar as you survey your options, a small pack of ketchup and left over chips. "Suits her though, feels good to say 'Goddamnit Stacey' when something goes wrong in my life."

Stacey deserves it because Stacey doesn’t refill the staplers on purpose.

Aleyna snorts, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "What did Stacey ever do to you?" Then she wheels across your new apartment to retrieve more boxes from outside.

You’re grateful for the support of all your friends, but the pitying looks they give you whenever someone mentions the words house and fire is enough to fuel into your secret want of setting their houses on fire. It was an accident, you were just trying to make the delicious recipe Molly had sent you, ignoring the small fact that you didn't know how to properly use an oven. The savings you lost from your bleeding bank account were not worth pasta with tomato sauce on it.

Though, your new apartment is big, bigger than your first because after making a name for yourself as an Auror money came easily. Wide walls for a projector TV, long tail shaped couch standing firm on varnished wood floorings, and two bedrooms that have their own - kind of unnecessary - bathrooms. Not to mention the giant kitchen with an island, only rich people had islands, where you could make plenty of Italian recipes and not worry about burning the house down because Aleyna fool-proofed it for you.

The flat was at the top floor of the new bar she just built, and she was kind enough to let you start renting the place. The residents of Diagon Alley had been fighting for this apartment for months, and you were proud to have snagged it before anyone could even offer.

Gripping the last two boxes, Aleyna pushes the front door with her foot and navigates herself backwards through the other dozen boxes you had just tossed on the floor. "These are the last two, are you sure you don't need anymore help?" she offers.

You shake your head, "I can just use magic, not in the mood for pursuing the muggle lifestyle right now."

Aleyna frowns, this reaches her eyes though. "That bad huh."

Simply nodding, you don’t bother getting into an in depth rant about how a simple fire didn't mean you had trauma, and that you didn't need to stop working for a few weeks. Not that being an Auror was hard, your work days have been quite uneventful if you didn't count a few "Revalutioners" sticking a muggle's head in a toilet.

"I know what will cheer you up," Aleyna chimes, already clad in her pea coat and sneakers. "Dinner, and it's on me."

You couldn't possibly say no to free dinner, also making food for yourself was probably not a good idea right now. Stay clear of ovens, you reminded yourself.

After getting snug in your coat and fluffing your hair, you fall on step next to Aleyna as the two of you chat.

The London cold is brutal, shivering whomever until their noses turn red and making their hands feel itchy when sudden warmth overtook. You’re used to it, as is anyone in Diagon Alley. People are crowding the stores, chatting loudly and waving their wands around at stores to reserve whatever crappy gifts they were going to buy for their family's.

You hate the holidays, refusing to go back to America and visit your own family. Your mother couldn't cook, nor could your father. Though, that didn't stop her from insisting every year and giving you, your father and the Burke's food poisoning.

After three years of sitting through awkward family dinners where everyone ignored the fact that you were almost Head of Aurors, and focused on Eva's collapsing career of Healer only to praise her, you had about enough and stopped attending. It had been two years since then, they didn't bother to write. Your dad occasionally sent you money in a horrible christmas card with an even more horrible pun written in red glittery letters that also sang Run Run Rudolph.

"Ugh, everyone's crowding the joke shop aga- oh." Aleyna pauses. "I'm sorry."

She knows about your past with Fred Weasley, considering whenever you rant about work it ends up with you cursing him and Eva out. He had such a blame-able face, just like Stacey from Magical Catastrophes.

You give Aleyna a look. "You act like I'm not a grown woman who can't get over something that happened eight years ago." you say, shaking off the small snow particles that begin to lightly fall. "You should be like this with, I don't know...my relationship with Theo! We broke up last year, why aren't you fragile with him, hmmm?"

Aleyna claps your back in a friendly manner all the same. "I know I know, but come on. This is childhood trauma we're talking about."

"Now that I think about it, seeing Eva's coochie was traumatic." you grin, and Aleyna's jaw gape even if she heard the story hundreds of times before. Not that Eva's...modesty was bad per say, just not a pleasant sight seeing as you guys grew up together.

Other than that fact, you hadn't talked, even seen Fred after the war ended. Sure, you occasionally stole glances at their very successful joke shop, but there was no point in dwelling and trying to fix an already withered away friendship.

You had fixed your relationship with Ron and Harry, having had no choice since the three of you worked together. "You were right ____, we were assholes. You don't need to apologize." they had told you, and that was that. The two families and well, you did weekly dinners and enduring the two men for Ginny and Hermione got easier as days passed, finally ending up in a good friendship like old times. It was casual between you, easy when no one mentioned how abruptly your friendship ended. No one dared to either.

Also, Harry was your boss and him remembering that you called him a drama queen wouldn’t do you any good in your career.

People bump at your sides as the two of you squeeze your way towards Sacree Fleur. The end of Voldemort brought a new, reformative era in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley expanded, new buildings were built and culture grew. You were happy to see that Ollivendar's Wand shop renewed, along with other crumbling buildings that needed desperate attention.

Bandits lessened, and the utter arrogance some parents had by not sending their children to get magical education faded, partly because there was nothing to fear, and partly because more job opportunities arose, like said, money came easily.

Fleur Weasley, your good friend and someone who had done the impossible and won over a Weasley brother - though she was gorgeous and possibly the sweetest person you've ever met, so really they were perfect for each other - had decided on a whim to open a french restaurant. Bill couldn't say no to his wife, the rough man you had met years prior was softened with age and the struggle of raising children.

Good wine, deliciously soft steak that melts in your mouth and warm atmosphere that makes five o-clock feel like midnight. It’s by far your favorite restaurant and you'd much rather spend your Christmas Eve curled up next to a warm candlelit dinner on a terrace.

"Bonjour!" an obscenely attractive woman, Fleur greets the two of you when the revolving glass doors are pushed, and you break out in a wide smile seeing your friend at the door. "____, Aleyna! Come here, give me a big hug!"

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

With dopey smiles, the three of you embrace.The door closes on it's own, and you shiver unintentionally, just now realizing how cold it is. Usually the big marble fireplace keeps Sacree Fleur warm, but even that seemed not enough and the restaurant is adorned with small muggle heaters, floating up above the ceiling and adding to the red light of the candles.

"You'll see. Came at a most amazing time too, silly girl always knowing when to show. Saw all the juicy drama when you were younger..." Fleur continues to joke lightheartedly, pulling away and leading the two of you through occupied tables as she faux scolds. People are content, it feels warm and almost soft. Conversation seems to flow easily and the unease you feel for the Holiday melts. Almost.

You blech whenever someone brings up the line ‘love is in the air’. It never made sense to you, because love was simply a fairy tale that would wither away with time. Also, how could love simply float? Of course, unless you count Amortentia fumes - which yours always smelled like sweat and crushed hopes. So frankly, you prefer expensive Dior perfume in the air rather than love.

Though now you find yourself doubting whatever you engraved in that well protected head of yours, love is truly in the air at Sacree Fleur. All kinds of love, mothers lovingly wiping food off their children's mouths, happy newlyweds clinking their wine glasses together with nothing but adoration in their eyes, friends enjoying sharing a simple dinner far more than should be done.

"My family, they're upstairs having dinner. The kids like the ice cream here, Mr Fortescue provides it well."

"Family? Ginny and Hermione are here?" you ask, lazily climbing the steps to the second floor to reveal the more, private part of the restaurant. Now, instead of wooden chairs with red cushions attached at the middle, there stand long booths with comfortable blankets and pillows with empty, eerily clean tables - except one.

The long table near the terrace is much livelier today, people sitting there whom you consider your own family. The three post luster that hangs low from the ceiling is turned on - it’s the first time you’ve seen the glamorous glass orbs in action. Its light ricochets off of several bright orange heads, simply calling it a lamp does no justice. The hue is yellow, low and it reminds you of the Christmas Eve fantasy you planned.

Said orange heads turn at the noise of delight you let out. "Oh Fleur! This is gorge- oof-"

"Auntie ____!"

A pool of orange locks squish into your stomach, snug in the soft fabric of your coat and you let out a chuckle. You can’t help it, even if you would never admit, he’s your favorite by a small number that-

"Well well, if it isn't Teddy Lupin."

The small boy chuckles, hair matching your black coat like a chameleon sticking itself on a flower and absorbing the color of the petals. You ruffle Ted's hair as the orange fades, he’s delighted to see you, and so are you yet your attention is quickly cut off by several disembodied voices thrown your way.

Bill Weasley is standing up, wine glass on one hand while grinning wide. “Look who my dear wife brought in!” his tidy yet visible scar stretches when his face brightens, you remembered again that day, just how much love you have around you.

“Hey everyone, hope we’re not interrupting.” you apologize, wincing but Bill quickly shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

You waddle your way towards the marble table, Teddy following suit with his face still smushed in your coat. He grips you tighter and you have to peel his small little limbs off your legs.

Aleyna scoffs, arms crossing together as she surveys Ted. “The blatant favoritism!”

Teddy rushes on his little legs to jump in Aleyna’s arms, and only then are you able to acknowledge the other - a little less important - people in the room.

“Happy holidays!” echoes around your head as several people embrace you all at once, and you have to simply stand and awkwardly loop your arm around whoever you can get a hold of.

Once the formalities are over, Ginny throws her arm around your shoulder. The red tresses of her dress hike up her leg from her slightly bigger stomach, and you can see the small broom tattoo on her thigh that she loves to display like a trophy. “You should’ve told us you were coming! We would have saved you a seat.”

A round of yes’s resonate around the room, and you take a quick moment to scan who’s afternoon dinner you’ve just interrupted. Hermione, hand resting on her very pregnant belly, is smiling warmly at you, and Ron quickly shoots up from his seat and wipes his mouth to catch up to his wife. Harry follows in his friend's wake, his hair has a white streak at the front and you furrow your brows.

“Age catching up with you Potter?” you grin, rubbing Ginny’s back fondly before she separates from you and greets Aleyna. “Or is it the pregnancy?”

Harry scoffs, pulling you in his embrace for a quick friendly second. “Always the charmer ____. I’ll have you know I’m handling it wonderfully, right Gin’?”

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

Harry’s face feigns faux disbelief, and it quickly melts as you bombard the man with questions about how Ginny’s first trimester is going. You mentally take note of asking Ron about Hermione’s as well, your two best friends are fucking pregnant. It’s almost too happy, and slowly the anxiety creeping up from your spine wraps around your throat, ready to suffocate you whenever.

It was always like this, the past ready to make it’s deathly move, because nothing is perfect. Happiness doesn’t come this easily.

And you’re right, because not only a minute after the warm embraces of your friends comes the voice of the person you’ve been dreading to see.

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

He’s a man. Of that you’re sure, because now his muscles stretch well over his broad shoulders, maroon satin shirt loose on his frame, tight around his biceps - properly sculpted of course - portraying defined collarbones.

His eyes are somewhat duller, though the same glimmer of loveable mischief he always had is evident. It will never go away, even after all these years, yet it’s tamer. That mischief caused him quite the trouble back in school, and now it seems he knows when to act, when to speak and when to stay silent.

His silhouette catches you off guard, his features are sharper, much sharper than how much Harry has matured. His biceps bulge obscenely when he rests his - also generously sized you might add - hand on the table, and the table suddenly doesn’t seem that long.

His forearms, on display with his sleeves rolled up, glistens under the soft lighting of the balcony. Your eyes fall on his bracelet adorned right wrist, one of which in particular catching your attention.

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

His face, always glowing, wears a large expression displaying his set of perfect teeth. He’s awestruck, you think.

You watch him push his large body out of the small chair, and wow chest, is your only thought. Then further down and...god damn thighs. Burly thighs - probably very comfortable too - squeezed in black tight fit jeans, however he managed that you don’t know but it was nice to imagine.

He’s leaned back, casual as he strolls towards you in two large steps, his long sculpted legs never disappointing.

Fred Weasley is genetically designed to ruin you and your insides with just one look, and you’re ashamed to have realized it all too late because when he speaks again you swear you saw stars.

“Wow - you,” he breaths, walking towards you with slow, unsure steps. “Grew!”

