#and with the new chapter I feel like there's something interesting worth talling about | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xreaderbooks · 1 year

Text

All I Breathe (5)

Pair: Azriel x Vanserra Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, death, violence, ptsd, language

Summary: Y/n recounts her past with her enemy, making a new 'friend', Azriel makes his appearance in the Autumn Court known at the ball. (angst)

Playlist

Available on Wattpad and AO3

Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The sound of the door clicking shut made you stir in your sleep, your eyes were crusted by the tears you shed overnight made it twice as hard to open them. You managed to blink the eye that was not on the side of your face nuzzled into your pillow, a familiar tall dark figure made his way over to you and you were suddenly more interested in being awake than asleep. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and the next thing you knew he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

You watch him warily as he fully turns his body to face yours with legs crossed, you wordlessly sat up, matching his position. His silent watchful stare made you feel more vulnerable than you had been last night, it was as if he was afraid you would break if he spoke so much as a whisper.

“I’m not fragile,” Your throat was sore as you spoke. “Say something.”

A mellifluous tune resounded with the one word he replied with, “Something.”

“So you’re a jester now?”

His laugh sang to your heart and you straightened at the odd feeling. You ignored it, your eyes traveling to his spy wear and shot him a look that questioned his presence.

“I thought we should have a check-in on how your end was holding up since we never got the chance to do so yesterday.” He alluded to the both of you not speaking for a whole day after the argument where not-so-kind words were said. You got a flashback of the screaming match where his true feelings towards you were shown. That made it much more difficult to comprehend his actions only a couple of hours ago.

With an exhale you recounted what Beron told you, he listened without a single impertinent remark. “He expects the ‘prisoner’ to be brought to him once you’ve caught him.”

“I’ll handle it,” He says.

“I could help,” You offered hesitantly.

His tone held finality, “I said I’ll handle it.”

You didn’t care if he said he’d handle it, if there was one way to prove you could be of use to your new court, to prove your worth; you would formulate a plan so that Azriel’s main focus could be the alchemist. You could deal with your family but for now, you would let Azriel believe you won’t play a part in it.

You cleared your throat, “I suppose if we are to be allies, you deserve an explanation as to what happened last night.”

“There’s no need-” He started.

“It would make me feel better if we share even the tiniest bit of information about our lives, I can’t trust someone to ‘handle’ something if I don’t know the person I’m trusting.” You persuaded, “It is the reason you can’t stand to be near me after all.”

He didn’t move an inch in response, simply watching you in quiet contemplation as you began to tell your story. “Before I was a spy for Tamlin, I worked for my brothers. I was coerced into their plans of entrapping men who owed them money or who had committed crimes, anyone who escaped them. Whether they had conned their way out of my brothers' grasp or if they were imprisoned and pardoned, if my brothers wanted them it was my job to get them. They made me wear the most attractive dress and made certain my face was painted in a way that would capture the attention of any male. They controlled what I ate, ensured that I train if only so that my figure be the suitable size.”

Your lips curled in distaste, “They taught me the best ways to seduce a male to bed though they never let them get that far. Eris said I wouldn’t be useful if I were spoiled goods, if word got out nobody would want me, not that I cared at least if I were ‘spoiled goods’ it would all stop. They never let them get close enough to do that damage but they definitely got close, too close for my liking and yet not close enough for my brothers to stop them.” Azriel's chest rose and fell in a rhythm you weren’t sure if he was breathing correctly.

“Every night I would take them to a hostel owned by my brothers, after some flirting and a couple touches that made me want to bathe in poison, some were easier to persuade than others. Once I had them pursuing me to the same room that I would take every other male, my brothers would be just around the corner. I swear sometimes they would wait longer just to torture me.” You scoffed at the memory of one night when you plead to the mother they would come quickly, from what you knew of the male he was a thief and a horrible person and loved to touch you in places you always made sure to set your boundaries. Most of them respected it, depending on the male, and until you got to the room it wasn’t a problem.

“One night I had to capture the attention of a lesser fae around my age who owned a carpentry shop left by his father who was very much in debt. He didn’t fall for any of my usual tricks, in fact, he laughed and asked me if I really thought he was that easy. I told him that most are, he got serious after that and offered to walk me to where I was staying, he didn’t know that I was the high lord’s daughter then or that I was sent to lure him into his death. He asked to see me again the next day and every day after that.” You smiled as tears welled in your eyes, “We were together every day for half a year, after the first three months I confessed to what brought me to his store and he confessed to having already fallen in love with me. Even after I told him the truth he still loved me and I loved him, Gods I loved him more than I ever loved anything. Like everything else in my life, it was ripped away from me by my brothers. When they found out about him they tore him apart, I found Lucien near where they dumped his body, they knocked him out so he couldn’t stop him.”

“I had to follow through with every male that they told me to pursue, they let them have their way with me and did whatever they wanted to the guy after. It was my punishment, Lucien couldn’t step in or they threatened to kill me. I played my part for years until Lucien met Jessminda. My father murdered her and soon Tamlin was stepping in and took me and Lucien in. Tamlin and I faked a courtship and marriage for my protection, Lucien became his emissary, and the rest you already know.”

Azriel’s nostrils were flared, and his eyes held something within them that you have seen directed at you far too many times to mistake for anything other than pure rage, though this time you weren’t sure why. “Did they do that to you?” His gaze rested on your eye that had a going from a couple of inches above your brow to your cheekbone.

You shook your head, “Amarantha. She wanted Tamlin for herself and when he denied her, his excuse being me- his wife- with a nail, she cut deep enough to leave the scar. The same eye as Lucien’s to match. The humorous part of it all was she wanted to make Tamlin despise looking at me because of how hideous I look now when he never wanted me in that way.”

There was a tension in the air you didn’t think either of you wanted to address, you climbed out of bed and tied your hair back. You glanced around the room hoping to find something else to focus on. Some invisible force drew you to him, you resisted and instead noticed how his fists were clenched so hard they were white. His hands were covered in scars, you’ve noticed them before but never cared to ask the story behind them.

For an inexplicable reason, his rage made you want to tear the world apart, to try and ease the ire he had in his heart, you sat directly where he was with his legs crossed. His back tense and his wings stiffly folded in, your hand reached for his hand reluctantly. His skeptical gaze made you want to retreat but you would not falter, not after all that you shared.

You made him unclench his fingers taking his large scarred hand into both of yours and to your surprise he let you. “Tell me what haunts your dreams, Shadowsinger,” You say.

“I do not take orders from demanding little girls,” He fakes an authoritative tone yet doesn’t pull away. Your mouth widens into a smile, gratified to hear him joke with you.

“Little girl!” You snorted. “That’s a new one.”

Shock displayed on his face, “That’s a new laugh.”

“You wouldn’t know, now would you?”

“I suppose not,” The solemn expression was brought back. You cursed whatever force tore down the wall of fury you had whenever you were around the spymaster. All you wanted was to hear the sound of his laugh and not the bitter bite of his words. “My brothers burned my hands when I was eight.”

Your hands went slack in his, pieces of the puzzle that was Azriel formed in your mind, that was why he couldn’t touch you. Last night was an exception but the reason he was so distant, the reason he refused to touch you not only because he hated you but because you were made of fire. You lived with fire in your veins, the power that burst out of you when you were hurt or angry, Azriel had multiple reasons to hate you and this one made the most sense.

With that in mind, you released your hold on his hand. Everything was taking formation in your mind, fragments of moments you had spent with Azriel, you and he are more alike than you thought. Your brothers, his and yours, were assholes.

“They were also older and didn’t much care for me, their mother kept me locked in a dungeon for 11 years and barely let me see my mother for more than an hour once a week.” He concentrated on telling you the story, and a crease formed on his brow. Though you couldn’t stand him on a daily basis with his baseless comments on who you are as a person, you felt for him. The more you learned about him, the more his treatment of you made sense. You still wanted to throttle him but there was a part of you that felt him.

A short knock on your door and what sounded like a note slid under the gap of your door. Azriel went to retrieve it, handing it to you with a letter opener. You sliced it open, it was a letter from Eris, informing you of the ball your father was hosting tonight in your and Azriels’ honor.

Azriel was expected to arrive in the Autumn Court tonight and clearly to make an appearance at the ball. You couldn’t remember the last time you attended a revel, it was sure to be interesting and you had to admit to being excited in seeing the shadowsinger in that setting. The fact that it was your family hosting it wasn’t ideal, however, it seemed to be the only time the people of Autumn got to enjoy themselves.

“We are to attend a ball this evening,” You handed the opened letter to him your fingers brushing. You were keenly aware of how much contact you were making with him.

He placed the letter down on your writing desk by your door, he opened your wardrobe, you didn’t realize he had a black bag in there. He unzipped it and pulled out his knives, strapping them to their sheaths on his body. “If you need a weapon don’t hesitate to take any from in here. I’ll be back in time for the introductions.”

With that he faded into his shadows, winnowing away to his mission.

~~~

You slowly made your way down the steps to the ballroom, it had been dressed to fit the occasion. Dark velvet colors, gold trimming, all autumn-themed colors. A feast of food laid out on the tables that lined the walls, servants waiting on stand-by to serve. Those who were at the meeting had brought their families, villagers from the market were invited, it was a large party that you hadn’t been a part of in a long while.

Unfortunately, you knew that once a certain hour came, the families will depart and the revelry will truly begin. Strangers would be found the next morning on the ground, still drunk on faerie wine or other worse scenarios you didn’t want to conjure up in your mind yet.

You were late to the main introduction, not that it was needed but Beron like Rhysand (as you’ve witnessed in the Court of Nightmares) liked to make a show and parade his children to the crowd.

You felt a tug come from somewhere deeper into the crowd, a certain coldness around your ankle, you couldn’t see what it was even if you wanted to. You wore a long red off-the-shoulder satin lace ball gown, courtesy of Beron. The servants brought in the dress as soon as they were down making up your face with dark kohl around your eyes and a red rouge, and dressing your hair down with two strands that framed your face and two thin braids that met in the back of your head, held together by a ruby hair clip.

He wanted to show you off to the Court, show them the daughter (he couldn’t care less about) that was their princess, you were home and it would give them someone to celebrate.

As soon as you entered the chatter around you paused. You didn’t expect to be greeted the way you were, bows and curtseys to your feet were given as you passed and stopped when you reached your father.

At his throne, beside him your mother was sitting, Beron had his hand in hers no doubt halting her from going to you. You curtseyed as low as you could, knowing it would please him, maybe if you did things his way just this one night- he would let you speak to your mother. He waved his hand lazily, careless of your efforts, and signaled for the music to continue.

That was when you went in search of the spymaster. It was surprisingly hard to find him, even with the invisible force that drew you to him as a moth to a flame, the females that had formed a line around him hid him better than his shadows could. You stifled your laughter as you saw his fluster. There was no doubt he could get the attention of any female he wanted by just a look- though you would never tell him that aloud- you were puzzled by the sudden shyness.

The cold whisper came back, this time around your neck beckoning you his way. You conceded and made your presence clear to the females around him, they cleared a path for you, not daring to get in the Princess’ way.

You could sense their lack of hope when you reached your enemy, not that they knew you had no interest in him and that they could have him. Part of basked in the fact that for now, at this moment, he was begging for you to save him.

“Enjoying yourself are you?” His jaw was set a look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Quite so, yes. They appear to be fond of you.” You teased.

He grimaced, “They wouldn’t be if they knew what I was up to just two hours before this.”

“Sounds like it would be an interesting story then,” You held your hands behind your back and peered up at him eager for him to give you the details. “Do tell.”

He shot you a look that you knew meant he definitely wasn’t going to tell you what you wanted to hear, especially not in front of guests. His arms were folded, completely guarded, he wasn’t at the Night Court but he was entirely vigilant for any sign of a threat.

You sighed, “Do you ever have fun?”

He gave you a side-eye. You scrunched your nose up at him in response, which got him to lessen the harsh lines on his face. “It’s a party, Shadowsinger.”

His tone was quiet as it always was, but somehow even more so, “You know it’s not just some party, Y/n.”

You gave out an exasperated breath and rolled your shoulders, “I just saved you from the clutches of bloodthirsty females and this is how you repay me?”

“Your court, your people, your problem.” He shrugged.

“First of all no to all of that,” You glanced at the refreshments table where you longed for a drink but your brothers were surrounding it like sharks. “Second, I’d be most appreciative if you brought me a drink, I’m parched and though I may regret this comment later- you’re the only one I trust to bring me an unpoisoned drink. Nor do I think they would dare poison you.”

His gaze softened as he walked to the pool of sharks without question.

~~~

A circle of fae was created to make room for dancing the quadrille, though you weren’t fond of where you were currently and the dress made to prove you were owned by your father, you clapped along and laughed with everyone. You watched in amusement as a little girl twirled around the couples, strategically maneuvering through, giggling as she went.

You paused mid-clap, your smile fading as you saw the girl about to faceplant into the ground. Panic struck as you saw Eris catch her from tripping, he held her tiny wrist and spun her around once sending her on her way. He straightened his lapels and his posture, heading in your direction. You prepared yourself for what would most likely be an interesting interaction. Azriel who took it upon himself to be a sort of bodyguard for you in the truce you both agreed on, went to the washroom, so you had no comfort.

“Allow me a dance?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond as he pulled you into a respectable distance, a hand on your waist and the other in yours. The position was familiar as he was the one who gave you dance lessons when you were as young and loved as the girl he’d just saved. A light tune played by the string quartet was in the background as you routinely flowed around the ballroom.

“The dress compliments you, Sister.” Eris took both of your hands in his and pushed you outwards then inwards, giving you a twirl, and stopped to where your back was to his chest, swaying to the right and again to the left. He spins you again to his front, “You’ve gotten better.”

“You look quite stately yourself, brother.” The name tasted bitter in your mouth but if he was behaving, so would you, there was a show to be put on anyhow. “And what with how seriously you took my education in the waltz, how could I not?”

He looked almost proud at how you’ve kept up, a deep part of you preened at the thought. Others who were on the floor struggled to keep up with the pace you and your brother had set.

“He won’t allow you near her until you bring him what he wants,” He whispers in your ear. Of course not, you school your features to hide your furious thoughts. Your mother was your only weakness, the only kind soul who loved you and your brother, Lucien.

Azriel wanted to capture and deliver the ‘escaped prisoner’. You weren’t going to let him do it on his own in the first place, this only gave you more reason to disobey the orders that he had conveyed. You would find a criminal as you always had and lure him into a trap, one you would have to figure out later and deliver him to your father.

Your mind wandered as you floated through the rest of the dance. With a final bow to your partner, Eris spoke softly as he passed you “He hasn’t stopped admiring you since you walked into the room.”

You whipped your head around but he was gone, worming his way around the excited bunch of fae by the refreshments.

The song had ended and a longways dance was set up, more people joined making a long vertical line from the throne to wear the door was. What shocked you was that Azriel had joined on the male side of the line, you kept your position, and you knew the surprise was written all over your features.

A barely visible smirk whispered on his lips as your bodies passed each other in the first line switch, your backs turned, and your hands found his as you moved to the music. You hopped along with the other fae, switching partners and giggling as you went. The same pattern sequenced; facing your new partner, right wrist barely touching theirs then your left- switching sides with a turn, footwork with energetic hops, pulling in-pulling out, and moving on to the next.

It happened twice more before you were finally met with Azriels beautiful face. Your chest heaved from breathing heavily, and your heart raced, pounding like horses running in an open field. You felt euphoric from the air, the dancing, the energy- him. No, not him. You quickly shut down those thoughts.

“Are you alright?” He stepped in your direction.

You took a step back, nodding your head with enthusiasm. “I’m amazing, I didn’t know you could dance.”

He didn’t look convinced by the state of you, he placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you away from the crowd. “Hardly.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” You teased further.

With the way his gaze held yours, you suddenly couldn’t find yourself making eye contact with him. Your corsets felt like they were suffocating you, “I’m going to go to freshen up.”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer as you fled. You wanted to see your mother, she was the only person who could tell you what was wrong with you, the only person you could trust. She was granted leave by your father and escorted out of the ballroom before your dance with Eris.

You wandered along the halls, assuring your steps were quiet but with every corner, you turned you felt yourself being followed. You tested your theory by going the long way to your mothers' chambers, whoever it was that was pursuing you either didn’t care that you knew they were following you or is just plain lousy at their job.

You took a right and attached your back to the wall to catch your stalker off guard, hoping to gain an advantage. You heard the heavy footing of your pursuer and went in for the attack only to be slammed onto the wall opposite where you posted yourself.

“You forget where you learned all your tricks, Y/n.” Your second eldest brother sneered close enough to your face you could smell the faerie wine on his breath. He held your left wrist in a tight grip behind your back. You bared your teeth at him as you inched your other hand to the dagger you had hidden under one of the layers of your skirt.

He tsked in mock disappointment, “You know you’re not allowed near her. For someone who acts like they're smarter than the rest, you don’t seem to think.”

“It’s awfully bold of you to question my wits,” You tilted your head to the left.

“You came back for a reason” He glared suspiciously, “Are you here to take your revenge? Is that why you’re with them, with him? You’re going to finish us off with the executioner you brought with you and end us all.”

“What are you going on about?” You had no clue what wild insinuations your brothers or your father held in their small brains, you supposed you should be glad that they were so far off the true reason for your appearance.

If he wanted to be paranoid about you wanting to take revenge for his maltreatment of you when you were a child, then so be it.

He pulled you from the wall and slammed you against the wall so fast your neck bent back enough for your head to hit the stone. “Answer me!” He shouted.

You managed to grip the tip of the dagger’s handle, and with a flick of your wrist, you sliced the knife against his abdomen. He let go of you if only to observe his wound, you cut deep enough to draw blood, lots of it.

“You bitch!” He growled and lunged for you, yet he never got the chance to touch you.

A shadowed figure with great big wings had knocked him to the floor, Azriel held a lethal aura, he lifted your brother by the collar of his shirt and had him against the wall the same way he had you, except, his forearm was pressed against his throat. His tone in every way threatening, the murderous fury in his hazel eyes meaning every word.

“Touch my mate again and I will kill you.”

Mate.

Betrayal, pure betrayal you didn’t deny yourself, you didn’t hide your thoughts from him. You let it show in every line of your face, every movement of your body. You took several steps back, disbelief was the one true emotion that didn’t allow you to process.

“Y/n-”

“No, don’t come near me.”

He was overwhelming you with his scent, everything about how you were recently feeling around him now made sense. All your senses came into place the night you touched for the first time. Now all you could think about was; how long had he known. Why would he keep this from you? When did the bond snap into place for him?

You left him standing there with your brother who was frozen with fear. You turned your back on him and went to find your mother.

