#draw decent traffic

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[beguilingcorpse]

weaponry in the locked tomb is so interesting because when you break it down it's like:

guns exist in-universe but are used by the freedom fighter terrorist organization almost exclusively

swords are (were?) commonplace enough that gideon was able to find and train with a decently well-balanced two-hander on the ninth, despite the fact that the ninth has no military force or even interplanetary traffic. gideon's sword is at least 20 years old, probably older

swords are definitely still in use within the empire, at least by cavaliers, but likely within the cohort as a whole. to my memory there are no mentions of cohort members carrying military-issue guns

even though they're trained in a variety of weapons and techniques, cavaliers (are supposed to) carry exclusively rapiers. gideon prefers her two-hander and cam carries twin shortswords, but these seem to be rare and shocking exceptions to the standard.

rapiers are used by cavaliers explicitly for the purpose of lyctorhood. they're light enough that a scrawny necromancer without swordfighting experience can pick it up and rely on their cav's training without needing to build the muscle to wield the sword effectively

because of the secretive nature of the megatheorem, and lyctorhood as a whole, most people just follow the rapier rule because it's tradition. it is what is done. harrow makes this pretty clear at the beginning of gtn

cavaliers can carry a variety of offhand weapons. it seems like the full spectrum of middle age weaponry is possible - but still, no guns. not even secretly, as with cam's dual blades. some cavs choose to carry material for their necromancers as their offhand - ortus carries a bowl of bones for harrow, and i can only assume "the powder" mentioned as harrow's choice for gideon's offhand towards the beginning of gtn is some kind of bone dust

from a doylist perspective, all of this creates a aesthetic that starts very analog and gothic and gradually grows into a more standard sci-fi space opera through the series. by ntn, we've hit most of the established genre weaponry tropes that we've come to expect from older futuristic space media like star wars and alien. blasters and guns are standard fare, and it makes sense to hold off on introducing them until the scope of the story gets broader and more interplanetary

from a watsonian perspective, it's a little more difficult to draw concrete conclusions without the context that atn will inevitably provide. but if i had to hedge a guess, i'd say that, as with most things, It's All John Gaius's Fault. when he resurrected the galaxy i'd assume that he wanted to keep the aesthetics of medieval imperialism, and given his 21st century liberalism probably didn't want guns to be part of the equation. but they were anyways - we know this because wake carries a big one - and instead of standardizing firearms within his military and for his lyctors, he clings to the aesthetics of swordplay. please correct me if i'm remembering it wrong, but to my knowledge every gun shown in the series is either directly linked to boe or implied to be sourced from them. jod dooms his own lyctors and military by refusing to update their weaponry.

all of this poses a lot of questions about atn: who will carry a gun, and why? where did the gun come from? why DON'T the lyctors just use firearms? and most importantly: will they be fighting zombies with swords???

[adnauseum11]

Non- Mission Essential (John Price x Reader)

John owes Kate a dinner and makes good on his promise. You are introduced to people from John's work life.

3k words

CW: swearing

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog

The restaurant is based off a real one that exists elsewhere in the world. It's a sumptuous affair so it's sprawled over two chapters.

If it wasn't clear that I grew up before cell phones, this chapter should solidify that. I'm roughly the same vintage as John and can confirm life before caller ID and knowing who is calling.

Feedback welcome!

The evening is lit up by streetlamps by the time you arrive at the Chop House for dinner, the cold air heavy with threatening snow. The sidewalks gleam wet under the streetlamps and headlights of the passing traffic. John looks dapper in a dark grey three-piece suit, the tie and handkerchief patterned with a deep green that compliments your dress. You had smugly assumed John would be the problem tonight, his gaze heating every time he caught a glimpse of velvet stretched over your curves as you got ready.

He had been preoccupied with getting himself dressed so he had missed your initial lingerie selection, a strapless bra and no panties – the dress too tight for anything else without showing lines. Not much escapes the big man’s notice but you are thankful that seems to have flown under his radar, although with his inclination to be handsy with you, you wonder how long your luck will hold. As it turns out, however, the tailored lines of his suit keep drawing your eye, distracting you completely. His broad shoulders fill out the jacket like it was molded to his measurements with exacting precision. He’s caught you out twice so far, not paying attention at all to what he’s saying, wrapped up in fantasies that glaze over your eyes. The second time he smiled deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gently jolted you out of your X-rated daydream to put your high heels on. You’re wearing a long black pea coat over your dress, the velvet doing a decent job of keeping your legs warm as you step out into the cool night air.

You share a secret smile with him when he helps you out of the car, the valet waiting for the door to close behind you before taking the car to be parked. You have butterflies in your stomach, wanting to make a good impression on these women. John spoke highly of both of them, although he’s only worked with Kate. His presence is soothing, an anchor to your tumultuous anxieties. You run your hand over the front of his jacket, unnecessarily smoothing his lapels down, letting your eyes wander over the material wrapped around his deltoid.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that-”

John’s voice is pitched low, for your ears only, but he gets cut off by someone calling his name. You’re slightly disappointed you don’t get to hear the rest of the threat, John’s hand landing low on your back, steering you forward.

“Kate. Michelle.”

A pair of women step towards you, one dirty blonde with shorter hair and the other slightly taller, wearing her dark, thick, curly hair slicked back, gathered into a high bun at the top of her head. It creates a halo effect, framing her face beautifully. John greets them both with brief hugs before introducing you first to Kate, the blond, and then her wife, Michelle. Kate has no jewellery aside from a wedding ring that you can see, but Michelle has golden hoop earrings that complement her honey skin and her matching wedding ring. As John advised earlier you forgo air kisses for shaking hands with them both, Kate’s grip is firm where Michelle’s is gentle.  

“Shall we?”

Kate asks, her accent not as twangy as you had anticipated. John leads the way, holding the door open for your group as you file in behind him. You hand your coat over to the attendant at the coat room, waiting for the rest of the group to do the same. Kate is wearing a suit herself, a dark blue with black silk lining the slim lapels and a crisp black button-down shirt. Michelle is wearing a retro off the shoulder A-line cocktail dress, thick pleats of navy-blue fabric gathered around the waist of the skirt creating a classic feminine silhouette. A chunky gold necklace matches her earrings and catches the subdued lighting.

“Oh, I love your dress!”

Michelle says as she turns to rejoin you after handing over her own coat. You feel heat crawl over your cheeks, shooting a look at John before thanking her and telling her you were just admiring hers. John looks smug, and his hand resettles on your lower back, sparking the low simmering desire in your belly. A part of you knows you will never be able to wear this dress again without thinking of him, buried deep inside you and telling you he thought of you wearing it when he was alone, off working somewhere in the world. John’s warm hand stays on your lower back, a tactile reminder of those recent erotic memories until you reach your table, when he pulls your chair out for you.

The restaurant is styled in classic old-world opulence, the wingback chairs wrapped in leather and the table tops made of marbled quartz.  Kate repeats the gesture for Michelle, pulling out the chair opposite yours for her to sit. John and Kate exchange a look you don’t understand before taking their own seats. John sits beside you, looking like the cat that got the cream. Kate notices as well.

“You’re looking well John.”

John looks up from the drink menu, casting an assessing eye over Kate before responding.

“Been resting up at home the last few days. Are you looking forward to getting home soon, Michelle?”

John redirects the conversation, and you smile to yourself. You know better, his definition of ‘resting’ in this context broad enough to include making dinner every night and doling out regular toe-curling orgasms.     

“The townhome Kate’s work puts us up in when we’re here is starting to feel like home. It’s the weather I can’t get used to. This wet cold is the worst.”

Both Kate and John make sounds of agreement, but you’ve never been anywhere with any other type of cold. Isn’t snow just frozen water?

“What’s a dry cold? How is that better?”

You venture and John turns to answer but Kate beats him to it.

“A wet cold means you have to dry out first before you can warm up. Dry cold doesn’t have the moisture in the air.”

“Doesn’t get in to your bones in the same way, love.”

John adds. Kate’s face softens for a brief moment before she carries on. Her delivery style is no-nonsense but kind.

“You only really get dry cold in places with low precipitation.”

You already know better than to ask how they know this, assuming it’s something learned first-hand. You’re realizing, not for the first time, that there is a significant part of John’s life that you aren’t privy to. Silently you wonder if Michelle is equally left in the dark about her wife’s work life.

“Is it a dry cold where you live then?”

“Washington gets its fair share of precipitation but it’s nothing compared to this country. It’s a good thing the rental comes with umbrellas ‘cause we didn’t pack any.”

Michelle answers you, and you smile at her quip, agreeing that they’re more necessity than accessory here. The waiter stops by, delivering the menus and water. John looks at you for your drink order so you don’t have to raise your voice across the table and you ask for a glass of full-bodied red, letting John choose on your behalf. Kate notices everything, her vigilance reminding you somewhat of John’s inability to relax in crowded spaces. John orders himself a single malt whiskey and your glass of wine and Kate orders a gin and tonic but Michelle sticks to water which elicits a remark from John.

“Rough night last night?”

“No, we have a Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Trying to keep the system primed. Want it to take this time. As much as I love our semi-regular jaunts across the pond, I’m ready to sit a few out.”

“You complain about not having direct access to Gregg’s sausage rolls when we’re home for longer than two weeks.” Kate deadpans, unconvinced by her wife’s statement.  

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, that’s exciting.”

John ignores Kate, and Michelle rewards his discernment with a smile. He turns to you and explains the doctor in question is a fertility doctor which crystalizes your understanding of the conversation.

“That’s very exciting! Congratulations, I hope it works out for you tomorrow. You must have a generous boss to let you travel as much as it sounds like you do.”

Michelle grins, her excitement palpable.

“Thank you, I’m nervous but looking forward to it. As far as bosses go, I own my own consulting business; I do environmental data analysis so I can work from anywhere and generate my reports. I have some university students who work in placements doing the data collecting and then we assimilate it and generate a report.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!”

“Yes, and varied, each project is a new challenge. I love it.”

“She’s highly sought after in the area, there are a lot of National Parks nearby. A lot of businesses have to do impact studies if they’re operating in or near the parks.”

Kate clarifies for you, pride bleeding into her tone.

“Well, that’s lovely, built in clientele. Is that how you two met?”

Michelle tips her head back and laughs as her wife turns slightly red, but smirks nonetheless.

“No, we met in a bar in Annapolis, her boyfriend at the time was being an asshole and I de-escalated the situation.”

Kate supplies, and you suspect that’s not entirely true given Michelle’s bout of laughter. Once she’s calmed herself, she colours in Kate’s bare bones explanation.

“I was dating a man who had a delicate ego-“

Kate scoffs but holds her tongue when Michelle shoots her a look.

“-and he didn’t like that I was thinking of quitting my job at the time to start this business. He didn’t think I could make a go of it and was going to blow my life savings. Kate listened to him berate me for about ten minutes at the bar before she brought her beer over and joined us, without asking, and proceeded to counter every negative thing that man said with a potential positive. You should have seen his face. She talked me up so much I ended up leaving the bar with her that night and broke up with him the next day. I’d never dated a woman before but the confidence was so sexy, I was like a deer in the headlights. Couldn’t look away. Still can’t.”

“Aw! that’s the definition of sweeping you off your feet-“

Kate changes the topic you before you can comment any further, clearly uncomfortable with being the object of praise.

“So, how did you and John meet?”

“Oh, nothing as romantic as that. John was mates with a boy I was seeing at the time.”

It’s John’s turn to scoff but unlike Kate he doesn’t hold his tongue, adding his two cents to the story.

“Boy is right, his mouth was writing cheques his ass couldn’t cash.”

“John.”

You admonish gently, more to keep him from getting worked up about something that happened over two decades ago than anything. He sits back, gesturing for you to continue as the waiter returns with the drinks. You wait until John requests some more time with the menus before continuing, taking your wine out of his outstretched hand smoothly as you speak.

“John found out his mate had been harassing me after we broke up. Following me home from school. Waiting for me outside shops, not taking no for an answer when I told him to leave me alone. Repeatedly calling my home and asking for me even after I told him I was done. Making my life a general hell. John caught him bullying me on the way home one day after he got back from basic training. He’d been hanging around waiting for his mates to let out from school and watched my ex badger me down the lane. John got into a fist fight with him about it. Broke his cheekbone. The ass left me alone after that but John gave me his number in case he started following me around again and we stayed in touch after that.”

John sips his whiskey, seemingly satisfied with your version of events. Kate is clearly not, however.

“How come you weren’t charged with assault? None of that is in your transcript. If the MP’s got wind of it, it would have been.”

Kate asks, clearly mystified. You can’t help but note that she’s read John’s transcript and wonder what else she knows about his life.

“The lad’s parents were convinced that the natural consequences were better than their son standing trial for a stalking charge that had multiple eyewitnesses.”

“Who convinced his parents?”

It’s your turn to ask, never having considered that part before and John slides you an even look before he answers.

“My father.”

“Ah. Well, that tracks.”

John hums in agreement with you and Kate looks from you to John and back again.

“Sounds romantic to me.”