You raise a brow, Aleyna snorts. Grew? His steps should be unsure, because you want him to take them back, sit his fine fit ass back on that chair and pretend he never saw you.

Because this wasn’t your plan for tonight, seeing him wasn’t in your checklist. You woke up today, thinking nothing but coffee and a stressful moving day ahead. Not of the boy - the man you’ve been in love with since childhood, the man you blamed for your problems as an excuse to hide the heart squeezing pain of loneliness, the man you hadn’t seen in so many years you forgot what his voice sounded like.

You could have never guessed, and now you want to go back. Somehow rewind the clock to this morning when you were safe of your tucked away feelings trying to bulge, safe in your own little circle. All your efforts of leaving your house just a little early so you wouldn’t run into Fred seems stupid now. Your strategy ran smoothly for five years, it could’ve ran for more.

You would have continued avoiding him like your life depended on it, and his stupid joke shop, and the way he stupidly looked at you everytime he saw you. You’re reminded again, because no matter how older he looks he’s still Fred, and he still looks at you the same.

“I mean - beautifully! Shit I - fuck.” he groans, and George claps his brother on the back with a chuckle. Wherever he came from, because you were so entranced by Fred that you didn’t see George standing tall next to his family.

“____.” George stops before you, hands in his pockets. it happens too quickly that you’re forced out of your panicked state.

You raise a brow, and only then - Fred’s out of view with George’s figure towering over you - are you able to find your voice. “George.”

He pulls you in his tight embrace, “How come you never visited!” he scolds, chest stretching back to bring you with. “You’d think she’d bloody say hello once in a while! Maybe drop by our shop after 5 years, you quack!”

“George - can’t,” you heave and your legs wobble when he sets you on the ground again. You clear your throat, grinning widely at your...friend?

It would be fair to call him an acquaintance, right? You don’t know where you stand with the twins but you have love for them. This is clear from the way you can’t stop smiling like a sappy idiot - or perhaps it’s because of how contagious George’s smile is. You thought they hated you, but the youngest looks anything but displeased. He gives you a squeeze again before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“I thought - I dunno. I thought you guys didn’t wanna see me.”

George scoffs, “Because you told us off that one time in seventh year?” he laughs, arms folding and displaying a set of bulging biceps much like Fred’s. “Yeah mate, you’re not that intimi-“

“George Weasley, finish that sentence I dare you!”

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

It’s Frederick Weasley, probably here to beat you to death.

“Hey Fred.” you greet, mouth dry. Get a grip, you scold yourself.

Fred opens his arms, “Well well,” he laughs, pulling you into a hug with a polite smile. His cheeks tint red when you shuffle closer, you would have missed this but you’re a creep, and you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man before you. He displays his beautifully indented smile lines, as if he was saying look at me! I’m perfect and sexy, I also broke your heart that one time, too bad I had no idea!

And it’s true, Fred never knew about your feelings. You kept them well hidden and they ate away at your organs from the inside, there was no reason to blame him. The realization is probably what compels you to accept him with open arms and wrap them around his neck.

You feel him shiver, dismissing it quickly because of the cold.

He smells good. Way too good that you melt in his arms and let him engulf you in his dangerous warmth. Manly, musky cologne, mixing with hints of cigar smoke that lingers on only certain areas of his shirt. You recognize the scotch in his breath when he whispers how much he had missed you, and his nape still has that cinnamon deliciousness he would parade whenever he came out of the shower, you fought the urge to shiver yourself, and it’s not because of the cold either.

It’s dizzying, and before you can start a detailed essay about how good his muscles feel, firm and digging into all the right places, he pulls away.

The past hits you like a ton of fucking bricks and crumbles down the firm foundations of the walls you have been building for eight years. You feel guilty, have you learned nothing? The loud pounding of your heart is a warning, yelling at you to stop getting swept away. Yet you can’t control it, just like how you can never control your feelings.

“I missed you guys too.” you breath shakily, you have to make sure to keep your distance. For your own good, you tell yourself.

Teddy pulls away your attention, and you silently add buy Teddy an expensively dumb toy to your checklist.

He sticks to your leg and is adamant on staying there. “I grew taller.” he says, looking at you between his eyelashes. “He says I didn’t, but I know I did!”

You chuckle, ignoring how Fred looks at the boy with such a warm expression, ignoring the way your heart nearly catapults out your chest.

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

Ted immediately lets go of your leg and straightens, hand going to his forehead to salute you. A giggle escapes him when you bend on your knees and act like you have a measuring stick on your hand. “Oh yes yes, seven feet tall and growing.” voice mock deep, you nod sternly.

“By this rate - I’ll pass you! Hah!” Teddy stomps his little foot on the stone floor, little sneakers barely making a sound.

You stand up again and fold your arms, “Well, I grow too you know! You can never pass me.” smirking slyly, you egg him on to see how much he’ll endure before he demands a ride on your shoulders - because that’s how giants saw the earth he told you. You doubt giants compare to a twenty four year old woman with attachment issues

Ted stands on his toes, struggling to tug on your shirt and bring you down. “No, I don’t like this game anymore…”

“Alright alright.” and with that you pick him up and prop the little boy on your shoulders.

Ted happily kicks his feet on your chest and you groan. He’s supposed to be five, not a midget wrestler. “Easy buddy boy.”

“You’re amazing with him, little twerp barely lets me tie his shoes.”

Fred’s voice startles you, only now do you realize that he had been watching you and Teddy. Speaking of, Ted’s busying himself with your hair, small hands pulling and twisting locks and mumbling incoherently.

Ear tips slowly catching fire, you chuckle. “Buy him a broom at four and see how he handles it.”

Fred shakes his head, tongue poking at the side of his cheek and you remind yourself to breathe. “You spoil him then? They say the way to a five year old's heart is money.”

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

Nuff words said, everyone soon sits on their designated chairs, and you pull one from another table, being the uninvited one.

Aleyna isn’t slick, you knew she had something up her sleeve the moment she had offered to pay for dinner. Though, this is your fault. You let her without calculating whatever end result was waiting to catch you off guard and ruin your entire life plan to avoid Fred Weasley.

Being the snake she is, snake Aleyna enticed you with nice food, dragged you to Sacree Fleur and did her little snake magic.

Awkwardly angled next to your best friend, you chat with Harry and Hermione while they tell you what you missed from work. (Not that you missed much, actually nothing different seems to have happened other than boring paperwork and Mrs Newersman’s new hairdo.)

Swirling your wine in one hand, the reflection of Fred from the rim of the glass keeps distracting you.

He’s changed, not personality wise though there were tweaks. Nor looks, he’s an adult now and his boyish charm is gone, but it isn’t quite that.

You can’t put a finger on it either, and you watch him laugh, carefree with his sister.

He looks relaxed, or maybe it’s merely the wine. Is it - no, couldn’t be. He looks happy. Genuine happiness and adoration for whomever. Love in his eyes as he looks at - Ah. He’s looking at you.

You jerk your head away and tip your wine glass back to gulp down liquid courage - because you need it tonight. This is bad, you tell yourself, kick you on the shin and punch to your gut bad. This can’t keep up or else you’re going to end up right back in that hollow pit of empty hope and gooey saturday lasagna.

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

Ron’s timbre voice thankfully grips your arms and pulls you away from said hollow pit.

“Uhh what?” you cough awkwardly, setting your now empty wine glass down.

“Christmas Eve, what are you doing? Going back home?” Ron asks, raising a brow.

You can lie but something compels you not to, maybe it’s how warmly they always welcome you, how they’re welcoming you now with open arms and nice food.

You shake your head, answering honestly; “No actually, I’ll just celebrate with Jambo and Christmas movies.”

And that’s exactly how you’ve been spending your Christmas Eve these past few lonesome years. It wasn’t that lonely, you had Aleyna and people loved her bar, you’d drop by and count down with people you didn’t know, at least you got to kiss a random stranger.

“Jambo? He’s still alive?” Hermione chuckles.

“No no, this is Jambo Fitzwilliam the Second, who is also a cat but don’t you dare tell him that!” smiling, you joke lightheartedly to conceal the harsh news.

Your hand reaches to trace around your scar as you speak.You know their eyes follow, and you know they stare at it when you’re not looking. Teddy asked you one day, even after Ginny’s scolding but you happily told him your heroic story and how Bellatrix smelled like piss and rum.

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

Jambo had unfortunately passed away because apparently dogs couldn’t live two hundred years, which you were disappointed because clearly Dumbledore could. You had already grieved and mourned, it left you with the happiest memories of your precious dog and you were grateful.

“Poor kitty doesn’t know he’s adopted?” George frowns, banging his fist on the table.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure he’s caught on by now, he’s three.”

“So, you’re spending Christmas Eve alone?” Fred asks, too suddenly and you flinch. He probably sees this, his effect on you.

You nod, and your friends gasp. Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal, or maybe it’s because of how normal it felt for you to be alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ginny says, hand shooting out to rub your arm.

“I’ve been trying to get her out for ages-“

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

“No Aleyna, do!” Ginny protests. “You’re spending it with us and that’s that.”

“Wha-“

George throws up his finger to shush you, “No objections!” he declares fiercely. “We’re having a party at our flat and you both are coming!”

“Oh! Unless you and Blaise have any other plans.” Hermione’s quick to ask, she isn’t being slick though.

Aleyna chuckles, “We had dinner reservations but we can make it.”

Hermione grins, and you watch Aleyna pretend that she didn’t notice her friend ready to snoop in her relationship with an amused smile. Not that it matters - she and Blaise have that kind of love you hoped for as a young girl. There was truly no two other people so perfect for each other.

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

Aleyna takes a sip from her almost empty glass and tuts on the bitter after taste. “Amazing, actually. He just got promoted…”

Almost empty glasses are soon emptied bottles, and two steaks turn into a large brownie for the middle. You know that it’s a good meal, because as you stand outside in the midnight cold, arm around Aleyna, your legs wobble and your stomach aches from all the deliciousness you’ve consumed. More like inhaled, you only realized how hungry you were until the second steak arrived.

“Thank you so much you guys!” you wave your arm, overly theatrical, forgetting about what a day you’ve had.

Though, the thoughts catch up as you lay awake in bed.

It had gone by too quickly, and your heart is still beating louder than any chirping of the bugs outside. Your bedroom lacks furnishing, it only adds to your wild imagination. Your mind paints pictures on the blank walls as your eyes dart around, Fred didn’t look in your direction once that night.

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

It’s strange, whenever you turned your gaze his way, he seemed to be busying himself with whatever, whether it be his fork or napkin. How interesting can a damn napkin be? Hopefully not any lesser than you.

And are you just going to ignore that goddamned bracelet? The one you carefully sculpted with beads in such a way that you were sure Fred would suspect at least a drop of your raging crush. He’s still wearing it, that piece of string and glass - the symbol of your love and effort - survived through a war.

Are you reading into things? Surely not, he greeted you as anyone else would. Or maybe he remembered - you don’t dare think of that night.

How can they act so normally, so brazen after everything? It’s been almost six years since you saw them, have they got nothing to say to you? Maybe an apology?

Frustrated, you turn to your side and force your eyes shut.

————————

When night bleeds into morning, every cat has a tendency to quip over to their owners on their cushioned paws - which makes no noise but simple claw scratchings on the floor.

Jambo’s no different.

So, you’d imagine the poor creature's shock when he finds your bedroom empty. If he’d bothered to check, you’re seated on your island stool, pen and parchment in hand and mug of hot coffee (instant given the circumstance) in the other.

You hung your new curtains this morning, and were making use of them by shutting them halfway on the hooks while your window stood half open. You watch the snow flurry outside and gulp. If this week was to go horribly wrong... at least you have nice curtains waiting for you at your ritzy new apartment.

Jambo wraps his tail around your dangling ankle like he always does and you barely hum in acknowledgement. He’s purring, and it brings you comfort even if it’s for a small moment. But your question still remains unanswered, What would a five year old boy want for christmas?