The guards standing post at her door reluctantly let you in, she was sitting in front of her balcony, just now removing her jewelry. At the sight of you, she dropped everything and opened her arms, receiving you in a hug.

~~~

Next Chapter

Taglist:@kuraikei - @americancowgirl19 - @feyres-fireheart - @brekkershadowsinger - @marina468 - @highladyofhogawarts - @parker-natasha - @morks-watermelon - @valeridarkness - @judig92 - @honestlywtfisgoingon - @awkardnerd - @a-mexican-waffle - @s-sabbas - @weirdo-fun - @graciereads - @cmay25 - @cult-of-enji-todoroki - @cosmic-whispers

(if your name is crossed out that means tumblr won't allow me to tag you)

402 notes · View notes

moonchildreads · 11 months

Text

small town

Chapter 23 - Cum on Feel the Noize

IN THIS CHAPTER: Yearbook messages, unlikely friendships, and Corroded Coffin puts on a show [13.8k]

WARNINGS: mentions of dead parents (eddie's mom), child neglect (not very graphic, eddie as kid), underaged drinking (no one gets drunk), low self-worth

A/N: i know. i promise you, i know. but i did say i was never gonna abandon this fic, so if you didn't believe me, that's on you, buddy. blame my job for my two month absence - three new people joined my team and one of those left last week, it's been hectic. this is an extra long chapter as a sorry for making you wait for so long. i hope you are all okay and still interested in my dumb little story, we have a lot more to go before we say goodbye. <3 (btw lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!)

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Girls, rock your boys We’ll get wild, wild, wild

Monday, June 9th - 1986

The last Monday before graduation was Kyle Foster’s most anticipated day of the year; not because it meant that school attendance was officially an afterthought for most of the school’s population, but because it was the day the overpriced yearbooks he had been working on all these months were ready to be picked up, their pages waiting to be filled with doodles in colorful pens and silly stickers. He was particularly proud of this year’s edition, with its green leatherette hardback cover and bright photos printed in glossy paper, everything on them carefully arranged by the Yearbook Club with evident care and love for their craft. For a few hours, Kyle got to feel like he was hot shit. Teachers congratulated him and his fellow club members for their wonderful work, people he’d never talked to before in his life asked him to sign their yearbooks, and the basketball team kept patting his back in the hallways in between classes to thank him for the double spread with pictures of them lifting their championship trophy. Life was good, but even though he was enjoying his surely short-lived popularity, there was only one person Kyle was particularly looking forward to seeing. As faith would have it, he found that exact guy leaning against his locker waiting for him between third and fourth period, a yearbook under his arm and a piece of minty gum in his mouth.

“Hey, man,” Eddie greeted, pulling him into a bro-ey side hug that didn’t suit his personality in the slightest. “Nice work.”

“What’s up, Munson? Heard you’re finally leaving this place.”

“Yeah, about damn time,” the tall metalhead laughed, and Kyle thought he’d never seen him carry himself with such levity before. “Wanted to thank you, y’know? I mean, I know I kinda bribed you to do it but you came through for us and went above and beyond with the design and everything, so, thank you.”

“Ah, it was nothing, dude. Couldn’t ruin the yearbook by giving your club a shitty spread,” Kyle downplayed his work, but they both knew he had enjoyed the secret assignment.

“Well, then. Would the artist care to sign his masterpiece?” Eddie joked, extending his yearbook to Kyle with a jet black pen tucked into it.

Kyle nodded, surprised by the request, and went straight to the blank pages at the back. From what he could see, no one had signed it yet. He realized then this was Eddie giving him a definitive olive branch, whatever feud they’d had over his little debt more than ready to be buried in the sand and thoroughly forgotten. He quickly penned a generic “have a good summer!” message at the top corner, slowing down while writing his name when he felt Eddie’s hand slip something into his front jean pocket. Ah, there it is, Kyle thought, smiling to himself as the weight of the small weed baggie Eddie had promised in exchange for his rule breaking could be felt through the rough fabric. He gave the book back to his newest acquaintance before opening his messenger bag and retrieving his own, shocking Eddie with his silent offering. Kyle was not only accepting his olive branch but returning the gesture, and so Eddie signed his name in a little unoccupied corner, adding a smiley face with devil horns under it for good measure.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Foster,” he said genuinely, tucking his trusty pen into his back pocket.

“Likewise, Munson.”

“We look so fucking badass,” Gareth said, eyes stuck to himself holding a knight’s helmet under his arm in the Hellfire section of the yearbook.

“I know, right?” Jeff said, giddy. “Kinda wanna get it framed. You think they’ll give us copies if we ask?”

The Hellfire Club was enjoying a peaceful lunch outside, the day still perfectly warm despite the constant clouds that perpetually obscured the sky over Hawkins, Indiana. The older boys were doodling on each other’s yearbooks, laughing about bad portraits and accidental funny faces belonging to classmates, while Dustin and Mike quietly muttered to one another at the head of the picnic table. They looked like they were arguing about something important but no one else seemed to have noticed - if they did, they were giving them space to resolve it on their own. Pretending like she wasn’t eavesdropping while she wrote a heartfelt message in Donny’s yearbook, Dottie listened carefully, worried about Dustin who seemed to be particularly distraught at Mike’s disinterest in cooperating with him.

“I’m just saying, aren’t you tired of acting like you’re still upset with him?” Dustin asked.

“I’m not acting, I am pissed off,” Mike huffed. “I don’t get why you aren’t. He cut us off and he’s never coming back, get it through your head.”

“Well, maybe he feels like we cut him off. Have you even tried talking to him since Spring break?”

“No, why would I?”

“Mike,” Dustin was nearing his breaking point.

“What? Did you?”

“Yes!” he threw his hands in the air. “I called him the next day because I’m not an asshole!”

“If you talked to him, why isn’t he here then, huh?” Mike asked, icy. “Why is he still hanging out with them?”

“I said I called him, not that I talked to him,” Dustin grumbled. “He wasn’t home, he… he was at a party with the jocks- Look, all I’m saying is that I feel like shit, okay? I think we’re all being idiots right now and we should talk about it. This is just like what happened when we found El and-”

“This is nothing like what happened with El. He was just scared-”

“We were twelve, Mike. We didn’t know what we were doing, maybe- maybe he was right and we should have been scared! And maybe he shouldn’t have to be the one to always apologize first!”

“He ditched us!”

“Oh, grow up,” Dustin said, getting up from the bench with his yearbook in hand and hurrying to catch up with a redheaded girl who looked about his age.

Dottie watched how Mike gathered his things and disappeared into the cafeteria without saying goodbye, giving off moody teenager vibes to anyone who dared to cross his path. Meanwhile, Dustin was now animatedly chatting with his mystery friend near the doors - the girl he was talking to was signing his book and rolling her eyes at something he was saying, a shy but still clearly fond smile on her face. Dottie felt like she’d seen her before somewhere, but never talking to Dustin. She seemed nice, if a little sassy. I guess that’s why she’s friends with Dustin, she thought.

“Really? You got him a sweater? In June?” Jeff’s laughter brought back her attention to the table: she quickly doodled a little daisy next to her name at the bottom of her message and gave the yearbook back to Donny.

“He’s always wearing sweaters at the office, okay? And also, it’s not like he’s gonna grow two sizes before Winter starts,” Gareth defended himself. “It’s still gonna fit him in a couple of months.”

“What are we talking about?” Dottie asked, leaning her head onto Eddie’s shoulder as he stole one of her apple slices.

“Father’s Day. Gareth got his Dad a wool sweater.”

“It was on sale!”

“What did you get for your dad, then?” she asked Jeff.

“New slippers. His old ones were falling apart.”

“Very thoughtful. You?” she turned to Donny.

“Nothing yet. I kinda wanna get my Dad a funny shirt but I haven’t seen any good ones around. D’you think it’s too late to get one printed?” he asked at large.

“Oh, Eddie bought a cute one the other day!” Dottie said conversationally, looking up at the long haired boy from her place on his shoulder. “They had a bunch of graphic shirts at that store near Melvald’s, right?”

“On Mulberry? Sweet, what did you get?” Donny asked, munching on some grapes.

“Found this ugly thing with a brown Care Bear at the front that says World’s Best Grandma,” Eddie said, half a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Thought it was funny.”

“You’re gonna get your teeth kicked in if you wear a Care Bears shirt in public, dude,” Gareth snickered.

“Well, good thing I’m not gonna be the one wearing it then.”

Father’s Day was historically somewhat of a weird day for Eddie. When he was a little kid and still hadn’t developed a mouth filter, other moms at the park or strangers at a store would sometimes see him wandering around unsupervised, think he was lost, and ask him where his Mom was; he’d always reply with a simple “oh, no, my Mom is dead”, like the answer wasn’t absolutely devastating to hear coming from someone who hadn’t learned how to tie his own shoes yet. Like clockwork, they’d all sputter out an awkward apology, feeling sorry about unknowingly asking a young child about something so painful like losing a parent at such a tender age. A couple of times some of them went so far as to offer to buy him a snack, as if that could distract him from the tragedy of his Mom’s untimely death and, in turn, make themselves feel better about being nosy. Eddie, however, didn’t mind the questions. He liked telling people that Maureen was dead, because he learned very quickly that those were the only times people saw him as someone to take care of; just a little innocent boy having to grow up without the woman who’d loved him most, instead of shunning him as soon they inevitably found out he was Wyatt Munson’s devil spawn.

Another thing Eddie learned very early on, was that his Dad didn’t care about Father’s Day, mainly because most of the time he didn’t even care to acknowledge he had a son unless it was useful to him. And so, after the second year in a row Wyatt threw into the trash can the crafts Eddie had done for him at school without so much as looking at them, the drawings stayed in his backpack and the treats the teachers gave to all their kiddos to gift to the most important men in their lives got hidden in an old shoe box underneath his bed. There they waited until the older man passed out on his couch with a beer in his hand, and the littlest Munson got to eat them in secret without anyone calling him a pig for smearing chocolate all over his face and fingers. No, Father’s Day had always been a weird day for Eddie - at least until he moved in with Wayne.

The first Father’s Day Wayne and Eddie spent together came after almost eight months of living together. There had been a Halloween, a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, Eddie’s 9th birthday, and a Mother’s Day spent along with Grandma before that, but Eddie’s little stomach still churned with the thought of Wayne dismissing him on a special occasion like Father’s Day. He quietly waited in bed after the sun rose, ears perked up for any noise coming from the living room but the minutes ticked by and Wayne didn’t get up, busy catching up on some much needed sleep after a long week at the plant. The youngest Munson impatiently crept along the hallway until he reached his Uncle’s side, kneeling on the carpet next to his fold-out bed and observing his chest go up and down with each breath he took.

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie whispered, but the older man didn’t so much as flinch. “Uncle Wayne,” he tried a little louder, softly shaking his arm.

“Huh?” Wayne opened his eyes, startled to find his nephew’s tiny fingers wrapped around his forearm. “What’s going on? You okay, Ed?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, wild curls bobbing along with the movement. “I- I made something. At school.”

“Yeah? What d’you got there?”

Eddie lifted a piece of paper, the sun filtering through the moth-eaten curtains helping Wayne read along. Happy Father’s Day, said the handmade card written by a teacher and decorated by his nephew, each letter colored inside with a different crayon. Wayne’s heart sank when he realized he’d forgotten what day it was. He didn’t even know which hole Wyatt was currently being kept in, but he guessed he could call his Ma and ask her about it if Eddie wanted to pay his Dad a visit. Or at the very least, he could take the kid to the post office to mail his shitty excuse of a father a letter he most likely didn’t give a damn about. Wyatt hadn’t called once since he’d gotten himself locked up, and Wayne tried not to think too much about Eddie stiffening up whenever the phone rang when he first moved into the trailer with him. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to have jackshit to do with his little brother anymore but he’d do it anyway even if he knew it was a bad idea, because Wayne Munson would have walked barefoot to the end of the world if it made Eddie happy, and God only knew that that boy deserved a small mercy for once.

Wayne peeled the card open curiously and felt his chest tighten up when he saw how wrong he’d been. Inside there was a crude drawing of two figures, one bigger than the other one: it was him and Eddie, standing on bright green grass, a big yellow sun with a smiley face at the upper left corner of the page, and a tree with juicy red apples to the right side. The figures were holding hands and Wayne was wearing a trucker hat - the same blue one that was resting on the kitchen counter next to his keys. At the bottom right of the card, written with the nicest calligraphy Wayne had seen from his nephew yet, was a simple I love you in purple crayon.

“You drew this for me?” Wayne asked, trying to get his emotions together.

“D’you like it? Miss Mullins gave us Hershey’s Kisses too,” he lifted a little paper bag that looked like it had been squished in transit. “I’m sorry I ate one without asking. I wanted to know what they tasted like, but I can buy you more! I have money left over from my birthday-”

“That’s okay, Ed. You can have as many as you want if you brush your teeth after,” the eldest Munson sat up tiredly and pulled his boy from the floor into a hug. “Thank you for the card. You’re very good at drawing, y’know that?”

“Miss Mullins says I’m good at art and music,” Eddie beamed. “And sometimes Math too but I get distracted. She says my reading’s not very good though.”

“You’re a smart boy, just keep practicin’ and you’ll get better,” Wayne said, feeling his nephew’s body sink into his arms the longer he held him. “Hey, how ‘bout you go get ready while I take a shower, huh? We can go get pancakes at Benny’s.”

“Really? Can I get whipped cream on mine? And chocolate chips?”

“You can get whatever you want, boy. Go on, go get dressed,” the older man ushered him down the hallway towards what used to be his bedroom and locked himself in the bathroom for a little privacy.

Wayne cried in the shower that day, much like he’d done after Thanksgiving dinner, when Eddie said he was thankful he got to live with him, even if it was just for a little bit. He got Wyatt to sign away his parental rights before Christmas came around after that. Wayne stuck the card to the fridge door with a carrot shaped magnet and drove himself and his nephew to Benny’s where Eddie ordered chocolate chip banana pancakes that Wayne ended up eating half of after the 9-year-old’s tummy became too full to keep going. Upon returning home, they spent the rest of the day watching cartoons and practicing Eddie’s reading during the commercials. When the littlest Munson fell asleep on the couch after the sun had set, his energy finally depleted, Wayne helped him put on his pajamas and tucked him to bed, stopping to kiss his curly head before he retreated back to the living room for a nightcap.

“Good night, son,” he’d said, turning off the lights, and for once, Eddie didn’t go to sleep wishing he was Wayne’s, because he knew he was and Wayne knew it too.

“You got Wayne a World’s Best Grandma shirt for Father’s Day?” Donny said, amused. “He’s gonna think you knocked someone up.”

“Of course not,” Eddie scoffed at him like he’d just said the stupidest thing ever. “He’d think I knocked someone up if it said World’s Best Grandpa, but it doesn’t say that, does it? Therefore, funny shirt.”

“You were there with him and you let him buy it?” Jeff looked at Dottie, whose cheeks felt like they were burning upon remembering Wayne’s resigned attempt at a Birds and The Bees talk two weekends prior.

“I… I thought it was funny too,” she admitted sheepishly.

“You two are spending way too much time together,” Gareth shook his head. “When did you even go shopping?”

“Last week after band practice,” Dottie said, mischief in her eyes. “Don’t tell my Dad if you see him because I told him I was at yours all afternoon so he wouldn’t snoop around and find his gift.”

“What did you get him?” Donny asked.

“A bunch of candy and a book. The guy at the store recommended it, he said it was pretty new. It’s called Ender’s Game, I think?”

“Oh, I read that one,” Jeff said, frowning.

“What, is it bad?”

“No, I think your Dad might like it," he shrugged. "But you know me, I don't like military shit.”

“How could we forget about you being Mr. Pacifist,” Gareth poked fun at him goodnaturedly and Jeff shoved him gently in return.

“Hey, speaking of band practice,” Eddie said, lips curling upwards as he leaned into Dottie’s personal space. “You think your Dad's gonna let you come to The Hideout tomorrow?”

“On a school night? Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, come on, no one’s even taking attendance anymore,” he pressed on.

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Russell took a nap in class today,” Gareth said, spreading a rumor he’d heard about the old Algebra teacher.

“He did. I was there, I heard him snore,” Donny nodded.

“There you go, darling. Not even the teachers give a shit anymore. So, what do you say?" Eddie batted his eyelashes dramatically.

"You know I wanna go, I just don't think he's gonna let me. Can't you wait one more week? He promised I won’t have a curfew anymore after graduation," she bargained.

"You say that like you don’t already know we’re gonna ask you to come next week too," Gareth said, grinning. “Besides, what kind of manager are you if you don’t come to all our shows?”

“Wasn’t aware I had signed any official contracts. Do I get health insurance?” Dottie joked.

“You get one box of kiddie bandages and we’ll drive you to the hospital if and only if any bones stick out,” Donny said.

“Wow, what a deal. I’m in,” she laughed.

“You’re gonna come then?” they all looked at her expectantly.

“Alright, fine, I’ll ask him. But if he says no you aren’t allowed to be mad at me because it’s definitely not my fault,” she finally relented.

“If he locks you up we’ll help you escape the tower, princess, don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, his breath ghosting the side of her head, and she shivered in anticipation for the new adventure that was to come.

James working past the time Hawkins High School let its students out had proven to be heaven-sent to the new couple looking for places to hang out without any prying eyes around. Eddie and Dottie were lying on her bed, hiding away from the world in her room, the radio on at a low volume playing Top 40 hits. Van Halen’s Why Can’t This Be Love was setting the perfect mood for Eddie to kiss his not-yet-girlfriend stupid - their movements still shy and exploring, neither of them rushing to get ahead of themselves. In recent days, they had progressed from chaste and giggly pecks to something much more slow and romantic, making the most of their moments alone to make each other feel comfortable and loved. Eddie hovered over her, tummy pressed against Dottie’s while supporting most of his weight on his elbows, his hands free to gently caress her cheekbones and jaw between kisses, stopping every so often to look at her dazed smile if only to will himself to believe that the girl he was so in love with was as equally smitten with him as he was with her.

Dottie let her fingers wander up his arms, one of her hands tangling in his unruly hair and occasionally pushing stray curls behind his ears to get a glimpse of those deep chocolate colored eyes she adored so much. Her other arm sneaked into his t-shirt sleeve, nails drawing barely-there patterns on the back of his shoulder, making him hum like the stray cats at the trailer park when they let him pet them after being fed. The delicate white curtains swayed calmly, brushing against the pillows in the windowsill, the gentle breeze outside rustling the leaves in nearby trees. Everything felt so peaceful, warm, and cozy. She felt like she could spend an entire lifetime like this, with the boy that had swept her off her feet so thoroughly that she almost felt like she was floating whenever he was around.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Eddie asked in a soft voice, index finger brushing down the slope of her nose.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Mhm,” she smiled, fondly. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous even,” he lifted his eyebrows and pouted, making her giggle at his antics. “I wanted to play a song for you tomorrow but the guys said it didn’t fit with the rest of the setlist.”

“Which song was it?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, curls tickling her. “I’m not telling you. We’ll play it in Indy.”

“I have to wait a whole month? That’s so rude!”

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss her again, and she accepted his love eagerly.

The low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway burst their cozy bubble, Eddie groaning as his head fell forward onto Dottie’s shoulder, making her snort loudly. He scrambled off her bed and dropped himself on her desk chair, fingers dancing on top of her scented Mr. Sketch markers before settling on the brown one and lifting it up to his nose to smell the cinnamon embedded in the ink. She watched him with an oddly enamored smile on her face, like him sniffing her stationery supplies was the most charming thing she’d seen him do yet. He twirled a marker between his fingers before drumming with it once on her yearbook resting unassumingly on her desk.

“Can I draw something for you in here?” he asked, tapping the hardcover again with the cap of the marker.

“Can I write something sappy in yours in exchange?”

“Knock yourself out, darling,” Eddie smiled, pulling his yearbook out of his ratty backpack and tossing it onto her bed where it made a soft thud upon colliding with her comforter.

When James climbed up the stairs to greet his daughter after a long day at work, he found both teens deeply engrossed in their tasks: Eddie’s long hair was draped like a curtain obscuring his sketch from view as he worked steadily with his chewed up pencil while Dottie was lying on her front decorating a corner of a page with her colorful pens. James leaned onto the door frame when she looked up, gifting him the same smile she used to give him as a toddler when he picked her up from daycare.

“Yearbooks are out?” the eldest Burke asked, nodding towards the book in her hands.

“Yeah! Ed’s drawing in mine but look, we got a full page!” Dottie said, rising onto her knees to show him Hellfire’s spread.

James sat at the foot of her bed, glancing at the glossy pictures in front of him. He couldn’t recall Dottie being so excited about a yearbook before, but he supposed she’d never really been a part of any club at her old school and this was an important first for her. There was Dustin front and center, arms and legs bent like a lifeless puppet being held by strings, Erica’s hand poised in the air as if she was the one controlling him while Mike and Gareth lifted her up in a princess-like manner, a tiara glinting on her head and a school flag draping down her back. Jeff and Donny scowled at each other dramatically, engaged in a lethal fight that Jeff was clearly winning, his sword pressed to the middle of Donny’s golden scepter. But it was his own daughter and the boy that kept smelling markers before he put them to paper a few feet away from him that really caught his attention.

Eddie lounged on his throne with a fake skull in his hand, rings twinkling in the room’s moody light, and legs spread out like he was a despot king about to order someone’s head to be cut off. Dottie stared at the camera with a mischievous smirk, hands cradled around a crystal orb, looking like she knew something no one else did and was more than ready to drop a cryptic riddle that would ruin your entire life. They were playing characters, just like everyone else in the picture: Mike was the loyal knight, Dustin was the terrifying jester, Erica was the bratty princess. Except Eddie’s arm was curled around Dottie like she was his most prized possession, devotion noticeable in his seemingly innocent posture. He might have been the one sitting on the throne and she on the chair’s arm as his trusty advisor, but it was very much clear to anyone that stopped to truly look at them that even though he was the King, she had him wrapped around her finger. It shouldn’t have been a surprise - after all, since 1953 the song did say God save the Queen, not the King.

“It looks super cool, right?” Dottie asked, eyes shining. “Jeff wants to ask the Yearbook Club if we can get copies, I’d love to put one on my corkboard.”

“That sounds great, honey! It’s very theatrical,” James agreed, scanning down the list of names: Edward Munson - Chapter Leader, Donatello Andrea Vitale - Treasurer, Jeffrey Thomas Patton - Secretary… “Who’s Lucas?”

“Huh?”

“Lucas Charles Sinclair?” he asked. “His name is on the list but I don’t see him in the photo.”

“Oh, that’s Erica’s brother. He was in the club before I joined, right, Ed?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, lips tight. “He, uh- he quit before Spring break. Conflicting schedules.”

“Ah, that’s a bummer,” James nodded, knowing first hand how scheduling was the greatest enemy of a D&D party. “Why isn’t Erica on the list though?”

“She’s still in middle school so she’s not, like, entirely allowed to be in the club actually?” Dottie grimaced. “But Eddie thought she should at least be in the picture. I mean, I’m there and she’s known these guys for longer than I do.”