Michelle offers and you can feel heat creeping over your face again. You had been given a front row seat to a bloody and painful exchange; it had never occurred to you to think of it as romantic. Heroic maybe, but you had attributed that to your gratefulness of having the harassment finally put to a stop.

“John was just doing the right thing. We stayed mates for years after that. We only started dating a few months ago.”

You explain to Michelle but the back of your mind is now trying to rehash the past for clues of John’s feelings. Was it romantic that he beat up your ex? As if the man in question can read your racing mind he reaches over and rests a big hand on your tense thigh, his thumb stroking over the velvet in tiny circular motions. The distraction works and redirects your attention to the present moment in time to catch Kate’s words.

“Sounds like John. Can’t watch a situation go sideways without mixing in.”

She’s looking at John with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The man beside you doesn’t argue, raising his whiskey in salute to the dirty blonde.

“So, you’ve known each other for a while then?”

Michelle gets the conversation back on track, her eyes bouncing between you and John.

“Oh lord, yes. I couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 when all that went down? Put me right off dating for a while. My brother would tease me that I’d be a spinster.”

“You have a brother? What was he doing when you were being harassed?”

Kate is indignant on your behalf which is endearing, considering you barely know the woman.

“He thought it was funny. He’d answer the phone and tell me it was one of my girlfriends to get me to pick up. He’s younger than me, so thought it was all a good laugh to see me scared. My parents thought it was just teen drama and told me to sort it out myself. They both worked and weren’t around much.”

John’s hand squeezes your thigh before retreating, a comforting warmth rolling through you at his easy familiarity in front of his friends. You shoot him a smile as the waiter returns to the table to take orders. Unsurprisingly, John makes the most of this opportunity and orders a porterhouse steak. You and Michelle both order smaller servings of filet mignon, and Kate surprises you by requesting a lobster and steak combo. The women seated across from you exchange a glance, Michelle clearly wanting to say something about Kate’s ambitious selection. You hide the smile that wants to erupt behind a sip of your wine at the unspoken conversation happening across the table.

“How’s your wine, darling?”

John’s eyes are on your hand, wrapped around the stem of the wineglass you are holding aloft. You’ve painted your nails a deep red, matching your lipstick, the contrast against the green of your velvet gown eye-catching. You finally let the smile that’s been threatening to creep across your face loose, John’s distraction a small victory as far as you’re concerned.

“Very good, French this time?”

You ask, his interest in all things food and drink related an endless source of fascination to you. You suspect it’s partly due to the military food he’s been eating for half his life that drives his taste to the more refined when he’s given a choice. You trust his judgement and he’s rarely steered you wrong.

“Spanish, small vineyard.”

Kate’s new line of questioning interrupts your reply to John.  

“So, you have a younger brother, what about your parents? Are they still together?”

You feel your heart drop, even though you’ve fielded this question many times over the years. It never seems to get any easier for you, nor have you developed a simple way to gloss over the loss to make it more palatable. You set the wineglass down on the table while you take a breath, forcing the smile that was stretched across your face back in to place.

“Yes, they were killed by a drunk driver in a head on collision. I’m told it was instantaneous.”

Michelle’s gasp has the smile slipping but you rally, John straightening up in concern at your side.

“Shit – I’m sorry-”

Kate tries to apologize but it’s your turn to interject, waving her concern off.

“No, it was years ago now. It’s fine, I just never know how to casually slip that in when it comes up. I’m going to freshen up before dinner arrives, excuse me, won’t you?”

Your heart is thrumming against your breastbone as you stand up, John half out of his chair before your palm on his shoulder stops him. You just need a moment alone to take a few deep breaths and recenter yourself. John’s concerned hovering will only muddy your waters.

“It’s alright, I’ll be right back.”

You reassure him quietly, your voice thin against the sudden wave of emotion. Your fingers squeeze the broad muscle of his shoulder before weaving your way across the large room to the bathrooms. You don’t have to look behind you to know John’s eyes are following you, you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back sending pinpricks of awareness through you.

Next Chapter

Ao3

Taglist:

@beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms

@itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic

@h0n3y-l3m0n05 @chickennn-soupp @fruitymoonbeams-blog

@redwites @glitterypirateduck @tf141gloryhole

[10000-paper-nohara-rins]

ranking naruto characters by how good they would drive if they knew what cars were:

sakura: 4/10. technically she does have a liscence but god knows how she got it on account of the sheer amount of traffic violations she racks up every time she gets in a car. drives a honda civic and brags about it even though its literally not that fancy. exclusively plays true crime podcasts while driving but blasts them like at hard rock volume. thinks turn signals are a mark of the devil and that all speed limits are marked by at least 15 under the real limit. you will get to your destination on time. but at what cost.

sasuke: -5/10 the man cannot drive. he gets negative points because hes a terrible influence in the passengers seat. the main people he steals rides from are naruto and sakura and they are ultra-possesive of the aux cord so he doesnt get it often but when he does he WILL be playing the minecraft soundtrack. tells people to hit old ladies crossing the street for "extra points." doesnt mean it.

naruto: 2/10 weirdly cautious but it might be warented because he is awful. drives five under the speed limit at all times but not on purpose he nust doesnt know how to read a speedometer. if sasuke is in the car with him they WILL get pulled over because naruto got so distracted he almost hit a tree. plays country music and drives a slugbug

kakashi: 8/10 drives a mustang and is so so anxious every time he gives anyone a ride because he doesnt wanna be responsible for killing them. no one is allowed to play music when he is driving because it scares him. when hes alone he drives like a madman because he has no regard for his own life <3

obito: 1/10 drives like hes actively being pursued by the police. thinks he is good enough to drift. he is not. his trashy little nash rambler has been on its last legs for 4 years and its a miracle it hasnt given up completely because he slams it into fire hydrants at least once a week. plays taylor swift exlusively. any attempts to change this will end with you kicked out of his car. which might be for the best.

rin: -6/10 cant drive and actively makes a game of giving bad directions to the driver. she thinks its fun. tells people to hit old ladies crossing the street for extra point and means it. if given the aux she will play "10 hours of silence occationally broken by falling medal pipe" because that is uniroincally her favorite song.

tsunade: 5/10 refurbishing a old mozda named tangerine. shes gotten weirdly attatched to it and keeps humanizing it to an uncomfortable degree. uses her knowledge of the human body to draw comparisons between rumaging atound in the car guts and actual surgeries she has preformed before. also she doesnt use turn signals.

orochimaru: 10/10 cant drive but instead of hounding people for rides he takes the bus. literally the most normal about transportation out of everyone on this list so he gets full points.

hiruzen: 3/10 drives an electric car because he feels bad about his carbon footprint even though hes not actually making that much of a difference :/ has hit bikers on multiple occations

danzo: 7/10. hes actually a pretty good driver but i have to take away points on account of the fat that he uses his white windowless van to kidnap children and transport assassins to kill his rival politicians.

minato:-700/10 drives a cybertruck

kushina: 2/10 cant drive but at least shes a decent passenger. will deliver devistating insults for the drivers honor and also shoot at any cars that deserve it (she carries around a pistol). only okay at helping with directions but thats fine because at least shes not actively working against the driver.

[stealingpotatoes]

Invitation to talk about Sayuri and Nymie?

:D CAN OF WORMS: OPENED!! i'll tell u abt how they got found as Jedi

ok so Sayuri is one of the students that doesn't rlly go home bc there isn't much to go back to. Basically her parents were Rebellion pilots (or one was a pilot the other a mechanic. kinda unsure) but were both killed in action against the Empire abt 3-4ABY ish. obvs the Rebellion couldn't look after a 7-8yo while fighting the Empire

so the remainder of the squad manage to get her back to her parents' home village/ where she was born. so having like Everything change all at once leaves her pretty ?? and gives her some serious trusting-her-environment issues. her coolgirl "i dont care" persona is very much a result of this bc she's worried abt getting too comfy in smthn. (which is at odds w the OTHER issue she got from this event which is "deathly afraid of flying" an issue not helped if Master "traffic laws are just guidelines" Skywalker is piloting. but she tries 2 act like shes fine)

this is gonna get kinda long so im gonna smack some unposted art here and then go into a readmore

anyway fast forwarding to when Sayuri's abt 13 (roughly 9aby) she's visiting her parent's old squadron on a New Republic bc they'd all come visit whenever she could and after the Empire's fall they did a lot more pick her up and fly her to a base to ALL see her. and they're like omg Sayuri you came at the PERFECT time bc this rlly amazing pilot war hero who's also some like. mystical whatever is here!! he's on his way to some magic place we heard. maybe u can meet him!! which sayuri meets w her usual whatever bc she's not that gassed abt war heroes.

very worth noting that the squad's probably all seen her move shit with her mind, but theyre like oh you know how it is with teenage girls. the "nobody knows what a jedi is" + "the empire existed for a decent bit of her childhood" thing has kept anyone from being like yeahh sayuri should like. talk to someone abt this.

anyway she goes along when the squad are like c'mon let's see if we can see him. ok the only way i can describe this is you know the spiderverse like... spidey-sense recognition thing? that's basically what happens LOL Luke and Sayuri both have a FORCE USER RECOGNISED?? moment and Luke then makes a beeline for her then realises oh shit tiny teenager not jedi. would you LIKE to be a jedi?? and sayuri who hates her village and is feeling the strongest emotional connection she's felt in forever w this stranger she met 2 seconds ago is like okay fuckin sure yeah. and woo jedi!!

i posted my unposted nymie art yesterday but likkeeee pretend theres some here <3

So Sayuri falls into the "one of the Jedi found them thru the force or by chance" category of students who get found. However Nymie very much falls into the second category, which is "CAN SOMEONE DEAL WITH THIS WEIRD SUPERPOWERED CHILD FOR US????"

So 2 things about Nymie: 1. like i've said before, she's from a very rich high class pantoran family. super stuck up, mostly raised by nannies & tutors, but somehow Nymie just didn't get the stuck-up genes like all her (4!!) siblings who are just obsessed w their social standing etc and is instead just :D all the time. 2. her proficiency ig is the living force esp in the 'good at connecting to animals' way (which I think means I legally need to draw her w Ezra).

so the former often led her to escaping her family's stuffy parties and galas or whatever (usually to whoever's house it is' garden or somewhere she wasnt meant to be) to find something interesting. usually a pet <3 one particular time when she was 9 she was following her Pet Sense but couldnt find anything in the house. so she kinda just reached out more and long story short thats how Nymie managed to call this hugemassive beast (i'd tell u what it was if i knew pantoran animals LOL) out of the nearby countryside to her. massively distressing for everyone, all these rich ppl were like "OH MY GOD I NEARLY DIED" (it didnt attack anyone). very funny exciting time for Nymie who was enjoying this new beastie friend til animal control showed up. saddening. everyone is confused bc HOW did that happen

a dude old (and cool) enough to have seen more than one jedi in their heyday (+ idk uni researcher knows his shit) noticed what happened w it going straight to Nymie and overheard her account and realised what happened and was like hi nymie's parents. i think u need to get into contact w the new republic bc thats a jedi right there (which they take and go oo social climbing. we have a jedi child people will think we're cooler. bc theyre assholes)

and yeah im losing steam now but luke shows up and she joins the academyyay!

[artifeast]

Cursed Dungeon Meshi AU, with a vague attempt at the manga's style. They are 17 inches shorter than their canon heights. Maintained the height differences though!

Telesphore is an elf of course, Colette is a half-foot/tallman, and Eisen is a gnome. WAY too many miscellaneous thoughts about this AU under the cut. There miight be worldbuilding spoilers if you haven't read the DunMesh manga and bonus material

Telesphore is an elf because, obviously

Eisen's a gnome because that gave me a decent height difference with Telesphore while still giving him strong magic capabilities. He might have a bit of dwarf in him, though

Colette's mother was a half-foot, and her father is a tall-man with a half-foot grandparent. Colette is still taller than the average considering her heritage (I did MATH about this. and jsyk the numbers worked beautifully). I wanted her to not be particularly innately magical, and also this would give her an appropriate height in comparison to Telesphore and Eisen. Like, the AU is already gonna be cursed with how Telsie has to get shrunken, but it'd be even worse if Colette was a tallman and 8 inches taller than him LMAO

Colette still has the Kingmaker in this AU, though I forgot to draw it. In this, it's an ancient elven magical artifact.

Colette's still 25, while Telesphore and Eisen are the same age (190). I made an age comparison chart for the Dungeon Meshi races a while back, taking into account both age of maturity and life expectancy, and according to it, 190 makes Telesphore the equivalent of about 29 and Eisen the equivalent of about 47.5, which is close enough. This AU loses the dynamic of Telesphore being alive for hundreds of years longer than Eisen, and in fact makes Eisen the older one of the two (aging-wise) from the very start, but eh, I think it still works. There's still lifespan angst since Eisen only has 50 years before he hits the average life expectancy for gnomes, while Telesphore has another 210 years. Also I think them remaining the same age, as opposed to canon, but still aging differently is kinda fun.

The Kingdom of Valor is somewhere in the middle of the Eastern Continent, landlocked like in canon. The population is primarily half-foots, but there are also a good deal of gnomes and dwarves, as expected from the region. More interestingly, there is a community of elves.