It had been exactly two days since Ginny invited you to spend Christmas Eve together, and you busied yourself with buying them gifts - a tradition you hated because 1. coming up with gift ideas is infuriatingly hard. It’s way too time consuming, nit picking every single personality and deciding what they’ll like and what they’ll pretend to like. Pretend like they’re going to use it, and then never touch it until that one very specific occasion.

Maybe it’s excessive, but you actually like these people. They somehow give you - a sad, lonely sewer rat that’d been a neglected child - joy.

And 2. you feel like those people you make fun of every Christmas. Though, somewhere deep in your heart, you know you enjoy being those people. You would never admit it though.

What? You actually relish in the idea that you belong to a group, and that said group causes you to carry out cliche holiday traditions?

Absolute blasphemy.

Finally deciding, you leave your apartment in warm but cher clothing. It isn’t as crowded this morning - or maybe it’s because it’s seven forty in the crack of fucking dawn. Though, with the amount of caffeine you’ve consumed, it feels like ten.

Would they even be open, you ask yourself, jogging quickly about the streets on your heels to avoid the cold. It’s Christmas, they have to be.

Of course your logic sucks.

Shivering, you round the corner tea shop and fasten your pace. Ass freezing, lip tucked in between your teeth, you realize you have underestimated the morning London cold.

Soon, thankfully, the giant head of George(?) you assume, comes into view. The animatronic is motionless, big porcelain eyes closed and displaying sinister gaping holes. You shiver, and not because of the cold either.

Keeping your eyes low on your feet, you push the glass doors of the shop open. You don’t bother to check the inside from the generous glass displays, it’s way too cold and you don’t want to spend any more time outside with the giant George doll.

A bell rings, a little jingle up above that puts a smile on your face. Jambo’s collar jingled like that whenever he got excited, whether it be a pesky squirrel ready to bum off your house food, or maybe a friendly one showing its face to piss off the house dog.

You sigh, and only then notice the delicious scent of fresh coffee roast. Invading through your nostrils and turning you into a drunkard, and you can’t help but gravitate towards-

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

“Who's here so early, couldn’t a man enjoy breakfa-”

You smile apologetically, it’s only natural that Fred just woke up. He isn’t a morning person, after years of knowing him you found out one way or another. In your case, he was mean to you and that’s when it clicked. Fred doesn’t like the early hours of morning, where his hair isn’t as tame and his lips feel like they’re about to pop. You find it charming.

“____?”, the man of the hour comes into view, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The first step is a rung, rolling on the hinges of the wall's edges. The staircase rattles when Fred steps down, and you quickly jump forward in panic.

Mug in one hand, his fingers rake through his mussed morning hair then settles on the checkout counter. “Morning,” He smiles, and those dang smile lines greets you, as if they’re mocking you again.

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

“It’s okay, have you had breakfast yet?”

Taken aback, you nod. Disappointment flashes through his face, and before you can analyze he straightens. Taking a sip of his coffee and humming, he fixes his pyjama bottoms. Red and checkered, loosely hanging from his hip and giving you a teasing view of his lower abdomen. “Can I get you anything?” he asks again, adamant on offering you something.

You shake your head no and you watch his face fall. Merlin, you would have come starving if it meant having breakfast with him. The view before you is enough to fulfill your darkest fantasies, and this is enough. Because you know that this is all you could get. His friendship.

But is it though? Is it truly enough? Will it ever be enough?

The questions that linger around your head have an answer that you wouldn’t dare set free. Everything you’re doing right now is wrong, how you’re standing in front of him, letting his delicious scent compel you further into him.

He smells almost alluring - he always does - less piquant than yesterday. Probably the after taste of neglecting a shower, yet his natural fragrance is just as charming. You remember those mornings at the Burrow when Fred stumbled down the stairs, sun early and bright, woken up just like himself. He smelled ama-

Woah, down girl.

Fred clears his throat, and only then do you realize how long it has been since you spoke.

“I need to buy something.” you blurt. Fuck, this couldn't get more embarrassing. “For Ted, his gift.” You finish lamely.

“Ah,” Fred chuckles, giving you a quick lookover. You flush. “You have come to the right place.”

It’s true, the shop is truly...something. A gateway to heaven for anyone twelve or younger. Fascinated, you take your time to linger your eyes on every little nook and cranny that catches your eye.

The shop feels much tamer without the telltale rowdy crowd, it’s almost comforting. You can really see a piece of each twin on each display, Fred’s being the Deflagration Deluxe. ‘A deluxe selection of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs’ read on the big cardboard. You chuckle, he always had a bag full of them that he carried around religiously.

“Those!” he exclaims, scurrying over to the display, “New and improved by yours truly.”

You chuckle, and Fred breaks out into a smile. “Here, I’ll show you around.” he mutters, before you can utter a protest, he takes your hand in his and drags you to a shelved corridor. “This is his favorite section, explosives and quidditch.”

You smile as you scan the heaps of colorful products lining the walls, all engraved with the shop's signature logo. Fingers coming out to touch a few, you subconsciencly swing your encased hands together. “These are real neat.”

Fred smirks, though his palms feel hotter than usual, “Not so much when he’s blowing up the bloody flat.”

You chuckle softly, eyes fluttering to imagine little Ted shaking up a pair of fireworks, unknowingly setting them off and resulting in a giant black mark on the ceiling. Because only that explains the small black stains on the walls of the shop.

“See anything you like?” Fred offers, almost in a whisper.

“No I,” you turn back to him, and something flashes between the two of you. “I’m still…looking.”

The air feels tense, warm, affecting your body. Your breath catches in your throat, Fred’s eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t know what to do. Even your breathing feels on edge.

He moves closer to you and your heart flutters. His exhales hit your ear, only a breadth away from your neck and you flinch. Chills lift up the hair on your arms, “No...erm.” you mutter.

“Alright.” he says softly.

His eyes are hooded, displaying a perfectly long set of eyelashes.

How, is the question. They’re long and thick, and you’re jealous. Yes, you might have ruined yours with your curler but still, if you were born with eyelashes like that you wouldn’t even need a blasted curler.

“What are you thinking ‘bout.” he whispers, long digit lifting to stroke your cheek. So soft that you barely feel it, before he trails it up your cheekbones, to the panes of your face.

The same alarms blast in your ears, and you can’t ignore them this time. It isn’t that you don’t like this, on the contrary you’re ready to jump him.

“Eva!”

Fred takes a step back, face falling. “What?”

You shake off whatever just happened seconds ago and focus on reality. “Gosh, I forgot to ask.” you exclaim, over excited but at what cost. “How is she doing? Is she up there in the flat?”

Fred winces. “Actually-”

“I’m guessing you guys moved in together, after all those years you know. Don’t tell me you guys got marr-”

“____!” he takes a deep breath, “We broke up a few years ago.”

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

Fred shushes you with a finger. Embarrassed, warmth spreads through you like a tidal wave. “I fell out of love, but it felt nice to have someone around, you know?”

You don’t say anything, yes you know but his loneliness and yours is much too different.

Growing up, Fred had the support of his family, he always had someone there. You knew it was bad to dismiss him like this, but the aching in your heart wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that. He always had someone affirming that it would be okay, someone to pat his back whenever he scored a goal through a hoop, whenever he got a good grade or did a cool trick with his broom. He still had them, even if he was at his worst. He had endless support. You didn’t.

It wasn’t easy after the war, living alone with nothing but the collar of Jambo gripped tightly in your hands. He had died shortly after Voldemort fell, and you had to hang onto the last piece he left until your agony died down. That was your only support.

Ginny, Hermione and Aleyna were there of course, but everyone's way of coping is different, and they didn’t understand yours nor each other’s. It’s worse to try and forget, run away from that fear because it would always catch up with you, and you found that the best way is to sit and feel.

But that doesn't mean your friends weren’t any less supportive. The after effects of the war were way more harsh on you than you let on, you were stuck on autopilot - a painful loop that made your life feel worthless. Work, money, survival - the three main aspects occupying your mind at all times. You didn’t have the love and attention to give to friends or a relationship (maybe that’s why it never worked out) but soon, Ginny and Hermione had reached out to you.

It was a simple letter delivered by their family owl Nebula - a descendant of poor old Errol. You remember tears pooling in your eyes when they told you how much they missed you, they gave meaning to your life. It was no longer the painful loop, they invited you over for dinner, visited every other day after hooking up your house Floo Network, you were always a welcomed guest in their homes.

They made you realize that friendship didn’t need much energy nor hard effort, just being there for each other was enough. Love for someone came naturally, and you didn’t need to extract some of your own self-love to give to others. They were two different things.

Skimming past that, you watch Fred show you three different options of Make Your Own Fireworks kits. You smile solemnly, accept a random one and quietly follow him to the checkup counter.

“So.” he starts, wrapping the product with the paper design you picked. “How about you, anyone special?”

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you shrug. “I dated Theo Nott for a year, I knew nothing would come out of it but like you said, nice to have someone.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Nott? Really?” he frowns. “Can’t believe that tosser managed to-”

You snort, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging, Fred hands you the package. “Nothing, it’s just that -” he pauses and his eyes look at you like you should know what he’s talking about. As if the two of you have some sort of telepathic connection, Fred was always like this.

He would look at you like you understood a word you said, even though he’s been silent for the past minute or so. He always struggled to express himself, and you’re sad to see that this habit followed him into adulthood.

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “That’ll be twenty five galleons.”

“Twenty what?” Your eyes widen. “You heartless man!”

Fred gapes at you, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Twenty five, to your oldest pal? Twenty and a stick of gum.”

Fred pretends to think. “How about you keep the gum and give me twenty four.”

“Twenty two.” you narrow your eyes, leaning forward on the counter. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

Fred scoffs,“I am giving you the holiday discount!”

Grumbling, you reluctantly stick your hand in your purse and take out your wallet. “I won’t forget this. You’re in my book.”

Fred gasped dramatically, “Not the book!” he exclaims, “Twenty two then, please for the love of merlin not the book.”

You lift your chin, head tilting to the side to survey him mockingly. “Twenty two it is, you won’t get away so easily next time.”

The two of you giggling, you pay him the money and leave a few sickles. “For the great service.” you say, him pretend-blushing at your words and tucking a strand of his shoulder length hair behind his ear.

He speaks after some time, the laughter has died down and left it’s comforting after taste. “I missed you ____, why didn’t you visit?”

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

How can he ask that when the answer is so obvious. Fred’s still cruel it seems, he doesn’t bat an eyelash as he speaks. He knows the reason.

“Oh you know,” you start after some time, “Work and stuff.” you lie, and fight the urge to cringe at your words.

Though Fred doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t push it either. He simply nods, looking down at the checkout counter. You’re glad he’s avoiding your gaze, because it makes your departure much easier. “See you at the party Fred, thanks for the...uh. Yeah.” you awkwardly lift your bag up and give him a wave before pushing yourself outside. You can finally breathe.

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

Blaise was arriving in exactly seven minutes and you barely just put on your dress. You’re sure of this because Blaise is always on time, he even has an unnecessarily expensive watch on his right hand that he obsessively likes to check. At least Aleyna’s into it, frantically trying to strap her heels, she’s wriggling herself towards the front door to somehow track her lover. You don’t know how love works, maybe they can smell each other from a mile away or something.

Shaking your head, you fluff your hair and wipe a hand across your under eye after wetting it with your tongue. You think Aleyna calls for you, you’re not sure because you’re too occupied trying to decide if you’re going to wear lipstick.

“Hey,” you walk out of your bathroom door and scurry towards her, “should I?”

Aleyna raises a brow. You scoff, “Stop doing that, you know I can’t raise mine individually.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem too if you don’t help me.”

As reflex, you roll your eyes. You only do this because you know it reminds Aleyna of that one chick from Blaise’s workplace - she knows no boundaries, apparently. It’s a shitty move, but it’s a shitty world.

Aleyna carefully inspects the two products you hold tightly between your hands. A simple shimmery gloss and a nude, almost dark red lipstick you stole - borrowed - from her. “Depends, who are you smooching?”

Throwing her an incredulous look, you hold out the two products on your palms. “I’m not smooching anyone.”