“She only joined a couple of weeks before you did,” Eddie shrugged. “But a member is a member, no matter when they joined.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” James smiled, flipping the pages to find the senior portraits.

He reached the B section and immediately found his daughter, her red knitted sweater barely visible, the picture cutting off just below her shoulders. She was smiling in it, yes, but she didn’t really look happy. She seemed nervous, perhaps even a bit apprehensive. Her eyes were dull despite the bright lights behind the camera, and the little dimple below the right corner of her lip that she’d inherited from her Mom was nowhere to be found. In comparison with the wicked witch that had been staring at him in the Hellfire Club’s group photo, this girl looked like a shell of herself. Empty. Lost. Scared. Two months had passed between the two pictures, and one more since the last one had been taken, and James realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her glow as much as she did every day now. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked at her and wondered why he hadn’t done anything to prevent her light from dimming so much right in front of him. Bitterly, he realized the proper question wasn’t why he hadn’t done anything, but instead why hadn’t he ever noticed it had been dimmed in the first place up until that moment.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” he muttered, pulling her into a hug and letting out a heavy sigh courtesy of his own inadequacies as a parent.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you? Because you’re gonna make me cry if you cry,” she said in a joking manner, tears already threatening to climb up to the surface.

“You’re just really big now and it sneaks up on me sometimes, that’s all. I’m getting emotional in my old age,” he laughed, turning back the pages to Hellfire Dottie - the happier Dottie. “Your hair looks really pretty like this.”

“Yeah. Feels more me, I think,” Dottie agreed. “I need to get the ends trimmed before graduation, though.”

“If it keeps getting shorter I’m afraid you’re gonna end up bald soon.”

“I’ll go to a salon this time, promise,” she laughed.

“Still can’t believe you just-” James did a cutting gesture with his index and middle fingers. “-went to town on it.”

“Wait, what? You chopped off your own hair? When?” Eddie asked curiously, reminding them both that he was listening to their conversation.

“I thought you knew about this!” Dottie said. “I had really long hair back in New York.”

“It reached the top of her jeans,” James added.

“No way! Why did you cut it?”

“I just needed a fresh start, y’know? New school, new haircut. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” she shrugged.

“Honey, you snipped it all off at the first gas station we stopped at on our way from New York. Almost gave me a heart attack when you came out of that bathroom.”

“You’re kidding,” Eddie stared at her in disbelief.

“Nope,” said James. “Had to take her to a hairdresser to even it out as soon as we got here.”

“In my defense, it didn’t look that bad. It was just… very layered,” Dottie said.

“You’re lucky you chickened out and didn’t cut it shorter or you’d be looking like a boy right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, I’m not a hair stylist. I’ll stay away from scissors and let the pros handle it next time,” she rolled her eyes at her Dad.

“Well, I’m gonna go get a shower,” James announced, returning Eddie’s yearbook to his daughter. “You staying for dinner, Ed?”

“No, thank you, sir, Wayne’s waiting for me. Just gotta finish this drawing and I’ll be out of your hair for the night,” Eddie said, lifting the book in his hands as if to demonstrate he wasn’t just wasting time.

“You’re never a bother, kid. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“T-thank you, sir,” he said in a small voice when James walked past him and ruffled his hair affectionately as he left.

“Dad? Wait, hold up-”

Dottie launched herself into the hallway and caught up to her Dad when he was halfway through his bedroom door. She nervously looked up at him and James lifted an eyebrow, curious.

“Would it be okay if I went to The Hideout to see the guys play tomorrow?” she asked, chewing on her own lip.

“Honey, it’s a school night-”

“I know but the teachers aren’t even taking attendance anymore. And I swear I’m not gonna skip the next day! Please, I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Dot-”

“You know Jeff’s dad wouldn’t let him do it if he was coming back home at 3 am every week on school nights. Please let me go? I really, really, really wanna see them play.”

“Would you be riding with Eddie?” James sighed.

“Yeah, he’s Gareth’s ride. His drum kit doesn’t fit in Donny’s car.”

“Okay, you can go-”

“Thank you!”

“-but! You gotta be back by midnight, okay?” he said, stern. “I don’t care if the teachers aren’t doing their jobs anymore, school’s not out until Friday. You’re not on holiday yet.”

“I know, I won’t break the curfew, I promise-”

“And you can’t drink any alcohol either. If I have to pick you up from the station for any reason, you’re grounded until September.”

“I won’t drink a drop, Dad, I swear. I just wanna see the guys play,” she pleaded with doe eyes.

“Fine. You can go,” James finally relented.

“Thank you!” Dottie shrieked, hugging her Dad and shaking him in her excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“Alright, alright, calm down. Just be careful, okay? And call-”

“Call you if anything happens. I know. Thank you,” she kissed his cheek and ran back into her bedroom where James heard Eddie scream “fuck yeah!”, followed by a loud thump and bright laughter.

That night after dinner, Dottie sat on her windowsill looking at the inside of her wardrobe, mentally putting together an outfit that wouldn’t make her stand out like a sore thumb in the dingy bar. Jeans and sneakers are fine, Eddie had said when she asked him about it, but she knew the guys dressed up for their gigs, and she wanted to fit in. Maybe she should have asked her soon-to-be-boyfriend to lend her one of his band t-shirts, but then again, Eddie had a tendency to get grabby whenever she wore his clothes lately, even if it was just a borrowed sweatshirt when she got cold during a movie night. It was better to be lowkey about this; they were already pushing it a lot lately with the secret daily hangouts and the doing errands together thing. Borrowing his clothes in such a public event like his own band’s gig was as big a declaration of love as they came.

Yes, it was best to keep this under wraps, for the sake of all their friendships with the rest of the boys. She’d wear her own clothes to her very first Corroded Coffin show, and she’d be extra careful with her yearbook when she gave it to her friends at The Weekly Streak to sign. No one had to know that Eddie had drawn a very realistic looking arrangement of daisies on a corner of a page, along with an incredibly telling message that would be hard to explain if anyone read it. However, nothing was stopping her from letting the words he’d written in his usual chicken scratch form behind her eyelids as she let sleep take her under, a perpetual lovesick smile tattooed on her face.Thank you for believing in me, darling, he’d said. I love you now and always. Your Endearing Eddie.

Tuesday, June 10th - 1986

If there was anyone in Hawkins who had bad timing when it came to scheduling business transactions that happened outdoors, it was Eddie Munson. He was in such a hurry to sell most of his stash before he was due to start his first ever real job at Thatcher Tires the following week that he’d failed to account for the permanent drizzle that haunted Hawkins most of the time, and thus, had to move from his preferred selling spot in the woods to the back of the East classroom wing, his back pressed to the warm brick to shield himself from the droplets falling from the sky.

While he was busy earning much wanted cash so he could take his still-not-official-girlfriend out on a date to celebrate their graduation, Dottie and Gareth were lounging in his van, side door cracked open to let some of the day’s heat out. The almost empty parking lot looked menacing surrounded by a thick haze, a moderate breeze directing the drops of water to hit the van’s windshield in a comforting rhythm. Gareth was, as usual, being a menace. He was going through Eddie’s tapes, exchanging their cases to mess with his friend, and never letting a song reach the end before he was skipping forward to the next one. Dottie would have complained about it if she wasn’t so concentrated on her knitting, the summer baby blanket she was working on spread out over her legs. She was in the middle of calculating if the soft cotton yarn she had left was enough to finish the row she was currently knitting when Gareth turned around in the passenger seat to catch her attention.

“You excited about tonight?” he asked, glancing at the songlist at the back of a mixtape.

“Yeah, it should be fun! Though I’m not sure what I’m gonna wear yet,” she put down her needles and stretched in her seat. “Eddie said sneakers and jeans were fine, but I don’t wanna look lost, y’know.”

“Pick the oldest, shittiest clothes you have and you’ll fit in just fine. Most of the drunks in there go after work, it’s always a lot of plaid, jeans, and dirt.”

“You’re not selling this to me very well.”

“I don’t have to,” he grinned. “Eddie says jump, you jump.”

“No, I don’t-”

“Hey, there you are!”

She was about to tell Gareth off when Chrissy appeared from the mist, shielding herself from the rain by holding her cheer cardigan above her head. Immediately, Dottie slid the van door open a bit more so she could climb in, moving all her knitting supplies to her lap so the strawberry blonde girl could sit next to her. Gareth looked at both girls awkwardly and muttered a quick hello before turning in his seat again and busying himself back with the mixtapes.

“I didn’t know you knitted,” Chrissy said, thumbing the corner of the blanket. “This is so pretty.”

“Thank you,” Dottie smiled. “It’s a gift for my Aunt, she’s having a baby in a couple of months.”

“Aw, that’s sweet! Let me guess, a girl?” she said, pointing at the baby pink yarn.

“How could you tell?” Dottie said with good natured sarcasm. “Her name’s gonna be Rose so… pink for Rosie! It’s not very original but I’m hoping she still likes it even though she’ll be born in the middle of summer.”

“I’m sure she’ll love it. I used mine until I was in preschool, there’s no age limit for a good blankie,” Chrissy said, kindly. “I wish I could do creative stuff like this, it looks fun. I tried to learn to sew when I was younger but my Mom’s so not a good teacher. She made me cry once because I forgot to put the presser foot down.”

“I could teach you a few things if you want,” Dottie offered. “I’m not an expert, but my Aunt is, like, the most perfectionist person on the planet and she taught me everything I know so…”

“You’d do that?”

“Do what, teach you?” the blonde nodded in response. “Of course! We’re friends! And it’s a great skill to have, it comes in handy more than you think.”

“We’re friends?” Chrissy asked, eyes suddenly shiny.

“After everything you’ve done for- Chrissy, of course we’re friends,” Dottie said, grabbing the other girl’s hand.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed out, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “I feel so much better about asking you to sign my yearbook now, I didn’t know if I was being weird or not.”

“For future reference, we like weird here,” the brunette said in a stage whisper, leaning down to get her own yearbook out of her backpack. “Besides, I kinda wanted to ask you to sign mine too so we’re even.”

The girls exchanged books and quickly got to signing, aware that Gareth was pretending like he wasn’t in the same vehicle as them. He didn’t want to turn up the music and rudely drown their conversation, so he distracted himself by drumming on Eddie’s dashboard with two pens, wondering what on Earth had Chrissy done for Dottie that made her so thankful towards the cheerleader. Dottie grabbed her nicest black pen and found an empty space under Eddie’s message. He’d written Don’t be a stranger, Chrissy the Cheery (and thank you for the advice! See you at the wedding) next to a crude drawing in blue ink of a girl with a ponytail lifting one pompon and doing devil horns with the other hand.

After thinking about what she wanted to say to the cheerful blonde, Dottie settled on a nice simple message that was cryptic enough should anyone else read it, but also something that conveyed just how truly grateful she was for this new found friendship. Have a fantastic summer!, the note opened. Thank you for everything. Call me whenever! At the end, right next to her name and a little daisy, she wrote down her phone number. The word everything was underlined twice. When she gave it back to her rightful owner and saw the message Chrissy had written on pink ink on her yearbook, she let out a girly giggle. It was so lovely to get to know you, have a good summer! Let’s hang out soon, it read. Below, Chrissy had also written down her phone number. Both teens looked at each other with a knowing grin and hugged, not paying any attention to the metalhead who’d put them on each other’s path hopping onto the driver’s seat of his van, hair damp from the rain.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute,” Eddie said, grinning. “Did she sign it?”

“We both did,” Chrissy said, returning the smile. “How were the sales?”

“Great! I’m selling my last bit on Thursday and then I’m keeping the rest for myself. A man’s gotta have his vices.”

“What a shame,” the blonde shook her head. “Hawkins is losing its nicest dealer to the workforce.”

“I’m the only dealer you know, sweetheart.”

“Because you’re the nicest one, keep up! I’m gonna have to buy from sleazy dudes now, ugh,” she said while she gathered her things to leave.

“You should have enough to last you until you leave for your pre-season with what I sold you today,” he frowned, concerned that every time Chrissy bought from him, the amounts she asked for kept increasing.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said and shrugged, sliding the door van open and hopping off. “See you around, guys!”

The three of them watched her jog towards the school with her cardigan draped over her head again, her petite figure losing definition in the haze. Eddie clicked on his seatbelt - a habit he’d picked up since he started driving Dottie around - and pulled out of the school’s parking lot, winking once at the girl on his backseat when he put his hand on Gareth’s headrest to reverse into the open road. Dottie rolled her eyes at him, picking up her knitting needles once again. Gareth stared at the school building until it disappeared from sight before he turned to his friends.

“I still can’t believe Chrissy Cunningham is not only super nice to us freaks, but also smokes weed,” he said, making both of the other teens laugh.

James Burke did not think that moving to the town he had grown up in as a quiet wallflower would result in an exponential growth in his daughter’s social life, but truth be told, he wasn’t exactly upset about it. Before packing up her whole life and facing the Big Drive to Hawkins, Dottie had never once gone out for the night on a weekday, much less during the school year. But James had agreed to it, and Dottie had promised to be home before midnight, which brought them to the living room where the tired father sat in his armchair and amusedly watched his daughter pace the entirety of the room swinging her arms around with each step she took.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the carpet, honey.”

“Good. This carpet gives me allergies.”

James chuckled, following her with his eyes as she padded her way to the window once more and peered outside yet again despite knowing that she would hear Eddie’s van first before seeing it, as per usual. She sighed dramatically and resumed her pacing, glancing at the clock on the wall anxiously. Mildly embarrassed upon noticing that her friends were still perfectly on schedule, she took a few deep breaths and tried to get her emotions in control before their arrival.

“You know you can call me if you get there and want to leave, right?”

“I know, Dad,” she rolled her eyes at him. “Stop offering to pick me up from places, you know Eddie’s gonna drive me back whenever I ask.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly comfort me as much as you think it does, honey. That van looks like it’s gonna die on him at any second.”

“Oh, come on,” Dottie argued. “He loves that van, he takes good care of it.”

“The fumes that come out of that thing say otherwise, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt since he’s gonna be a mechanic and all now.”

And speak of the devil, thought James, as the aforementioned smoky van appeared down the street while playing loud metal music. Dottie hurried to grab her keys and a jacket, ready to bolt out of the door and get to the damn dive bar already, but her Dad insisted on walking with her outside to say hi. Eddie and Gareth waved at them as they approached, lowering the music so they could greet the older man properly.

“Good evening, boys,” James said, hands on his hips in a typical Dad pose but with a friendly smile on his face. “How are we feeling? Excited for the show?”

“Hell yeah!” Gareth said, grinning. “We’re gonna kill it, the setlist is awesome tonight.”

“You let him add an Anthrax song to it, didn’t you?” Dottie laughed knowingly, sliding the side door open and climbing in.

“We’re closing with Metal Thrashing Mad,” Gareth looked at her with an expression of triumph.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a riot,” James chuckled and turned to his daughter. “Have fun, but don’t get into too much trouble. Midnight, okay?”

“I’ll get back here by 11, sir, I promise,” Eddie said, nodding once.

“Midnight’s okay, Ed,” the eldest Burke said, putting his trust in the young man’s hands; Eddie nodded again in understanding. “Have a good show!”

The man patted the side of the van as a goodbye and headed back inside, privately enjoying how much he could make Eddie squirm with just a few well placed words. He liked Eddie, he really did - he was polite, unapologetically himself, resourceful, kind. He loved his friends and wore his heart on his sleeve. And he loved Dottie, that much was clear to literally everyone that surrounded the teens. James didn’t know what the situation was like between them at the moment, but he could tell something had shifted based on recent interactions he’d witnessed. In his opinion, there seemed to be some sort of deeper connection between them since that fateful party they had gone to just a handful of days earlier, but James had to admit, albeit a little reluctantly, that even though he had been on the lookout for signs of a romantic relationship developing, not a lot had truly changed.

Eddie and Dottie had always been unusually close even upon first meeting, that was an undeniable fact about their friendship. It was hard to pinpoint if anything romantic had blossomed between them when Eddie had been calling her darling since the very first moment he laid eyes on her, or when Dottie gravitated towards him at any given moment, even in rooms filled with other people. Their hugs, while always having lasted longer than a regular friendly hug, were chaste and innocent, their main purpose always to comfort and to reassure. Eddie’s hands always stayed above her waist, not even so much as accidentally dropping to her hips in James’ presence, and any compromising position he’d found them in was at best playful, certainly never inappropriate.

It wasn’t that James was particularly concerned with the nature of the teens’ relationship; after all, he had been a teen himself once, he wasn’t an idiot. If anything was bound to happen, they weren’t going to ask for his permission beforehand. No, his worries were more about the knowledge that Dottie and Eddie dating while having the same group of friends could make a potential fall out incredibly painful for both of them, and the poor man was just desperately trying to protect his daughter as best as he could. He already felt like he had failed her once, he couldn’t let her down again. And yet, despite being cognizant of the dangers ahead, James found himself trusting Eddie because if Dottie trusted him, how could he not trust that his daughter knew better than her own Dad did about the matters of her heart?

“Okay, be honest, guys. How do I look?” Dottie asked, shoving half her body between the front seats so they could look at her better at the first stop sign.

“You look gorgeous, princess,” said Eddie.

“Like a toddler,” said Gareth, at the same time.

“Gareth, what the fuck,” Eddie deadpanned, swatting at his friend’s chest.

“What? She’s lucky they don’t ask for IDs,” he said, doubling down.

“You don’t tell a girl she looks like a toddler when she dresses up, you asshat,” Eddie said. “See, this is why you can’t get a girlfriend, you know nothing about women.”

“How would you know any better, you don’t have a girlfriend either!” Gareth retorted, making Eddie snort. If he only knew…

“You two bicker like an old married couple, did you know that?” Dottie said, settling back on her seat.

“That’s because we are,” Eddie joked, grabbing Gareth’s hand and giving him a kiss on the knuckles, making his friend yank his arm out of his grasp while the older boy laughed loudly.

Everyone was in good spirits as they journeyed to The Hideout, but whether she wanted them to or not, Gareth’s words made Dottie pause. Both boys had told her dark, casual clothes would be okay when she’d asked them for advice, so she’d gone with a striped dark blue and white t-shirt and black jean overalls, her trusty Reeboks matching Eddie’s keeping her feet comfortable. She glanced at both of her friends through the rearview mirror and compared her clothes to theirs, but that would never be a fair fight: they were dressed for the stage, not to be a spectator like she was. Gareth was wearing a loose shirt with the sleeves cut out, leather bracelets with spikes decorating each wrist along with his usual rings perched on his fingers. He had a flannel tied at his hip and his jeans were incredibly distressed, something that his Mom hadn’t been too happy about when she found out he’d ripped them himself on their driveway with a sharp rock. Eddie sat next to him, tapping on the steering wheel lightly as they talked about the setlist, looking like a vision straight out of his wildest rockstar dreams in acid wash denim and chains. Admittedly, his eyeliner did look terribly smudged, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm and a giddy grin etched permanently into his features.

There was no comparison and there would never be one. Dottie simply didn’t fit in. They were undiscovered rockstars, masters of their craft who had poured blood, sweat and tears into a yet unfulfilled dream, and she was just the high school friend who was lucky enough to meet them before they blew up. She tried to be excited for them, to join in on the fun, but all she could think about was how Eddie was destined for bigger things than to be chained to an elementary school teacher and the white picket fence she had always dreamed of when she was living in a tiny apartment with her Dad back in New York.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Eddie pulled into The Hideout’s parking lot next to Donny’s car, Gareth excitedly hollering out of the co-pilot’s window to get their friends’ attention. Donny took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the side, and hurried to meet them along with Jeff, hugs and pats on their backs exchanged before immediately busying themselves unloading both vehicles. Dottie was quick to mask her discomfort by helping out; a task that forced her to stay focused was always a welcome distraction for her worried brain. The boys chatted loudly, their tired grunts filling the eerily empty parking lot as they moved heavy amps and Gareth’s drum kit into the bar through a service door to the side of the building, leaving Dottie to trail behind them carrying cables and drumsticks.

“Hey, you okay?” Jeff asked, taking a mic stand from her hands, back pressed to the metal service door to keep it open.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m just nervous,” she lied, her smile failing to reach her eyes. “Never been to a place like this before.”

“No one here bites, I promise,” he nudged her shoulder. “And if they do, we’ll fight them for you. You’re with the band, you’re a VIP now.”

“My heroes,” she said, pretending to swoon.

The small exchange might have gone unnoticed had Eddie not become finely attuned to the girl’s emotions even when she wasn’t sharing them out loud. Something wasn’t right, he was sure of it, and he was determined to find out what it was before their set started. He wanted her to enjoy this, to see him doing one of the things he loved most, to let her into a space that up until now had been sacred for him. The Hideout’s little stage wasn’t the Madison Square Garden, but with her in the crowd, he felt like it was the most important show he’d ever play in his entire life.

“I really like your shirt,” Dottie was telling Donny about his Iron Maiden tee, holding his bass for him as he searched for a pedal that had gotten lost in the back of his car. “The black makes your eyes pop out.”

“But I need my eyes,” he whined jokingly.

“You know what I mean, dumbass,” she laughed, softly hitting his leg with her sneaker.

“I was gonna wear something else actually but I couldn’t find it,” he said, frowning at his car’s messy floor. “I have this Halloween shirt- aha!”

“Did you find it?”

“Yep, it was under the mat,” he climbed out of the car and pulled his pants up higher. “My ass wasn’t showing, was it?”

“I would never let you show your ass in public,” Dottie said, giving him back his bass. “We got everything? What do we do now?”

“Yeah, we just need to set up and-”

“Hey man, can you start without us?” Eddie asked, sitting on the back of his open van and patting his pockets for his cigarettes. “Need her help with something.”

“Uh- yeah, sure,” Donny said, looking at both of them suspiciously and noticing how Dottie appeared to be as equally confused as he was. “Don’t take too long.”

Donny hoisted his bass case over his shoulder and disappeared into the building, throwing one last look at them for good measure. While Eddie busied himself lighting up a cig, Dottie shifted her weight from foot to foot nervously. What on Earth could Eddie want her help with right now? Was he… was he going to tell her to leave? Had he realized this was no place for her and didn’t want anyone to see she was with them? Or with him?

“Come ‘ere,” Eddie said, widening his legs so she could stand between them. “You gonna tell me what’s going on or do I gotta tickle it out of you?”

“You know I don’t like tickles.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna have to spill, don’t you, princess?” he flicked some of his ash to the side and wrapped an arm around her hips to bring her closer. “What is it, huh? My eyeliner’s that bad you can’t even look at me?”