Within Valor is the Seltsamwald, a bizarre and massive surface-level dungeon in the form of a dangerous forest that stretches for miles, held in check by incredibly powerful ancient magic forming a barrier around it. The elves are investigating it and maintaining it. There is no immortality spell in the Seltsamwald. The lord of the dungeon has not been found, but doesn't appear to be particularly active; in fact, despite being clearly contained and rather active in terms of monsters, it retains many properties of a natural dungeon. Some have theorized that it actually is a natural dungeon that's spread too far, perhaps cultivated by a mage in ages past, that was then sealed closed when it grew too powerful. However, it's not sealed entirely shut, and is kept alive mostly by the elves investigating it. There is very limited non-elf foot traffic, with it mostly being criminals that sneak into its maze-like forest. The Seltsamwald has been kept stable like this for hundreds of years. More recently, a group of elves have formed a small town within the dungeon as a sort of research post, named Sorbus.

Also within Valor are at least two magic schools, located there due to the plentiful mana from the Seltsamwald. One is for gnomish magic, and one is for elven magic.

The Desrosiers were half-foots. Ariadne is a tallman that's managed to prolong her life using ancient magic. (Though even still, in this AU she probably murdered Eisen's parents when he was the equivalent of like... 37, rather than 18)

I've spent a LOT of time thinking about it and I've decided not to try to translate the revolution and the closed Kehrseite portal situation into this AU. It's much easier to say Telesphore not being able to go home is just… a personal issue, because he's a wanted criminal on the Northern Central Continent, LOL. And the revolution's just a huge mess... I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I excluded the Good Neighbors/elves from the proceedings, though. These fantasy medieval ages are allowed a little populist revolution

[unholy-reids]

Don't Give Up On Me.

Summary: Hotch is late again, and you've had enough, He properly reminds you why you should stay. [Pairing: Fem!ReaderxAaron Hotchner] Warning: 18+ Smut, Cursing, Fluff. WC: 2.5k

A/N: This was inspired by a prompt I found by @criminalmindswriting thanks so much for the inspo! <3 Also I apologize if I butcher Hotch, this is my first time writing him to the best of my ability. Enjoy!

You sighed, looking at your watch, it was two in the morning. You’d been waiting all evening, planning for tonight, making things right around the house, you even cooked his favorite dinner, set aside his favorite robe and the DVD player had his favorite movie on standby, it was supposed to be just the two of you, but again, his wife—the BAU hauled him off as if he was the Captain America of the world. You always understood his job, you knew what Quantico meant to him, and the degree of importance he held for his position as senior chief, what you didn’t understand was how other staff came home at a decent hour, Rossi was home with his French diplomat, JJ was home with Will and her boys, Derek was home with Savannah, Reid was home with his books and Garcia was probably devouring the interwebs,  yet Aaron had to be the last to leave a case.

Staring out your window you watched the rain draw droplet patterns against the glass, glancing at the empty driveway with just your car you knit your brows together his SUV should be there too, you should be enjoying the orgasms Aaron were to give you had he come home on time, letting the curtain go and hugging yourself, you remembered how much you loved fall in Virginia, the fluffy cardigan Aaron had gotten for you on your birthday, wrapped around you like the hugs he used to give you in the mornings, fall nowadays felt like winter due to Hotch’s absence, you headed to your room and left the dinner covered on the table, not before snuffing out the candles you so carefully picked out, how could he have forgotten—yet again? 

You knew what you signed up for, but this was just ridiculous, a tear left your eye without warning, swiping it away you laid in bed, curling up into yourself, the silence inside the house was deafening, pretty soon that single tear turned into a full crying fest, you hugged your pillow to drown out the screams you were placing in it, your thoughts weren’t any better, the desire to have normal worries about the man you loved was strong, you’d rather know he was at a bar with friends, instead of taking on caseload after caseload that further drifted him from you, tonight was a chance to bring you together after months of seeing him leave, after days of him bringing the work home with him, and waking up to him gone to yet another case, the thought of having an agent at your door at any moment, to inform you that the love of your life had died in the line of duty instead of being stuck in traffic was heavy on your chest. Normal shit.

Your tears and screams subsided, and you managed to calm the anxiety attack that was threatening to knock at your door, you’d finally decided it was enough, wiping your face from the rest of your tears you packed a bag to leave for the night, you didn’t care where, Aaron Hotchner’s face was the last thing you wanted to see tonight, not after this, making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, being that it always calmed you down, that’s when you heard the locks click open, the alarm being disabled and enabled again, and you saw the lights from the foyer come on, you were familiar with the thud his briefcase made when he left it on the floor beside his shoes, and you recognized the sigh, Aaron always let go of once he realized he was home with you, the way your heart thumped in your chest was undeniable, the way you loved this man was unreal, it was hard not to run into his arms and forgive him for absolutely everything. 

“Fuck,” You heard him mutter—he’d seen the table setup, and his keys clinked next to the empty wine glasses, his footsteps slowly made it into the kitchen where you stood with your favorite mug in hand, once he laid eyes on you his eyes closed in shame and hurt. “Honey, I’m sorry,” He came toward you but you raised your hand, taking it off the mug. “Aaron, don’t…” You stopped him, drinking your tea and slipping past him into the living room, the rain picked up, now sending crazy loud patterns against the glass windows, the living room was dim. 

“I should’ve called,” You heard him say softly from the kitchen as his steps were right behind you, “You should’ve called, but you didn’t, you could’ve… But you never do Aaron.” He looked down at you, his height towering over your small frame. “I’m sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, I can’t do this.” Your voice broke, and he held you finally, taking the mug from your hands and setting it down on the coffee table. “My job isn’t the most accommodating—” You cut him off before he continued. “No Hotch, you don’t accommodate me around your job, there’s a difference, I bet your entire team is home, while you stay behind looking for God knows what! Who are you trying to save?” The tears started to fall and Aaron’s face was filled with hurt. “Y/n…” He couldn’t bare to see you cry, it broke him worse than any case he’d tackled before. “I’m trying to make the world a better place, and that includes you, y/n…” 

Your shoulders dropped, you felt defeated, yet not surprised that this was perfectly rational for him. “The world can’t be a better place, when the man I love is never here,” you tightened your lips and shook your head, this was too much, the room was spinning. “And I’m sorry I’m never here, but you knew how it was going to be, why did you think it would change?” His tone was stern, he was still very much in section chief mode, this hurt even more. “You know what Aaron, you’re right, I should’ve known this was who you are and that this was never going to change, I just wish you would’ve kept me as the woman you fucked, instead of the woman you’re now engaged to,” Sliding off your ring you dropped it on the coffee table, storming back to the bag you’d already packed. “I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff, I wish you and the BAU eternal happiness.” The last thing you saw as you grabbed your keys was Aaron with his hand on his waist, and a surprised look on his face, pressing the alarm on your car you threw the bag in the back seat, you were dripping wet in seconds, and just as you unlocked your door to step inside strong hands grabbed your arm, the same arms turned you around to face him, his hair sopped as he looked down at you. 

“Don’t you give up on me now; we’ve come too far and I love you way too much to lose you now.” You tried to give your best rebuttal, but his lips crashed onto yours and you knew you were done for, pretty soon, your legs were around his waist and he closed the door to your car taking you back inside, sure, you were both dripping wet and the wooden floors would pay the price, but you didn’t care, once inside the house, Aaron slammed you gently against the wall, his large hands touching everything, the sounds of wet clothing dropping on the floor, his soft groans and your heaving breath invaded the foyer. “Room, room.” You instructed, but Aaron didn’t listen. “Not tonight honey,” He ripped you away from the wall, you were both down to your underwear, his magical fingers undid your bra single-handedly, something you always found impressive as men never knew how to work a bra.

Cupping your right breast, and using his thumb and index finger to pinch your nipples slightly rolling said fingers back and forth, his mouth left yours, attacking the free breast, biting, sucking and licking your nipple until you moaned out loud, it made him smile mischievously while your nipple was in his mouth, letting it go with a soft pop, his hands tangled on the waistline of your panties, he maintained eye contact as he lowered them slightly and leaving you halfway exposed to him. Looking down at him you realized his eyes never left you, in fact it seemed he was worshipping you, your body heat, your shaky breath whenever he touched one of your spots. 

Hooking his finger around your panties but he didn’t take them off yet, instead he kissed your mound, again in the same worshipping fashion, taking in your scent he finally made the thin fabric drop, his hands sliding up your body, between your breasts, without a second thought his index and middle finger were in your mouth, once you suckled enough, Aaron brought them back down and spread your folds, a slight breath of satisfaction left him when he saw how wet you already were for him, keeping his eyes on you he licked a flat strip up your slit, the taste of you driving him to spread your legs wider, hooking his arms around your legs so you didn’t get a chance to slip away, instead he pulled you closer to his mouth causing you to moan his name out loud. “Mhmm.” He moaned as he flicked his tongue on your clit, sucking it delicately, until your orgasm made your back arch up off the couch, kneeling before you and making sure you were now dripping for him, Aaron slid himself inside you, teasing with just the tip, when you closed your eyes he almost growled. “Keep your eyes on me baby.” 

He felt so good, it was so difficult to let your eyes stay open, but the tease in him would pull out his cock just enough whenever you did close your eyes, the smile of satisfaction knowing he was pushing you over the edge really got him off, the last time you closed your eyes, he allowed himself inside you with his full length, his thickness stretching you out. “Aaron, fuck oh my go—” Was all you managed to spit out as he began to dig for your G-spot, his hips moving sensually, he rested his weight on you, hugging you tightly as he made love to and ravished your body at the same time, both your moans and his grunts filled the living room, nothing else mattered, no unsubs, no phone calls, just you and Aaron, making love as the rainstorm outside continued. 

Wrapping your legs around him to keep him there, a small action that made him chuckle. “You don’t want me pulling it out do you?” You shook your head no, grabbing his face and kissing him passionately as your body received the pleasure of having him inside you. “Come for me, y/n.” He orders, knowing you’re close, the pleasure is so intense you can’t utter a single word, only moaning and “Right there’s” fill the room, his experienced hand finds its way to your clit, where he starts rubbing and slamming into you at the same time. “You’re so wet for me, y/n, now I need you to come for me, can you do that baby?”  His voice is like honey, as his hands circle your clit, getting you closer. “Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, I’m coming!” Your yeses fire in rapid succession as Hotch’s hips pick up speed as well as the fingers on your clit, he can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, and the perfectly shaped O your mouth is currently in lets him know you’re there, right over the edge, making him want to go over with you, “Fuck, y/n I’m coming!” He groaned, filling you up with his warm cum, and that was just the first round, despite the mess you both left on the couch, Aaron carried you to the bedroom, where round two ensued. 

It was now daybreak and Aaron was already up, he’d made coffee and picked up the wet clothing from the floor setting them in the laundry, thankful that the wooden floors were intact, he was now standing in the doorway, admiring your naked form under the blankets, he hadn’t watched you sleep this peacefully in months it would’ve been a sin to wake you, but his phone rang and he quickly ran to find it before you woke up, he took the call in the kitchen, the team was in desperate need of his help, Aaron traveled back to the room ensuring you were asleep, while Spencer quickly briefed him on the current sick bastard the team was hunting down. “From what I understand, if you’re trying to get anything out of him, you have to praise him, he’s the dominant and thinks he deserves it.” You heard him say on the phone, “I have to go, y/n needs me more than you guys do, you’ll survive a couple of cases without me, if the going gets too tough just push it to Strauss, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to go into the field.

“A couple of cases?” You asked causing him to turn around and take you in as you were wrapped in the sheets. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?” He came closer to you, tugging your head back gently and placing a tender kiss on your lips, your hands reached out to grab his mug instead. “After last night you don’t need caffeine, you need to hydrate…” He looked at you, placing another kiss on your lips and replacing his mug with a fresh bottle of water. “And yes, I said a couple of cases, I’m staying home with you for a few weeks, I have to make up for upsetting you, the vacation will come in handy, we can go anywhere you want, y/n.” His eyes softened as he grabbed your engagement ring and placed it back where it belonged. “I believe this is yours, don’t ever take it off again.” With a nod you looked down at the simple yet sophisticated ring on your finger as you looked back up at him. “I love you.”  You muttered, but he heard it clearly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, he left you standing in the kitchen, you watched him put away his briefcase, and shutting off his phone, the surprise on your face made him give you another kiss, he grabbed his laptop. “Now what was that Airbnb in Maine you wanted to go to last month?” He asked as you excitedly sat next to him on the couch still wrapped up in the sheets.

The words he said yesterday rang in your head and you looked at Aaron, as he enthusiastically typed in the name of the getaway you planned a month ago, he remembered…  Your serious, sweet, no nonsense Aaron, made you remember why he was the love of your life…

“Don’t you give up on me now; we’ve come too far and I love you way too much to lose you now.” 

[oftenwantedafton]

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count - 3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller is waiting for you in the campus parking lot outside of the building you’ve just had your anatomy exam inside.