Unless of course Fred Weasley asks, if he does you would pull out makeup wipes from thin air and jump into his arms with naked lips ready to be kissed. Though, that’s only a fantasy and Fred is emotionally unavailable...scratch that, you are.

You’re not sure how tonight is going to end, and you can’t help but be aware of that looming clump of anxiety, clutching on your chest and refusing to let go until you're assured that it’s going to be fine.

“The gloss, just in case.” Aleyna stops your train of thought before it trashes off its tracks and crashes somewhere in Fred McDreamy land.

You nod, making no further inquiries and getting yourself ready as best as you can. Fixing your bodice and giving your scar a quick look, you finally hear the doorbell ring after a few long minutes, followed by Blaise’s deep voice greeting his girlfriend. You give the couple a few seconds to smooch - if you will, before walking back to the living room.

Blaise grins when he sees you, he’s wearing a sleek black suit with its first two collar buttons undone - you expect no less class from him.

“Happy Christmas!” you chime, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight just enough so you can whisper in his ear. “I hope you picked out the second ring, Zabini.”

Blaise swallows thickly before laughing, you know this because you physically feel him start to sweat. “I swear I did, don’t worry I have a plan.” he winks after letting go.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he loops an arm around Aleyna’s waist and pulls her by his side. “Only the best for my girl.”

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

You quickly clear your throat, “Anyways, let’s go before the serenading and the rose petals start.”

The three of you finally leave, the walk down your apartment building feels way too short, and the moment you exit you’re hit with the wonderfully chilly Christmas air.

For a moment, you forget where you’re going.

Lights are hung up everywhere, across shops, tangled through trees and some floating in the air. You can’t see the night sky, Diagon Alley has one of its own, adorned with radiant moons and luminous stars just bright enough for people to navigate themselves through crowds with zero accidents. It feels breathtakingly overwhelming.

Glass ornaments are charmed to fly across, a special show prepared by Madame Mulkin, and Mr. Eyelop tuned in by letting out a few snow owls rest around random trees to add to the warm atmosphere. There’s flavour wafting around the air, you inhale again to identify it better.

Speeding your way through - it hits you, gingerbread and chocolate.

You clutch your bag towards your chest, suddenly you feel disgustingly sappy. Though, you are in public so you decide to shake off that small warmth threatening your heart and continue walking towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The walk towards the shop feels too short again, you almost check your watch to see if Hermione’s playing with the time turner again.

You almost turn on your heel, dump the bundle of presents you’ve bought on their front door and leave. You can, in theory, you’ve separated from Aleyna and Blaise midway through and you can just run and never look back.

Tough luck, when you walk through the generously decorated shop and up the stairs, you’re disappointed to see their flat door wide open.

You stare at it, it feels too inviting. Frank Sinatra blares through the walls, you can smell hints of incense, trailing through your nose and tickling you, causing you to sneeze. You were always sensitive towards smells, and it never bothered you until now.

“Bless you!” George Weasley appears, rounding a corridor and greeting you with open arms into his neat dress shirt. He hugs you like you’re family, and if you weren’t holding a sack like Santa Clause with his your jolly ass hanging on by the mere piece of fabric of your dress you would have hugged back.

“Thanks, Happy Christmas George.” you smile when he takes the sack from your hands and weighs it with raised brows.

“You didn’t have to buy anything ____!” he pats your shoulder, hand trailing to your lower back to navigate you inside. “We are the gift givers, you’re our guest.”

You chuckle, walking through the long entrance corridor, “Of course I’m getting gifts you quack.”

George scoffs, “Using my words against me now are we?”

When you gaze up at the famous joke shop as a little civilian in the streets of Diagon Alley, you don’t expect to catch the sight of a flat this large. You knew it was sizable since two grown men somehow fit and live there, but you underestimated just how successful Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was.

The floors are wood, clean with even several shoes stepping around, chattering with wine glasses in their wobbly hands. A bulletin board hangs next to a quidditch rack filled with different kinds of equipment - old and new.

Too entranced by the cozy interior, you don’t bother stealing glances at the bulletin board. The kitchen and living room are connected, yet they still somehow feel like completely different rooms. The den is lit up by a brick fireplace, lightly crackling and making the atmosphere all the more comfortable. The soft fur (faux you hoped, though Mr Weasley did have a muggle hunting rifle phase which you thoroughly discouraged) carpet tickles your ankles and you have to hold onto George’s arm for support

“Bevvy?” he offers you, holding out a pint beer glass and you shake your head, admiring the apartment further.

Most couches are leather yet they still look comfortable, the kitchen is big but not obnoxiously so, you can hear the clinking of a foosball table - commotion makes sense in their apartment - the wide living space narrows through a corridor, leading to what you assume must be bedrooms.

You’re glad Fred and Eva broke up, because you decide then and there that you’re going to visit the twins everyday despite your history, just to step into this apartment again.

“____!”

Angelina’s sweet voice causes your unease to vanish in an instant and you crush her in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you smile, looping an arm around her shoulder and letting her guide you through the flat. “You changed your hair!”

Angelina nudges you with her hip, “Thank merlin you noticed, George is clueless.”

“Oh? George? You never told me - Hey Cho!”

You’re cut off by several familiar faces greeting you and telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you do, right next to Hermione and Ginny, two pregnant and fierce women that keep bickering with their husbands because of their weird cravings.

“I’m with you on this one Gin’!” you snort, eyeing Harry. You have a wine glass in one hand and the power you hold makes you feel too confident. “If the woman wants sausages marinated with toothpaste, she’s getting sausages marinated with toothpaste!”

Harry grumbles, “Will you please stop fueling this!” he protests, downing his drink and banging this on the table. “Look sweetheart, you wanted onions and mustard just a second ago so I got you ‘em, what made you change your mind?”

Ginny bangs her fist on the coffee table, in addition to Harry’s outburst. It seemed everyone was banging stuff on tables, so you do too.

“You think I know? Sod off or get me my toothpaste!” Ginny yells, banging another fist after you.

Harry kneels down next to the foot of the couch and holds his wife’s hand, gently massaging her knuckles. “We can’t get you toothpaste,” he says calmly.

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

“Stop damaging my property.” says George, materializing out of thin air.

You feel bad for Harry, you truly do but it only lasts for a second because this is even more entertaining than watching Aunt Muriel try to play foosball while shouting ‘Come at me you haired back marys!’

You’re enjoying yourself, the buzz, the warmth, the scent of fire. It’s comfortable and not at all like a party. It’s as if you’re visiting your friends for thanksgiving, homely and welcoming.

Though, the first crack forms when you see Fred, eyeing you from the small bar of their kitchen.

Dressed in navy slacks and a red, turtleneck sweater, he leans against the counter with a glass of Firewhiskey clutched on his big hand. He swirls it as his lips twitch, keeping his gaze set on you. His hair falls on his eyes, mostly pushed back but how strong hair gel can really be?

He looks good, way too good for a party. But it’s not the outfit, it's his entire presence. The way he holds himself, acts, speaks - shit, it’s attractive. He can do anything and he’ll always have that charismatic charm, it makes you feel envious, not to mention incredibly horny.

It’s Christmas, it’s a sacred holiday. You can’t let Fred sexy Weasley get to you, no matter how unapproachable and out of your league he looks.

You’re the bigger person - apparently - and you decide to greet him first.

You don’t know what compels you to do this, but it must be quite a strong force because you feel yourself start to quiver when you abandon your place on the couch. It’s so strong that your wobbly legs carry you while you push through tipsy friends and hold you up all the way to the kitchen area.

“Merry Christmas.” you croak, pulling him in a quick hug which he returns happily.

“Merry Christmas yourself.” he smiles, gaze drifting lower to your dress only for a second before he swallows.

His signature cologne that you’ve engraved deep in your head this past week bursts out again. You smile softly, relishing in him.

“You look,” he seems to be giving much more thought on whatever he’s about to say, he settles on; “Beautiful, you’re, uh - the dress.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” your face falls. The dress is beautiful, not you. Of course. “Thank you, I would say you don’t look too bad yourself but that would be a lie.”

Fred raises a brow, putting his wine glass on the bar with a clink before slowly turning on his heel. “Aw, cheers love.” he says casually, “Wore it for you,”

You raise both your brows, “Is that so?” you fight a grin.

“This little number is my lucky charm.” he smirks, pulling on his shirt. “Made women fall at my feet back in the day, maybe you will too.” he finishes, more bashfully than before. His cheeks are tinted pink and, now, for the first time, you feel clueless.

Your heart stutters when you speak, “Trying to butter me up Frederick?” you say shly, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours.

Fred winks. “And what if I am?” he suddenly straightens, arms folding together. His head bows as he continues with a smile, “I’m joking, got this a week ago for the party.”

You fight the urge to smile, “Ah, so not the chick magnet.”

“Well,” Fred laughs, “It’s still very wolfish.”

“Whatever you say, big ole pussy cat.” you pat him on the shoulder.

Fred scoffs good naturally, “Ah, you hurt my pride ____.”

When you don’t say anything, his gaze falls on you. He takes the time to look at you, really take you in and it makes your efforts feel appreciated for once. He takes a deep breath, head careening left for a moment.

“It’s not just the dress.” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes falling on your scar. “You really are beautiful.”

Your hand immediately flies to your brow, tracing a finger down the gash. It’s not as noticeable anymore and your hair grew back - thankfully - but the knowledge that it’s still there, parading itself to everyone makes you feel much more self conscious than you should.

Fred’s hand closes over yours and you freeze. “You might not think so, but not only is your scar a wicked bedtime story, it’s very attractive.”

Your ears feel hot, “You think I’m attractive?”

It’s a nice compliment - especially when it comes from a man like Fred.

“Do I think you’re,” he gasps, giving you an incredulous look. “Of course you’re - ! I mean you can’t be asking me that - are you, gah!”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. It’s quite amusing watching Fred Weasley struggling to speak, clearly embarrassed. The knowledge that you made him this way, you were sleeping like a baby tonight that’s for sure.

“Look, ____. I actually wanted to tell you something really important.” he fidgets with his cuffs.

You furrow your brows, “Of course, what is it?”

“I used to, well I think I still do because it never truly went away but - okay, this is harder than I thought.”

You chuckle nervously. “Fred, you’re freaking me out here.”

You hear him mutter something along the likes of what’s wrong with me, until he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

When you left your apartment a few days ago, your mind didn’t calculate the outcomes of meeting Fred Weasley.

The impact is so strong that it causes your past to - not flash, because this is painful - slowly start playing before your eyes, like a play you have to sit through because the seats were expensive, and the star of the show, the star of your own life is standing right in front of you.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, gold cocktail dress. The costume design is delicate, it’s the type of dress you flutter your fingers in (the fabric is ticklish and soft, you just had to touch it) before moving onto the next. The rack is full of other suitable options, because you know you can never wear a dress like that.

But Eva can. She was always gorgeous, you couldn’t compare.

Fred’s eyes are wide, the way he’s tugging on your dress makes worry wash over you. “Eva? Erm - who invited you?” His words sound more bitter than he intends them to, or at least you think so.

“Oh, is that how you treat guests around here?” she fucking giggles, playfully slapping his shoulder.

You can’t tell if she’s purposely ignoring you - you’re standing right there - or just forgot your existence after seeing Fred in those pants because sweet merciful heavens.

Fred shifts uncomfortably, “Right sorry well, Merry Christmas!” he’s back to normal, addressing her as he addresses anyone else you can’t help but smirk.

Of course, you immediately jump on this opportunity. Eva may have ruined most of your childhood, she may currently look gorgeous - mockingly so, but you’re not kids anymore. No matter how insignificant you feel, you still have your pride to protect.

“Merry Christmas,” you add, jumping forward. “How long has it been?”

Eva’s expression turns sour, though she conceals it quickly. “____! Oh I love your dress.”

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

“Happy holidays Freddie! Where can a girl get a drink around here?” she squeaks? You’re not sure, her voice is too sweet and you don’t know how to act.

Fred grins, “Right there,” he points to a corner far away from the kitchen. “Lee’s in charge of drinks, I’m sure he can hook you up with something.”