“No,” she muttered, lips curling into a resigned pout. “You look pretty.”

“I look like shit. People might confuse me with a raccoon.”

“A pretty raccoon,” the right corner of her mouth lifted into a tentative smile and he took that as a win.

“If it’s not my eyeliner, what’s bothering you then? You wanna go home? ‘Cause I’ll drive you back right now if you want me to, just say the word.”

“No, no,” she quickly shook her head, curls bouncing around but her eyes were still stuck to his knees. “I wanna see you play.”

“Baby, I know something’s upsetting you. Talk to me, come on. We’ve been good at that lately,” he pleaded, thumb sneaking into the side of her overalls and under her shirt to rub comforting circles on her skin.

“It’s just-,” Dottie huffed, crossing her arms and curling on herself. “I feel weird, okay? I look like an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie frowned.

“Ed, I’m wearing overalls.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and? You look like a fucking rockstar and I’m some random toddler following you around. I don’t fit in, Gareth’s right.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck Gareth,” she opened her mouth to argue but he beat her to it. “No, no, fuck Gareth. He doesn’t know shit about fashion, never trust anything he says, okay? He used to wear polos every day before he met me, you knew that? He can’t judge anyone. And I love your overalls. You look adorable in them.”

“But I don’t want to look adorable!” Dottie stomped on the ground, which only furthered his point. “You look so badass, why couldn’t I look like that?”

“You wanna look badass? I’ll give you any of my shirts next time, I promise,” Eddie pulled her closer until she uncrossed her arms and rested them on his shoulders. “But don’t listen to that dumbass. I love how you dress. I really fuckin’ do, babe.”

“Yeah? The toddler thing gets you going?” she asked, melting under his earnest eyes.

“Nah, that’s all you, darling,” he stretched himself up to kiss her gently. “You get me going. And you always fit in with me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Nope, come on, you gotta say it.”

“Eddie.”

“I’m waiting,” he sang.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” she rolled her eyes, but this time her smile was much more genuine. “Fine. I fit in with you.”

“Always.”

“Good,” he took one last drag of his cigarette and threw it away, lifting himself up to close the van doors and direct into the bar. “We’re gonna talk about this later though. I know you’re still thinking about it.”

“It’s scary how much you know me,” she mused, leaning onto his side for courage as they walked to the front door.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pay attention to you?” he said, opening the door to let her in.

Boyfriend. He had called himself her boyfriend. They hadn’t discussed what they were yet; Eddie was adamant about asking her out properly on Graduation Day but it felt good to hear that he knew what he meant to her. That he wanted the same thing she did, even if her anxious heart got in the way sometimes. Dottie was so sure he’d get bored of her once he realized how truly boring she was, but failed to consider that in all their months together as friends, Eddie had learned to love their differences and cherished them deeply. Why would he want someone who was just like him? He was an idiot in his opinion, he’d hate it if she was equally impulsive, messy and brash as he was. She was soft where he was rough, logical where he was a dreamer, practical where he was ignorant. And in turn Eddie felt capable where she was inexperienced, bold where she was shy, and calm where she was nervous. Two puzzle pieces that are cut the exact same way never fit, and Eddie was confident in the knowledge that they were alike, yet different where it mattered the most. It was just a matter of time until she got to see things like he did, and he’d be damned if he didn’t help her get there faster.

“Dave! What’s up?” Eddie hollered as he approached the bar, a bald man with a bushy beard greeted him with a big smile.

“Hey, Ed! The guys told me the big news, I’m proud of you, kid,” Dave said, putting down his rag and a glass to pat Eddie’s back over the counter. “You brought a new friend today?”

“Thanks, man. Yeah, this is Dottie,” he introduced them. “Dot, Dave, he’s the owner - Dave, Dot. Treat her right, okay? She’s our manager.”

“No shit,” Dave laughed. “How did that happen?”

“I got them a gig in Indy next month and they offered me the job,” Dottie said, slipping onto a bar stool next to Eddie. “We should talk business sometime.”

“That’s my girl,” Eddie beamed, squeezing her hand before walking backwards to the stage. “Give her anything she wants, I’ll cover her tab!”

“So, you’re Eddie’s girl, huh,” Dave said, eyes glinting.

“I guess I am,” Dottie smiled, before her expression dropped in realization. “Could you- We’re not, like- The guys-”

“Secret’s safe with me, doll,” he winked at her. “I knew something was up when Ed started adding ballads to their setlist. Now, what’s your poison? On the house.”

“Would root beer be an acceptable choice?” she asked, cheeks burning under her skin.

“Depends. You want ice cream with it?” he threw his rag over his shoulder.

“I’ll never say no to a little vanilla.”

“Attagirl. I can see why he likes you,” Dave said, and disappeared down the kitchen door in search of a scoop of ice cream.

Dottie turned around in her stool to look at her friends happily setting up for their show, palpable excitement coursing through their veins. Gareth was hunched over his drum kit, tightening and loosening the skin until it was perfect while he heard the story Donny was retelling, Eddie laughing loudly and Jeff cringing while uncoiling a cable. They looked happy, barely controlled energy bouncing around the room much to everyone’s amusement. Two older men sat in a corner of the bar, mugs filled with frothy beer and a bowl of peanuts shared between them - they lifted up their drinks and smiled at her in acknowledgement when she glanced their way. Dave was funny, charming and a little bit kooky, all the right ingredients for a good bartender. He kept Dottie busy by telling her stories about every regular that was in the bar, and introduced her to the two men as “the boys’ boss, so no funny business with her”. Rudy and B.B. ate it up, calling her bosslady in all further interactions, asking her about their friendship with Corroded Coffin and telling her silly stories they had collected about her friends over their years as The Hideout’s only band with a permanent slot.

It was clear to Dottie that this was a family built on routine and comradery. They had nicknames for each other, knew about beverage preferences and medical conditions, asked about parents, wives and children. B.B. was all too glad to have someone new to show off the pictures he kept in his wallet, his five grandchildren looking up at Dot from the glossy paper as he shared names and little anecdotes about them proudly. When it was time for Corroded Coffin to finally start playing, everyone paid attention and even cheered when the first few notes of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid began. Dottie sang along to every single word that came out of Jeff’s mic, thinking about that very first time she’d seen them play in Gareth’s garage. This felt equally warm, homey, and handcrafted. A labor of love.

Corroded Coffin was a sight that begged to be seen. They were loud and unapologetic; they crooned to the outcasts, the freaks, the weirdos. Lee with his prosthetic leg and handlebar mustache, Rudy with his white hair and beer belly, Shonda with her leather vest and scary-looking motorbike parked outside. These drunkards were their very first fans, and they enjoyed the Tuesday night gig as much as anyone could enjoy first row seats to a Metallica show in a big arena. During a water break between songs, Lee asked for a Judas Priest song and the boys indulged him, Gareth immediately launching into a complex beat that made him break one of his drumsticks in half at the end. He looked the happiest Dottie had ever seen him.

The half hour show came to a close, and Corroded Coffin said their goodbyes with pure elation and sweat dripping down their faces. Dottie wanted to help them load everything back into the cars, but Shonda kept her busy and glued to her stool talking about New York and the best food places she had encountered on her travels. If Dottie recognized some of the mentioned spots as known queer hangouts she’d always wanted to go to but couldn’t because she was underage, she said nothing, but the knowledge only endeared the older lady more to her. When the guys had finished putting everything away, they surrounded Dottie at the bar and Dave presented them with a beer each. Yes, it was illegal to serve alcohol to minors, but no one cared. They’d earned those fair and square, and what was the big issue with a little toast between friends to the Hellfire Class of ‘86 who would be graduating in just a few short days?

“Since when do you go dry after a show, Ed?” Dave said, grabbing the bottle Eddie had pushed back into his hand.

“I’m driving her around tonight,” Eddie said, nodding towards Dottie who was lost in conversation with Jeff. “Her Dad might kill me if we get pulled over and I’m drunk, and I actually like being alive.”

“She’s got you whipped,” B.B. commented, making the rest of the older men laugh while Eddie’s ears burned red at the light teasing.

“Good for her. Someone had to do it at some point,” Rudy said, lifting his frothy beer to his lips, and truth be told, Eddie was more than happy to admit they were right.

Dottie was not expecting Eddie to pull over halfway between her house and Gareth’s after dropping him and his drum kit off, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t about to let her go to bed without talking about what had happened earlier. He was still a little jittery from the show, adrenaline starting to run off now that they were surrounded by the quiet of the night in a deserted street, truly alone for the first time all day. After reaching to click her seatbelt off, he helped her crawl sideways onto his lap, resting her weight half on him and half on the driver’s door, legs draped over the center console and stretching towards the co-pilot’s seat. Despite the fact that he’d just played a 30 minute set and still felt a little bit damp with sweat from his performance, he took the time to bask in the sense of calm that washed over him. This is the best part of my day, he thought, lazily pressing kisses to the side of her head as she played with his rings, a dazed smile on her face.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair behind her ear and making her squirm in delight when he pressed another kiss to her temple.

“I love you too. You’re my favorite rockstar,” she muttered back, nosing his cheek.

“You had a good time?”

“The best. Everyone was so nice.”

“They better be,” he said dramatically, lifting his hand into a menacing fist. “Or else I’d have to kill them.”

“Stop,” she laughed, arms wrapping around him. “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier. I was being silly and got too into my own head.”

“You gonna tell me what that was about? And don’t say it was about your overalls, because I know it wasn’t,” he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles gently.

“I don’t know, I guess… I was just thinking about the future, and-”

“Uh-oh. Is this it? Are you breaking up with me? Shit, I knew that old dog Rudy was gonna take you away from me.”

“Shut up,” Dottie slapped his chest lightly as she laughed and he pretended to be in excruciating pain, slumping against his seat. “I… I was just wondering if there’s gonna be a place for me, y’know? In your future? And I got upset thinking that maybe there wouldn’t be.”

“Why would you think that?” Eddie asked, uncharacteristically serious.

“I mean… I dunno,” she admitted. “You’re gonna be a huge rockstar and I’m just, like… your boring high school sweetheart that wants to become a teacher. Is that really what you want for your life?”

“Yes. I want you.”

“Eddie, I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, me too,” his hand came up to hold her face. “I’m not gonna become a rockstar, Dot. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

“You’re only twenty-”

“It’s not about my age. Jeff’s leaving Hawkins and he’s gonna be a fancy businessman with a- a fuckin’ pacifist non-profit org or whatever people do in West Virginia,” she snorted at his words and he continued. “Gareth’s probably gonna become the greatest studio percussionist in the world for all we know, and Donny has his family’s restaurant to take care of. We’re all going separate ways, and I don’t wanna do the rockstar thing without them. Like, that’s my band, y’know? I’m not gonna go solo, it’s all of us or no one.”

“I get that, I do but… I just don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams,” she admitted. “You’re gonna resent me if you do, and I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you are unhappy and you hate me.”

“I could never hate you and I’m not giving up on anything because of you, darling, I promise. Is it really that hard to believe that I want a normal, peaceful life with you?” he shrugged.

“But you hate normal.”

“No, I don’t. I thought I did but… I can’t be hanging onto a maybe forever, babe. I can’t do that to Wayne. I want to help him out, have a good job so I can pay for things around the house, move out before I turn 30. Give him back his goddamn bedroom, for fuck’s sake,” Eddie scoffed bitterly, thinking about his poor Uncle’s back after years of sleeping on that shitty fold-out bed. “I want to make his life easier. He deserves that much.”

“But you could help him out even more if you became a rockstar. You could- you could buy him a big house, and he wouldn’t have to work anymore, he could just retire,” Dottie pressed on. “Didn’t you want to get out of Hawkins? Travel the world?”

“Yeah, but I think I’d miss you too much if I was away on the road all the time. I’m already suffering about you going to Michigan and that’s only three hours away. I can’t get on a tour bus and not see you for eight months, you know I’ll die if you don’t kiss me regularly,” he joked.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t be right there with you on the tour bus if you asked?” she joked back but her voice was so, so earnest.

“Darling, I could never do that to you. I could never ask you to give up on a full ride scholarship for me, fuck. You earned that shit, you have to go and get your degree so I can brag about how smart you are to everyone I talk to.”

“But who’s gonna keep the groupies away from you if I’m not there?” she whispered dramatically.

“I’ll chase them out, let the guys have all of them. Got the best and only groupie I need right here,” he squeezed her to make the remnants of her insecurities go away before kissing her forehead.

“I’m not a groupie though, I’m your manager,” Dottie reminded him. “I’ll have you know, Dave and I are gonna discuss business soon.”

“Yeah? You gonna look out for us? Read all our contracts before we sign them?” Eddie played along, smirking up at her.

“I’ll get you moved from Tuesdays to Thursdays, you’ll see.”

“God, you’re so hot when you know what you want.”

“Eddie!”

“What, my girl is the smartest manager in the world and I can’t find that hot? Fuckin’ sue me then,” he laughed and leaned in to kiss her, feeling incredibly lucky about the fact that she chased his lips for more when he pulled away. “I’m being serious, though. I know you don’t believe me when I say I don’t want that rockstar shit anymore, and this is way too brave of me considering we haven’t even gone on our first official date yet, but… I dunno. I kinda really like the idea of coming back home after a long day at work and getting to hold you like this. I used to think having a normal life was so lame because I never had it and now it’s all I can think about.”

Eddie had told himself throughout his whole childhood that he didn’t want to live like his classmates. He didn’t want to have family dinners every night like they did, because it meant he would have had to eat vegetables like broccoli and carrots instead of whatever unhealthy snack he could make for himself while his Dad was out of the house for the night. He didn’t want to have perfect attendance at school, because he liked whenever he could sleep in until late before “going on an adventure” on Wyatt’s Good Days. He liked spending his summers with his Grandma, stuffing his face full of ice cream and pie, and he liked when Wayne had a few days off from his job as a trucker and returned to Hawkins bringing dumb trinkets he had probably bought at a gas station on his way home, but felt like treasures to the youngest Munson. Eddie had told himself he didn’t want anything more than what he had throughout his childhood, because Wyatt said whining was for pussies and for girls, and his son wasn’t either of those things, are you?

It wasn’t until Eddie moved in with Wayne that he found out he really liked carrots because they were unexpectedly sweet and that he didn’t like grapefruit because it was bitter. He didn’t skip a single day of school for a month and his teacher put a gold star next to his name on the wall. His clothes were now always clean, and he didn’t have to wash ketchup stains in the school’s bathroom anymore to hide them from his Dad because his shirt would be hanging from the clothesline the next day like the offending red splat had never been there in the first place. Eddie thought that living in a real house was bullshit, because he lived in a trailer now and the trailer park was fun. He could feed and pet the strays and go to the playground whenever he wanted, and the people who lived there said hi to him when they saw him collecting flat rocks to skip at the lake when Wayne took him fishing on weekends, and sometimes the old lady next door would give him a bite of watermelon if he asked nicely.

But now Eddie was 20, and he wasn’t scared of admitting he wanted more. He wanted a water heater that didn’t randomly die on him, and a bedroom without mold stains, and Wayne to have the privacy he so very much deserved after 12 years of sleeping in the living room. He wanted a garage like Gareth’s, a backyard like Jeff’s, and a loud but loving family like Donny’s. And whenever he thought about those things lately, he always ended up dreaming about lying on a big comfy couch after a hot shower with his sleepy girlfriend pressed to his side and the decadent smell of a roast cooking away in the oven. No rush, no worries. Just love.

“I think about it too,” Dottie said quietly, jostling him out of his cozy fantasy.

“You do?” he asked, surprised.

“I never had a house until we moved here, I’ve always lived in small apartments before. And it’s not like that’s a bad thing, because it isn’t! I’m really grateful I always had a roof over my head. But I used to dream a lot about having a house like my grandparents when I was younger, and… I don’t know. When I think about it now you are there too. I know, I know it’s a lot, we haven’t even, like, talked about-”

“No, no, that-,” Eddie said, an unfamiliar warmth spreading in his chest. “That sounds really nice, darling. Tell me more? About our future house?”

“Well… it changes all the time. When I see something I like, I add it so it’s always different,” she said, cheeks warm at his soft gaze. “Like, it didn’t have a front porch until I met you, but now I know I definitely want one.”

“Why did you add a porch when you met me?”

“Because you have one! I love it when we sit outside when it’s rainy, it feels really peaceful. And also I think it’s really cute that Wayne waits for you there sometimes. I… I kinda wanna do that.”

“You wanna wait for me to come home on our front porch?” Eddie asked, grip tightening around her waist.

“Mhm,” she buried her head on his neck, closing her eyes like she could see themselves in the future. “We should get a swing, I can make cushions for it. And plant fruit trees in the backyard.”

“We could set up the basement to host D&D nights,” he continued. “And a dog. We should definitely get a dog.”

“Yes. A big dog.”

“A big black dog, and we can name him Ozzy,” he smiled.

“Aw, I wanted to name him Bilbo,” she pouted.

“You can’t name a black dog Bilbo, that’s a name for a brown dog,” Eddie argued.

“We can have two dogs then, one black and one brown.”

“That’s too much, we need space for the kids.”

“K-kids?” Dottie lifted her head and stared at him like he’d just grown two heads.

“I thought you wanted kids?” he was confused.

“I do, I just… I didn’t think you wanted kids,” she admitted. “And we’re still so young, it feels strange to talk about that.”

“I mean, I definitely don’t want kids right now but maybe in like… five years-”

“Ten,” she said, in a tone that left no room to argue.

“Ten years sounds great. We could have kids in ten years, right? I’m not gonna be a loser by then.”

“Eddie, you’re not a loser,” she frowned.

“Wait until after graduation to make big statements like that, babe.”

“You’re not a loser. You’re the best rockstar mechanic in the world and Ozzy, the kids and I love you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, wiping his face with his hand. “Princess, you can’t shit like that or I’m gonna ask you to marry me before our first date.”

“Ed?” Dottie said nervously; his hand fell from his face to her thighs and he looked at her. “Are we… are we moving too fast? We haven’t even been on a real date and we’re already talking about, like, marriage and living together-”

“We’re just goofin’ around, babe,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We don’t have to do anything until we’re ready. You gotta go to Michigan first and get your degree, and I have to move out of Wayne’s, we have time. I’m just, uh, putting my cards on the table early so you can yell at me if I start being stupid. That alright with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s alright with me,” she smiled back at him.

“Besides, everyone at The Hideout knows you’re my girl now. That’s bigger than marriage - if we break up they’ll take your side.”

“Am I?”

“Huh?”

“Am I your girl?” Dottie asked, knowing the answer but still wanting to hear it from his lips.

“You know you are,” he pulled her into a kiss before singing softly. “My girl, talkin’ ‘bout my girl… my girl!”

“You’re so silly,” she giggled, noses bumping in the dark.

“But I’m your silly. You’re mine and I’m yours, okay? So no more getting upset at whatever bullshit Gareth says. I’ll kick his ass.”

“It’s not his fault. My brain just hates me sometimes.”

“I’ll fight your brain,” he said, making her giggle again. “You’re It for me, darling. We fit in together. It’s just that easy.”

“Easy,” she repeated.

Eddie had told himself a lot of lies growing up, but the biggest one was that he didn’t want a normal, quiet life, because that was lame and he wasn’t going to conform to the system like everyone else did. He understood now that maybe, just maybe, having the most regular, happy, love-filled life he could get with his high school sweetheart turned elementary school teacher and a big black dog named Ozzy, in a house with a swing on the front porch, enough rooms for children that didn’t exist yet, and a basement where he could DM as many campaigns as he could think of, would probably be the biggest act of defiance he could do in the eyes of a town who thought he would never be deserving of the common luxuries everyone else got to have without having to fight for them.

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

43 notes · View notes

missvelvetsstuff · 1 year

Text

Just A Number

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist.

Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+

Chapter 3

Warnings: swearing, angst

3 weeks later......

Y/N was happy with her new job, not 'I love it I'm staying forever' happy but it was a pleasant enough job and should be a good stepping stone. She had more education and experience than her manager but knew better than to show off so early in her employment.

It was Wednesday morning and she was on the train to work with Dawn when her newly issued StarkTech phone rang. She didn't recognize the number but it had a Stark prefix so figured she had better answer it.

"This is Y/N."

Happy Hogan identified himself then went into a rambling diatribe about unreliable employees making his life harder and told her to meet him in HR as soon as she arrived at work.

She agreed and shook her head when he hung up.

Dawn looked over at her "Who was that?"

Y/N looked at her "Happy Hogan. He was talking so fast I barely understood any of it but something about unreliable employees. Told me to meet him in HR as soon as I get to work."

Dawn smiled "That was fast. What it means is someone fucked up and you are getting their job. It should be at least a small step up and raise. I told you they wouldn't let you rot in PR, not with your experience."

Y/N's eyes grew wide "I hope it's not anything crazy. I can't work in marketing with you, I'm so not suited for that kind of work."

Dawn shook her head "Nah, my team is all good. I heard Pepper Potts-Stark has been having a rough time finding an adequate assistant. That's a tough gig but there's travel and more of those fancy parties."

Y/N felt her stomach drop "I don't know that I'm up for that, she's one of the most powerful women in the country."

Dawn sighed "No, she's one of the most powerful women in the world. You would rock that job. I'm keeping my fingers crossed."

Y/N sighed "Doesn't she work with the Avengers a lot? Being a grunt in PR is stealth but her assistant? What if I see....?"

Dawn scoffed "Honey, you know how I feel about that. You should call him. I haven't spoken to Sam in a minute but I can ask him if you want."

Y/N shook her head "No, Sissy, please. He's an Avenger. If he was really interested he could have found me by now."

Dawn slapped her lightly on the shoulder "You make me crazy. You snuck out while he slept, maybe he thinks your lack of interest is clear."

Their station was called and Y/N sighed in relief "Saved by the bell."

Dawn glared at her "This isn't over. Make sure you text me after you talk to Happy."

They walked quickly to the building and separated when Y/N exited the elevator on the 3rd floor and walked into the HR office.

Happy Hogan greeted her when she entered. "Miss Walker?"

She nodded in response and listened carefully as he told her why he needed to talk to her. Her heart raced as she listened to the responsibilities of the position he was offering. Dawn was right, it was Pepper who needed a new assistant.

She nervously accepted the job and had to fill out a mountains worth of paperwork including a very strict NDA since she would be at the side of the head of the company and potentially interacting with Avengers and SWORD agents.

Once everything was in order, Happy led her up to Peppers office on one of the top floors and introduced her to Pepper.