You can see him leaning against the driver’s side door, his hands shoved into his pockets. Still dressed in his security guard uniform. It’s hot out. You squint against the glare of the sun as you exit, maneuvering your way down the handicapped ramp using the crutches he’d lent you earlier. They’re awkward, a little tricky to get used to, but they do help. Your ankle was actually a lot better today, but you’d also been resting it for awhile now, so you don’t want to push it and ruin the recovery process.

“How did it go?” He greets you when you reach his car.

You draw in a deep breath, then exhale. “I think I did okay. I hope. That was worth a quarter of my grade.”

”I’m sure you did well.” He opens the rear passenger door and you slide the crutches inside across the back seat, followed by your backpack. The vintage luxury sedan had a spacious interior, hailing from an era where things were built bigger, with the intention of showing off, ignoring things like fuel efficiency and compact sizing. Not what you would have envisioned him driving; it just didn’t suit his aesthetic. So at odds with the bike gear, with the sport motorcycle itself.

“So where do you want to go?” You’ve both settled inside the car. The vinyl seats are warm, clinging to the bare skin on the backs of your thighs. You’d worn denim shorts and a tank top today. You don’t know how the older man can stand being so covered up. Maybe something to do with those strange marks he has on him. You want to ask about them, the query nearly forcing its way past your lips on more than one occassion, but you’re still hesitant, uncertain if it was the right time to ask yet.

“You must be tired.” The smudges beneath his eyes still persist. You wonder when the last time he actually got some decent rest was.

“I took a cat nap while you were taking your test. I’m good for now.”

“Let’s go to your house.” You try to make it sound casual, surprising yourself when the words slip out. A little forward, inviting yourself over.

“My house?” A mixture of his own surprise laced with some amusement as well. “On a day like this I thought you’d want to be outdoors.”

“It’s too hot.”

“It’s summer in Utah. It’s always too hot,” he counters.

“Touché.”

“Seriously, though. Where do you want to go?”

You pretend to reconsider, biting your bottom lip, eyes fixing upward. “Mmmm…your house.”

“Okay. If that’s what you really want.” He turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. “Seatbelt on, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You drag the nylon strap across your chest, shoving the buckle into place. The material digs into your bare shoulder, pressing between your breasts.

“You’re back to work on Friday, right?” He pulls out of the parking lot, heading north out of the city proper. The opposite direction from where you reside.

“Yes.”

“You think you’re going to be okay getting there?”

“I should be good.”

“Ill give you my number just in case. You should have it anyway.”

“Yeah, I should.” He glances over at you, smirking.

You fuss with the radio for a bit, rummaging with the cassette tapes stashed into the console. A lot of music from the eighties. Something else you don’t recognize shoved way in the back. A large plastic cartridge with a faded peeling label that’s water damaged, the paper wrinkled. “What’s this?”

“Eight track. A largely inferior way to listen to music.”

“So why do you keep it?”

“I had no idea that was there, to be honest.” The car rolls to a stop at the next intersection, the traffic light turning red. “Is this what you’re going to do at my house? Snoop through my things?”

“You said to get to know you. So, this is getting to know you.”

“Hmmm.” He doesn’t sound upset, exactly. Mulling the situation over, perhaps. Deciding what he was willing to reveal.

You toss the item back where you found it. “I know what you did.”

Dave’s eyes snap to your face. “What?”

“They got an anonymous donation of an AC unit at the shelter. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Something like relief washes over the guard’s features, the tense shoulders relaxing. “Oh. That. Yes, that was me. Couldn’t have the bun and the others suffering.”

“What did you think I meant?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

Another mystery for you to solve. You tentatively lift each leg off the seat. Sticking already. There was no air conditioning in his car. The windows were rolled down, but with the automobile at a standstill there was no air exchange.

“The downside to vinyl,” he murmurs, seeing your struggles. “There really isn’t an upside. In the winter it’s like sitting on ice.”

“You need a new car.”

“It serves its purpose.”

The light turns green and he shifts his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. At least it was an automatic. You didn’t even know how to drive a standard.

His right hand departs the steering wheel and finds its way to your knee once you’ve left the city behind.

Just a casual reach and drop, that long extremity having no trouble stretching until his fingers close over the bare joint, thumb tracing small circles.

Your body is already reacting. You squirm in your seat, shifting down a little, his hand easing further up with the movement. Now half on bare skin, half on the jean covering. Thumb now worrying at the frayed edges of the hole at the front. Tucking inside. Fingers pressing firmly along your inner thigh. You suck in a deep breath.

You can see the profile of a smile on his features. His eyes never leave the road as his hand meanders further along, stopping just shy of your crotch. Your heart is pounding. Waiting for him to touch the seam there, grind it against your clothed sex.

Instead his hand abandons you, reclaiming its position on the steering wheel and you look at him, mouth open in disbelief.

He shoots you a hurried glance. “What?”

“You know what.”

“There are a lot of turns coming up. I’ll need both hands. We’re almost there,” he adds.

You fold your arms. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Don’t pout.”

“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” Whatever retort he’s readied dies off when you reach over to exact revenge, digging your nails into his thigh. Raking along the inside. You have to lean, you don’t have the length that he does.

“You are…”

“I’m what? What am I?”

He brakes at a stop sign and thumbs the arm of the turn signal even though there are no other cars in sight. The neighborhood looks quiet, a good distance between the houses. Large yards. Lots of trees. Shade. Privacy.

“Unexpected.” He surprises you with how fast he moves, cupping the side of your face and kissing you. Your stomach somersaults, your core throbbing in response. “Addictive,” he adds, kissing you again before he returns his attention to driving.

***

Miller’s house is a three bedroom Garrison with an attached two car garage.

You’re in that garage now, gaining entry once he’d pushed the button on the remote slotted on the sun visor overhead. You see his bike parked inside and a lot of the typical clutter you’d expect. Workbenches. Tools. You’re trying to picture the guard working on a housing project, doing something mundane like mowing the lawn, an expansive front one that rests on an incline, the house set uphill and far back from the road. Finding it impossible to reconcile the image.

There are a few steps into the house. Dave unlocks the door and doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up in his arms again. You laugh, murmuring a little protest that you can manage the task but he persists. You’re carried into a living room and gently deposited onto the nearby couch. It’s dark inside the house. Cooler. A lot of trees surround the property. It’s a relief after the heat outdoors.

“Want something to drink?”

“Yes, that’d be great.” You adjust the pillow beside you, looking around the room while you wait. It’s very modern. Gray and black and white. No pops of color. No personality to reveal what the owner liked. Coffee table devoid of magazines. Bookshelves lacking literature or decor. No pictures on the walls. No plants. It looked like an artist’s unfinished sketch. Waiting to be filled in.

Dave returns with two glasses full of ice submerged in amber liquid. Tea, you realize, taking a sip. “Good,” you say, nodding. He sets a couple of beverage napkins down on the table. There’s already a copious amount of condensation on the side of the glass.

He sits down beside you with a sigh, toeing off his shoes. “You can take yours off if you want. I’m not fussed about where you leave them. And I’m sure you want a break from that bandage.”

You nod, setting your drink down to unlace your shoes, then removing the metal clasps that kept the elastic wrap in place, unwinding the clinging fabric. A little bit of an impression where it had been hugging your skin, but the joint was mostly free of the swelling and redness from before.

You lean back against the cushions, picking up your glass again as you settle back. “Your house is nice. I mean, judging from what I’ve seen of it so far. Empty, though.”

“It’s easier to maintain that way. I don’t need the clutter.” He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’ll give you a more extensive tour when you’ve fully recovered. Unless you want to be carried around,” he adds with a smirk.

“I’m not that crippled. I can limp around pretty well now,” you reply defensively. “What do you do when you’re not working? There’s a lot of stuff in the garage.”

He nods. “Yes. That. I like…building things. I was an engineer once.”

“Really?” You’re surprised. Something else you couldn’t picture him doing. “What do you construct?”

“Oh, this and that. I haven’t completed anything in awhile. I’ve been…occupied.”

“With what?” The cool liquid slips down your throat.

“Some pretty young college girl that came into my path one day.”

You blush at the compliment.

The dark haired man’s drink is already finished. He tucks his thumb and index finger inside of it, tipping it slightly to retrieve one of the melting ice cubes, popping it between his lips.

You can hear him rolling it around on his tongue. The soft click when it collides with his teeth. You can’t stop staring, hypnotized. He sets the glass on the table and rests an elbow on the back of the couch, the fist he makes supporting his head. Watching you. Waiting.

Your half finished drink is back on the table. Your mouth back on his. A little humming noise from him. Satisfaction. Your tongue spears his lips. Chilled from the ice. He offers the remainder to you. Pushing it inside your mouth. That wedge of networked muscles chasing back after it. Relinquishing it. Trading back and forth. You have possession of it now, letting it rest in the curve you create as you offer it back to him. His lips close over your tongue and suck, dragging it back into his own maw.

You’re both breathing heavily. That satisfied smirk is back on his lips again. He’s swallowed whatever remained of the ice, his Adam’s apple shifting with the movement. His eyes are solid black, the rings of gray completely obliterated by the overwhelming dilation of his pupils. There’s a pulse in your sex, beating to match your heart. Every time you’re with him, you find yourself forgetting more and more of the misgivings you’d had earlier. Smothered beneath this layer of desire.

“Ask me something.” His head is propped up on his fist again, back to the casual waiting that you know is a front.

“What’s under this?” You run your fingers over his shirt sleeve. You’re going to ask him now. “The marks. What are they?”

“You want to see them?”

“Yes.”

A pause as he considers. Then that lean form lifts from the couch. Fingers working on the buttons sealing the sleeve cuffs and loosening the knot of his tie. Buckle of pants unfastened, making room at the waist to drag the shirt hem from where it’s tucked inside. The row of buttons down the center now released, pulling each arm out of the sleeves, letting the garment fall to the floor.

You stare at this display of undressing, watching raptly. Your eyes lock onto the scars on his forearms. A pair of rings almost like bracelets encircling his wrists. Circles dotted along each scarred bangle. Jagged lines streaking towards the elbows. Another bracelet ring. More streaks. The rest covered by the undershirt.

“What happened?” You lean forward for a better look, running your fingers lightly down his forearms.

“An accident at work years ago.”

“Yeah, but doing what?”

“A failure in one of the…construction projects.”

He’s still being evasive. “What kind of project?”

“A mechanical suit, of sorts.”

“Are there more scars?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“A lot of them?”

“Yes. Do they bother you?”

You shake your head.

He sits back down and you take another sip of your drink. Dave lifts the glass from your fingers, draining the rest of it. Retrieving another ice cube. Outlining your bottom lip with it as if it was a tube of lipstick. The cold water leaks down your chin, your throat. He licks along that line, pushing you deeper into the cushions at the back of the couch. The fingers holding the ice disappear beneath the neckline of your top, letting it slide down your spine.

“Dave, fuck, that’s cold!” You try to reach the offending object, lifting the bottom of your shirt.

“You’re not, though,” he murmurs, one hand snaking behind to assist you. You can feel the ice drop onto the couch. He doesn’t remove his hand, instead pinching at the hook and eye closures of your brassiere to unfasten it. “You’re so, so hot.” Back at your front now. The ice cube somehow pinched between his fingers again. Slid along your abdomen, making you gasp. He shoves the front of your tank top up, moving the bra with it, exposing your breasts. Now circling your areola, your nipples instantly peaking.

“Dave…” It’s the only coherent word you can form. Your brain is short circuiting, the blood flow shunted elsewhere. There’s water from the melted ice cube all over your torso. Sliding down your ribs and pooling in your umbilicus. You absently try to reach him, any part near his groin you can locate, but he halts you, lapping at your ear before he whispers into it.

“Mmm-mmm. Ladies first.” The waist of your shorts is suddenly looser as he unfastens the button fly and pulls down the zipper. You’re trying to recall what underwear you’re wearing, hoping it’s something cute. You hadn’t really planned on this happening. Not this fast, anyway.

“One of the benefits of riding the bike,” he begins, leaning to retrieve another ice cube, “is that your fingers get a good work out using the brakes, clutch, throttle. A lot of strength built up. Power.” He’s beneath your panties now, his fingers dragging the dissolving frozen object over your clit.

Your spine jerks, your hips lifting up. Bringing him further down the length of your sex. You don’t even recognize the sounds escaping your lips. A calloused thumb circling your clit, middle and ring finger shoving at your entrance, the ice cube tucked firmly between the bridge of his palm. Another spasm. Your wrap your fingers around his forearm, nails digging into the skin. His digits reach so much further than your own. Stretching even more. He massages your g spot with the pads of his fingers. Planting little kisses on your jaw. Watching you with those dark, dark eyes as you writhe and grind against him. The last of the ice gone. The strong pair of fingers inserted into your canal working in earnest, your pussy making obscene noises as it greedily sucks him deeper.

“Is it good?” He knows the answer, of course. He can’t possibly not, with the way your body is responding, the sounds that you’re making, the frantic touches of your hands, your mouth.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp.

“You like my fingers inside this hot cunt of yours?”

“Dave…fuck, yes.”

“Are you going to cum for me like a good girl?”