Eva ponders, pausing for a beat. She’s expectantly staring at Fred, though when he shows no intention of accompanying her she gives you a menacing look and leaves.

You didn’t expect a big reunion because you saw Eva a few months ago at the hospital, you had sprained an ankle while training with Ron, and she tried to heal you before the Head Healer cut in and told her to take a walk.

Fred’s weight relaxes as soon as Eva’s out of view, it doesn’t take much to know something happened between the two - it wasn’t a harmless breakup like Fred had told you. You don’t push it though, if he wants to tell you he will.

“Well that was,” you say, and he hums in response, swirling his drink in one hand. You watch the gold hue with him for a moment. “Interesting.”

He snorts, “She drops by every Friday to give me green apples. I hate green apples.”

“How long did you guys date?” you can’t help the words that tumble out of your lips.

He stares at you for a moment, you swear his lip almost twitch in a smile before he clears his throat. “Three years, I thought I loved her for a year.”

“Well what changed your mind?”

Fred looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question a joke shop owner could hear. “You, daft idiot, you did.”

“Wha-” you stammer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fred groans. “I need a drink.” and with that, he leaves towards where Eva previously walked on her precious Chanel heels. Leaves you alone.

It wasn’t like you called the man's family a disgrace and cursed his entire bloodline. Confused, you decide that maybe you need a drink as well to survive this night.

Everyone you had talked to so far ended with a disagreement, except George because he probably felt bad for you and your huge red gift sack. Embarrassment fills your cheeks as you walk towards the beverage table, you shouldn’t have come tonight.

The cherry on top gets dropped on the shit sundae when Eva Burke bumps into your shoulder and causes you to spill your drink.

“Oops! Babe I’m so sorry,” She pulls a red cloth from the glass table filled with different types of intoxications and rubs it on the fabric of your dress, further ruining it.

Embarrassment turns into frustration, this turns into pure anger. You see red.

You snatch the cloth from her hands and lightly push her forward, Eva dramatically - and very theatrically - falls on the ground with a yelp.

“Oh get up!” you hiss, throwing the cloth on the ground.

Eva scrambles to her feet, holding her right ankle with dainty, perfectly manicured hands. “Oh, now we’re turning to violence are we? Some things never change.”

You let out a frustrated grumble, stumping your heel on the ground. “I really don’t have time for this Eva.”

“We’re just talking babe, I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

Suddenly with her magically healed ankle she trudges forward. “Is it the dress?” she pouts, bending down to eye the splotch on your chest. “I can pay for it, say...two sickles?”

Your eyes narrow, “How about this, you show me how your career is going and I’ll decide if you can afford a wash.”

Eva barks out a laugh, “How about this, I’ll show you a family picture album.”

Gasping, you hold back the urge to slap her. You never expected Eva to stoop this low, and you know you shouldn’t be upset over it but it hurts. It hurts how easily she can use your family against you with no remorse.

Beyond pissed, insulted and done with tonight, you pull out your wand and get ready to apparate. This time it’s not to run away, nor do you feel like a coward. You feel tired, using your palms to press into your temple and relieve your throbbing headache.

Eva grips your wand and tries to pull you forward with failed force. “Let’s get this straight, Fred’s not interested in you.”

“And you think he’s interested in you?” you laugh, “You broke up remember?

Eva flings her long hair back, “And I’m gonna get him back. No one breaks up with me.”

“So, you're still a narcissistic bitch.” you smile.

“And you’re still pathetically clinging onto whatever I touch.” She takes a step forward, and it hits you then and there that you aren’t going home sooner or later. “Wanna know why we broke up?”

You hold your breath, her perfume is too sweet and you can’t process her words.

“He caught me cheating.” she smirks. “And he still begged me to stay, after all that.”

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about ready to punch her. You’ve never seen someone so prideful, so proud to have done something so obaminable. But it doesn’t surprise you, you pity her.

“Some loser from the bank.” she mockingly wipes a nonexistent tear with her jeweled wrist. “See, that’s the difference between me and you ____. “

You almost scream bloody murder. “Oh do enlighten me.” Your voice is weirdly high pitched but you don’t seem to care.

“He begged me, not you. He’ll never want you. You’ll always end up with the leftovers ____, accept that.” she hisses, taking another step forward.

You don’t know what you’ve done to the woman standing before you with nothing but red fire in her eyes, she looks ready to pull out your hair follicle by follicle, yet it makes you smirk. With a shit eating grin on your face, it hits you. “I knew it.” you laugh.

Eva stutters, “What?”

“Why you’re actually delusional to think he’s taking you back.”

“Oh but he will.” she protests, stomping her heel.

“No, he won’t.”

When you see Eva stay quiet, you continue. ”You grew up spoiled rotten, your parents love you, hell my parents love you, you always had the most friends and always got your way.”

She smirks, you’re tempted not to continue but years of pent up anger is ready to burst through your chest. “Yeah, jealous are we?” Eve mocks, and you quiver as you speak. Stating the obvious doesn’t hurt you anymore.

“No, because you grew up thinking everyone will love you, no matter how wrong you are, or what horrible things you do, you’ll always think that people won’t stop being by your side.” you shake your head, tutting. “But you’re wrong. I guess that’s what too much love does to you - you think a simple sorry will fix what you did? Because no, it won’t.”

“Oh stop it, Fred wants me back, it’s painfully obvious.” Eva speaks, but she doesn’t sound sure at all.

“I’ll make it clear for you.” you smile. “Fred won’t take you back for cheating, you won’t get a second chance in your career, and you sure as hell won’t be getting an apology from me.”

By now, you don’t care who's listening, because they are. Oh, they’re eating this kitty fight up like free dessert Monday at Fleur’s. Your childhood friends are watching you with intense, widened eyes. And somehow, in a cruel, wicked way, you feel satisfaction. The harsh words slipping out of your lips like nectar, in comparison to the way they slap Eva across the face fills you with nothing but disgusting satisfaction.

Sure, it’s immature and yes, you could’ve worded everything much better to be even more impactful, but the way her eyes are bloodshot and vengenceful, it’s enough for you.

Eva grits her teeth, and you know she doesn’t have much to say. “I don’t need an apology from you, ____.” she speaks, and her next words cause you to freeze, because no matter what wrong doing, she’s still right. ”You’re right, I might not be forgiven, but in the end I will always be better than you. People will always favour me more and you can never change that.”

You try to lunge forward, teeth gritter. With harsh impact, you topple backwards. Strong arms are wrapped around your chest, holding you back from gouging Eva’s eyes out with the toothpick from the martini glasses.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fred says, a deep rumble coming from his chest and against your back. You fight the urge to shiver, though you’re way too angry to be thinking of how good he smells. “Why don’t we sober up sweetheart.” he asks you, whispering.

“No!” you shriek, struggling to move forward. “This isn’t over until I break her nose!”

Eva laughs, “Oh come at me, babe! Let’s see what a traumatized neglected child can do, yeah?” her eyes flash.

A deep, growling of distress leaves you. “Oh let me go! Let’s see what a filthy adulter can do!”

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

You groan, “Heaven’s above let me go Fred.”

Eva takes two steps forward before Lee grasps her arms. “But these things happen for a reason!” her shrill voice causes you to wince.

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

Eva shrieks, lunging forward in an attempt to reach you again, and at that moment Fred seems to have about enough.

“Alright, that’s it.” His stern voice causes you to flinch, muscular arms still holding you close to his chest, he yanks you backwards and starts walking towards the corridor. “That’s enough with the both of you, Lee take Eva outside, get her some fresh air.”

——————

Fred has the decency to take you to his bedroom rather than toss you outside like he had done with Eva.

If the situation was any different, you’d be over the moon right now. Alone? With Fred Weasley? In his big bedded, fireplace occupying, additional bathroom having bedroom?

Said situation did not have you sitting on a leather rocking chair, big mug of coffee in hand while Fred lectures you like a parent. Actually, you wouldn’t know.

You’ve been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, too scared to say anything and anger him further. You knew how much this party meant to him, and you had ruined it with your childish, pent up jealousy. It wasn’t just you per say, but you had let Eva get to you.

“Can’t the two of you act your age for one fucking second,” he groans, hand propped against the brick fireplace. “I know how infuriating she is, but you-” inhaling sharply, he strides towards you. “Say something will you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

You gulp, you shouldn’t have brought it up when he was agitated, but you can’t listen to him while the words echo around your head. You feel awful, insensitive, anything else to call yourself that makes you feel better towards your lack of judgement. “She cheated, you didn’t tell me. Why?”

Fred pauses, after what feels like a seconds he bends down on his knees in front of you while you watch him, engrossed.

“Been waiting for you to bring it up.” he chuckles, his smile disappearing in an instant. His ginger locks hang in front of you and you realize that his shampoo, like the rest of him, smells amazing. You fight the intense urge to card your fingers through.

“Merlin, I just,” he meets your eyes. “I felt ashamed.”

Suddenly standing up, your hands flail. “Why?”

Fred stands up as well. His stance alarms you, arms wrapped around himself, brows furrowed and defensive. “Not ashamed because of you, because of myself.”

You take a step forward when Fred indicates that he’s going to continue. “I thought you were going to judge me. Bloody coward, can’t even break up with his cheating girlfriend.”

You scoff, “Fred, I’ve known you since I was eleven. Sure we had some tough times but do you really think that low of me?”

Now he scoffs, it’s nothing short of mockery. “Tough times my arse. You avoided us like the plague, ____.”

“I had my reasons,” you raise your voice, wincing slightly and it only fuels Fred’s anger.

“Proper liar you are, you didn’t even write, or even just explain why you suddenly walked out.”

You don’t feel ashamed for what you did, it was for your own good. Though, Fred’s right. You never gave a proper reason other than those childish insults at Hog’s Head. But now, with your head banging, you can’t think logically.

“Again.” you grit your teeth, words spilling between like venom. “I had my reasons.”

Fred quickly stalks towards you, enough so you can reach a hand, grab his jaw and smash your lips against his. But you don’t. “Excuse me for not giving a rat's arse about your reasons, do you know how worried I was!”

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred wealsey fic #hp smut #fluff #angst #hp angst #reader insert #george weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

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innuendostudios · 3 years

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I was invited to give a talk on GamerGate over Zoom in early 2021. I've long been frustrated that there isn't a good timeline of GG and its origins on YouTube. When people ask "what the hell was GG anyway?" they often get referred to my or Dan Olson's videos on the subject, but both of them were made while GG was ongoing, and presumed a degree of familiarity on the part of the audience. There was just too much to say about what was already happening to spend time getting the audience up to speed, and it was safe to assume our audiences had enough context to follow along. But time moves fast on the internet, and many people who now care about such things weren't there while it was happening, and are lacking the necessary context to follow the better videos. For a long time, I've only been able to direct them to RationalWiki's timeline, which is excellent but so exhaustively comprehensive that it's likely to scare off first-timers.

I realize an hourlong lecture isn't necessarily helping matters, but the first 20-or-so minutes of this video are my attempt at streamlining the timeline such that people can be up to speed on the most important stuff fairly quickly. The rest is talking about what it all meant, how it prefigured the Alt-Right, and using it to better understand digital radicalization.

This video was made with the help of Magdalen Rose, who edited the slides to the audio while I was laid up with a back injury. Go sub to her channel! And please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

FUCKING VIDEO GAMES? FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THEY MADE DOZENS OF PEOPLE MISERABLE FOR YEARS OVER VIDEO GAMES! NOT EVEN FUCKING VIDEO GAMES, FUCKING ARTICLES ABOUT FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THIS IS WHAT PASSES FOR LEGITIMATE GRIEVANCE. ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT??

Hi! My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, please like share and subscribe.

I’m here to talk to you about GamerGate, and I needed to get all that out of the way. I’m going to talk about what GamerGate was and how it prefigured The Alt-Right, and there are gonna be moments where you’re nodding along with me, going, “yeah, yeah I get it,” and then the sun’s gonna break through a crack in the wall and you’ll suddenly remember that all this is happening because some folks - mostly ladies - said some stuff - provably true stuff, I might add - about video games and a bunch of guys didn’t like it, and you’re gonna want to rip your hair out. By the end of this, you will have a better understanding of what happened, but it will never not be bullshit.