Pepper greeted her with a smile "I want to be clear before we start. I know this is a difficult job so I try to be flexible when I can but I need you to keep up with me and be my memory when I need you. You're expected to wear professional attire unless I tell you otherwise and behave in a professional manner at all times. We are in this building most of the time but there is some traveling so you will need a passport. You will have an expense account to use for work related items including clothing, to ensure you are able to get what you need and keep your focus on the work.

Do you think you're up for it?"

Y/N's mouth was dry and her palms were clammy, this was a great opportunity but also a high stress environment. She cleared her throat.

"Yes ma'am. Since the Snap I've done a variety of jobs that have similar requirements."

They spoke for a few minutes before Pepper nodded and gave her a black card "I think you'll be a good fit. Happy will take you to security to update your access. After that you can get your desk set up however makes you comfortable, within reason. I'm leaving for an event at my daughter's school so you can settle in, learn your way around this floor and all I need you to do is answer the phone. I'll see you bright and early at 8. I'll text you my coffee order to grab from the shop downstairs, they'll put it on my tab. Get one for yourself, too."

Y/N nodded "Yes ma'am. Enjoy your daughter."

Pepper smiled "Thank you. You have kids?"

She nodded "Yes but mine are grown so no cute holiday shows or anything. They grow up way too fast so be there when you can."

Y/N spent the rest of the day wandering around Peppers floor, impressed by the amenities which included a small bedroom, a closet full of clothes, a bathroom, a fully stocked kitchen and a hot tub. Not to mention an amazing view of the city.

She went to her old desk and moved all her belongings to the new one and answered a few calls until her shift ended.

She met Dawn on her way out and they went out for drinks to celebrate her new job.

That weekend they went shopping for work clothes. Most of what Y/N had was showing its age so they looked for new office clothes and a couple of cocktail dresses to have in case something came up. Plus a haircut and manicure.

She felt guilty for spending almost $500 right after starting but wanted to make sure she put forth the right image that Pepper wanted.

When Y/N showed up at work on Monday morning, Pepper gushed over her new 'do and clothes which helped assuage her guilt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky was getting sick of chasing the damn Power Broker all over eastern Europe only to miss them every time. He was haunted by dreams of Y/N and the night they spent together.

Sam was getting sick of mopey, moody, angry Bucky but his nagging only made things worse and they bickered more than usual.

After 2 weeks Sam had enough "Look, man, I know you're pining over that woman but could you please keep your head in the game? Your constant distraction will get us both hurt. Put her aside and call when we get home."

Bucky scoffed "No one is getting hurt, stop being so dramatic. And I'm not pining over anything. It was one nite, one incredible nite, but that's it. I'm not going to chase down some woman who doesn't want me."

Sam shook his head "Then stop moping and help me get this job done."

Bucky shook his head "It's not my fault we can't find this power broker person. He's obviously good at hiding and has people scared to rat him out."

Sam groaned "Sharon told me we could find him here. With all the near misses we've had, I'm almost wondering if she's helping him. She spent a lot of time in Madripoor during the Blip, living on the wrong side of the law, maybe she got caught up with him?"

Bucky scoffed "Don't be stupid, Sam."

They went another 2 weeks like this without finding their prey before they packed up and headed for home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 weeks later

Y/N was getting along very well in her new job and Pepper was very pleased with her. It was a crazy job, hectic most days and occasionally slow but she was enjoying herself and learning all about Stark Industries and the business they did around the world.

They had already taken a 3 day trip to Spain and Y/N didn't think she would ever be able to stand flying commercial again. Not to mention the way Pepper was fawned over by every person they interacted with.

Today was Friday and when Y/N started work there was nothing going on until Pepper received a call from Bruce Banner. Five minutes after taking the call, Pepper buzzed her

"Grab your things, Bruce needs me to come up to the compound to check the status of his project. Be on the roof in 15. And cancel my meeting this afternoon."

Y/N felt her heart race and stomach drop. The Avengers compound. Pepper had mentioned it before and told her they would be going there on occasion but Y/N wasn't ready. She knew it was dumb, he lived in Brooklyn and wasn't there much so the odds of running into each other was slim. She hadn't told Pepper that she had met James, didn't seem important for a one night stand.

By the time she calmed her heart down she had to hurry to the roof before she was late. She climbed into the helicopter and strapped herself in.

Pepper was looking at her oddly "Are you ok? You seem a little stressed about going to the compound."

Y/N gave her the best smile she could muster and lied through her teeth "I'm fine, the helicopter makes me a little nervous but I'm alright."

Pepper nodded, unconvinced "Ok. I know I'm your boss but you can talk to me about non-work things. If you want, obviously you don't have to but you can trust me."

Y/N kept her grin up "I appreciate that, you've been a great boss. I don't want to burden you with my problems when you already have so much on your plate. It's it's fine. I'm fine." She stammered.

Pepper rubbed her arm "Well, I'm here if you need me."

They arrived at the compound and Y/N was relieved the conversation was interrupted because she felt herself weakening and almost spilled everything to Pepper.

Pepper filed it away to bring up another time and led the way to Bruce's lab.

Y/N stood quietly behind Pepper and Bruce as they spoke about some quantum thing she didnt understand but she kept notes of the entire conversation in case Pepper needed any of the info that was discussed.

When they were getting ready to leave they heard an announcement about an incoming jet and had to wait for it to land before the helicopter could leave.

Y/N was getting antsy and had that feeling in her stomach that something was coming and started hyperventilating, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt like she was in a tunnel before she felt Pepper gently take her hand, speaking softly. She opened her eyes and went along as Pepper deescalated her panic attack.

Pepper looked at her concerned "Are you alright? What happened?"

Y/N shook her head "I'm, yes, yes." Took a deep breath "No. I'm not alright." and proceeded to tell her about meeting James and every thought or feeling she had about him since. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you but it was my burden and you already have so much to deal with. A lovesick assistant shouldn't add to it, I'm supposed to help lighten your load not add to it."

Pepper scoffed softly "And you have done an amazing job of it. When I told you that you could talk to me it wasnt lip service. I meant it." She thought for a minute. "I could plan a party and you two could accidentally run into each other? Or something?"

Y/N chuckled "I don't think that's a good idea, he's obviously not interested. I don't want to force something."

Pepper smiled, like she caught the canary "You don't know that, he's a busy man. In fact the last I saw he's been overseas for awhile."

Her phone beeped "There's the pilot, that jet landed and we can go back to the Tower." they started walking towards the hangar.

Y/N smiled softly "Thanks for listening and not judging"

Pepper laughed "After my years with Tony, I've learned not to judge people for their lives."

When they entered the hangar Pepper was stopped by Sam Wilson who chatted for a minute and gave Y/N a too big smile when introduced. He made her nervous.

While they were talking to Sam, Y/N heard a voice she knew intimately coming from the jet that Sam had exited.

"You gonna help me with this equipment or stand there flirting with-" then she heard something heavy hit the ground.

Sam stepped aside but Y/N was looking at her own feet, afraid to see him, afraid to look until he spoke again "Y/N? Doll?"

She looked up nervously and felt her insides flutter and spin at how handsome he was, better than her memories, and her core heated up as she tried not to think about that nite.

She cleared her throat "Hi James."

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom

Chapter 4

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #just a number

47 notes · View notes

basedkikuenjoyer · 2 years

Photo

Eh, 1078's worth it’s own post. We open with an interesting little exchange between Stussy & Sentomaru. The way they talk about the mission and the delicacy has me wondering if at least one big outcome is about to pop off. There’s another reason in this chapter I’m wondering, it’s not even that crazy of a theory. I definitely think it’d be a cool end, Wano’s time hops give the Grand Fleet a lot of time to move in assuming the awakening made Luffy’s vivre card act weird. Capturing Saturn would more than adequately fit the bill for historic proportions.

Of course, this pair having this conversation also is worth pointing out. Sentomaru & Stussy are both figures we’ve pointed out keeping that thematic bleedover from Wano firmly in Kiku’s territory. Look at em side-by-side, I’d say they each serve as a good representation of one of her halves standing alone. We’ll circle back to how that idea bookends.

The fuck Luffy? Just deadass calling Kaku Usopp. Seriously bro...what a heads up move! I mean, gag aside it was quick thinking to both not leave himself 2v1 with CP0 and to account for Zoro’s big weakness. But it is also really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really funny he called Kaku Usopp and Kaku’s just grumbling about it. I couldn’t not mention it. Seriously though, this flashback.

First off, it’s a great quick version of the big idea I’ve been on about. Does that make sense? We’ve had the little breadcrumbs hiding in plain sight. Just like Kanjuro by the end people had actually strung together a few good points about who it was. In essence, what we saw with York is a lot like the structure I laid out. What I’ll say is this though; I just don’t think it’s done. Too truncated. Same logic as getting Vegapunk’s big lore dump out of the way early. Mr. Narrator is coming in to make it very clear we’re not done yet. This is about to pop off into something much bigger. Egghead might be more Punk Hazard-length than Zou, who knows?

This panel is also why I’m excited for the Grand Fleet! Just...does it not feel like the iconic End-of-Dressrosa panel about their future exploits? For the here and now though, of course we do see the traitor plotline ended up being rather straightforward in an interesting way.

Bookends. Much like the angle of starting through Sento/Stussy, York is someone interesting to end on. This last stamp here made her a foil. Oh, so it was the tall, cute unassuming one? The gluttonous, vulgar one who’s goal is the absolute antithesis of Kiku’s egalitarian ethos? I’ll take it.

One Piece is always hard to predict but that seems like an easy way for all of this to end. The scrum goes on a little longer, Robin is moving down to this basement with Chopper so we can confront York easy enough. Kizaru ratchets up the tension but now we are finally ready to face an Admiral. His plan to buy time is thwarted by the arrival of the Grand Fleet demolishing the reinforcements. If we want to, there is ample thematic territory to weave in a new quartermaster orchestrating that. We can see what happened just like we did this chapter or we can finally pull the trigger on the Chekov’s Gun of X Drake’s report. Either way, you have a defeated admiral and potentially a captured Gorosei to cement the Straw Hats as the cream of the crop in all of these worldwide rumblings. In a way that otherwise leaves a completely blank slate to set up whatever we get into from this island on.

#One piece #chapter 1078 #post-wano musings #okiku #sentomaru #stussy #VP York

29 notes · View notes

hawkfawun · 2 years

Note

Chapter 2!

Thanks for the ask! For context the concept is Guts loses the duel and stays in the Hawks. Tensions are high because of that and to throw another issue at them they have a mission involving working with the Holy Iron Chain knights. I am working on building up the relationships between the pre eclipse Hawks and them!

Guts looked to the Hawks captains from a distance. He still sat with them to eat, but more often then not he sat a distance away when he did. Far back enough no one would talk to him too much. It felt especially daunting today. He knew all of them would want to hear about what he thought of the new people and Guts didn’t know what to make of them himself.

Although missing out on a well earned meal didn’t sound appealing either. He looked to the top of the hill, and between a few trees he could see some smoke from a fire. It was the man he fought earlier, haunched over something and cooking by himself. It almost looked like he was hiding going all the way up there. Guts made his way over, past the dewy tall spring grass and short trees blocking the set up from view.

“That smells good. Can I get some?”

Serpico looked up only briefly then back down to what he was doing. He had a regular cooking set up with a small flame under it. Nothing all that fancy. Guts felt a small bit of disappointment in the lack of interest at his arrival. Without waiting for an answer he took a pea pod out of a bowl and popped it in his mouth. That elicited a small scowl from the man. Ah, there’s his reaction. Guts grinned in return as a spoon pushed his fingers away firmly.

“No. You cannot get some.”

Guts didn’t relent and stood only a bit away with arms crossed. He didn’t say anything either. Waiting it out seemed to work because eventually the man took a breath and leaned over to hand him something. It was a small paring knife.

“Alright then. Chop these please.” Serpico asked while handing him some roots.

Guts looked between the man and the knife, looking at the already cleaned vegetables. He expected him to help? It had been some time since he cooked anything. Judau and Rickert usually cooked for the captains by themselves. That was fine with him. He didn’t care who cooked as long as he had something to eat. “Who said I was helping? ...Sure. Fine.”

Guts started chopping the root vegetable directly into the pot . Only for Serpico to place his hands over his own a few moments later. “No no no. Finer. Like this, see?”

Gut’s let him keep his fingers over his own. He was surprised to see they were delicate, yet clearly scared too. Maybe he had seen some battles. He stayed quiet for a moment. The only sound was the crackling fire and the knife cutting down. The touch didn’t make him want to pull away like he would have expected.

“I was doing it like that already. Don’t be so particular.” He said when Serpico let go and moved back to his respective spot. He continued till the task was finished and reclined back once more, putting the knife back down.

“I want a rematch. I can tell you’re one of the only ones here who have seen some real combat before. Don’t hold out on me.”

“No thank you. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just as much of a coward who couldn’t stand to see any real bloodshed as everyone else in my legion.”

Guts gave an eye roll but couldn’t help smiling. He can’t stand that type of person, but had a feeling he was only being half truthful anyways. Better not to pry. The Hawks came from every background imaginable and you learn not to ask too many questions. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is being good enough to be worth your horse and sword.

Not long later Serpico handed over his bowl for a serving of the meat and vegetables. It looked like a fairly typical stew, but maybe a bit nicer than what they usually eat a bit more generous in ingredients. He didn’t wait to dig in. It was tender and had some flavors he didn’t recognize. “Hey this is really good. If you don’t want to fight so much, we could use a cook here.”

He could hear someone in armor approaching, but waited to turn around and see who it was till he could feel them behind him. When he did look he saw it was the woman he’d seen earlier. She looked mad but he didn’t care to find out why and kept eating. It was obvious she was still staring at him after some time.

“Could you please excuse us? I have things to discuss with my Harold.”

7 notes · View notes

kats-chaotic-wonderland · 1 year

Text

Clone adoption Agency

So, this is a Star wars thing my friend and I have been writing. It's not exactly strict on canon, but it is wholesome and fun. The entire story is meant to give something of an alt timeline where things go better for the clones, a lot don't get killed, more get loving relationships and happy homes, and basically the events that caused the original movies get subverted. If that's not your thing I totally get it, but if you're up for some wholesome clone stories mixed with some fun drama and romantic shenanigans. This is for you. It's mostly about Kaviir and her mother Vette, and the clones they trained on Kamino. So I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

Also feel free to ask any questions about anything you're not familiar with. You can definitely understand the story without a lot of star wars knowledge, but I'm happy to elaborate!

//THIS IS YOUR WARNING, I HAVE MOSTLY DISREGARDED CANNON. THIS IS FOR FUN. NO I AM NOT SORRY. NO I AM NOT CHANGING IT.//

Chapter 1

Ten years pre Geonosis.

The rains over Tipoca City poured hard that day, as Jango stood on the deck yard, waiting for the crew of the new ship to disembark. If it weren't for his armor, he likely would have been shivering in the cold. This planet was terrible, all rain and sterile hallways. No, Jango couldn’t say he was fond of the place he’d be spending his next ten years. But what they offered him was worth every storm and drop of blood. After a few more minutes, he was pulled from his thoughts as two figures stepped off of the old mando ship. Both women, one in her thirties, tall, wearing armor he’d come to know all too well. While the other appeared to be no older than seven, holding tightly to the woman's hand and squinting through the rain as they headed towards him. Fett walked up to the pair and pulled off his helmet, “Vette, it’s good to see you, ner’vod.”

“You too, Jango.” She picked up the young girl and placed her on her hip, “It’s been over a decade now, yeah? Thought you were dead after your headhunting of the Bando Gora?”

“Not exactly.” He smiled, leading them out of the rain, “Who’s this?”

“Kaviir. My daughter.” She shifted the young girl's weight to sit on her hip.

The girl looked sleepy, as she cuddled against her mother. Her eyes were dropping slightly, he guessed from the exhaustion of the trip.

“Kid?” Jango sounded surprised, “Who’s the fa-“ he was cut off as Vette raised her hand.

“Adopted Fett. You know I’m not interested in the old fashioned methods.”

“Fair.” He nodded, then looked to her with a serious expression. His lips pursed into a tight line, “Well, then we need to settle this before we go any further.”

Vette narrowed her eyes at him, “Jango… what’s going on?”

“I did take that job for the Bando Gora, and I completed it. Five million credits, but… I lost Roz.”

“Oh, Jango… I’m sorry.” Vette said gently, she placed a reassuring hand on his arm. He relaxed a little at that, the two had trained together at a young age. And while there was nothing romantic between them, she had a way of making him feel much better. This was what made him reach out to her, but seeing her daughter, he was questioning if he should have.

“It happens, it’s part of the job… afterwards, I was approached by the man who hired me.”

“Tyrannus?” Vette raised an eyebrow.

“You know him?” Fett sounded surprised.

“I got offered the job too, for the hunt of Komari Vosa.”

“You turned it down?”

“Had bigger priorities.” Vette began to lightly bounce the girl up and down.

“Right.” Jango nodded, “Well, here’s the hard part… I can’t tell you what’s next, until you agree to become cuy’val Dar.”

The girl felt Vette tense as a scowl crossed her face, “You got some nerve, Fett…”

"What's that?" Kaviir asked softly.

“One who no longer exists.” Vette spoke softly and brushed the girl's hair out of her face, “It means we wouldn’t be going home.”

"Oh..." She said quietly,"Ever?"

“Maybe someday… but it won’t be the one we recognize.”

“Twenty five million.” Jango spoke up.

“What?” Vette looked at Jango, her eyes widened in surprise, “Twenty five million?”

“The price is high, and it comes from me… not some unknown source. On top of room, board and anything else you need.”

Vette looked between Jango and Kaviir. With that kind of money, she’d never have to worry about taking care of her daughter again. She could give Kaviir any life she wanted. Kaviir looked up at her,"Will you be okay so far from home?" She asked her voice soft, concerned.

“Wherever we go, kav’ika… when I’m with you I’m at home.” She nuzzled her cheek, “What do you say? Want to take that first step on our next adventure?”

She nodded,"Yeah, I think we can handle it."

Vette nodded, “Alright, Fett… let’s hear it.”

“Well… how much do you know about cloning?”

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

Another hour had passed, Vette and Kaviir had heard the entirety of what all Jango had been up to. From the jobs, to the clones, to why the Cuy’val Dar were needed. Vette sighed and raked her fingers through her hair, “Fierfek, Jango. What’s this really about?”

“A chance at immortality.” Fett shrugged, his tone sarcastic,“An army of warriors crafted in my image? What’s not to love?”

Kaviir looked rather confused by it all, and had more or less passed out in Vette’s arms about halfway through. She was clinging to her mother as she slept soundly. Jango smiled and pet the girl's hair, “Decided it was time, eh?”

“Yeah… figured it was time to live for something other than the money.” She smiled and softly kissed Kaviir’s forehead, “Can’t afford to live in the fast lane like some of us.”

“Well, it’s funny you say that.” He smiled as the doors opened and a young boy, spitting image of Jango, yawned and walked up to him. “Dad… I'm tired…”

“Bloody o’sik.” Vette laughed, “You too, eh?”

“Yeah… this is Boba…” he smiled proudly and ruffled the boy's hair.

The noise stirred Kaviir, she let out a soft whine and sat up rubbing her eye,"Mom..."

Vette smiled and stroked the girl's hair, “Shhhhhh, hun. Just meeting some of the other kids.”

"Kids?" She asked, still fuzzy from sleep as she looked around.

Boba was now staring at her, holding his dad's hand, he looked no older than two or three. Vette softly chuckled and kissed Kaviir on the cheek, “This is Boba. Jango’s son.”

She looked down at him and gave him a small wave.

The boy waved back to her and returned a similar smile. “Hi, I’m Boba.”

"Kaviir..." She yawned in quite an adorable fashion.

“Alright.” Vette chuckled, “I know that yawn means it’s time for bed.” She stood up and pulled the girl close, “We can go over the details later, but yes, we’re in.”

Jango nodded and held Boba in his arms, “Agreed. You two have had a long trip.” They walked into the hallway, and split to head to their separate rooms. Jango paused and smiled towards Vette, “Ner’vod… thank you, for coming. I mean it. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too, Fett.” Vette smiled. They lingered like that for a moment, they could both feel the question hanging in the air. Were they making the right choice? Neither would know until it was all over. Vette turned and made her way into her and Kaviir’s room.

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

It was white, like a hospital room. Everything in this blasted place was. Vette frowned as she stepped into the apartment they had been given. The furniture was clearly not configured for humans, but they would make do. She walked into the main bedroom. It wasn’t much, just the basics. Clearly the room was set up for two. It would do. She went to the bed further from the windows and set Kaviir down for the first time since they landed. Kaviir held onto her hand as she rubbed her eye,"is this our room?"

“Mhmm.” She poked her nose, “Get cleaned up and get to bed. You did well today, so I think you can get some extra sleep tomorrow, okay?”

"Kay..." She yawned,"Mom..."

“Yes, my little Nexu?” She nodded as she began to pop her armor off and let her hair down.

"This place smells funny..." Kaviir mumbled sleepily.

“It’s a new place, hun. There’s a lot of funny things we’re going to have to acclimate ourselves to.” She helped Kaviir to the freshers to wash her face and began brushing out her hair, “But… Jango has about one hundred mandalorians working with us, so we’ll have a bit of home as well.”

"All the furniture is funny too." She grumbled looking up at her in the mirror.

“Think so?” Vette asked, “Maybe we can get some furniture to make this place feel more like home.” She stripped down into a sleeveless top and some shorts. She wasn’t quite comfortable in this place, but she trusted Jango enough to let herself get some sleep,“Definitely going to need to get some actual food. You’re a growing girl, you need to eat healthy.”

Kaviir nodded and tugged on her pajamas before she crawled into bed,"How long are we going to be here?"

Vette paused for a moment, having doubts about all of this. “I… I don’t know, sweetheart.” She sighed, “Ten years… maybe longer, but once we’re done, we’ll have enough money to go wherever we want.”

"That's a long time to not exist." She yawned in that adorable child way that just made Vette smile.

“It will pass, soon enough. And besides, Jango said we can leave every now and then, so we can still celebrate your birthdays… and life day.” She added, doing her best to focus on the positives.

"yay!" Kaviir yawned and curled up in bed. Vette smiled as she leaned over and kissed her daughter good night. She stretched her arms up and went over to her bed to fall asleep.

At some point during the night a clap of thunder woke Kaviir. She wasn't crying, but she sleepily crawled into bed with Vette. As she settled, Vette’s maternal instincts kicked in as she set herself between Kaviir and the window, she tucked the girl in and wrapped her own body into a crescent shape around her daughter, giving her most of the blanket as she let herself drift back off. Feeling far more content in her mothers arms, Kaviir fell into a comfortable sleep for the rest of the night.

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

Well, if you read all of that, I hope you enjoyed it! It's a slow start but I really enjoyed writing this. The next chapter will be up soon. And if you decide you want to keep up with it I'll link future chapters below.

Chapter 2

Thank you!!

Star Wars Master Post

Clone Adoption Agency Navigation

Image: Vette holding Kaviir, by me.