A whimper. It’s all you can muster. You feel his smile against your neck as his thrusting fingers increase their pace, your unhooded bud flicked mercilessly. Your free hand digs into the pillow now resting against your thigh. It’s so overwhelmingly hot. You’re on fire. Sweating. Spots in front of your eyes, like when you’ve been out in the sun and go indoors, your vision trying to adjust. But it’s all from the man touching you. Burning you. A final searing kiss and touch and you’re there, moaning into his mouth.

His hand remains buried in your sex, resting now, cupping the natural curve, fingers motionless, feeling your walls contract around him, the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. Softer kisses. Letting you drag air into your lungs in between them. Eventually removing his hand from your panties and you struggle to sit upright.

“That was…um…Jesus, Dave.” He’s got the fingers that invaded you in his mouth now, slowly sucking them clean.

“Delicious.” He grins at you. “Good?”

“Yeah, good. More than good.” You’re still coming down off your high, trying to collect your thoughts. You can still feel the nerves firing in your pussy, in your thighs.

“You want another drink?”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t know how much ice is left. I’ll have to refill the tray.” He winks at you and you shove at his arm. Your touch gentling, stroking down the length. Sated and yet you still want more of him. “I like having you here,” he says quietly, sensing the shift in mood.

“I like being here.” You kiss him.

He moves as if to stand but you tighten your grip on his arm. “The drinks…”

“Can wait.”

A soft smile before he’s back at your mouth again.

[cheolsfae]

Can u make seventeen as bestfriend? Thank you~

𑁍SVT as your best friend!

Requested: Absolutely

Genre: Platonic Fluff

Warning(s): None

Requests are open!

S. Coups

Snack runs!

Didn't matter how late.

"Wanna go with me to get [insert snack here]?"

"Thought you'd never ask!"

Movie nights!

Heavy blankets thrown on the couch, you both cozied up on either side of it, laughing at whatever was on.

Coups was kind of protective of you.

He really didn't like it if you came over completely upset.

"Who the hell hurt my child? Who's ass do I have to kick?" type of thing!

Wonwo

Remember that trend where people would go to thrift stores and blindly pick clothes? That's what you guys did but with books.

You always ended up with the really weird ones!

One time, it had been smut written about the grinch...

Somehow, Wonwoo always got lucky and got a decent one.

He gives me grandpa vibes, lmao! But like in a good way.

You guys watched a lot of game shows together. Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. That kind of thing.

You guys liked to poke a bit of fun at some of the contestants on the shows. Mainly the ridiculous answers they gave.

Mingyu

Loyal as they come! ✨️

Gets pouty when you hang out with other friends other than him.

"I'm supposed to be your best friend!"

"You are!"

This was always a goofy little argument you guys had.

Spa nights were pretty frequent. Face masks, pedicures, manicures...!

"Can you paint them? I don't want to."

"Gimme them fingers!"

Expect the nail polish to be messy! He tried his best though!

Vernon

You guys would have the most chilled out, relaxed type of friendship.

I get the vibe he's a floor sitting type of person.

Whenever he's at your house, there is a perfectly good place on the couch/bed for him, boy opts not to sit there.

He picks the floor, every single time. And he just sprawls out on it.

You often do the same though so it all works out.

He often comes over just to sit in silence with you.

You guys didn't have to be doing anything in particular. You guys just simply existed together like 90% of the time.

The other 10% of the time, was you guys having serious conversations about things going on in each others lives

Or maybe even talking about the most outlandish conspiracy theories. Like if Big Foot was real or not lmao

Joshua

Coffee dates at least once a week.

It was a time for you two to talk about your week.

It was a cozy little friendship.

I think he'd do handmade gifts for you.

I mean, yeah, we know he makes bracelets and things like that, but I think sometimes, he'd make you matching T-shirts.

Mainly if you guys were going on vacations together, things like that.

"Do I have to wear this?" you would ask.

"Yes! you have a tendency to get lost! I need to be able to find you easily!"

He gives hovering mom energy but in the most positive way possible lmao

Jeonghan

"It's for the plot" sort of friendship.

You guys feed each other your delusions about whatever.

He had a crush on someone, you'd be right there saying "oh I know they really couldn't stop staring at you!" When in reality, the person just happened to look in his direction.

That type of vibe

One to clown on you! 100%!

You fell asleep first at the little sleep over you guys were having? Better believe he's taking pictures of you and posting them on IG or something. And if it isn't that, he's drawing all over your face in permanent marker.

You also did the same type of thing to him.

One time, you'd put clear tape over the bathroom door, when he tried to walk through, he got tangled all up in it!

Woozi

I think late night drives are pretty common for you two.

Chilling out in silence.

Listening to whatever was on the radio.

Such a vibe

Tons of deep talks

Lots about how you guys wished things turned out differently

Or how things could have been better if...

If it wasn't things like that, it was silly little inconveniences through out the day.

"This idiot cut me off in traffic and then flipped me off"

"It's what you deserve"

A little bit of a dark humored type of friendship I think.

Dokyeom

I think there would be a whole lot of sleepovers at one another's places.

You guys would be stuck together like glue

Nothing could separate you guys!

You did everything together!

He had to go to the grocery store for groceries — you were right there going along with him.

You had a doctor's appointment, he'd be sitting in the waiting room for you.

Almost codependent.

Seungkwan

This man is the best friend anyone could ask for!

You guys love to spill the tea with one another, similarly to the boyfriend thing.

"[Insert name here] is so rude"

"They are! Oh my god!"

The looks you guys give one another from across the room...

No words even need to be spoken!

You guys just look at one another and immediately know what the other is thinking!

He feels exactly like your soulmate in best friend form!

Hoshi

This goof!

You know that video where the kid says "Do the roar"? You'd say this to him and he'd end up doing his infamous tiger thing.

To be honest, it was kind of funny.

I think random presents from one another is something the two of you did.

Yeah, 90% of what he'd gifted you was little lion themed things and he'd received a lot of tiger things from you. A sort of match-y, match-y thing.

Speaking of match-y, match-y things...friendship bracelets were a thing!

If you didn't wear it, he would be so upset! Please never forget to wear it!

Jun

He is so cute!

He doesn't try to make you laugh all that often but he does unintentionally.

That's a pretty common occurrence.

You guys would text each other about every little thing through out the day

"I think I'm getting a pimple on my nose. Looks like it's going to be HUGE one...you wanna pop it?"

"Dude, I stubbed my toe on the couch corner."

Little things like that, it was a constant thing.

Minghao

Personal photographer!

He gets your best angles!

"Tilt your head a little more...perfect." *click*

He also really likes to pick out clothes for you. If doesn't he'll tell you exactly what he doesn't like about the look. Even if it stings a bit.

He'd always tell you the dress code for some event you guys were attending!

I think, he'd be the time to have meditation sessions with you, or at least attempt to but really couldn't focus because you would kind of laugh in between the awkward silences.

He'd lightly tap you, trying his very best to stay focused on the guided meditation but sooner or later, he'd join in on you laughing.

Dino

Hypes you up! Constantly!

He tries to teach you some of their choreography

He's so patient with you! Even if you are a little clumsy and mis-step a bit.

Another one who loves to clown on you, it feels like one of his favorite pass-times.

"You look like a racoon!" he'd tell you before laughing his ass off about how goofy you looked. It wasn't like you had much of a choice in staying up all night to finish that project! You'd put it off for the night before it was due

Another thing he'd do is give you encouragement when you most needed it.

He was always the best at that.

Trash day? He was right there with you on the couch ripping every single part of your day up with you.

[chill-vibes-but-rainbow-panic]

I originally wanted to draw some of these (and I still might), but I don't have the energy right now, so Incorrect Quotes textpost it is!

Bobby: Come on guys, nothing in life is free! Dante: Love is free. Mick: Knowledge is free. Lyle: Adventure is free! Sandra: Self-respect is free. Kilroy: Everything is free, if you take it without paying.

Ridley: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever, and you're all invited. Leila: ...If? Carter: Great! The only party I've ever been invited to, and she might not even die!

Carter: I would like to live a safe life, in which I am not forced to steal. Uncle Sly: God, you are extremely fucking selfish. Die! Carter: I am 13 years old.

Leila: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast? Theo: Several traffic violations. Ridley: Three counts of resisting arrest. Carter: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Izzy: Also, that's not our car.

Cop: You're receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle. Bobby: Shit. Kilroy: ...Wait, three? Cop: Yeah? Lyle: OH MY GOD, MICK FELL OFF!

Kincaid: Release my brother! Kincaid: He did that shit, but I don't care!

Mr. Vernon: You're the love of my life and my best friend. I would do anything for you. The other Mr. Vernon: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Mr. Vernon: Absolutely not <3

Dean: How many kids do you have? Mr. Vernon: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

Carter: *Gently taps table* Leila: *Taps back* Olly: What are they doing? Theo: Morse code. Carter: *Aggressively taps table* Leila: *slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

Theo's brother: Please, bring home PURIFIED water with NO minerals added for taste. Theo: I got spring water. Theo's brother: NO! Theo: With extra minerals. It's like licking a stalagmite. Theo's brother: DON'T COME HOME! Theo: Mmmmm, cave water.

[rayslittlekitten]

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls

A/N: This is finally done! I swear I started this like two years ago inspired by a Writer Wednesday prompt and I kinda got stuck trying to paint the exact picture I had in my mind and I think I finally succeeded. Okay maybe a little less detailed, but it's got the point I wanted to make across. This is kinda like a villain origin story. I chose to pair him with an OC (who also has physical descriptions) instead of reader character because this is really all about Dieter and I don’t think the reader would want to be the OC anyways. Also thanks to the lovely @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading!

Rating: T/M

Word Count: ~4.5k

Pairing: Young!Dieter Bravo (18+) x Named OFC

Plot: Dieter stumbles into his own Hollywood movie, but it's not the ending he expected.

Contains: mentions of sex, recreational drug use, angst

The sun is starting to set and palm tree silhouettes sway in front of the pink and orange skyline. The Golden Hour. The light casts long shadows as the glowing star descends. Dieter quickly pedals, cutting through alleyways and side streets to avoid the rush hour traffic and tourists.

Finally, he bursts through the front door of his apartment holding a take out bag and sweating like he just ran a marathon. He pants and tries to catch his breath as he quickly makes his way to the kitchen and shoves the bag into the nearly empty refrigerator. After slamming the door shut, he jogs over to the bathroom where he passes his roommate on the couch.

"I brought home some leftovers if you want it," Dieter quickly mentions.

"Is it a cheeseburger?" his roommate asks, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

"No! It's spaghetti and meatballs!" Dieter shouts from the bathroom where he starts getting rid of his sweaty and smelly clothes from waiting tables all day after turning on the shower.

"There's a party happening downtown tonight. Are you going?"

"No, I got this gig last minute. I gotta leave in like 10 minutes," he replies before shoving his toothbrush into his mouth.

"Come on, there's gonna be so many women there!" his roommate comments.

Dieter rushes through cleaning his teeth and spits into the sink.

"I'm working the Titanic premiere at the Chinese theater," he shouts before jumping into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up. He shrieks at the shock of the cold temperature.

After Dieter's record quick shower, he throws on some decently clean clothes after giving them a sniff and then shoves his feet into his shoes.

"The Titanic premiere? Get out! Who the hell did you have to blow to get that gig?" his roommate asks skeptically.

"No one. One of my coworkers also works catering and someone dropped out," Dieter shrugs. "I'm getting paid to serve stars. I'm not passing up on that."

"Well, look at you, climbing the Hollywood social ladder. Next, you're gonna tell me you're the new Leonardo DiCaprio."

"You could be the next Leonardo DiCaprio if you actually went to auditions instead of waiting for someone to notice you," Dieter shoots back.

"You do you man. I have my own methods," he replies smugly.

"I gotta go. See you later. Please do the dishes before you go to this party," Dieter adds before grabbing an apple out of a fruit bowl sitting on the kitchen counter and taking off.

***

As Dieter races to the theater on his bike, riding as quick as he possibly could while weaving through traffic, he slows down for a moment when he sees the large crowd lined up by the red carpet outside of the beautiful iconic theater. His breath is taken away as he admires the glitz and glamor in front of him.

The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre is a place he’s gotten well acquainted with since moving to Los Angeles. It’s one of his favorite places to go in his free time, watching all the new film releases. Sometimes multiple times if he enjoys them that much. However, he’s never actually attended a movie premiere and the elegant transformation has him in a chokehold.

As he approaches the theater, he hops off mid-roll as he slows down and hears a loud roar coming from the fans barricaded off to the side. He can't see who it is, but a limo just pulled up to the front of the theater and the screams get louder as someone steps out of the car and walks down the red carpet. He knows one day, it'll be him walking down that plush red carpet and loved by fans.

He moves quickly to behind the theater where his coworker told him to meet her. He sprints when he finds his coworker right outside the back door appearing to finish putting on her uniform.

"Oh, thank goodness you made it!" She says as she buttons up her uniform vest.

"I got here as quickly as I could." He drops his bike and with his hands on his knees, Dieter pauses to catch his breath.

"We don't have time!" She tosses him his uniform vest.

Dieter instantly throws the vest on.

"Come on! We gotta run," she tells him as she takes off inside.