Also, oh my god, content warning. Racism, sexism, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, rape threats, threats of violence, domestic abuse - I’m not going to depict or describe at length any of the worst stuff, but it’s all in the mix. So if at any point you need to switch me off or mute me, you have my blessing.

Brace yourselves.

Some quick prehistory:

In 2012, feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian ran a Kickstarter campaign for a YouTube series on sexist tropes in video games. And, partway through the campaign, 4chan found it and said “let’s ruin her life.” And a lot of the male general gaming public joined in. And by “ruin her life” I’m not talking 150 angry tweets including dozens of rape and death threats per week, though that was a thing. I’m talking bomb threats. I’m talking canceled speaking engagements because someone threatened to shoot up a school. I’m talking FBI investigation. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

And in 2013, Zoe Quinn released Depression Quest, a free text game about living with depression. They received harassment off and on for the next year, most pointedly from an incel forum called Wizardchan that doxxed their phone number and made harassing phone calls telling them to kill themself. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

(Also, quick note: Zoe Quinn is nonbinary and has come out since the events in question. When I call Zoe’s harassment misogynist, understand I am not calling Zoe a woman, but they were attacked by people who hate women because that’s how they were perceived. Had they been out at the time things probably would’ve gone down similarly, but on top of misogyny I’d be talking about nonbinary erasure and transphobia.)

Okay. Our story begins in August 2014. The August that never ended.

Depression Quest, after a prolonged period on Greenlight, finally releases on Steam as a free download with the option to pay what you want. In the days that follow, Zoe’s ex-boyfriend, Eron Gjoni, writes a nearly 10,000-word blog called The Zoe Post, in which he claims Quinn had been a shitty and unfaithful partner. (For reference, 10,000 words is long enough that the Hugos would consider it a novelette.) This is posted to forums on Penny Arcade and Something Awful, both of which immediately take it down, finding it, at best, a lot of toxic hearsay and, at worse, an invitation to harassment. So Gjoni workshops the post, adds a bunch of edgelord humor (and I am using the word “humor” very generously), and reposts it to three different subforums on 4chan.

We’re not going to litigate whether Zoe Quinn was a good partner. I don’t know or care. I don’t think anyone on this call is trying to date them so I’m not sure that’s our business. What is known is that the relationship lasted five months, and, after it ended, Gjoni began stalking Quinn. Gjoni has, in fact, laid out how he stalked Quinn in meticulous detail to interviewers and why he feels it was justified. It’s also been corroborated by a friend that Quinn briefly considered taking him back at a games conference in San Francisco, but he became violent during sex and Quinn left the apartment in the middle of the night with visible bruises.

Off of the abusive ex-boyfriend’s post, 4chan decides it’s going to make Zoe Quinn one of their next targets, and starts a private IRC channel to plan the campaign. The channel is called #BurgersAndFries, a reference to Gjoni claiming Quinn had cheated on him with five guys. A couple sentences in The Zoe Post - which Gjoni would later claim were a typo - imply that one of the five guys was games journalist Nathan Grayson and that Quinn had slept with him in exchange for a good review of Depression Quest. Given the anger that they’d seen drummed up against women in games with the previous Anita Sarkeesian hate mob, #BurgersAndFries decides to focus on this breach of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover story, many of them howling with laughter at the thought that male gamers would probably buy it. This way, destroying Quinn’s life and career and turning their community against them would appear an unfortunate byproduct of a legitimate consumer revolt; criticism of the harassment could even be framed as a distraction from the bigger issue. Gjoni himself is in the IRC channel telling them that this was the best hand to play.

The stated aim of many on #BurgersAndFries was to convince Quinn to commit suicide.

Two regulars in the IRC, YouTubers MundaneMatt and Internet Aristocrat, make videos about The Zoe Post. Incidentally, both these men had already made a lot of money off videos about Anita Sarkeesian. Matt’s is swiftly taken down with a DMCA claim, and he says that Quinn filed the claim themself. (For the record, in those days, YouTube didn’t tell you who filed DMCA claims against you.) Members of the IRC also reach out to YouTuber TotalBiscuit, who had been critical of Sarkeesian and dismissive of her harassment, and he tweets the story to his 350,000 followers, saying a game developer trading sex for a good review might not prove true, but was certainly plausible.

This is where GamerGate begins to get public traction.

Zoe Quinn is very swiftly doxxed, with their phone number, home address, nudes, and names and numbers of their family collected. Gjoni himself leaks their birth name. The Zoe Post, and the movement against Quinn - now dubbed “The Quinnspiracy” - make it to The Escapist and Reddit, which mods will have little luck removing. The Quinnspiracy declares war on any site that does take their threads down, most vehemently NeoGAF. People who defend Zoe against the harassment start getting doxxed themselves - Fez developer Phil Fish is doxxed so thoroughly, hackers get access to the root folder of his website.

In what I’m going to call This Should Have Been The End, Part 1, Stephen Totilo, Editor-in-Chief at Kotaku where Nathan Grayson worked, in response to pressure not just from The Quinnspiracy but an increasing number of angry gamers buying The Quinnspiracy’s narrative, publishes a story. In it he verifies that Quinn and Grayson did date for several months, and that not only is there no review of Depression Quest anywhere on Kotaku, not by Grayson nor anyone else, but that Grayson did not write a single word about Quinn the entire time they were dating.

In response, The Quinnspiracy declares war on Kotaku. r/KotakuinAction is formed, which will become the primary site of organization outside of chanboards. The fact that their entire “movement” is based on a review that does not exist changes next to nothing.

Some people start to see The Quinnspiracy as potentially profitable. The Fine Young Capitalists get involved, a group ostensibly working to get women into video games but who have a Byzantine plan to do so wherein they crowdfund the budget and the woman who wins a competition gets to storyboard a game, but another company will make and she will get 8% of the profits, the rest going to a charity chosen by the top donor. 4chan becomes the top donor. They like TFYC because the head of the company has a vendetta against Zoe Quinn, who had previously called them out for their transphobic submission policy, and he falsely accused Quinn of having once doxxed him. 4chan feels backing an ostensibly feminist effort will be good PR, but can’t resist selecting a colon cancer charity because, they say, feminism is cancer and they want to be the cure to butthurt. They also get to design a character for the game, and so they create Vivian James, who will become the GamerGate mascot.

Manosphere YouTubers Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini launch a Patreon campaign for their antifeminist documentary The Sarkeesian Effect and come to The Quinnspiracy looking for $15,000 a month for an indefinite period to make it, which they get.

In what will prove genuinely awful timing, Anita Sarkeesian releases the second episode of Tropes vs. Women in Video Games, and, despite not being a games journalist and having nothing to do with Quinn or Grayson, she is immediately roped into the narrative about how feminists are ruining games culture and becomes the second major target of harassment. Both she and Quinn soon have to leave their houses after having receiving dozens and dozens of death threats that include their home addresses.

After being courted by members of the IRC channel, Firefly star Adam Baldwin tweets a link to one of the Quinnspiracy videos and coins the hashtag #GamerGate. This is swiftly adopted by all involved.

In response to all this, Leigh Alexander writes a piece for Gamasutra arguing that the identity that these men are flocking to the “ethics in games journalism” narrative to defend no longer matters as a marketing demographic. Gaming and games culture is so large and so varied, and the “core gamer” audience of 18-34 white bros growing smaller and septic, that there was no reason, neither morally nor financially, to treat them as the primary audience anymore. Love of gaming is eternal, but, she declared, “gamers,” as an identity, “are over.” Eight more articles contextualizing GamerGate alongside misogyny and the gatekeeping of games culture come out across several websites in the following days. GamerGate frames these as a clear sign of [deep sigh] collusion to oppress gamers, proving that ethics in games journalism is, indeed, broken, and Leigh Alexander becomes the third major target of harassment. These become known as the “gamers are dead” articles - a phrase not one of them uses - and they make “get Leigh Alexander fired from Gamasutra” one of their primary goals.

Something I need you to understand is that it has, at this point, been two weeks.

Highlights from the next little bit: Alex Macris, a higher up at The Escapist’s parent company, expresses support for GamerGate; he will go on to write the first positive coverage at a major publication and cement The Escapist as GamerGate-friendly. Mike Cernovich, aka “Based Lawyer,” gets GamerGate’s attention by mocking Anita Sarkeesian; he will go on to hire a private investigator to stalk Zoe Quinn. GamerGate launches Operation Disrespectful Nod, an email campaign pressuring companies to pull advertising from websites that have criticized them. They leverage their POC members, getting them, any time someone points out the rampant racism and antisemitism among GamerGaters, to say “I am a person of color and I am #NotYourShield”; most of these “POC members” are fake accounts left over from a previous, racist disinformation campaign. Milo Yiannapoulos gets involved, writing positive coverage of GG despite having mocked gamers for precisely this behavior in the past, and gets so much traffic it pulls Breitbart News out of obscurity and makes it a significant player in modern conservative news media.

[Hey! Ian from the future here. This talk mostly addresses how GamerGate prefigured the Alt-Right strategically and philosophically, but if you want a more explicit, material connection: Breitbart News took its newfound notoriety to become, as its Executive Chair phrased it in 2016, "a platform for the Alt-Right." That Executive Chair was Steve Bannon, who threw the website's weight behind The Future President Who Shall Not Be Named, and, upon getting his attention, would then go on to become his campaign strategist and work in his Administration. So, if you're wondering how one of the central figures of the Alt-Right ended up in the White House, the answer is literally "GamerGate." Back to you, Ian from the past!]

In what I’m calling This Should Have Been The End, Part 2, Zoe Quinn announces that they have been lurking the #BurgersAndFries IRC channel since the beginning and releases dozens of screenshots showing harassment being planned and the selection of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover. #BurgersAndFries has a meltdown, everyone turns on each other, and the channel is abandoned. And they then start another IRC and things proceed.

It goes on like this. I’m not gonna cover everything. This is just the first month. It should be clear by now that this thing is kind of unkillable. And I worry I haven’t made it obvious that this is not just a chanboard and an IRC. Thousands of regular, every day gamers were buying the story and joining in. They were angry, and no amount of evidence that their anger was unfounded was going to change that. You could not mention or even allude to GamerGate and not get flooded with dozens, even hundreds of furious replies. These replies always included the hashtag so everyone monitoring it could join in, so all attempts at real conversation devolved into a hundred forking threads where some people expected you to talk to them while others hurled insults and slurs. And always the possibility that, if any one of them didn’t like what you said, you’d be the next target.

To combat this, some progressives offered up the hashtag #GameEthics to the people getting swept up in GamerGate, saying, “look, we get that you’re angry, and if you want to talk about ethics in games journalism, we can totally do that, but using your hashtag is literally putting us in danger; they calling the police on people saying there’s a hostage situation at their home addresses so they get sent armed SWAT teams, and if you’ll just use this other hashtag we can have the conversation you say you want to have in safety.” And I will ever stop being salty about what happened.

They refused. They wouldn’t cede any ground to what they saw as their opposition. It was so important to have the conversation on their terms that not only did they refuse to use #GameEthics, they spammed it with furry porn so no one could use it.

A few major events on the timeline before we move on: Christina Hoff Sommers, the Republican Party’s resident “feminist,” comes out criticizing Anita Sarkeesian and becomes a major GG figurehead, earning the title Based Mom. Zoe Quinn gets a restraining order against Eron Gjoni, which he repeatedly violates, to no consequence; GG will later crowdfund his legal fees. There’s this listserv called GameJournoPros where game journalists would talk about their jobs, and many are discussing their concerns over GamerGate, so Milo Yiannopoulos leaks it and this is framed as further “proof of collusion.” 4chan finally starts enforcing its “no dox” rules and shuts GamerGate threads down, so they migrate to 8chan, a site famous for hosting like a lot of child porn. Indie game developer Brianna Wu makes a passing joke about GamerGate on Twitter and they decide, seemingly on a whim, to make her one of the biggest targets in the entire movement; she soon has to leave her home as well. GamerGate gets endorsements from WikiLeaks, Infowars, white nationalist sites Stormfront and The Daily Stormer, and professional rapist RooshV. And hundreds of people get doxxed; an 8chan subforum called Baphomet is created primarily to host dox of GamerGate’s critics.