#star wars oc #star wars #the mandalorian #mandolorian oc #mandolorian #clone wars oc #clone commando oc #republic commando #star wars fan fiction #fanfic #clone adoption Agency

3 notes · View notes

teenageread · 8 days

Text

Review: Hello Beautiful

Initial Thoughts:

Nothing about William Waters would make me want to give up any part of my family, and I do not care how tall he is. For William to be the one that technically ruins the Padavano family, I felt like Ann Napolitano should have given him more depth. Like I get why Julia was into him, but as soon as Will and Sylvie had their “bench conversation” I just felt an ick towards him, which blended into Sylvie and Julia and made me hate 2/4 of the sisters because I thought their plot was dumb. This made the story hard to get through as Napolitano spends so long making the three-dimensional complex characters for you to feel for, which for the twins you do, Julia and Sylvie not so much; and then give them no drama. This novel could fill up only a page or two of actual drama-filled conversations these characters have. Otherwise, the drama happens around the family, and members of the family choose to leave the entire situation and just stop speaking to everyone which could cause the drama. Like how? This novel just runs away from its problems and then makes them up years later by not talking about them. Because of course, you will forgive your sister if it means talking to them again after the last decade of silence. This novel had a plot of potential that Napolitano squashes by not making characters talk about their feelings and their hurt, and instead letting them self-cycle their beliefs and not gain any outside input until it is too late.

Characters:

I love Julia. Yes, she is flawed, and yes made some mistakes, but Napolitano paints her to be the bad guy and is constantly shining the light on her flaws without giving her the grace she deserves after Sylive hurt her in the worst way. To not give away the plot, Sylvie never apologies, (unless she did near the end of the book - I truly forget but not the point), and I think that is the flaw in her character that Napolitano should have stressed more in this novel, before trying to make all readers jump on the hate-Julia train. Sylvie is the one in the wrong, and where, yes, you cannot control who you fall in love with, you can at least be upfront about it and not hide it in a dorm room for months. That's why I love the twins in this novel, because they were honest with each other, worked on their relationship, and communicated - something Sylvie and Julia should have done. I love all the sisters' relationships with their parents, in that in-between zone of how you could not tell if they loved them or hated them - a concept Napolitano should have worked more on in the sisters' relationship. William also does not deserve the amount of page time, or POV title, he was allotted to. This man was 2D, had no depth, was emotionally unavailable, and could have been replaced by a beloved pet if needed. William had his height and tragic backstory which Napolitano tried to make interesting and failed miserably at.

Plot and Writing

The timeline in this novel does not make sense, making the writing where it could be beautiful and flowy feel a bit off as I am constantly going back to the front of the chapter to try to figure out what year I am in. This novel starts with the sisters being in their early twenties in the 1980s, to adult women around 2008, but each chapter is a period, like years. I get that, and I like it, as it shows the sisters grown up, how their family dynamics change, and how over time they create new ones. However, how can I have a Julia chapter going from Sylvie chapter going from December 1983 to August 1984, when the content is definitely not 8 months worth of stuff, and the next be Julia chapter from October 1984 to September 1988. Like are these happening at the same time? Because the writing does not make it feel like the story is overlapping, yet the timeline is constant. Also, Napolitano speeds Alice’s life for no big deal except to add more fuel into the anti-Julia pile, and to give Alice a plot line. We spend the majority of the novel with Alice being a baby, to a small child, to all of the sudden flash towards graduating high school, and then bam, done her undergrad, just to see Alice hate her mom? No thanks, Alice could have had the exact same plot revolution at the age of 16, as Napolitano made her have at 25, making it unnecessary to speed up this novel ending and make Julia seem worse for keeping Alice away all this time. This book had a solid plot line, minus the unneeded love triangle and anti-older sister vibes, the ideas were all there in the idea of crafting a complex family story. Yet the delivery and the timeline made it inconsistent to love, follow and even understand at parts.

Conclusion

This novel, despite its awards and best-seller list, had the potential that it floundered. It's an anti-older sister, believe-in-true-love-despite-you-slept-with-my-sister trope, and the running away from meaningful conversations. I think Napolitano could have made this novel way better if she stopped trying to build complex characters and made them have some massive verbal fights about these things. The fact that Julia shrugs off what Sylvie did to her when the time came to be, ruins what could have been an earth-shattering Pulitzer prize conversation. The timeline of this novel also has to go, as if Napolitano made it shorter, making it 5 years instead of 20, the characters could be a lot heated and broken over the drama that has happened and not so nonchalant and okay with the fact that their family was shattered for the last two decades.

#Hello Beautiful

0 notes

casspurrjoybell-22 · 5 months

Text

Dream Eater - Chapter 13 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

When Damien informs Allannan that Oran and the Vanguard were behind the assassination attempts, she banishes them from Carnâk.

With their removal, life in the city of Ereb resumes its peaceful pace.

We're given a large villa with room for all of us to live and for Dante to have a studio.

Dante is delighted with the colors and quality of paint available and wastes no time setting up shop.

Damien begins work designing a gallery to house their work and I spend a lot of time holding poses while Dante paints.

It's not home but it's not bad, either.

Even so, within a week I'm feeling homesick.

I miss our apartment and the familiar streets I know.

I miss my favorite coffee shop and my favorite bookstore and all the smells, sights, sounds and flavors of Earth... even the unpleasant ones.

Dante sympathizes.

"When Constantinople fell, I thought I'd never find another place that felt like home. But I did. It always hurts at first and it takes a while,but eventually home becomes someplace new. You'll see."

About a week after that, Azael makes it known that he's aware of our location by issuing a threat to Allannan and Deberon demanding that they hand us over or face invasion.

They refuse and to our relief, they have the support of enough other realms and powers that they're able to call Azael's bluff with confidence.

Soon enough, it begins to seem like Dante is right.

When I think the word 'home' I see our villa, with its whitewashed stone walls, tiled roof and reflecting pools.

After only a month, Dante's star is on a meteoric rise and no one is surprised when Deberon proposes a showing of their work at the next State ball.

It's the sort of thing attended by all kinds of important people and it sounds terribly boring.

As the primary subject of much of their work, Dante insists I attend.

Because I love them, I agree.

Damien, on the other hand, gets out of it.

As the artist's patron, the officials view it as a conflict of interest for him to attend an event that could so significantly elevate the worth of Dante's work.

"I'll make it up to you later," he promises, kissing me while he adjusts the uncomfortably loose clothes I'm being forced to wear.

"Can't you come in disguise or something?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"I'd give myself away. You know I can't keep my hands off you."

He demonstrates.

"Fine, fine," I say, escaping with a laugh.

I'm still disappointed he refused, later I'd be only too happy that he did.

Dante looks stunning.

They're wearing elegantly tailored pants with a flowing blouse, a jacket and slim high-heeled shoes.

The effect shows off both their height and strength and their soft sensuality.

I wonder absently why they get to wear something so normal while I'm stuck looking like an overdressed belly dancer.

At least Dante's debut is a success, I think, as they bask in excesses of praise.

Some of it comes my way but mostly I'm subjected to endless looks of comparison between myself and the likeness in the paintings.

I get the feeling most people think the real thing doesn't quite live up.

I can't blame them.

Dante's brush has turned me into something more than I am... an Angel or a God.

Not that I mind.

In fact, with the salacious looks I see on many of the women and not a few of the men, I'm glad the attention is directed at the art and not at me.

Finally, the evening is almost over and Dante is invited up to a stage-like area at one end of the room to receive an award for 'Contributing to the Artistic Spirit of Ereb' or some shit.

I get dragged along.

"And now," Deberon says, addressing the gathered crowd.

"It is my honor to present this award to the newest addition to our artistic community. The talented and gracious..." his words are cut off by the resounding boom of the doors being thrown open with such force that they bounce against the walls.

There are mingled gasps and screams as a retinue of tall and ferocious-looking people sweep in.

They march in a double line, clearing a path straight to the stage.

When the first two reach its edge, they stop.

The entire double line of soldiers turns and faces one another before taking three steps back, clearing a path between them.

At the far end, I see an enormous figure, easily seven feet tall.

He wears shining armor like something out of one of those 'Lord of the Rings' films and a long purple and gold cloak.

At his waist, he wears a great long-handled sword.

Somehow, I don't have to ask who he is.

"Azael," Allannan gasps.

"How in Carnâk did he get past our defenses? Guards."

"Wait," Deberon interrupts, staying their advance.

"It's too late for that."

Allannan turns towards him with a look of shock and realization.

"You..." she gasps.

"What have you done?"

"Yes, Deberon, tell us. What have you done?" Azael says as he draws near.

His voice is a sonorous baritone, mellifluous and dark and it sends shivers of horror up my spine as I remember it from Damien's dreams.

"I...I had to," he stammers, holding his hands towards Allannan in a pleading gesture.

"There was no choice. I did it for Carnâk... for our people."

Allannan's expression changes from surprise to disgust.

"Our people? Our people are not cowards, Deberon. Our people would not wish the enemy to set foot on our soil. They would not agree to deal with devils or to willingly betray our friends to their death. Our people... my people... are better than that."

Deneron's expression hardens.

"Don't be naive. Do you really think the strength of our allies is enough to protect us? Which among them do you think would really come to our aid? But you were naive before too. To think you believed that not joining the fight was enough to keep it from spilling into our homes."

A sudden truth strikes me hard enough that I almost stagger under the blow.

"It was you," I say.

"You betrayed Sakariel all those years ago. You knew where the dead zones were on Earth because Damien told you about them. He... they... trusted you and..."

For a moment I don't understand why I feel so personally betrayed but then I realize that it's because I've just been personally betrayed.

"You sold us out."

"Yes," Azael confirms.

"Deberon is wise. He knows when the price of resistance is higher than the price of honor. But what of yourself, Lady Allannan? Are you so wise? Will you give me what I want or must I educate you to certain truths?"

He nods towards his soldiers and as one, the double line of men draw long, saber-like blades.

Then turn about in unison to face the divided crowd.

"Guards," Allannan commands with a voice like steel.

"At the ready."

I look down at the crowd.

I don't know any of them, don't really care about any of them but I recognize the fear in their faces and I know that even if Allannan's guards had a chance of overcoming Azael's trained soldiers, most if not all of them will die in the fray.

"Wait," I step forward.

"I'm the one you want. I'll go with you. Just... don't hurt anyone."

Azael regards me with cruel blue eyes.

"Come then," he beckons.

Dante catches at my arm but I look back at them and shake my head.

I hope the look I give them is enough to convey that I need them to stay for Damien's sake.

I climb down from the stage and walk towards Azael.

He seems to get larger the closer I approach.

When I'm within arm's reach, he stretches out his massive hand and wraps it around my throat, pulling me towards him.

He turns me so I'm facing away and pulls me against him, squeezing just hard enough that my breath rasps in my windpipe.

"You'll keep your word?" Deberon asks.

"In exchange for the Key, you won't open the Abyss in Carnâk?"

Azael's voice rumbles in his chest at my back.

"No. I will not. I believe that Earth is far more suited to my designs anyway. Your precious Carnâk is safe, for now."

Orange fire races down his arms and I feel a sick feeling in my heart.

"Wait... take me with you," Deberon cries, crawling from the stage and stumbling towards us.

"I think not," Azael replies.

"But I've been useful to you."

"Indeed. As a spy. But a spy revealed is no use to anyone. In fact, they're better off dead."

In one smooth motion, Azael draws his long blade with one hand, swings it singing through the air and re-sheathes it.

Deberon stands for a moment, a look of surprise on his face.

Then his head slowly slides from his neck in a fountain of blood and falls to the floor.

His body follows.

"Ennon," Azael addresses a soldier who seems to be of a higher rank.

"Return to the gateway. I will see you in Gehenna."

He squeezes a little harder on my throat and I choke.

"Allannan... I know that Dantalian is here. Tell him to seek me out when he wishes to suffer yet another death."

Dante's horrified face is the last thing I see before orange fire burns the world away.

1 note · View note

aarghhaaaarrrghhh · 6 months

Text

A Summer in a Pioneer's Neckerchief/Лето в пионерском галстуке - Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine. Like Tchaikovsky

If before Yurka’s ‘Great Revelation’ his attraction to Volodya had been pleasant – anticipation of merry conversations and interesting activities – then it had now become torturous.

This was a completely new and unknown condition; therefore, Yurka considered the best and safest path to be for him not to meet with or see Volodya. If he could, he might even have started arguments with him. But the mere thought of not hearing his nice voice, or not seeing his meek, affectionate smile which he reserved for him alone, made his chest twist up painfully. It felt like someone had crammed a magnet under his ribs which was so strongly and painfully attracted to Volodya that it seemed like his muscles were about to be torn apart and his bones twisted inside out. In any case, Yurka had been feeling just like that all that morning and barely managed to make it to lights out.

During quiet hour, they set out towards the willow on dry land. The day before, Yurka had strolled along and athwart the riverbank in the twilight, thanks to which, finding the path by day did not take much work. But reaching the willow using it turned out to be somewhat more complex. The way led through a thick forest. Not one footpath led to the willow and getting there turned into soldiering on regardless of obstacles, getting tangled in tall grass, picking through the undergrowth of bushes, and stepping over roots, sticking out of the ground. If Yurka felt like a fish in water when he was in a forest – he knew these places – then he needed to keep an eye for an eye on Volodya. One time, he just barely managed not to fall from a cliff down into the river, having stopped on unstable, sandy soil, and another time, he almost plopped down into a little bog, having not noticed it among the overgrown reeds.

However difficult the path was, it was worth it. In the sunlight, the willow looked like a living yurt, in the shadow of which he just wanted to hide from the savage midday sun. The leaves streamed like a waterfall down to the very ground and the trunk could not be seen through its heavy green hat.

After parting the flexible, downy branches with both hands, the guys set foot below the crown and found themselves in a tiny glade, as though carpeted by grass and thin little fallen leaves. This covering was soft and fluffy and enticed them to lay down.

“It’s even bright here!” exclaimed Volodya. His voice, swallowed up by the green ‘walls’, sounded muted. “I thought that the sun wouldn’t get through such a thick canopy, but just you look – there they are, rays.” And it was true, slanting rays, seemingly unnaturally bright because of their thinness and scarcity, fell on the grass.

Volodya had brought a radio set with him. After turning it on, he spent a long time searching for a frequency, but when he found one, what came pouring, hissing and breaking up, out of the speakers was classical music. Vivaldi.

“Let’s find a different radio station,” suggested Yurka. “Something more cheerful, and better-sounding, you can’t hear anything through this interference.”

“No, we’ll listen to classical,” insisted Volodya.

“To hell with it! Better look for Youth. They sometimes include your Mashina Vremeni on there.” Volodya shook his head, which surprised Yurka. “Surely you want to? You love them!”

“But you love classical. Who’s your favourite composer?”

“Out of the Russian ones, Tchaikovsky…” Yurka began, but interrupted himself, “But what’s the difference? Why are you doing this?”

“Why Tchaikovsky in particular?” enquired Volodya upbeatly, ignoring the question.

Yurka guess that he had not brought the radio just for the sake of it. He was trying to get something from him, but what exactly, Yurka did not understand, so he grew angry:

“Volodya, what’s this about?!” he frowned and reached out towards the radio. “Give it to me.”

“I won’t!” Volodya hid it behind his back.

“What’s up with you, are you making fun of me?” exploded Yurka, convinced that Volodya had put classical on especially for him. But why? So that he suffered even more?

“Yur, have you not thought that you could still try and get into the conservatoire? Sure, later than the others, but so what?”

“No! You’ve been told, they won’t take me. I’m ungifted! I’m not even going to try. Come on, turn it off! Why are you trying to upset me?”

I’m not trying to upset anyone. I’m just looking for a main theme for the play,” Volodya watched him as he answered with a winningly honest look.

“Then what’s with this interrogation about the conservatoire?” scowled Yurka.

“Firstly, it wasn’t an interrogation, it was all of one question, and secondly, it just came out.”

“Ah… it just came out, uh-huh. Alright,” Yurka decided to play by his rules. “Then why are you looking for something more, if you’ve already decided to stay with the Moonlight Sonata?”

“I haven’t decided, I postponed the decision. And now’s the perfect time to look for a new one.”

“Masha won’t learn it in time,” hemmed Yurka, unable to hold back from Schadenfreude.

“She’ll manage it, there’s no way around it,” handwaved Volodya.

“Then maybe we’d better go to the library? We’ll find something faster reading the notes than by listening.”

“The library as well? Time, Yura! We have very little time left. So we’re making do with what’s useful. And if you stopped sulking and helped me choose, then ‘what’s useful’ might just be a bit nicer. Help me, eh? You know I’ve never worked with music before. I’m nowhere without you!”

“That’s obvious: who would pick from among the symphonies…”

“Can’t you play the motif from a symphony on a piano?”

“Yeah, you can, but is it necessary? Alright, then,” Yurka just about cooled off and conceded. “If you really are completely ‘nowhere’, then alright.”

“Completely,” nodded Volodya.

They took shelter under the green wall of branches hanging down to the ground. They got as far as getting a notepad and pencil out, intending to finish Olezhka’s script that day, but they constantly got distracted.

“Orchestral Suite No. 3, Second Movement: Air[1],” announced Yurka, yet again without waiting for the radio announcer. He knew all the melodies from the first note. “Bach.”

“No, it doesn’t fit,” muttered Volodya inertly; they had listened through rather a few compositions, but not picked a single one.

“Unless you happen to have a symphony orchestra lying around,” remarked Yurka, just as inertly.

When the Air from Orchestral Suite No. 3 had ended, Yurka again offered:

“Canon. Pachelbel. It sounds killer on the piano, by the way. But again, it’s not for us – too cheerful.”

“Really?” Volodya perked up a bit. “If only I could hear it. Maybe you could play it for me?” Yurka threw an exterminatory glance his way, and Volodya hurriedly assured him, “I’m joking, I’m joking, Although… You know, I really would be interested to see Konev, Yurka, sat at a piano in a suit, all brushed up, with a straight back, diligently making music,” Volodya guffawed.

“It’s started, huh? You’re not gonna leave off from me?”

“Nuh-uh,” he smiled, but, noticing that Yurka had begun to frown again, turned back to redoing the script. “So, we need a synonym for ‘conceal’…”

“‘Tuck away’? Tuck it away in the hollow of the tree? Oh, no, that doesn’t fit!”[2]

Volodya fell into a fit of laughter:

“Let’s just go with ‘hide’.”

After two sentences and half an hour, Yurka took the pencil off of Volodya and sat down on the grass. He gnawed at it and pondered over another synonym in turn. Volodya lay sleepily next to him, shut his eyes and folded his hands behind his head.

“I want to sleep, just keep a look out,” he yawned and stretched out so sweetly that Yurka himself was struck by drowsiness. His eyelids grew heavy, his body felt weak, just a little more and he would be asleep himself. But Yurka withstood it. He shook his head, driving off sleep. He shifted his eyebrows:

“Hey, I wore myself out running about the forest yesterday, but I didn’t fall asleep, what are you so tired for?”

“Oh yeah, you probably think that the counsellors in the camp get just as much as rest as the kids, huh? And don’t ever get tired?”

“Well… Not quite the same, obviously it’s different, but you resting less – that I won’t believe for anything. You do nothing but direct and give orders, while everyone else works and you lay about idling under willow trees.” Yurka smiled. “What, is that not how it is?”

“You know how draining kids are! Because of them, my nerves are already shot to pieces. That’s why we, the counsellors, need more time, sleep and food in order to rest properly and recover our strength. Especially food!” Volodya raised a finger. “And, by the by, this goes for all the counsellors – those experienced and those not. So, when you see any counsellor, even the most mature, know that he wants to eat. And sleep.”

“I’ve never noticed your tiredness.”

“That’s because I’m usually angry, and when I’m angry, I’m lively.”

This chat brightened Yurka’s mood; he began to laugh and said:

“Well, sleep then, wicked counsellor, until they get you.”

“No, we still haven’t filled our quota…”

“I’ll finish it, sleep.”

Volodya did not need a long time to be convinced: without taking off his glasses, he closed his eyes and at the same time started breathing deeply. It seemed he really was very tired, as he fell asleep in a moment.

The radio played. Mozart’s fourth symphony concluded the programme An Hour of Global Symphonic Music. Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto opened An Hour of Russian Piano Music. During the gentle second part of the concerto, the sun descended to the tops of the tree canopies in the distance. An especially bright, glaring ray pierced through the leaves of the willow and landed on Volodya’s cheekbones and eyes. Having noticed this, Yurka shifted over to the left, so that his shadow would cover Volodya’s face. He barely twitched while he ticked off the playscript, so as not to accidently move and let the sun disturb or wake Volodya up. He took furtive glances at the sleeping boy – had he woken up? A gust of warm wind lifted up the edge of Volodya’s shirt, exposing his belly button. Yurka stared at his sunken stomach, his white skin, delicate and gentle like a girl’s. Yurka’s obviously was not like that. He stuck a hand up his own t-shirt, touched his skin and was convinced – it really was rough. If only he could touch Volodya’s. Because of this momentary thought, it became difficult to breathe, the heat scorched his cheeks. Yurka wanted to turn away and work on the script some more, but, frozen, he could not tear his gaze away…

The heat scorched him from cheek to cheekbone; his cheekbones glowed. Yurka no longer just wanted but craved to make contact with him. And at the same time, he was afraid – Volodya might wake up suddenly. But this fear was so foggy and changeable that it was scattered apart by another gust of wind which denuded another centimetre of Volodya’s skin.

No longer in control nor aware of himself, Yurka extended his hand out towards him, cautiously and slowly. Volodya breathed in and turned his head to the side. He was still asleep. How defenceless, thought Yurka as he hung over him, raising his hand. His fingers found themselves over the belly button itself. He gripped the very edge of his shirt and the thought flashed into his head, Do I have enough courage? He did not. Yurka sighed and covered the exposed skin with a corner of fabric. He turned away.

At a loss, he sat without moving for so long that his legs fell asleep. On the radio, Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto was coming to an end, and the final minute, the best and Yurka’s favourite, was playing. So bright and innocent. Not like Yurka.

He straightened his back up, tried to stand up, but – now that was something – he could not. Anxiety spread over his whole body like a biting cold – Yurka could not make sense of what had happened and tortured himself with the well-worn questions, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ and ‘Why do I feel so cramped?’

“Finished already?” Volodya’s voice suddenly rang out. Yurka jumped on the spot.

“What? Me? No, it was an accident.”

He pulled his t-shirt down lower.

“What was?” Volodya did not understand. “You haven’t finished writing it?”

“No,” drawled Yurka warily.

He jumped up and turned away from Volodya with a jerk, unable to look at him for the shame. He began to do breathing exercises to calm down. A deep breath in, a slow breath out. Inhale. Exhale… It did not help.

Volodya was silent.