"What about my bike?" he asks as he throws his bag over his shoulder.

"Bring it in!" she shouts from the long hallway.

Dieter takes his bike with him and rushes inside, letting the door close behind him. He leaves the bike and bag somewhere and she gestures to him to hurry. As he follows her, he buttons up and stuffs his shirt into his pants. By the time they enter the kitchen, he's mostly put together as he smooths out his hair, slicking it back.

He doesn't even get a moment to catch his breath when a tray of hors d'oeuvres get shoved into his hands.

"Go, go, go!" the man in apron shouts as he nudges Dieter towards the swinging doors.

Dieter rushes out while trying not to tip over the tray. He gathers his composure and walks around offering hors d'oeuvres while taking in the celebrities and VIPs. He was so in awe of everything and everyone around him, being in the midst of one of the most important parties celebrating what he believes will be one of the biggest movies of the year. It’s James freakin’ Cameron!

Throughout the night, he continues to walk around with trays of food and beverages while taking everything in. He’s taking notice of what people are wearing, saying, who’s talking to who. Even though he’s not able to mingle with the stars, he’s just as happy that he gets to still, in a way, be in the middle of it all. He was even able to sneak into the theater a few times to watch the movie.

As he makes his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray, suddenly he’s blindsided by a swinging door.

“Oops! I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t know you were behind the door,” the person apologizes.

“You went out the wrong door,” he exclaims while picking up his tray off the floor.

“Are you okay?”

When Dieter looks up at the offending person, his face softens. She looks like a Golden Aged Hollywood star. Her long wavy hair cascades down her exposed back. Her floor-length shiny dress is slinky against her smooth skin, hugging her every curve and dip, and flaring out at her ankles. Her long fanned out lashes and cat eyeliner frame her piercing eyes.

“I… yeah I’m… I’m good,” he stammers, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Um, can I help you? Are, are you lost?” He vaguely points to the kitchen doors.

“Say, you happen to know where I can powder my nose?” She asks curiously while tapping the tip of her nose with he satin-covered fingertip.

“Uhhh, the ladies’ room is that way,” he points to a general direction.

“You’re adorable,” she compliments with a giggle after a silent moment studying him. “This is your first time working one of these big Hollywood parties, isn’t it?”

“Uhhh… no?”

Something out of his eyesight catches her attention and she loops her arm through his before quickly swooping him away into a different direction.

“So, uh, what did you say your name was again?” She asks as she briskly moves them farther away from where they were, occasionally glancing back.

“I, I didn’t,” he stutters. “Where are we going?”

“You know where we can just get away from the crowd and maybe get some air?” She asks while scanning the place.

“Yes, I actually do. Follow me!”

Dieter stealthily navigates them both to a section for employees only and out through a back alleyway. She looks behind them and when she sees that nobody has followed them, she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Phew! Thank you so much,” she says to him.

“No problem. So who or what were we running away from back there?” Dieter asks her.

“What are you talking about?” She asks calmly.

“You wanted to get the hell out of there and you kept looking back like you’re checking to see if anyone was following us.”

She ignores his observation, walking off a few feet away to put some distance between them as she takes out a cigarette from her clutch.

“Are you in danger?” Dieter asks.

She scoffs and lets out a chuckle.

“No, nothing dramatic like that,” she responds right before she lights her cigarette and takes a drag.

He notices she doesn’t have a wristband or any visible credentials.

“Are you even supposed to be at this party?” He asks her with narrow eyes.

Suddenly the door swings open, knocking into Dieter and preventing it from opening further. He moves aside and pokes his head around the door.

“Hey, sorry, buddy. Did you happen to see a woman with long dark hair about this tall come out this way? She has on like a long shiny dress?”

“Uhhh…” Dieter glances around the alleyway on both sides and briefly notices the woman hiding behind the door with her back against the brick wall, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

“I mean, that could be anyone here,” Dieter responds to the man with a small smirk. “But no, I didn’t.” He shakes his head to underline his confirmation.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks with slight suspicion, noticing his uniform. “Shouldn’t you be inside working?”

“I’m just taking a break,” he shrugs.

The woman quietly offers Dieter her lit cigarette behind the door and he takes it from her without raising any alarms.

“A smoke break.” He shows the man the cigarette in his hand before taking a puff himself.

“Well, make it quick. if you see anyone matching that description, please let me know.”

And with that, he hands Dieter his business card.

“Will do, sir!” Dieter nods to him as he takes the card.

Dieter watches the man walk back into the building, and when he is completely out of sight, he looks over to where she is and notices she has started to tiptoe away.

“He’s gone,” Dieter tells her.

She stops in her tracks and turns around.

“Thank you for that. I really appreciate it.” She claps her hands together.

“You owe him some money or something?” Dieter asks, slowly walking towards her while taking another pull of her cigarette.

“Mm, I guess it depends on who you ask,” she replies coyly.

“What does that mean?” He tilts his head curiously.

After what he did for her, she feels she owes him at least an explanation.

“We had just met a few hours ago and I charmed him enough to sneak into this party but I got bored halfway in. I thought I’d be able to rub elbows with some important people, but turns out he doesn’t really know those important people here and if you don’t know anyone, you’d be lucky to even get to say just hi to the people everyone wants to talk to, so I dressed my best for nothing,” she replies.

Dieter checks the business card that was handed to him and it reads:

“Lights, Camera, Catering

Abner Bailey Jones

CEO”

“Shit, I think that was my boss,” Dieter laughs. “But that still doesn’t explain why he’s looking for you and why you’re avoiding him.”

“My guess is he’s expecting something in return for him getting me into the party,” she shrugs.

“Oooh,” he simply replies. “Wait a minute. So you got all glammed up and came here not knowing if you were going to get into the premiere?” He asks.

“You gotta fake it ‘til you make it, right?” She shrugs again as she struts back to him and takes her cigarette back. “So you ever gonna tell me your name? You can call me Beatrice.”

She takes a long drag while waiting for his answer.

“Dieter. My stage name," he explains. "It's a nickname my family gave me when I was a kid because I couldn't pronounce theater correctly which I loved going to all the time and it came out sounding like Dieter and it just stuck. The movie theater is where my passion for acting started."

“Of course you’re an actor. What’s your real name?" 

Dieter doesn't answer, but simply flashes a cheeky smirk at her, his dimple creasing deeper into his face.

"Hmm, suddenly so mysterious. Nice to meet you, Dieter.” Beatrice extends her gloved hand out and Dieter shakes it.

“You’re new in town, aren't you?" she asks curiously then drops the cigarette butt on the asphalt.

"Not really. I moved here about six months ago."

"Six months only? Oh, you are new in town," she comments. "Practically a tourist."

"Really?" he asks with a tilt to his head. “What makes you say that?"

"Your eagerness. You still got that sparkle in your eyes. You haven’t been jaded by Hollywood yet.”

“And you have, I suppose?”

Beatrice shrugs and flashes an award-winning smile, her turn to be a little mysterious. Her blood red lips make her perfect teeth even brighter.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here? Got a place we can go to just like, hang out?” she asks.

Dieter looks around to make sure she was talking to him and then stares back at her like a deer in headlights.

“M-me? You wanna hang out with me?” He points to his own chest, shocked.

“Yeah, why does that surprise you?”

“I mean you… you look like that,” he points to her dress. “And well…” He then gestures his hands to himself.

“You look like a star. I just didn’t think women who look like you would want anything to do with people who look like me,” he replies.

“It’s that kinda thinking that makes me want to hang out with you even more. You’re not full of yourself. You seem like a cool guy, Dieter.”

Dieter’s face flushes. “Thank you. You seem super cool too. Like way cooler than me. Oh! My shift ends in…” he glances at his watch. “Maybe another hour.”

“Oh, come on, Dieter!”

Dieter sighs, stuck between staying for the party or going with this beautiful woman in front of him.

“You’re not gonna leave a damsel all in distress, are you?” Beatrice fakes an exaggerated pout while batting her hazel eyes.

“You have a habit of following around strangers?” He teases.

“Strangers? You and me? No. You lied for me and basically saved my life. You’re practically my savior,” she corrects him.

“Saved your life? I thought you weren’t in any danger. ‘Nothing dramatic like that’, I believe you said,” he jabs back.

“You saved me from dying of boredom,” she smirks and it draws a small laugh out of Dieter. “So what do you say, hero?”

Dieter chews on his lower lip as he weighs his options.

“Come on, you really wanna work this boring party? I’m pretty sure half the cast left already,” she gripes. “Oh, I also got…”

Beatrice fishes inside her clutch and pulls out a small baggie.

“Weed! I don’t know if you indulge, but I’m willing to share,” she tempts him as she dangles the baggie. “We can chill out and talk about the movie or whatever.”

After a few more moments, he finally makes a decision.

“Wait right here. I’ll be right back,” Dieter tells her right before he rushes back inside.

“Yes!” Beatrice exclaims enthusiastically.

A few minutes later, Dieter returns with his bag and bike.

“My coworker’s gonna cover for me. She owes me a favor,” Dieter says.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s gonna fit the both of us, especially not while wearing this.” She points out her delicate gown. “Let’s hail a cab!”

***

After grabbing some tacos off a street cart, they end up back at his place.

"I don't think my roommate is home. He went to some party downtown,” Dieter says while giving her a quick tour of his apartment.

When they finally reach his messy bedroom, she notices the canvases sprawled throughout.

"You're an artist?” Beatrice asks while admiring the art.

"I dabble in paint whenever I have the time,” he shrugs. “Which sometimes is a lot,” he laughs.

"Your style is interesting. What do you have going on here?" She asks, pointing to a canvas with splotches of color on it.

"I don't know yet. I just paint whatever comes to my mind." He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs as he walks over to the painting.

"Whenever I get inspired, I just..." He vaguely gestures his hand to the half empty white surface. "I have to admit, many of them have been under the influence," he laughs.

"Oh, yeah? What's your poison of choice?" she asks, suddenly very interested.

“Well, usually just some marijuana. That one was actually a result of the first time I tried mushrooms.” Dieter points to a different painting.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?”

“That’s a rich man’s candy,” Dieter replies, shaking his head.

“I can get some for us,” she offers. “I know someone.”

“You have that kind of money?” He asks curiously with a raised brow, inching closer to her.

“Money isn’t the only currency there is, especially out here in Hollywood."

Dieter studies her for a few moments trying to understand what she could mean.

“A-are you… do you…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question without possibly offending her.

“No, I’m not a prostitute if that’s what you’re going to ask,” she chuckles. "But you wouldn't be the first person to think that."

"I'm not judging." He puts his hands up in defense. "Everyone's gotta do whatever they can to survive."

"Especially out here in the wild, wild West. People are nice to each other, but in the end it's everyone for themselves." She tips her head to him.

"I wish you success but also hope I get the role instead of you, ha ha ha,” she mocks with an obvious fake laugh and then rolls her eyes. "So much ego."

“Ouch. Sounds like you've been burned before.” Dieter walks over to her.

"Yeah, but I have thick skin. You've gotta have that to be in this game. You've gotta grow one after the umpteenth rejection. Or even worse, having to suck it up and reject a role because you refuse to suck a dick for it— a background role at that. You mind?" She pulls out a joint and the corner of his lips turn up.

“Not if you share," he replies.

She lights it up and after taking a pull, she hands it to him.

"Can't say I've had the opportunity to suck a dick for a role yet," he chuckles before taking a hit.

"Oh, trust me, you will. There is no discrimination. Women might get it more often, but there are definitely men who have fucked to get a role as well."

“I should be, but why am I not surprised?” he chimes in.

“Enough of all this talk. It’s bringing the mood down. Oh, I’ve got an idea!” she says, taking a drag of the joint as she lays down on his bed. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

"Are you for real?" he asks.

"Yes, I am." She takes another drag and passes the joint back to him before starting to strip down.

Dieter is shocked and speechless. He is in awe as he watches her remove her clothes until she's down to her lacy underwear. Her braless breasts hang freely as she lays down on her side, just like Rose did.

“Are you just gonna stare at me all night or do you need more drugs?” she asks him after a few moments.

“I’m just admiring the art that’s already in front of me,” he replies before taking another toke of the joint.  “Not sure if any amount of drugs will do it any justice.”

“You’re sweet,” she comments as warmth rises to her face. “But I wanna see what you see. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Dieter continues to study her for a few more seconds before finally nodding.

“Alright. I think I got something.”

He passes the joint back to her and with that, Dieter starts squeezing some paint onto his palette, mixing colors and spreading them on the canvas. His dark round eyes dart around her face and body, taking in the image in front of him and then finally scraping some paint onto the canvas to spit out what his mind is processing.

She can’t see what he’s doing but notices he’s using a lot of different colors and broad strokes. After about ten minutes of this, a wide smirk plays on his face.

“What? Do I look silly like a Picasso or something?” She asks.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just can’t believe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met is naked on my bed, asking me to paint her.”

“You don’t get a lot of women getting naked in your bed for a portrait?” She teases before taking another drag and passing it on to Dieter.

“No,” he laughs, taking a pull of his own.

“Although, I’m not quite naked yet.” Beatrice slides off the bed and struts towards him. “Let me see what you’ve got so far.”