But by November, GamerGate popularity was cresting, as more and more mainstream media covered it negatively. Their last, big spike in popularity came when Anita Sarkeesian went on The Colbert Report and Stephen made fun of the movement. Their numbers never recovered after that.

Which is not to say GamerGate ended. It slowed down. The period of confusion where the mainstream world couldn’t tell whether it was a legitimate movement or not passed. But, again, most harassers faced no meaningful repercussions. Gamers who bought the lie about “ethics in games journalism” stayed mad that no one had ever taken them seriously, and harassers continued to grief their targets for years. The full timeline of GamerGate is an constant cycle of lies, harassment, operations, grift, and doxxing. Dead-enders are to this day still using the hashtag. And remember how Anita had nothing to do with ethics in games journalism or Zoe Quinn, and they just roped her in because they’d enjoyed harassing her before so why not? Every one of GamerGate’s targets knows that they may get dragged into some future harassment campaign just because. It’s already happened to several of them. They’re marked.

(sigh) Let’s take a breath.

Now that we know what GamerGate was, let’s talk about why it worked.

In the thick of GamerGate, I started compiling a list of tactics I saw them using. I wanted to make a video essay that was one part discussion of antifeminist backlash, and one part list of techniques these people use so we can better recognize and anticipate their behavior. That first part became six parts and the second part went on a back burner. It would eventually become my series, The Alt-Right Playbook. GamerGate is illustrative because most of what would become The Alt-Right Playbook was in use.

Two foundational principles of The Alt-Right Playbook are Control the Conversation and Never Play Defense. Make sure people are talking about what you want them to talk about, and take an aggressive posture so you look dominant even when you’re not making sense. For instance: once Zoe leaked the IRC chatlogs, a reasonable person could tell the average gater, “the originators of GamerGate were planning harassment from the very beginning.” But the gater would say, “you’re cherry-picking; not everyone was a harasser.”

Now, this is a bad argument - that’s not how you use “cherry-picking” - and it’s being framed as an accusation - you’re not just wrong, you’re dishonest - which makes you wanna defend yourself. But, if you do - if you tell them why that argument is crap - you’ve let the conversation move from “did the IRC plan harassment?” - a question of fact - to “are the harassers representative of the movement?” - a question of ethics. Like, yes, they are, but only within a certain moral framework. An ethics question has no provable answer, especially if people are willing to make a lot of terrible arguments. It is their goal to move any question with a definitive answer to a question of philosophy, to turn an argument they can’t win into an argument nobody can win.

The trick is to treat the question you asked like it’s already been answered and bait you into addressing the next question. By arguing about whether you’re cherry-picking, you’re accepting the premise that whether you’re cherry-picking is even relevant. Any time this happens, it’s good to pause and ask, “what did we just skip over?” Because that will tell you a lot.

What you skipped over is their admission that, yes, the IRC did plan harassment, but that’s only on them if most of the movement was in on it. Which is a load of crap - the rest of the IRC saw it happening, let it happen, it’s not like anybody warned Zoe, and shit, I’m having the cherry-picking argument! They got me! You see how tempting it is? But presumably the reason you brought the harassment up is because you want them to do something about it. At the very least, leave the movement, but ideally try and stop it. They don’t, strictly speaking, need to feel personally responsible to do that. And you might be thinking, well, maybe if I can get them take responsibility then they’ll do something, but you’d be falling for a different technique I call I Hate Mondays.

This is where people will acknowledge a terrible thing is happening, maybe even agree it’s bad, but they don’t believe anything can be done about it. They also don’t believe you believe anything can be done about it. Mondays suck, but they come around every week. This is never stated outright, but it’s why you’re arguing past each other. To them, the only reason to talk about the bad thing is to assign blame. Whose turn is it to get shit on for the unsolvable problem? Their argument about cherry-picking amounts to “1-2-3 not it.” And they are furious with you for trying to make them responsible for harassment they didn’t participate in.

The unspoken argument is that harassment is part of being on the internet. Every public figure deals with it. This ignores any concept of scale - why does one person get harassed more than another? - but you can’t argue with someone who views it as a binary: harassment either happens or it doesn’t, and, if it does, it’s a fact of life, and, if it happens to everyone, it’s not gendered. And this is not a strongly-held belief they’ve come to after years of soul-searching - this is what they’ve just decided they believe. They want to participate in GamerGate despite knowing its purpose, and this is what would need to be true for that to be ok.

Or maybe they’re just fucking with you! Maybe you can’t tell. Maybe they can’t tell, either. I call this one The Card Says Moops, where people say whatever they feel will score points in an argument and are so irony-poisoned they have no idea whether they actually believe it. A very useful trick if the thing you appear to believe is unconscionable. You can’t take what people like that say at face value; you can only intuit their beliefs from their actions. They say they believe this one minute and that another, but their behavior is always in accordance with that, not this.

In the negative space, their belief is, “The harassment of these women is okay. My anger about video games is more important. I may not be harassing them myself, but they do kind of deserve it.” They will never say this out loud in a serious conversation, though many will say it in an anonymous or irreverent space where they can later deny they meant it. But, whatever they say they believe, this is the worldview they are operating under.

Obscuring this means flipping through a lot of contradictory arguments. The harassment is being faked, or it’s not being faked but it’s being exaggerated, or it’s not being exaggerated but the target is provoking it to get attention, which means GamerGate harassers simultaneously don’t exist, exist in small numbers, and exist in such large numbers someone can build a career out of relying on them! It can be kind of fun to take all these arguments made in isolation and try to string together an actual position. Like, GamerGate would argue that Nathan Grayson having previously mentioned Zoe Quinn in an article about a canceled reality show counts as positive coverage, and since Grayson reached out to Quinn for comment it’s reasonable to assume they started dating before the article was published (which is earlier than they claim), and positive coverage did lead to greater popularity for Depression Quest. But if you untangle that, it’s like… okay, you’re saying Zoe Quinn slept with a journalist in exchange for four nonconsecutive sentences that said no more than “Zoe Quinn exists and made a game,” and the price of those four sentences was to date the journalist for months, all to get rich off a game that didn’t cost any money. That’s your movement?

And some, if cornered, would say, “yes, we believe women are just that shitty, that one would fuck a guy for months if it made them the tiniest bit more famous.” But they won’t lead with that. Because they know it won’t convince the normies, even the ones who want to be convinced. So they use a process I call The Ship of Theseus to, piece by piece, turn that sentence into “slept with a journalist in exchange for a good review” and argue that each part of the sentence is technically accurate. It’s trying to lie without lying. And, provided all the pieces of this sentence are discussed separately, and only in the context of how they justify this sentence, you can trick yourself into believing this sentence is mostly true.

So, like, why? This is clearly motivated reasoning; what’s the motivation? What was this going to accomplish?

The answer is nothing. Nothing, by design. GamerGate’s “official” channels - the subreddit and the handful of forums that didn’t shut them down - were rigidly opposed to any action more organized than an email campaign. They had a tiny handful of tangible demands - they wanted gaming websites to post public ethics policies and had a list of people they wanted fired - but their larger aim was the sea change in how games journalism operated, which nothing they were asking for could possibly give them. The kind of anger that convinces you this is a true statement is not going to be addressed by a few paragraphs about ethics and Leigh Alexander getting a new job. They wanted gaming sites to stop catering to women and “SJWs” - who were a sizable and growing source of traffic - and to get out of the pockets of companies that advertised on their websites - which was their primary source of income. So all Kotaku had to do to make them happy was solve capitalism!

Meanwhile, the unofficial channels, like 8chan and Baphomet, were planning op after op to get private information, spread lies with fake accounts, get disinformation trending, make people quit jobs, cancel gigs, and flee their homes. Concrete goals with clear results. All you had to do to feel productive was go rogue. In my video,

How to Radicalize a Normie, I describe how the Alt-Right encourages lone wolf behavior by whipping people up into a rage and then refusing to give them anything to do, while surrounding them with examples of people taking matters into their own hands. The same mechanism is in play here: the public-facing channels don’t condone harassment but also refuse to fight it, the private channels commit it under cover of anonymity, and there is a free flow of traffic between them for when the official channels’ impotence becomes unbearable.

What I hope I’m illustrating is how these techniques play off of each other, how they create a closed ecosystem that rational thought cannot enter. There’s a phrase we use on the internet that got thrown around a lot at the time:

you can’t logic someone out of a position they didn’t logic themselves into.

Now, there are a few other big topics I think are relevant here, so I want to go through them one by one.

MEMEIFICATION

So a lot of interactions with GamerGate would involve a very insular knowledge base.

Like, you’d say something benign but progressive on Twitter.

A gater would show up in your mentions and say something aggressive and false.

You’d correct them. But then they’d come back and hit you with -

ah shit, sorry, this is a Loss meme.

If I were in front of a classroom I’d ask, show of hands, how many of you got that? I had to ask Twitter recently, does Gen Z know about Loss?!

If you don’t know what Loss is I’m not sure I can explain it to you. It’s this old, bad webcomic that was parodied so, so, so many times

that it was reduced to its barest essentials, to the point where any four panels with shapes in this arrangement is a Loss meme. For those of you in the know, you will recognize this anywhere, but have you ever tried to explain to someone who wasn’t in the know why this is really fuckin’ funny?

So, now… by the same process that this is a comics joke,

this is a rape joke.

I’m not gonna show the original image, but, once upon a time, someone made an animated GIF of the character Piccolo from Dragon Ball Z graphically raping Vegeta. 4chan loved it so much that it got posted daily, became known as the “daily dose,” until mods started deleting every incident of it. So they uploaded slightly edited version of it. Then they started uploading other images that had been edited with Piccolo’s color scheme. It got so abstracted that eventually any collection of purple and green pixels would be recognized as Piccolo Dick.

Apropos of nothing, GamerGate is a movement that insists it is not sexist in nature and it does not condone threats of rape against the women they don’t like. And this is their logo. This is their mascot.

If you’re familiar with the Daily Dose, the idea that GamerGate would never support Eron Gjoni if they believed he was a sexual abuser is so blatantly insincere it’s insulting… but imagine trying to explain to someone who’s not on 4chan how this sweater is a rape joke. Imagine having to explain it to a journalist. Imagine having to explain it to the judge enforcing your abuser’s restraining order.

Reactionaries use meme culture not just because they’re terminally online but also because it makes their behavior seem either benign or just confusing to outsiders. They find it hilarious that they can be really explicit and still fly under the radar. The Alt-Right did this with Pepe the Frog, the OK sign, even the milk glass emoji for a hot minute. The more inexplicable the meme, the better. You get the point where Stephen Miller is flashing Nazi signs from the White House and the Presidential re-eletion campaign is releasing 88 ads of exactly 14 words and there’s still a debate about whether the administration is racist. Because journalists aren’t going to get their heads around that. You tell them “1488 is a Nazi number,” it’s gonna seem a lot more plausible that you’re making shit up.

MOVE FAST AND BREAK THINGS

Online movements like GamerGate move at a speed and mutation rate too high for the mainstream world to keep up. And not just that they don’t understand the memes - they don’t understand the infrastructure.

In an attempt to cover GamerGate evenhandedly, George Wiedman of Super Bunnyhop interviewed a lawyer who specializes in journalistic ethics. He meant well; I really wish he hadn’t. You can see him trying to fit something like GamerGate into terms this silver-haired man who works in copyright law can understand. At one point he asks if it’s okay to fund the creative project of a potential journalistic source, to which the guy understandably says “no.”

What he’s alluding to here is the harassment of Jenn Frank. A few weeks into GamerGate, Jenn Frank writes a piece in The Guardian about sexism in tech that mentions Anita Sarkeesian and Zoe Quinn. In another case of “here’s a strongly-held belief I just decided I have,” GamerGate says this is a breach of journalistic ethics because Frank backs Quinn on Patreon. They harass her so intensely she not only has to quit her job at The Guardian, for several months she quits journalism entirely.