Of the thoughts that rained down upon Yurka, one was stranger than the others: Why again? What if he noticed? But he couldn’t have – his eyes weren’t open. But what if he noticed anyway, what then? I’ll say that I remembered the magazines. It won’t turn out prettily, but he’ll at least catch my meaning, he decided, but at the same time grew angry. But I didn’t do anything. I just thought about it. I do in fact have the right to think about what I want! And then he began trying to calm himself. Volodya could not have seen, nor found out, but he did not end up calming down.

What was it that he had heard once from the guys from the yard – you need a cold shower? Yurka spat against his feet and began to undress. Volodya sat up at the same time and stared at him suspiciously:

“Yur, what are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” he threw back over his shoulder as he kicked off and dived into the water.

***

They were not in a hurry to get back to the camp, as they listened to the radio in silence. One composition ended and the next began in turn and from the first notes, all thoughts were beaten out of Yurka. He felt, not with his head, but with his body that he knew it, knew it better than any other piece. It was like he was listening, not to a piano, but to a relative’s half-forgotten voice. His heart clenched so strongly that it became painful to breathe. Yurka stopped abruptly. Volodya, a couple of steps ahead, turned around, but did not say anything.

“Do you hear that?” whispered Yurka, in a constrained, even a little bit frightened voice.

“Who? It’s just the two of us.”

“Not who, but what – the music. It’s it, Volodya! Just you listen, how beautiful it is.”

Volodya lifted the radio set higher and froze. He could not take even a step while the melody was being swallowed up by static. The guys listened, afraid to budge. Yurka, smiling sadly, looked down at his feet. His sudden pallidness left, and he flushed. Volodya did not lift his suspicious gaze from his cheeks – Yurka noticed this sidelong observation, but did not pay long attention to how strange and rapt his look must have appeared. Yurka was not really paying attention to anything, he was fully submerged in the sounds: now pleased by them, then tortured, now warming himself within them, then burning.

“Very beautiful! Calm, harmonic…” agreed Volodya once the composition had come to a close. “What is it?”

“PIT,” whispered Yura solemnly, continuing to look down. He could not force himself to raise his head, much less move from his spot.

“PIT?”

“Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Lullaby, it’s the second of his eighteen pieces for piano,” Yurka spoke like a robot, without any emotion.

Volodya, on the other hand, was inspired.

“You know, this Lullaby suits us perfectly… It’s just like you said – no nocturnes or romantic lyrics! This is exactly what we need! And it’s good that it’s Tchaikovsky. His notes will 100% be in the library, we need to go there right away, start looking–”

“I hate it so much and love it so much…” answered Yurka out of turn, still out of sorts.

It was the very same piece he had played in the exam which destroyed everything. But it was not the recollection of his failure that tormented him so. Yurka was strangled by the memory of how happy he had been when music was present in his life, when it had been the most important, integral part of it. Even more painful, it echoed with the reminder that such would never be again. There would be nothing at all without music. There would be no ‘future’, without music, Yurka was left with just ‘tomorrow’.

“Ri-i-ight…” drawled Volodya so intensely that Yurka’s ears pricked up. “As it happens, Yura, I’m sick of pretending that I can’t see anything,” he announced loudly and distinctly, in a tone that demanded attention. Yurka choked on his breath. What has he seen? What?! But Volodya did make him wait long and continued, concernedly, “The day before yesterday you were running away from me through the forest, yesterday you went all white, today, you’re breathing heavily and have gone some unhealthy colour. Since you won’t tell me yourself what’s happening with you, then I’ll no longer ask. I just want to make a suggestion – shall we go to Larisa Sergeyevna?”

“No, no, there’s no need. Everything’s alright with me, it’s just some dust got in my eyes. I’m allergic, didn’t you know?” Yurka was not thinking about what he was saying, just anything to change the topic.

“But there’s no allergic reaction–” Volodya tried to ask.

“It’s getting worse. Let’s go,” said Yurka as he cut away and darted forward, Volodya behind him.

They had walked more than half of the meandering path when Volodya uncertainly muttered that he was worried that the battery would not last much longer and turned off the radio. A heavy silence reigned; even the birds were not twittering. Volodya now and then opened his mouth and shut it again, without having said a single word, as though trying to ask something, but then deciding against it. On the approach to the pier, he finally made up his mind:

“About that Lullaby… it doesn’t happen to be connected to something important for you, does it? Don’t get me wrong, but going so pale because of music… that’s strange.”

“Volodya, I’ve already told you everything about myself, I’m not saying anything anymore. And why do you keep on all about secrets like you have a whole closet full of them?”

“Well, hardly a closet,” laughed Volodya. “You also know my main secrets already, but, of course, I have others as well. Just like everyone.”

“Then give me the worst one!”

Volodya reflected and after a little while, he offered, uncertainly:

“I’ve never had friends like you, and I probably won’t again. And then, recently, I’ve been seeing myself in you, because… Like I already said, I push people away. There’s a reason for that, of course…”

And he fell silent. He clearly wanted to share something truly important. Yurka did not just hear it in his tone, he read it in his tense pose, his hands balled up into fists. Burning curiosity began to displace the anxiety and regret cast over him by the Lullaby, and the longer Volodya was silent, the more it eclipsed them.

“Well?” Tired of waiting, Yurka could not hold back.

“I’m like Tchaikovsky,” clipped Volodya.

“Like Tchaikovsky how?”

Volodya turned around and looked him in the eyes, so intently that Yurka felt uncomfortable, and he blinked. But suddenly, Volodya’s meditativeness blew away like the wind and he turned back into the haughty, no-nonsense counsellor again and announced categorically:

“I love music.”

“Oh, yeah, of course! Well thank you for your honesty!”

“Yur, if we’re being serious, do you really not know?” Volodya laughed. The little laugh came out strangely – hysterically.

“What?”

“Well, about Tchaikovsky…”

“What do you mean I don’t know? I know where he was born, where he lived, how much and what he wrote. Ah! Here’s something interesting – his last production is called the Pathétique Symphony. Pathétique means pompous, all about life and death,” he specified for some reason. “He finished writing it, conducted it himself and within nine days after the premiere, he died!”

“Ah, that’s all good.”

“What’s good, that he died? Stop, there’s something I don’t understand…”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Then say it!”

Volodya’s mysterious appearance irritated Yurka. He began to circle him, imploring him, “Say it, say it!”, while Volodya smiled sheepishly and shook his head, telling him to forget it. And Yurka forgot, not about that, but about what had happened beneath the willow. It flew completely out of his head.

Such an attack of sclerosis had happened with Yurka before. He had grown so disordered that he genuinely believed that he would suffer from the cause of the disorder until the end of his days… But then Volodya pronounced a couple of words and the causes for his worries faded into the background. Then another couple of words, and everything was forgotten!

Once Yurka, in his impatience, threatened, “I’ll not move from this spot until you tell me!”, Volodya looked at the boat station that was visible on the other bank and gave in:

“I’ve been reading his diary. Translated to English, but complete.”

“The real one? Written by his own hand? Not an autobiography, but a real diary-diary?” Yurka was astonished.

“Uh-hu-u-uh…” responded Volodya with a sly smile. His whole outlook read ‘Finally I know even just a little bit more than you about music’. He clearly enjoyed producing Yurka’s impression.

Yurka looked him in the eye and ‘stretched’ his fingers in agitation, muttering:

“But I didn’t know such a thing existed. Huh… What’s in there? And why didn’t you read it in Russian, is it not available in Russian?”

“It is, but it’s just that the ones published in the USSR are diluted. That is, they have bits cut out.”

“What’s cut out? Why? This is a load of rubbish: why do Americans get to know more than Russians? He’s our composer!”

“There’s some … personal stuff in those diaries.”

“Like what?” Yurka’s eyes were burning; he gripped Volodya by the hand and began to shake it. “What? Come on, tell me, like what? What was he like? How did he compose?”

“He was very capricious, he suffered from bouts of frenzy, he drank. He drank a lot. He played cards; that was his mania – cards.”

Yurka immediately wilted:

“Well, it’s right that that’s not in the Russian diaries. Let the Americans go on looking for whatever dirt there is on great Russian people, we don’t need that! Why would we need to know the bad stuff about Tchaikovsky, why should we remember it? And anyway… But why are you telling me about that in particular?”

“You asked, I answered. And I’m not saying all this to denigrate him, but to show that he was the same kind of person like you and I. Especially like me… Do you know who Bob was?”

“His nephew. He dedicated the Sixth Symphony to him.”

“You know, he loved him–”

“He was his nephew, it’s natural that he’d love him!” interrupted Yurka. “It’s not like he dedicated a whole symphony to him for money, and what a symphony it was!”

“Uh-huh… You know, there’s this passage in the diary.” Volodya laughed. “Just imagine: Tchaikovsky, pushing fifty, constantly falling ill and getting irritable and bad-tempered because of it, and he’s laying on the roof of his house together with twenty-year-old Bob to watch the thunderstorm. And remember, this was the nineteenth century, Yur, they were afraid of thunder back then. Or… or he’d go for walks with him, a dozen miles through the fields and woods…”

“No, that’s not interesting to me either. Tell me about something else – how did he compose?”

Volodya took another look at Yurka and nodded:

“Yes, of course that’s not interesting for you. Alright. How did he compose? Every day, by routine. He would get upset if it didn’t turn out well, but he composed. He listened to the works of others. The good ones, so that he could take their example. The fashionable ones, so that he could stay current. The bad ones, so that he could pick out their worst mistakes and not repeat them himself.”

“And was he often unsatisfied with what he’d composed?”

“Very often.”

“And did he hear music? Like, when he was composing, was there music playing in his head? Or before? I mean, like–”

“I got it. It was playing. But also, not always.”

As they discussed Tchaikovsky, they descended to the river and crossed the ford. They got so carried away that when they heard the horn, they both jumped in synchronisation from the unexpectedness and only then, having come back to their senses, did they hurry towards their troops. They bumped into Masha, sat out of breath on a little bench by the sports area. Occupied with their conversation, they did not respond to her modest “Hi!”.

After returning to his troop, Yurka got in line with everyone else in ranks, but unlike the other kids, he was not listening to Ira Petrovna. He was thinking that what Volodya had said was right – that even a great composer was still first of all a person. The same kind of person as Yurka. And that if even a twenty-five-year-old – which, in Yurka’s personal opinion, was already almost old – Tchaikovsky could look forward to a career in music instead of a boring future in the treasury, then perhaps all was not lost for Yurka either? This thought, unbelievable as it might be, encouraged him. Somewhere in the depths of his soul smouldered the desire to sit at an instrument and play something upbeat and cheerful. The Canon, perhaps?

***

After midday, Yurka was so laden down with communal work that he was at risk of not managing to finish all the way until the evening. He tried to ask Ira Petrovna for leave from communal work, explaining to her that the script needed to be completed that day. But Ira was uncompromising.

“Ira Petrovna, come on, let me go,” he moaned. “I really need to finish writing this script. Hey, what if I were redoing right next to you, so that you could see that I’m busy with work rather than slacking off?”

But the counsellor did not give in to begging and pleading:

“No already, Yura, the beds won’t make themselves. Don’t stick your nose up, you and I will get by quickly with four hands.”

“You and I? That’s unexpected…” Yurka was surprised, but at the same time glad. Remaining together with Ira Petrovna meant having the opportunity to pose a couple of important questions and to try and broker peace between her and Volodya. Lately, whenever Yurka had seen her, he had immediately begun to think about this.

With four hands, the job really did go by quickly. Yurka swept the floor, Ira Petrovna watered the flowers and wiped down the windowsills and when they checked that the beds were well-made, Yurka orated:

“I was sent to hang up the lights because I was the tallest pioneer, to lug mattresses around with Mitka because I was the strongest, to stage the play because I was the most grown-up. But why did they send me to stack pillows? Because I’m the laziest?”

“Because you haven’t been on duty yet,” replied Ira, panting whilst she puffed up a pillow. “Stop it already. You seem like you’re plotting something.”

“And what if you’re not imagining it? What if I really am?”

“What are you getting at?” Ira began to stress. “Zhenya?”

But Yurka interrupted her:

“No, Masha. Why did you think that I’d gone out with her that time?”

Ira noticeably relaxed.

“Don’t go getting any ideas. It just seemed that way to me.”

“Sure, but why?”

“Out of all the kids in the troop, it was just you two that weren’t there. And you and Masha are the most grown-up, you’re probably interested by now in … taking walks. Oh, this is nonsense, Yur, it’s not important anymore.”

“It’s very important! You got into an argument with Volodya over this!”

Ira shrugged and turned away, while Yurka darted to her side:

“Ir, please, forgive him! So he got mad, said some dumb stuff. It wasn’t out of malice, Volodya’s not a malicious person. You’re a counsellor yourself, you must know how hard the work is in your first season.”

Ira stared at him in surprise. She put down the pillow, puffed up like a sail and spread her arms out to the sides:

“Bah! Yuri Ilyich speaks to me so informally.[3] What respect!”

“True, but hear him out.”

Despite the excuses and clear protests of the counsellor, Yurka continued to justify Volodya until they finished their duties and Ira began to give in:

“Here’s a stubborn one! And why are you speaking for him? If he wants to apologise, let him come himself, rather than sending middlemen.”

“What, like he hasn’t approached you? After breakfast today, after the bonfire yesterday…”

“Well…” mumbled Ira, taking a last look around the girls’ room- the boys’ hall was already done. “Look, Ulka’s got flowers again. Half a season at camp, and she’s already got all these admirers,” she smiled. Yurka continued to pester her:

“Volodya didn’t send me. I did. It’s his first season as a counsellor, you’re the professional, while he… Forgive him, he was worn out, tired–”

“Alright, alright. Just get it across to him, if he comes and apologises himself, then I’ll for–” before finishing what she was about to say, she corrected herself, “then we’ll see.” She smoothed out a bedsheet and took a last look around the hall, then smiled with satisfaction. “We’ve done well. You’re dismissed, Yuri Ilyich.”

As he left the dormitory proud of himself, Yurka decided to put the script off for a while and instead of his little revisions, he set off for his hiding place to celebrate his victory. More accurately, to ‘fumigate’ it.

The year before, Yurka had made a manhole for himself in the fence by a dormitory under construction to get out of the camp’s territory. A year before, there had only been a smoothened-out area, ready for building, while now a huge, four-story tall dormitory with the look of a sanatorium towered there. In the spring, while the construction was ongoing, the hole had been stopped up, but all the same, the place, enclosed by its own tall fence, remained the emptiest in the camp, and though it was no longer suitable for outings, there were spots there on the roof that worked for a hiding spot. It was there in the junkyard of concrete slabs that Yurka organised a hideaway for his tobacco.

As he took out his hidden, cherished packet, he trembled from the adrenaline surging through him. He did not really like smoking very much, he was more attracted to the ritual of it – reaching the package, then, so that his hands did not smell, finding a thin, short stick, then snapping it, almost breaking it in two, squeezing the cigarette in the acute angle and lighting it. He might not even smoke it – just light it and keep a look out, in case someone noticed him. And if he was noticed, he would dip out, since even if they might have seen him, they definitely would not be able to outrun him.

He stuck his hand under a slab and pulled out the package in anticipation of his ‘ritual’. He found a stick, snapped it as necessary, squeezed his cigarette with it and was just about to light it when he saw Pcholkin on the path leading to the avenue of the hero-pioneers.

He was digging in a pile of rubbish.

“Hey!” shouted Yurka, then froze: with the cigarette in the stick, with the stick in his hand.

“Aha! I’m gonna tell everyone you’re smoking!” announced Pcholkin brazenly.

“And I’ll tell them that you’re roaming around the construction site. What are you doing here?”

“I’m searching for the treasure, while you’re smoking!” Pcholkin stuck out his tongue.

“I’m not smoking it, I’m just holding it. It’s not even lit,” replied Yurka, sticking the cigarette in his pocket.

“I’m going to tell anyway! Or here’s something – sing me a dirty song and then I won’t tell,” Pcholkin moved onto blackmail.

“You’re not old enough for a properly dirty one. Any other, I’ll sing you, but not one with swearing,” he said, as he understood that if the little one told on him, they would drag him home by the ears so fast that his dismissal from camp and separation from Volodya would feel like small change, barely real.

Without deigning him with an answer, Pcholkin darted off down the path to the avenue of the hero-pioneers, belting out with his whole chest, “Yurka’s an idiot, smoking tobacco, stealing matches, out of home at night”.[4] Yurka broke off after him. Pcholkin turned off towards the courts. Utilising the advantage of his smaller size, he did not run around the swing sets, stairs, or any other pieces of sporting equipment, but rather rolled under them, lightly scampered below, got all in their nooks and crannies and hid. Yurka had no choice but to run around them. If not for that, he would have caught him in a blink of an eye, but so long as he helplessly shouted, “Hey, stop!”, he heard, “Yurka’s an idiot!” in response.

“Yura! Petya!” The sound reached his ears, but not his recognition.

He ran and ran until, finally, Pcholkin was but half a metre from him: stretch out a hand and you’ve got him. But in his very ear thundered:

“Konev! Pcholkin! Stop!”

Obeying their ‘There’s an order? Carry it out!’ reflex, both Pcholkin and Yurka stopped as though bewitched. Volodya was striding intently across the court towards them. His face was pale, his fists clenched. He looked at Pcholkin like he wanted to strangle him with a glance alone. Yurka made a guess – evidently, Volodya had lost him.

“Make this make sense, Petya! Where did you get off to?”

Pcholkin took an interrogative look at Yurka and smiled mischievously. Yurka sighed:

“Alright, I’ll sing. But a different one.”

“Then one about the cemetery.”

“Fine, one about the cemetery.”

“Done!”

“What’s with this scheming?” interfered Volodya. “What are you plotting? Yura?”

Taking a look at his face, Yurka understood the difference between angry Volodya and furious Volodya. And he hurried to, if not pacify him, then at least deflect him.

“We weren’t plotting anything. I saw Petya on the path to the construction site, he was digging about in a pile of construction waste–”

“Why?” interrupted Volodya, shooting a stern glance at Pcholkin. “Are you injured?”

“I was looking for the treasure,” squealed Pcholkin as he demonstrated to the counsellor that his knees, ankles and palms were whole and healthy.

“Petya, there isn’t any treasure in the camp,” hissed Volodya sternly through clenched teeth. Yurka guessed that that was his way of trying to calm down. It was not turning out very well for him.

“Yura told us himself about it, though,” Pcholkin sniffled woundedly.

“That treasure was made-up. Yura will back me up.”

Having checked that the child had no injuries and that, standing there opposite him, the child was alive, well, and, as appropriate, dirty from head to toe, Volodya pulled himself together. His tone smoothened out, he breathed more evenly, his glasses shone harmlessly and there was no lightning to be noticed in his eyes.

“Volodya is telling the truth, no such treasure exists,” Yurka supported him.

“It exists! Maybe it’s not golden valuables, but there is a treasure. So, I was looking for it.”

“Petya, I forbid you from going to the construction site; it’s dangerous there. If you try and get in there again, then I won’t let you go in the river for the rest of the season. Is that all clear?” The last portion of Volodya’s fury left him with that question.

“You tricked me, and now I can’t go to the river. It’s not fair!” Pcholkin was offended.

“You can go to the river. I’ll pardon you the first time, but don’t then go sticking your nose in it…” commanded Volodya, then he turned sharply to Yurka and asked him, distrustfully, “And what were you doing at the construction site?”

“Walking…” he mumbled, while the unsmoked cigarette burned a hole in his pocket and Pcholkin smiled poisonously.

Yurka felt a swelling of conscience – what kind of example was he giving to Pcholkin? Not telling the truth to Volodya would mean lying.

“Smoking,” he admitted honestly and, as he saw Volodya adjusting his glasses by the side, he sunk his head between his shoulders, thinking, Now it’s gonna start… But, contrary to expectations, Volodya did not begin to moralise and instruct him, but simply clasped his hands helplessly and muttered exhaustedly:

“Et tu, Brutus… Yura, how could you? You’re at camp, how are you not ashamed to do that in front of the children?”

“I am ashamed. I won’t do it anymore, pioneer’s honour.”

Volodya shook his head and laid a demonstrative finger on Yurka:

“You told me you were just messing around, you did. You promised that–” and he fell silent.

Yurka guessed that if not for Pcholkin’s presence, the counsellor would probably have given him a real dressing down, but for now, it seemed to have passed. Volodya yelled, but did not go in tooth and nail:

“‘Pioneer’s honour’ won’t buy me off. Give me your own personal word.”

“I give you my own personal, honest word,” nodded Yurka, humbled.

“Alright,” but Volodya was still frowning. “Alright, Konev. Try not to betray my faith in you. And what do you have to say, Pcholkin?”

“Little Octoberist’s honour, I won’t go to the construction site anymore.”

Volodya shook his head and very quietly hemmed:

“Pcholkin and Konev – a regular zoo.”

“Don’t you want a terrarium for the whole gang?” Yurka nodded at the PUK girls, who were approaching.

“Oh, you’re evil!”

“Why’s that, all of a sudden? The first’s Zmeyevskaya, the second’s Gnyozdova and the third, Klubkova. And I want to talk about Orlova,[5] anyway,” Yurka remembered about Ira Petrovna.

He wanted to tell Volodya about the opportunity for a truce, but the approaching girls assailed him, not letting him get a word out.

“And why is it surnames right off the bat?” Polina took offense.

“Like you don’t know our names,” scowled Ulyana.

Ksyusha kept silent.

“And why have you come here; I suppose the costumes must be ready?” enquired Yurka caustically, ignoring Pcholkin, who was tugging him by the hand, saying, “I didn’t say anything about the tobacco, you said it yourself, so you’d better hurry up with that rhyme you promised.”

“Well… yes,” Polina dragged out while looking at Volodya.

“Actually, not quite,” admitted Ulyana.

“No,” summarised Ksyusha.

Someone was approaching the whole honest company, all stood in a circle, unnoticed.

“Ahem…” the director excused himself.

“Hello, Pal Sanych!” All six greeted him in unison.

“Hello, children. Um… ahem… Volodya, come with me for a minute.”

Once Volodya had gone off with Pal Sanych and the girls had fluttered away, Pcholkin began to whine:

“Come on, sing already, Yurka. You promised, come on.”

Without replying to him, Yurka began to sing, dejectedly:

“Silence in the Ivanovo cemetery, A blue fog floats by, And the dead in their white slippers, Are crowding for their walk.”

The next stanza was more cheerful:

“Come to my grave, come to my home, Come, my dear, we’ll sing together, Come, my dear, we’ll rot together, And the earthworms will love us.”

And then dismal again:

“You’ll snuggle your yellow bones up to me, You’ll kiss me on my little old skull–”

“I don’t want a whole song,” Pcholkin was indignant. “I need a rhyme! Something like ‘In the windy cemetery, the dick…gree of cold…’ And the guardsman has diarrhoea and the dead guy climbs out of the grave.”

Yurka sighed.

“Fine.” And he began.

Naturally, Yurka knew this rhyme. And Pcholkin knew it. Everyone knew it, and everyone was pretty bored of it. Pcholkin, evidently, was just entertained by the fact that a grown-up was singing it.

When Petya had heard the whole thing and left Yurka alone, Volodya, freed from Sanych, stood and looked around, searching for someone. Yurka ran up to him to tell him about Ira, but asked first of all:

“What did Sanych come up to you for?”

“To apologise. He couldn’t do it in front of everyone. He’s still a bit of a modest old country man. Shouts bad language at people, but still, he’s modest.”

“What’s this about bad language?” Yurka decided that he must have misheard. He did not believe that he, Pal Sanych, was capable of such a thing. It turned out, he was capable.

“An hour ago, he shouted at me, swearing in front of the children. Great pedagogy, right? What kind of kids would listen to a counsellor who the director has shouted at in front of them?”

“So he–”

“Don’t say it!” roared Volodya angrily, but then Yurka knew why he had been so tense and did not take anything personally. “There’s children here.”