“No, no, it’s not quite finished—“

She takes a peek despite his protests and the breath is knocked out of her.

“Dieter, this is…” She’s at a loss for words.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… it’s really rough and—”

“This is beautiful!” She turns to him.

It’s a somewhat abstract piece with globs of paint spackled onto the canvas. He highlighted the soft features of her face and how her tendrils of long curls hung off her head. Her bright red lips pop out against the browns, beiges and yellows behind it. A splash of blue and green in the background pulls her away from the canvas. While her body isn’t complete yet, the simple and rough outline he laid out seemed intentional. If he hadn’t said anything, she would have thought he was finished.

“Thank you, you’re kind.” His face heats up as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I mean it, Dieter. Seriously! You have a gift.”

Dieter is now the one speechless. His face starts to get warm and pink.

“But maybe you need a closer look to finish this painting. Catch the details you might have missed.”

Beatrice proceeds to push her panties down until they hit the floor, which made his jaw do that as well. She then takes the joint from him, takes a big hit and straddles his lap. Leaning in, her lips graze his as she opens her mouth. He opens up his own and sucks in the smoke into his lungs. After a moment, their lips meet and they begin to make out, working up to fog his windows.

***

When Dieter wasn't at an audition or waiting on people, he spent most of his time with Beatrice. They'd sneak into movie theaters to catch a flick, especially when they were playing classics, which they both appreciated, but many times they ended up making out instead. Sometimes they'd take long strolls along the Santa Monica pier while smoking weed. At some point, she introduced him to cocaine and whatever drugs she was able to get her hands on, and in turn he would churn out pieces of art while admiring her, his muse.

They did almost everything together. They laughed, cried, loved, and tripped together. They even went on auditions together and supported each other in preparing for them. He had such a strong connection with her, sharing the same passions and navigating life together in this crazy movie town. He thought he found his soulmate.

It was the best time of his life. He was living his own Hollywood movie and he felt like he was at the top of the world, just like Jack Dawson, but he then learned he’s no Leonardo DiCaprio. As quickly as he got high on all this, the crash came down just as fast.

"I don't understand," Dieter says, confused.

"You don't make friends in this business, Dieter. You make transactions and deals."

"Wow," he could only muster up with wide eyes. "What about relationships? Friendships? Do you have any connection - a genuine connection - with anyone?"

"The only connections I need are transactional. I give something in exchange for something else, whether it be for survival, pleasure or power."

He scrubs a hand over his face and studies her for a few moments.

"So what was I? What did you get in exchange for... for whatever this is?" Dieter asks, waving his hand between them.

"You had a good time, right?" she shrugs as she throws a small smile.

"This was more than just a good time for me," Dieter shoots back with air quotes. "I-I thought we had something special. We talked about making it in Hollywood together!”

"Oh, honey..." she frowns and reaches for his face, but he flinches, pulling away from her and walking off.

"How do you-- how can you--" Dieter takes a deep breath to compose himself.

"Hollywood is going to eat you alive, sweetheart. You're not cut out for this place," Beatrice shakes her head.

"No," Dieter shakes his head. "You get one fucking role and then you think you're too good for me?"

"It's nothing personal," she explains. "I'm just playing by the rules. I didn't create them. And once I'm in, like in in, I can help maybe you get your foot in too."

Dieter is speechless. He just stares at her with misty eyes and brows turned down, shaking his head in disappointment.

“I don’t need your charity or… or your fucking connections! Did you have to suck a dick for that role?”

She looks back at him in disgust and scoffs.

“No need to be rude. I earned that role,” she replies with her arms crossed.

“That’s not a no,” he retorts.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself,” she huffs. “Look, I just came to tell you I can’t see you anymore and to pick up my things and say goodbye.”

Dieter just stares at her again, trying to process what is unfolding as the reality sinks in.

“Just go. Take your shit and go,” he simply says.

After she gathers her things, she takes one more glance at him.

“Goodbye, Dieter.”

When he doesn’t respond, she finally walks out the door, leaving Dieter to cry alone and pick up the broken pieces of his heart.

[inquisitorius-sin-bin]

I just get so, so frustrated and angry and stressed and it feels like every nerve in my body is red and ready to explode but I was the product of people who did explode and lash out at the people they were supposed to care about and I know that I have to be better so sometimes I just blast my violent music super loud and have all these fantasies about fictional evil cunts who would give in to those feelings and NEVER make the choice I have to make which is to let the rage pass through and simmer out and actively choose kindness every time.

And sometimes I think that's what the dark side of the Force would look like in real life. Letting your passions, even your righteous and well-placed anger turn you into a nihilist, misanthropic, miserable person. Someone who cuts someone off in traffic or yells at a stranger because they are agitated with something else. Someone who wants to start a fight when their partner has made them unhappy, instead of trying to understand. Someone who thinks its okay to scream at or hit a child for making a mistake.

I cannot become the people that made me. Maybe that's why the Inquisitors appeal to me so much as characters. It's a warning. They were all Jedi once. Presumably once decent people who gave in to those little angers one by one until it turned them into something evil. I see and I feel temptations within myself to scream, to get revenge for every little injustice, but I refuse to let those feelings win.

I have to eat, to shower, to write out and draw my passions, to zone out to the heavy music, sometimes to engage in a little "me" time. And bit by bit, the rage falls away. I tuck a little piece away inside of every drabble, every drawing, every sigh. The passion is there, I've released it from my mind, and so I become free from it. I don't hurt anymore, and I don't hurt the people around me. I am not a part of that darkness. I am not the people who made me.

[tubbytarchia]

feeling so self detested again because I drew a cat and now want to cry at how fast and comfortably and expressive I can draw animals versus human characters whom I really want to draw for traffic content but god fucking damn it it takes me 5 hours to draw one human sketch at best. I could whip out at least 5 dragons in that time this sucks. I just want to be good at this, I just want to be able to draw at anywhere near a decent pace that doesn't make me feel like I'm wasting all my free time achieving nothing

[slavic-roots-western-mind]

How to study productively: In your dorm

I've covered how to study productively in general, and in the library, but what about your dorms or student accommodation?

There have definitely been times where I decided to study in my room instead of braving the rain and the occasional hail outside.

Bad weather, being ill, the library being full (all too common. When possible, try to book a library study space in advance), or simply not feeling like getting dressed up and facing the outside world - these things all happen.

Or maybe you're simply burnout and have absolutely 0 interest in facing other people, so you choose to study in your dorm.

Question is, how do you do this productively? Whether you're living alone or with loud, partying roommates, there are almost always some forms of distraction.

Noisy neighbours, outside traffic, or simply too many distractions in your study space - so here's my guide for studying productively in your dorms.

1. Wear headphones - even if you don't study with music

Any noise cancellation, albeit small, is good. They tend to block out a decent chunk of the external noise, so use them to block out the noise.

During exam week things might be much quieter, but for your weekend revision sessions headphones are essential.

2. Negotiate with your roomie

Hopefully you have an understanding roommate, who'll understand that you need some uninterrupted silence to study. Even more hopefully, they'll also be passionate about their studies and maybe even become a study buddy!

Truth is, you never know what sort of person you'll end up rooming with. Negotiate friendly, but firmly. Set boundaries. You've worked hard to get here, and you need to study to maintain and improve your grades. Your living space should not be a disruptive or chaotic environment.

3. Set up your study space

You may be doing most of your studying in the library, so now your desk is cluttered with clothes, snacks and other clutter.

De-clutter asap! Eliminate all distractions, so that the only thing on your desk is your laptop, notebook, textbook, some pens and a few highlighters.

A bottle of water or a mug of coffee are permissible, but keep them far away. Too many notes have been ruined by coffee mugs and tea cups being accidently spilled over.

4. Use said study space, don't study in bed!

Tempting as it may be, don't study in bed. Might as well watch a movie or catch up on your shows instead.

Your bed is associated with rest and relaxation, not intense studying and working. Not a very focused environment.

If you're ill and can't study at your desk, you shouldn't be studying at all then. Rest, drink fluids and focus in getting better instead.

5. Use your desk for studying - only studying

Revisiting my former point, but your desk is for working and studying. Eating, painting your toenails etc. may be convenient, but not practical.

A snack is ok, but draw the line at spaghetti carbonara or a roasted chicken. Going to the shared kitchen or dining hall also helps to refresh your mind, as sitting 24/7 at your desk is not good for your mind. It's sometimes inevitable during exam week, but a regular change of scenery is good for your health, whether it's having a quick catch-up lunch with your friends, or an evening jog around the campus.

Having spent 2-ish years doing everything online, I was extremely happy to be able to go back to on-campus learning even though the adjustment process took a while.

Sitting in bed propped up by pillows, wearing a moisturizing mask and sipping hot chocolate whilst logging into my zoom lecture 5 minutes late but actually too early as it took 15 minutes for the lecture to start, was a truly one of a kind experience.

I might make this into a series, so if you have a specific place you usually study in but find it difficult to be productive drop a suggestion!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Leona Kingscholar Beastly Garb Personal Story: Part 2

"Whatever I feel like doing."

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[Sunset Savanna]

Vil: The charter bus got a flat tire as soon as we entered the savannah, so I was preparing myself for a bumpy ride, but…

Vil: This is actually rather pleasant. Perhaps the roads aren't as bad as they look?

Kalim: Yeah. Leona said, "The roads are terrible, so hold on," earlier, but…

Kalim: It's not bumpy at all. I'm not even getting carsick.

Lilia: The last time I rode a passenger bus in Sunset Savanna it was insane.

Lilia: My body was bouncing up and down non-stop. I was bumping into the seats in front and behind me, as well as the other passengers.

Lilia: I bet the reason why this trip is so smooth is due to the driver's skill.

Lilia: Right, Leona?

Leona: Who knows. You probably just got a bad luck of the draw with that driver back then.

1. When did you get your driver's license?

Leona: Before I came to Night Raven College. Leona: Don't know how it is elsewhere, but in this country, it's not that unusual to start driving cars around that age.

2. How long have you been driving?

Leona: Guess it's been about 4 years. Leona: …What's with that anxious look? Sure, that's not that long, but I'm not a completely incompetent imbecile.

Kalim: Wow, that's amazing. You gotta study real hard to get a license, right?

Kalim: That's kinda cool… I never even though about driving myself or anything.

Kalim: I always had my own driver, so I always thought that driving was for adults!

Vil: For me, whenever I'm traveling for work, my manager would drive me around.

Vil: Right now I'm busy, so it would be difficult, but… One day when I have a bit more spare time, I plan on getting my license.

Vil: It would be lovely to find a stylish car that suits me perfectly so I can drive so gallantly.

Lilia: Mhm. It's just a different feeling to be traveling this way via car, instead of flying.

Vil: That's true. Do you not have any desire to get a driver's license, Lilia?

Lilia: Welllll… So, I feel like I had already gotten one a while back, but maybe I didn't…

Lilia: And even if I had gotten a license, I wouldn't even be sure when or where I would have gotten it.

Kalim: Ahaha! Is it that hard to remember? Man, Lilia, you're so forgetful sometimes～

Lilia: Well, I'm sure it'd be way past expiration anyway!

Kalim: Hey. Leona, where do you like to take your car?

Kalim: Sunset Savanna's such an awesome place. If you got a favorite spot to hang out, I wanna know.

Lilia: Oho, I'd be interested too. Are there any hideaways that only someone who lives here would know?

Leona: Aren't we heading to the best little hideaway right now?

Leona: We're on our way to the special section of the Elephant Legacy that only the royal family can enter.

Lilia: Hm… Well, okay. You definitely didn't answer either Kalim's or my questions, though.

Lilia: It's not like you go to the Elephant Legacy often, right?

Leona: Unfortunately for you, I don't really have an answer that'll satisfy anyone.

Leona: I don't get in a car to go anywhere in particular, I just drive to drive.

Vil: Hmm, so you just like the drive itself.

Leona: Eh, it helps clear my mood sometimes.

Leona: There's not much land that the people inhabit on this country.

Leona: Once you leave the capital, it's mostly grassland as far as the eye can see.

Leona: There's no annoying traffic signals or signs, let alone any decent roads.

Leona: So I don't need to pick a destination, just head in a direction and drive forever, whatever I feel like doing.

Leona: On that one point, this place is actually a pretty good fit. I also don't need to be thinking of any unnecessary things while driving, so.

Leona: …But today, I got all this extra baggage with me, so that's a mood killer.

Kalim: Baggage? Oh, did you bring some stuff along with us?

Lilia: Oooh, Kalim. I see a herd of animals over there.

Kalim: You're right! They got their kids too. Sooo cute. Hey, did I just see the bush over there move…?

Lilia: Looks like a carnivore is preying on those herbivores. If we keep watching, we might be able to see it hunt.

[Kalim and Lilia start chattering away]

Vil: It seems Kalim and Lilia's attention have been drawn away by the savannah animals.

Leona: Good for them.

Leona: …Anyway, [Yuu], that furball's been real quiet.

Leona: He's always so annoying, what's gotten into him?

1. Looks like he fell asleep without me realizing… 2. He's sleeping belly-up.

Leona: Is that so. Let him keep sleeping, then. It's be a pain if it got even rowdier here.