Off the bat, calling a public figure central to a major event in the field a “journalistic source” is flatly wrong-headed. Quinn was not interviewed or even contacted for the article, they were in no way a “source”; they were a subject. But I want to talk about this phrase, “fund a creative project.” Patreon is functionally a subscription; it’s a way of buying things. It’s technically accurate that Frank is funding Quinn’s creative project, but only in the sense that you are funding Bob Dylan’s creative project if you listen to his music. And saying Frank therefore can’t write about Quinn is like saying a music journalist can’t cover a Bob Dylan concert if they’ve ever bought his albums.

And we could talk about the ways that Patreon, as compared with other funding models, can create a greater sense of intimacy, and we also could comment that, well, that’s how an increasing number of people consume media now, so that perspective should be present in journalism. But maybe it means we should cover that perspective differently? I don’t know. It’s an interesting subject. But none of that’s going on in this conversation because this guy doesn’t know what Patreon is. It was only a year old at this point. Patreon’s been a primary source of my income for 5 years and my parents still don’t know what it is. (I think they think I’m a freelancer?) This guy hears “funding a creative project” and he’s thinking an investor, someone who makes a profit off the source’s success.

The language of straight society hasn’t caught up with what’s happening, and that works in GamerGate’s favor.

In the years since GamerGate we have dozens of stories of people trying to explain Twitter harassment to a legal system that’s never heard of Twitter. People trying to explain death threats to cops whose only relationship to the internet is checking email, confusedly asking, “Why don’t you just not go online?” Like, yeah, release your text game about depression at GameStop for the PS3 and get it reviewed in the Boston Globe, problem solved.

You see this in the slowness of mainstream journalists to condemn the harassment - hell, even games journalists at first. Because what if it is a legitimate movement? What if the harassers are just a fringe element? What if there was misconduct? The people in a position to stop GamerGate don’t have to be convinced of their legitimacy, they just have to hesitate. They just have to be unsure. Remember how much happened in just the first two weeks, how it took only a month to become unkillable.

It’s the same hesitance that makes mainstream media, online platforms, and law enforcement underestimate The Alt-Right. They’re terrified of condemning a group as white nationalist terrorists because they’re confused, and what if they’re wrong? Or, in most cases, not even afraid they’re wrong, but afraid of the PR disaster if too much of the world thinks they’re wrong.

ACCOUNTABILITY AND CONTROL

A thing I’ve talked about in The Alt-Right Playbook is how these decentralized, ostensibly leaderless movements insulate themselves from responsibility. Harassment is never the movement’s fault because they never told anyone to harass and you can’t prove the harassers are legitimate members of the movement. The Alt-Right does this too - one of their catchphrases is “I disavow.” Since there are no formalized rules for membership, they can redraw boundaries on the fly; they can take credit for any successes and deny responsibility for any wrongdoing. Public membership is granted or revoked based on a person’s moment-to-moment utility.

It’s almost like… they’re cherry-picking.

The flipside of this is a lack of control. Since they never officially tell anyone to do anything but write emails, they have no means of stopping anyone from behaving counterproductively. The harassment of Jenn Frank was the first time GamerGate’s originators thought, “maybe we should ease off just to avoid bad publicity,” and they found they couldn’t. GamerGate had gotten too big, and too many people were clearly there for precisely this reason.

They also couldn’t control the infighting. When your goal is to harass women and you have all these contradictory justifications for why, you end up with a lot of competing beliefs. And, you know what? Angry white men who like harassing people don’t form healthy relationships! Several prominent members of GamerGate - including Internet Aristocrat - got driven out by factionalism; they were doxxed by their own people! Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini parted ways hating each other, with Aurini releasing chatlogs of him gaslighting Owen about accepting an endorsement from Roosh, and they released two competing edits of The Sarkeesian Effect.

I say this because it’s useful to know that these are alliances of convenience. If you know where the sore spots are, you can apply pressure to them.

LEADERS WITHOUT LEADERSHIP

One way movements like GamerGate deflect responsibility is by declaring, “We are a leaderless movement! We have no means to stop harassment.”

Which… any anarchist will tell you collective action is entirely possible without leaders. But they’ll also tell you, absent a system of distributing power equitably, you’re gonna have leaders, just not ones you elected.

A few months into GamerGate, Randi Lee Harper created the ggautoblocker. Here’s what it did: it took five prominent GamerGate figures - Adam Baldwin, Mike Cernovich, Christina Hoff Sommers, Milo Yiannopoulos, and Nick Monroe, formerly known as [sigh] PressFartToContinue - and generated a block list of everyone who followed at least two of them on Twitter. Now, this became something of an arms race; once GamerGate found out about it they made secondary accounts that followed different people, and more and more prominent figures appeared and had to get added to the list. But, when it first launched, the list generated from just these five people comprised an estimated 90-95% of GamerGate.

Hate to break it to you, guys, but if 90+ percent of your movement is following at least two of the same five people, those are your leaders. The attention economy has produced them. Power pools when left on its own.

This is another case where you have to ignore what people claim and look at what they do. The Alt-Right loves to say “we disavow Richard Spencer” and “Andrew Anglin doesn’t speak for us.”

But no matter what they say, pay attention to whom they’re taking cues from.

AD CAMPAIGN

George Lakoff has observed that one way the Left fails in opposition to the Right is that most liberal politicians and campaigners have degrees in things like law and political science, where conservative campaigners more often have degrees in advertising and communications. Liberals and leftists may have a better product to sell, but conservatives know how to sell products.

GamerGate less resembles a boots-on-the-ground political movement than an ad campaign. First they decide what their messaging strategy is going to be. Then the media arm starts publicizing it. They seek out celebrity endorsements. They get their own hashtag and mascot. They donate to charity and literally call it “public relations.” You can even see the move from The Quinnspiracy to GamerGate as a rebranding effort - when one name got too closely associated with harassment, they started insisting GamerGate was an entirely separate movement from The Quinnspiracy. I learned that trick from Stringer Bell’s economics class.

Now, we could stand to learn a thing or two from this. But I also wouldn’t want us to adopt this strategy whole hog; you should view moves like these as red flags. If you’re hesitating to condemn a movement because what if it’s legitimate, take a look at whether they’re selling ideology like it’s Pepsi.

PERCEPTION IS EVERYTHING

One reason to insist you’re a consumer revolt rather than a harassment campaign is most people who want to harass need someone to give them permission, and need someone to tell them it’s normal.

Bob Altemeyer has this survey he uses to study authoritarianism. He divides respondents into people with low, average, and high authoritarian sentiments, and then tells them what the survey has measured and asks, “what score do you think is best to have: low, average, or high?”

People with low authoritarian sentiments say it’s best to be low. People with average authoritarian sentiments also say it’s best to be low. But people with high authoritarian sentiments? They say it’s best to be average. Altemeyer finds, across all his research, that reactionaries want to aggress, but only if it is socially acceptable. They want to know they are the in-group and be told who the out-group is. They don’t particularly care who the out-group is, Altemeyer finds they’ll aggress against any group an authority figure points to, even, if they don’t notice it, a group that contains them. They just have to believe the in-group is the norm.

This is why they have to believe games journalism is corrupt because of a handful of feminist media critics with outsized influence. Legitimate failures of journalism cannot be systemic problems rooted in how digital media is funded and consumed; there cannot be a legitimate market for social justice-y media. It has to be manipulation by the few. Because, if these things are common, then, even if you don’t like them, they’re normal. They’re part of the in-group. Reactionary politics is rebellion against things they dislike getting normalized, because they know, if they are normalized, they will have to accept them. Because the thing they care about most is being normal.

This is why the echo chamber, this is why Fox News, this is why the Far Right insists they are the “silent majority.” This is why they artificially inflate their numbers. This is why they insist facts are “biased.” They have to maintain the image that what are, in material terms, fringe beliefs are, in fact, held by the majority. This is why getting mocked by Stephen Colbert was such a blow to GamerGate. It makes it harder to believe the world at large agrees with them.

This is why, if you’re trying to change the world for the better, it’s pointless to ask their permission. Because, if you change the world around them, they will adapt even faster than you will.

THE ARGUMENT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO END

Casey Explosion has this really great Twitter thread comparing the Alt-Right to Scary Terry from Rick and Morty. His catchphrase is “you can run but you can’t hide, bitch.” And Rick and Morty finally escape him by hiding. And Morty’s all, “but he said we can’t hide,” and Rick is like, “why are we taking his word on this? if we could hide, he certainly wouldn’t tell us.”

The reason to argue with a GamerGater is on the implied agreement that, if you can convince them they’re part of a hate mob, they will leave. But look at the incentives here: they want to be in GamerGate, and you want them not to be. But they’re already in GamerGate. They’re not waiting on the outcome of this argument to participate. They’ve already got what they want; they don’t need to convince you GamerGate isn’t a hate mob.

This is why all their logic and rationalizations are shit, because they don’t need to be good. They’re not trying to win an argument. They’re trying to keep the argument going.

This has been a precept of conservative political strategy for decades. “You haven’t convinced us climate change is real and man-made, you need to do more studies.” They’re not pausing the use of fossil fuels until the results come in. “You haven’t convinced us there are no WMDs in Iraq, you need to collect more evidence.” They’re not suspending the war until you get back to them. “You haven’t convinced us that Reaganomic tax policy causes recessions, let’s just do it for another forty years and see what happens.” And when the proof comes in, they send us out for more, and we keep going.

The biggest indicator you can’t win a debate with a reactionary is they keep telling you you can. The biggest indicator protest and deplatforming works is they keep telling you in plays into their hands. The biggest indicator that you shouldn’t compromise with Republicans is they keep saying doing otherwise is stooping to their level. They’re not going to walk into the room and say, “Hi, my one weakness is reasoned argument, let’s pick a time and place to hash this out.”

And we fall for it because we’re trying to be decent people. Because we want to believe the truth always wins. We want to bargain in good faith, and they are weaponizing our good faith against us. Always dangling the carrot that the reason they’re like this is no one’s given them the right argument not to be. It’s all just a misunderstanding, and, really, it’s on us for not trying hard enough.

But they have no motivation to agree with us. Most of the people asking for debates have staked their careers on disagreeing with us. Conceding any point to the Left could cost them their livelihood.

WHY GAMES?

Let’s close with the big question: why games? And, honestly, the short answer is:

why not games?

Games culture has always presented itself as a hobby for young, white, middle class boys. It’s always been bigger and more diverse than that, but that’s how it was marketed, and that’s who most felt they belonged. As gaming grows bigger, there is suddenly room for those marginal voices that have always been there to make themselves heard. And, as gaming becomes more mainstream, it’s having its first brushes with serious critical analysis.

This makes the people who have long felt gaming was theirs and theirs alone anxious and a little angry. They’ve invested a lot of their identity in it and they don’t want it to change.

And what the Far Right sees in a sizable collection of aggrieved young men is an untapped market. This is why sites like Stormfront and Breitbart flocked to them. These are not liberals they have to convert, these people are, up til now, not politically engaged. The Right can be their first entry to politics.

The world was changing. Nerd properties were exploding into popular culture in tandem with media representation diversifying. And we were living with the first Black President. Any time an out-group looks like it might join the in-group, there is a self-protective backlash from the existing in-group. This had been brewing for a while, and, honestly, if it hadn’t boiled over in games, it would have boiled over somewhere else.

And, in the years since GamerGate, it has. The Far Right has tapped the comics, Star Wars, and sci-fi fandoms; they tried to get in with the furry community but failed spectacularly. They’re all over YouTube and, frankly, the atheist community was already in their pocket. Basically, if you’re in community with a bunch of young white guys who think they own the place, you might wanna have some talks with them sooner than later.

Anyway, if you want to know more about any of this stuff, RationalWiki’s timeline on GamerGate is pretty thorough. You can also watch my or Dan Olson’s videos on the subject. I’ll be putting the audio of this talk on YouTube and will put as many resources as I can in the show notes. The channel, again, is Innuendo Studios.

Sorry this was such a bummer.

Thank you for your time.

#video essay #alt-right playbook #Youtube

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