There were in fact four girls from the fifth troop playing pattycake nearby, crying with their four throats, “Once upon a time, there lived three Chinese men: Yak…”

Yurka frowned.

“What was he shouting at you for?”

“…Yak-Tsedrak, Yak-Tsedrak-Tsedrak-Tsedroni…”

“It was about the play. Lastochka’s birthday is on Friday and no way in hell are we prepared. But it was less about ‘what’, and more ‘who’.”

“Once upon a time, there lived three Chinese women…”

“Me?” gasped Yurka.

“Nope, a different patient.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“…Tsypa, Tsypa-Dripa, Tsypa-Dripa-Drimpamponi…”

“Pcholkin?”

“The very same.”

“The prat. Isn’t there any keeping control of him?”

“He’s the director’s nephew. Are there any more questions?”

“They all got married to each other: Yak to Tsypa, Yak-Tsedrak to Tsypa-Dripa, Yak-Tsedrak-Tsedrak-Tsedroni to Tsypa-Dripa…”

“Shall we go somewhere else?” implored Volodya.

They took a couple of steps to the side, and it became immediately calmer and quieter. The girls, by the decibels of their chanting, had beaten that for which he had been waiting for Volodya out of Yurka’s head. While he tried to remember, Yurka blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

“Why doesn’t Pcholkin go to the theatre club?”

“He’s busy at that time smashing model planes to splinters.”

“A future construction engineer?”

“A current destruction engineer.”

“Oh, just like Matveyev!”

“Alyosha? Yeah, I’ve heard. Only, Pcholkin has a narrow focus, while Alyosha has a whole life philosophy like that.”

“Uh-huh, except that it wasn’t Alyosha who broke the lights, it was me. And if it had been him who broke them, he would have gotten a light slap on the wrist, while I was threatened!”

“Learn to do your evil with an innocent smile on your face.”

“Good advice. Not very Komsomol at all.”

“We MGIMOnians are like that, two-faced.”

“Januses,” laughed Yurka.

“Poluektovichs,”[6] winked Volodya. “Alright, jokes aside. Sanych warned that tomorrow, he and Olga Leonidovna are coming to watch how we’re doing with the play. So, Yur, we need to have the script ready today if it kills us. I have a sea of work right now; what if you do it without me, huh?”

“Of course. Of course, let’s do it,” offered Yurka.

“Then get yourself somewhere further away from this oral folk art. Somewhere where it’s quieter, the troop dorm, for instance. It’ll be more productive in peace and quiet,” he nodded in the direction of the girls, who were already marrying Yak to Tsypa, Yak-Tsedrak to Tsypa-Dripa and so on for the second time. And Yurka knew that, before much longer, all the Chinese people were going to have children.

“Alright. Good,” he hurried to answer.

“You’re a superhero! Thank you! You don’t have to come to rehearsal; if you don’t make it, it’s nothing to worry about.” Volodya turned away and called back over his shoulder. “In the evening, at the carousel, if–”

“Volod, Volod!” Yurka caught up with him. “I was waiting to tell you something. I convinced Ira to speak with you. Go to her today, make peace, ah?”

“But… surely she had something to say about you asking about me?” Volodya clearly did not like it. Yurka thought that these counsellors were somehow conspiring: both Ira and Volodya had said the same thing. He might have said thank you, but he turned up his nose instead.

“I just asked her not to leave the conversation,” Yurka took offense.

“Hm… Fine,” pronounced Volodya pensively. Then he looked around as though searching for Ira, but instead of her, he found Masha. “Oh, Masha! Masha, hi! Come with me, if you’re not busy.” Masha came hurtling from the courts, smiling so joyfully that it was like she had been waiting for this invitation all day. Having replied with preparedness, “Yes, yes, I’m free,” she got embarrassed and went red. Volodya, silently nodding to Yurka, turned around and, in Masha’s company, set off towards Lena to leave the children in her hands. It might all have been nothing, but one of Volodya’s gestures struck Yurka – as Masha ran up to him, Volodya laid a hand on her shoulder somehow a little too friendlily. The gesture was seemingly innocent, it might not have meant anything, yet Yurka thought with hostility, He has only to whistle and right on cue, Masha comes running. And he was charged with rewriting the script in isolation, as though his presence would mess with Volodya. Yurka was slightly alarmed by all this, but, having arrived at his place in the troop dorm, no sooner had he occupied himself with his work, than this vague, bad foreboding abandoned him – it was in fact true that the work went by very well in silence. How had Volodya put it – more productively?

[1] I.e., Air on the G String

[2] The Russian word for “tree hollow” is also a vulgar word for the female genitals. The word they need to change is sprjatat’ “to conceal, to hide”, to which Yurka suggests zasunut’ “to shove in, to stick in” and Volodya finally resolves with položit’ “to put”

[3] Russian has a T/V distinction, like the difference between tu and vous in French; two ways of saying “you” with different levels of formality depending on your relationship (i.e. age difference, social rank etc.) to the person you’re addressing. Yurka used the one that’s too familiar and hence disrespectful when addressing Ira.

[4] This all flows and rhymes in Russian, Yurka durak, kurit’ tabak, spički vorujet, doma ne nočujet. When I’m less tired and feeling more creative, I’ll come back and fix this, I hope.

[5] Pcholkin’s name comes from pčela “bee”, Konev from kon’ “(male) horse”, Zmeyevskaya from zmej “snake”, Gnyozdova from gnezdo “nest”, Klubkova from klub “swarm” and Orlova from orjol “eagle”.

[6]Janus Poluektovich, the hero of the Strugatsky brothers’ tale Monday begins on Saturday (Author’s note)

#лето в пионерском галстуке #ya #translation #russian #lgbt #my translations

1 note · View note

princessroyal95 · 1 year

Text

This is love (Charlotte Katakuri x Hirawashi Len) [English version]

Summary

Who can love a monster like Charlotte Katakuri? He is the son of Charlotte Linlin, known as Big Mom, and the question of the second eldest child in the family is who could love someone like him.

The idea of him falls apart when he meets a somewhat tsundere girl, but with a heart of gold that will make the commander fall in love.

-----------x-----------

Chapter IV

Following in the footsteps of that five-metre giant was not easy. Len was striding as hard as she could to follow Katakuri, as the latter did not like to go too slow and even more so if there was a tenant in his home. From time to time he would look at her sideways and was amused by the way the girl walked. Why did he do this? Technically he was doing it for his mother. He suspected that if the girl did not decide who to marry, Big Mom would force her to marry him. He provoked a grunt, alerting the girl.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're ten feet tall and walk like you're running," Len reproached, puffing out her cheeks a little.

"I wasn't grunting about that," Katakuri clarified, while still walking.

"So what are you upset about?"

"That's none of your business, you little brat.

"As if I care."

Why did he feel that little girl would get on his nerves whenever they brought up a topic of conversation? Katakuri wasn't much of a talker, especially when it came to a tenant like her. Len was getting bored for not having anything to talk to. Would it be worth talking to that giant? She certainly didn't have any interesting things to say, such as his battles with pirates or marines.

She would have liked that as she was a brute just like him. Her curiosity increased every time she looked at Katakuri's scarf. Why did he cover his mouth with it? One of two: either he was cold or he was hiding something. She wanted to think about the first option; however, since she arrived at the castle she hadn't noticed that his voice was deeper or a little constipated by some kind of illness.

She would have to get some information out of him if she wanted to fulfil Linlin's wish, although she would do so reluctantly and was the only one who found him... interesting."Your name is Katakuri, isn't it?"

"Charlotte Katakuri."

"It's the same." She held her hands up to her head so that she didn't care if her name was that. "Of all the brothers you have, which position are you in?"

"I am the third, although I am the second male in the family and the first to be part of the first triplets my mother had."

"I mean... you're forty-eight years old."

"That's right." Was she really starting to get interested in him or was it because she was bored? "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-five years younger than you," she says quietly, "so that would make you a paedophile.

"As if I'm interested in brats like you."

"So why do you keep talking to me and falling for your beloved mother's game?"

As soon as he heard that, the commander of the Charlotte family stopped making Len bump into his leg. She didn't realize it, but at least she didn't fall to the ground. Katakuri turned slowly and then looked at the young woman. The size between them was abysmal, how could those two be a couple? Even they don't know for sure.

"I obey my mother's orders," Katakuri said, grabbing the young woman's arm and lifting her up. Len started to kick like never before, but sensed the closeness between the two of them. So close that with one touch of her fingers she could make that scarf disappear, "if she wants this, I will make it happen.

"Don't you care that the other person likes you?"

"I'd rather there be no feelings between the two of us because we'd hurt each other." The commander's gaze turned sombre and his voice became more serious than usual.

"We are getting to know each other, Katakuri," Len clarified as calmly as possible, "you should give this one a chance... new experience?"

"You don't know me at all.

"That's why we're here, isn't it? To get to know each other, to know the other person's tastes..."

"And why don't you do it with my other brothers?" It was right on the money.

"The answer is more than obvious, isn't it?"

The commander didn't really understand what she meant, was she making fun of him? Technically he started to remember what happened earlier in the library. Was it because his brothers did not respect her? Or was it because they were not so normal people? More doubts arose in Katakuri's head without leaving the young woman. What could she be up to? With so many thoughts he gave Katakuri a headache that even he couldn't bear.

He relaxed his arm, leaving young Len on the ground, but not looking away from her. He wanted to know more about her. Why? She wasn't just any girl; in fact, she was someone who had a meticulous thought, something that the taller man was attracted to. Wait, he' s not looking at her, is he? He couldn't like her, she was a brat after all.

"My brothers are better than me." He heard Len laugh at such a comment leaving the man somewhat bewildered.

"Oh, come on, don't make me laugh. You have brains, the others think about their muscles," Len said as she stood next to him.

"Or his stomach."

"Wow, I see you're noticing where the shots are going." Len smiles.

"Do you mean to tell me that I am a better man than they are? Confusion was what he had now, raising his eyebrow a little.

"That I will never know, since you don't really want to know me."

On the one hand, he wanted to get to know her thoroughly, to find out if she was very different from the other women he had met or her sisters. On the other hand, there was the fear that the girl would see what was behind the scarf and laugh at it or, worse still, that she would look at it like a monster. He didn't want to trust her because he didn't know what that woman would do. Many doubts arose in his head that he began to have a slight pain in his brain, almost in the area of his forehead.

Better not to make a comment and move on, taking firm steps in the right direction. Len only looked at him sideways because of what followed. What if her comment was not a good idea and affected Katakuri's heart? Does he have feelings or is he just another Big Mom soldier? A cold and heartless soldier who cared the least if he hurt someone. That could be it.

The young woman stopped her steps when she saw something out of the corner of her eye and approached the large window that gave access to the outside. Katakuri realized that the girl was not following him, he turned on his heels to find an expectant young woman. For a moment he saw her eyes gleam with a unique sparkle. It was as if her hazel eyes had adopted an emerald colour. Her somewhat rough face became calm and somewhat submissive. It was as if she was seeing a wonder.

The commander, curious, took small steps towards Len and realized what the girl was looking at. It was the great city decorated by all kinds of sweets and, beyond that, the sea. She was a beauty in the eyes of everyone. Seeing how people moved around buying and tasting the exquisite delicacies of those lands. The man looked at Len again, expectant of his face.

It was rare to see a young woman with a strong character in that state. Did she like beauty? Seeing her with that somewhat angelic face gave her a sense of peace and tranquility. Something he had longed for when that tragedy began. A memory that marked him for life. With just the thought of it, he carried his unconscious hand in his scarf trying to repress that pain. His ears were pricked up when he heard a small sigh from the young woman who placed both hands on the railing, looking at the landscape with a little charm in her eyes.

"The view looks better when it's getting dark," Katakuri commented above, receiving the girl's attention.

"It must be a wonder." Len doesn't look away from the place. "Seeing people going home with their children already bought, and then making food. And beyond that, the sun going down to welcome the moon. And when that happens, the rays of the star spread all over the sea giving it a touch of magic."

The big, burly man was surprised by Len's words. They were pure poetry to his ears. How could this young man have her innocence and charm? Is she bipolar, perhaps? Tsundere? He wasn't quite sure. Although, it felt nice to see her like that, so immersed in her thoughts. What if it was a good idea to get to know her a little better? He should have, but he was adamant. He didn't believe in that stuff about love; however, deep down he felt the curiosity growing in him.

On the other hand, Len turned around and met Katakuri's gaze. Everyone's eyes, for an instant, connected as if the look was enough to say a few words. It felt strange, but at the same time, pleasant. What was this feeling that the two of them were feeling? The young woman looked away in a matter of minutes feeling uncomfortable.

"If you want, this afternoon we can go somewhere where you can watch the sunset."

"... Are you asking me out on a date?"

"I'm just offering you something you want to see."

Why is this man who had all the looks of a savage so adorable? Len's cheeks turned crimson like the flowers themselves feeling the heat, about to erupt like a volcano.

"Are you sick?" asked Katakuri, placing his hand on the young woman's forehead as he saw that. "It doesn't look like you are."

"I-I'm fine." She moved her hand away from the man; however, she realizes his size. It was a little bigger than hers. And the way he posed her on her forehead could take her head off perfectly. She smiled a little. "And you should stop growing, really. What do they feed you? Breads with your mother's milk filling?"

"Was that literal or is that a form of mockery?"

"Can't you take a joke?"

"I'm too old to understand the jokes of a brat like you." A slight, small smile, though not noticeable under his scarf, appeared in Katakuri. The young woman knew perfectly well that the condemned man was smiling.

"I may be a brat, but I have more character than you, pedophile."

"Will you call me that forever now?" Deep down he was having fun with her.

"Sure, you already have a nickname. Now I give you permission to call me one." She wanted him to call her a nickname? "Come on, there's confidence now, isn't there?"

"... Hobbit," he said that and Len made a face like a few friends.

"I may be small, but I'm a grown-up, right!" Big mistake by the young lady. Katakuri took one arm and lifted her back to her old self. "What's your habit of holding me like this now?"

"Done and right?" laughed Katakuri, bringing the young woman closer to his face. "I'd like to see that with my own eyes." For a moment, the commander's maroon eyes shone brightly alerting Len. Never, until now, did she see that touch in his eyes, was he thinking about perverted things?

"See? You're a pedophile, it hits you too much," said Len, laughing softly. She didn't really feel uncomfortable around him and apparently, deep down, neither did he.

The silence in the room made it clear that there was nothing more to talk about. Nevertheless, those two did not stop looking at each other. A look is worth a thousand words, as the saying goes. Although Len's eyes were fixed in that scarf that made you want to burn it at any moment. Unconsciously she raised her free hand to reach for it, but she didn't expect the owner of that garment himself to stop her.

He said, "Don't do it."

"Why?"

"Because... you don't want to see what's behind it." For the first time, she saw in his eyes some fear with what she understood.

"It's okay, but I assure you that at any moment you'll have to show me."

Did she want to see what she considered a monster? No, nonsense. She wouldn't want to see that; however, her hazel eyes showed that touch of charm and determination that, for a strange reason, captivated her.

Garnet and hazelnut. A strange combination for both subjects. One showed how sweet he can be, and the other a simple monster where people run away from him. They were not realizing that their bodies do not have enough space. It was too intimate; in fact, they didn't care at all.

However, the first to realise what was happening was Katakuri so he left the young woman on the floor. She complained a little about the arm where she gives a light massage in the area. Her ears were pricked up as she heard the commander walk away from her, implying that he had resumed the walk leaving her behind. Len didn't hesitate for a second and ran towards him before losing sight of him.

And again, silence. They didn't talk the whole way. Why do they make it so complicated? It could be that they are people who make everything difficult and not because they have a strong character, but also in their lives. They were born that way, they had a difficult life for both of them. And they didn't want to talk about it as if it were a taboo. Something forbidden to them.

Len wanted to bring up some specific subject, but it was really difficult. He was a man with a lot of mystery and he wanted to try to be at least his friend. She knew perfectly well that this was not the case, so she sighed finally giving up. Perhaps he was not the person she was looking for so that she would not have to marry the others.

For his part, Katakuri kept looking sideways at the young woman walking behind him. He watched as Len was immersed in his thoughts as if he were planning something. What was he thinking about? He could predict the future with his Haki, but not read the minds of others. He wished his sister Brülée was here to help him in this time of tension between the two of them.

"Oni-chan!" And it seems their prayers were answered. His sister appeared in one of the mirrors in the corridor. "I finally found you, brother!"

"Is something wrong, Brulee?"

"Apparently some treasure looters arrived and are in Sweet City scaring people."

"And where are the soldiers?" Knowing that the soldiers were incompetent made the commander furious, but he stood his ground.

"... They were easily defeated," Brülée commented by bowing her head, "I wanted to stop them brother; however, they..."

"You'd better stay here and keep an eye on the mirrors."

"I will, brother!" Brulee realised that Katakuri was not alone. Len observed every detail of the conversation between the two brothers. "You've been spying?!" the witch shouted euphorically, pointing at the young woman with her index finger.

"I was rather walking with Katakuri until you came with that news." The young woman walked in front of Brulee, "Where are those looters?"

"... Stay out of this business! This will be taken care of by my brother!"

The witch saw how the girl ran to where Katakuri went as she did not want to hear where those people were. Because Len was very fast and it was also difficult to lose sight of a man of five meters. However, it was not expected that this burly man would use the power of the Devil's Fruit to move towards the city.

Len put her hands on the window and watched as the mochi dough landed on the roof of one of the houses. She never imagined that Katakuri was made of that kind of food, although thinking about it, it was because of that fruit. The young woman was left behind, she had to reach for it anyway. With determination, she climbed to the edge of the window and then jumped onto one of the roofs.

Her advantage was that her feet were light and she didn't weigh too much to break the top of one of the houses. However, it was no time to think about it, she feared that she would get to where the thieves were because her greatest concern was that they would harm the children of the city. She skillfully jumped up and down on each roof, obtaining a great deal of speed that was somewhat unhumane for her.

The cries of the citizens were present because of those treasure looters. They had a lot of courage to enter a kingdom guarded by Big Mom. After all, they were not afraid of anything and they did it to earn some money.

"You're taking too long!" cried the supposed chief thief. "We've got to get out of here before the commanders arrive!"

"I think your words came true."

All the looters stopped when they heard that harsh voice representing dominance in those streets. They turned their bodies slowly to meet this person who was a real monster for the Government. Charlotte Katakuri watched them calmly while she played with one of her candies.

"Charlotte Katakuri!" shouted one of them.

"And you have come alone?" laughed the chief thief, rising from a barrel while watching the commander. "It's strange to see you alone without the company of the other two commanders."

"I can manage without them."

The chief thief smiled broadly knowing that this would be his downfall if he did not attack Big Mom's son. Fear was overpowering him, but one thing was clear, he knew perfectly well the weakness of those who consume the Devil's Fruit. Out of nowhere, he made a large gun appear that was impossible to hold without expert hands.

"Disappear!"

Before shooting, the Kenbunshoku Haki of Katakuri was activated by witnessing the future in a few seconds so he had the opportunity to dodge that water cannon. The leader was annoyed because the man dodged it, but he shot endlessly at all the houses, no matter if there were people there.

The man with the maroon eyes analysed his enemy in detail. He was not a strong enough opponent so he could take advantage and knock him out at any time. However, his ears were sharpened by the sound of children crying disconsolately over a large stone coming towards them.

He was going to use his ability to stop it, but unfortunately his Haki was activated warning him of the danger behind him. He dodged another of the cannons perfectly, but he was headed straight for those children. They were going to be crushed to death by a large rock and one of those bullets. He had to save them or it would be his undoing.

However, as if by some miracle, a certain person stopped the rock in time and pushed the children aside to receive the body of water, leaving it somewhat wounded. The two children looked on in dismay at that person's act. Katakuri opened his eyes wide when he found out who was there. It was none other than Hirawashi Len.

"A woman...," spoke one of the looters.

"She was hit by the water cannon."

"Oh, look what you've done Charlotte Katakuri," spoke the leader with a mocking smile, "you've let a woman be beaten by..."

"Idiots." It was the only thing that Len could articulate at that moment. Her hands, thin and strong, broke the great stone showing her great strength towards the looters. She was furious and you could see it in her eyes. "How dare you attack harmless children!ç?!" Without one acting, the young woman had already beaten up a few thieves leaving them stunned and breaking the occasional bone.

"What the hell...?!"

"And as for you!" Len rushed towards the enemy to grab him by his shirt and looked at him threateningly. "I'll dig your grave for doing such an act!"

"I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I promise!" The leader was getting nervous, as he had never seen such brutality in a woman as she did.

"It doesn't work for me!" She lifted the six-foot-two man off the ground and then stamped his head on the ground where it broke off, leaving a large hole from the impact.

The people of Sweet City were shocked to see such an act by that girl. Although they noticed that she was the girl that Charlotte Linlin loved so much. Everyone panicked at the sight of such a monstrosity from that young girl. However, the children who were rescued by her approached with a big smile from ear to ear.

"Thank you for saving us."

"You don't have to give them," Len said, giving them a little bit of a sincere smile.

The one who was impressed was Katakuri. Did that young woman follow him here? Although, honestly, if she wasn't here those children would have died already. His eyes were transfixed on the young woman's body for a few moments. Her clothes were somewhat torn from the impact of the water and she showed some signs of injury. But she didn't even realize it, she only had eyes for those children.

Would she give her life for these children? He would do the same, but for his brothers. His steps were present alerting that small group and Len stood up, as he was talking to the little ones in the city.

"You are strong in nature," Katakuri commented, without turning his eyes away from it.

"Is that all? Aren't you going to ask me if I'm all right?"

"I can see you, I know you are."

"Although if you asked me I would say that." Len laughed softly, widening her smile. "And one thing...." The young woman, with a lot of determination, grabbed the tip of his clothes forcing him to bend down being at her height, "the next one to dodge something like that in the presence of some children whose grave I will dig is you!"

"It won't happen again," he says quietly, keeping a mocking smile on his face.

"You'd better!

The people of the city watched the discussion of those two, it was as if they got along well, but in just a few hours. Although her thoughts go beyond that, what would happen if the young woman discovered what was behind that scarf? If only that moment would never come, they thought.

Meanwhile, these two returned to the castle to report the event.

-----------x-----------

Chapter III.

Chapter V.

#one piece #oc #original character #charlotte katakuri #katakuri one piece #romance

1 note · View note