Leona: Geez… I like driving alone.

Leona: Who woulda thought there'd come a time I'd be driving this many people in my car.

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[bizaar]

New Kid On the Block

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary: You're new in town and not exactly fitting in at Hawkins High, and a certain misfit metal head is the only person to treat you with even a modicum of human kindness.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Fluff, bullying, swearing.

A.N.: I heavily debated whether this was even worth posting considering its BARELY implied fluffiness, but I figured we could all use a little platonic Eddie-fic. It's an end of season one timeline, Nov - Dec 1983.

Hawkins is not much like your old town, nestled in sporadic patches of woods and dotted with bodies of water of varying sizes.

It’s of those sleepy small towns in the shadow of a major metropolitan city that suffers from a devastating lack of traffic. People who don’t live there tend to drive right through on their way to Indianapolis, and people who do live in Hawkins… also tend to go to Indianapolis for things.

At least you assume, you haven’t lived here long enough to say for certain and you don’t have any friends to tell you otherwise. Hawkins, being the conservative little hamlet it is, has a small three-screen movie theatre, an arcade, a public library, there’s even a Radio Shack, but no mall, no major restaurants or recreation centers, not even a goddamn Taco Bell.

The thing you are most chagrined about is its lack of any kind of decent record store. If you want to go to a Sam Goody, you’re going to have to head into the city, and considering your lack of a license or car, you’re fairly certain that’s not going to happen any time soon, not unless you make some friends who drive.

Yet another thing you are certain won’t be happening any time soon.

1983 is not your year. You know this well before November, but as the year draws to a swift and terrible close, it seems hell-bent on making sure you know just how much it hates you.

Being the new kid in a town that seems predestined to dislike you is hard enough without missing the first three months of school.

The student body’s opinion of you has somehow been set in stone as wholly negative, and by your second week, you are only half surprised to find that you already have a bully.

Her name is Debbie Blake. You don’t know where she came from or what in the hell her problem with you could possibly be, but she apparently hates you well enough to go out of her way to torment you.

You have spent hours racking your brain, trying to recall if you’d said or done anything that could have possibly offended her over the very short time you have been enrolled in Hawkins High, and thus far you have come up empty.

All you can guess is that she’s a cheerleader, she’s pretty and semi-popular, and that’s about as deep as the well of her personality goes.

Girls like that are mean for sport.

You wish you had been thinking about all that as you arrived at school that morning.

The air is crisp with the full force of autumn and the first chill of a promised snowfall. As such, you’re bundled in a combination of a favorite white sweatshirt sporting the logo of a local radio station from back home beneath an oversized jean jacket. The walk across town to school is far, but you’ve come to appreciate the long solitude, just you and whoever happens to be keeping you company from the portable haven of your walkman.

This morning it is The Edge of Seventeen, and Stevie Nicks has lulled you into a false sense of security as you make your way through the student parking lot.

You don’t notice Debbie and her pleated skirt bedecked toadies closing in as you weave through the cars. You’re more preoccupied with avoiding being hit by the door of a particularly shitty panel van as it swings open in front of you, and the shaggy-haired metalhead who hops down from the cab, momentarily blocking your way.

“Hey, watch out!” You snap, more startled than actually put out.

You only briefly glance at him, dark eyes beneath long lashes regarding you curiously, before you brush the shoulder of his leather jacket as you push past.

“Hey yourself, New Girl.” He says after you, slamming the door with a heavy thud.

Stevie Nicks takes you across the grass and the last stretch of pavement, and before you can reach the double doors leading into the school’s front hallway, you think you hear someone calling your name.

You weren’t aware anyone at this school even knew your name.

You foolishly pull your headphones down and turn just in time to experience the agony of having a thick icy beverage thrown in your face.

You gasp and freeze, bracing yourself against the sensation as it washes over you in a sticky wave and immediately soaks through to your skin. The morning air immediately sinks its teeth in and whispers something to you about frostbite. When you look up, there stands Debbie Blake, holding the styrofoam 7/11 cup, laughing.

“Oh my god!” She cries, “Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”

Your face burns hot with shame. You clench your jaw to keep your lower lip from trembling as a lump begins to form in your throat.

Debbie is not oblivious of your emotional state and mimics you, pushing out her bubble gum pink lips and pinching her brows together as she contorts her face into a pouting mask of feigned pity, like she wasn’t the one who just bathed you in frozen blue raspberry hell.

“Aww, don’t cry Weirdo, I’m sure it will come right out.”

Like rubbing salt in the wound, she reaches out and makes a show of brushing the ice from where it has begun to freeze to your sweatshirt.

A crowd of onlookers has begun to form around you. Devastatingly, your body has betrayed you and refuses to move, it is all you can do but watch as she rubs the blue mess deeper into the fibers of your sweatshirt.

Debbie sucks her teeth then, taking her hand back and pulling a face.

She shrugs. “Then again, maybe not.”

Her shit-eating toadies erupt into high peals of laughter and Debbie knocks your shoulder hard as she pushes past you. Each of her nasty little friends has something smart to say as they follow and your classmates react with varying degrees of amusement as they all file into the building.

Still, you are stuck to the spot where she left you.

Anger simmers in the pit of your stomach and you imagine going after her, seizing her by that high bouncing ponytail and hitting her in the face until you’ve knocked out every single one of her perfect teeth, but the urge is gone as quickly as it comes.

The morning air burns your lungs as you force yourself to take deep steadying breaths. You know that while violence very often feels like the justifiable answer, there will be nothing to protect you if it comes out that you socked Debbie in the face just for spilling a drink on you.

All that kind of reaction will do is make you out to be a psycho. That is the last thing you need right now.

You are fighting angry tears as the morning bell erupts to life, a shrill ringing to signify the start of your classes for the day. With a heavy sigh, you turn and slowly file in with the last of the stragglers, making your way down the hall, though you are not headed for your first-period Biology class.

In the far southwestern corner of the school, there is a seldom used set of restrooms you’d discovered by accident whilst hopelessly lost on your first day. The mirrors and walls are covered in writing, the overhead lights have long since died, and you’re fairly certain based on the stale tang of cigarettes and something harsher that nobody actually uses this bathroom for its intended purpose.

You shove the door open and angrily throw your backpack down onto the cracked linoleum, shrugging out of your jacket and going to the mirror to assess the damage.

Your jeans and boots are flecked with ice, which is easily discarded despite how you can feel tiny pinpricks of cold where it has seeped into your socks.

The worst of it is the gigantic blue stain that has already started to dry across the front of your sweatshirt. You hope for a moment that maybe it looks worse than it actually is there in the dim bathroom, but somehow you know better.

Serves you for wearing white, you think.

You make quick work of stepping out of your boots and turning them over to discard any melted slush before peeling the sweatshirt up tentatively over your head to discard in one of the sinks. You are further dismayed to discover that the t-shirt you have on underneath is also stained in that evil electric blue, though you should have guessed that. You could feel the ice melting in your bra as you made your way down the hall, your boots squeaking obnoxiously against the tile.

You take another deep breath in through the nose and let it out slowly, already dreading the conversation you will have to have with your mother if you can’t get this stain out.

Suddenly, there is a sharp knock at the bathroom door and it startles you enough that you nearly slip, sock footed on the tile as you are.

A hollow silence fills the air.

You brace yourself for whatever is about to come next, imagining it is either a furious teacher who has come to read you the riot act for skipping class or worse, more cheerleaders to torment you. Regardless of whatever is waiting for you on the other side of the door, you know it can’t be good.

The door creaks open ever so slightly letting in a sliver of harsh fluorescent light. Much to your surprise, you hear an almost familiar voice speaking to you from the other side of the door.

“Hey, New Girl, you decent in there?” He calls, whoever he is.

It takes you a moment to process the question, you blink stupidly at your reflection in the mirror and consider the state of yourself before answering.

“…yes?”

“Great.”

The door swings open and in steps the metalhead from the student parking lot. You stare at him for a moment in stunned silence. Never in the furthest reaches of your mind did you think he would be on the other side of that door.

He’s very familiar to you, and you can’t think why except for the fact that you literally just saw him out front. You tell yourself that you must have seen him around school, in the halls and the lunchroom maybe. He’d be hard to miss, you haven’t seen many other metalheads so openly dressed in their creed here in Hawkins, if any.

You can’t imagine what he could possibly want as he puts his hands up like he means to put you at ease. You notice he’s got something black clutched in his left hand.

“I come in peace.” He says, dark eyes darting down to your ruined t-shirt.

You fight the instinct to cover yourself. You are not sure how to react to the statement, but somehow you believe he means no harm.

“Okay…”

“I’m Eddie.” He says, gesturing to himself.

In an instant, you know exactly who he is. Even without the luxury of having friends, you’ve heard the talk about Eddie Munson. His reputation precedes him, and you know for a fact that a lot of the underclassmen are scared of him.

It is a sentiment you don’t share.

You honestly don’t think he’s all that impressive in the flesh. Worn leather jacket held together by bits and bobs that don’t precisely belong stitched into a garment, denim vest decked out in patches and pins denoting the various bands he worships, nondescript band t-shirt, torn jeans.

The way people talk about him you’d half expected he’d have Devil horns, a forked tongue, maybe.

Eddie Munson looks just like every other metalhead you’ve ever met.

Still, you tell him your name, as is only polite. Your mother may have raised you with a stunning lack of social skills, but she’d made damn sure you knew when it was time to mind your manners.

“Yeah, uh… I know, I think we have a class together,” Eddie says.

You nod, suddenly remembering exactly where you’ve seen him, tucked away in the far corner of your fourth-period Algebra class, a lone senior among juniors. Your seat is not too far from his, now that you think about it.

“Oh! Right.” Some little voice inside of you pipes up rather unhelpfully with the other name you’ve heard people using to refer to him, Eddie the Freak, “Eddie from Math.” You say.

He smiles and breathes a quizzical laugh like he finds the new nickname highly amusing.

“Yeah. Eddie from Math.”

An awkward silence blossoms between you.

You clear your throat and cross your arms, suddenly a little self-conscious to be caught in what feels like an extremely vulnerable moment by someone you’ve only just officially met,

“Sorry, what did you want?”

The question seems to take him by surprise.

“Oh, uh… nothing. I just saw what happened out there just now–”

You roll your eyes and are powerless to stop the bitter snort of humorless laughter from tearing itself out of you,

“You and everybody else in school, I imagine,”

If you’re being rude, Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by it. His gaze is very direct, but it is not unkind. If anything it feels inquisitive, like he’s really looking at you for the first time and trying to decide what he thinks. The beginnings of a smile quirk up the sides of his mouth.

“Yeah. Debbie’s a bitch.” He says slowly, then shrugs his broad shoulders, “I’ve been there and much worse, trust me…”

Another awkward silence.

This time, it’s his turn to speak up.

“Anyway, you’re new here and I thought maybe you could use some of that good old-fashioned Hawkins hospitality. The real kind, not that shit Debbie and her minions are peddling.”

Eddie pushes the black mass clutched in his hand towards you. You hesitate a moment, looking from the object to him and back again like you don’t trust that this isn’t a trap and the thing isn’t going to be full of spiders or something worse.

You level him with an uneasy look, you really don’t think you can handle any more abuse for the day. Suddenly his voice grows very soft and reassuring.

“It’s okay,” He says, “You can take it. It’s just a t-shirt, it’s not gonna bite you.”

Slowly, you unfold your hands from their protective position over your chest and carefully reach for it. Your fingers brush his when they curl into the fabric and you hold your breath as you pull.

True to his word, he lets go, and nothing happens. No creepy crawlies come spilling out as the shirt unfolds, and no alarms go off to signify you’d fallen for some kind of bizarre joke.

It’s just a t-shirt, and you and Eddie from math class, standing across from each other in the dimly lit girl’s bathroom at the far southwest corner of Hawkins High.

You can’t help but feel a little stunned at this act of kindness as you stare down at the black fabric clutched in your hands.

In the three weeks you’ve spent struggling to keep your head above water in the quagmire of Indiana’s teenage social politics, he is the first person who has thought to treat you with an iota of human kindness.

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly, embarrassingly, your eyes have become wet.

Eddie stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders again, casting his eyes to the floor like he is trying to afford you a little privacy in your emotions,

“Hey, everybody needs a little help sometimes, right?”

You wipe your eyes and do your best to smile at him, before slipping into one of the stalls and making quick work of stripping off your soiled t-shirt. You pull the new one over your head and are surprised to find the material is softer than you’d expected it to be.

The fit is a tad big, but not uncomfortably so, and it has an old smell like it’s been sitting in a cardboard box for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s strange if not entirely unpleasant.

When you emerge, you find you are oddly disappointed to see that Eddie is gone.

Of course, you didn’t expect him to hang around a half-derelict girl’s restroom and wait for you, you don’t know him, and you’re certain he’s got his own class he’d skipped out on to come and rescue you from further public humiliation.

Even so, you are sad to see him go. Somehow it feels like you’ve missed out on the opportunity to make a friend.

You turn back to the mirror to examine yourself and are caught staring at the front of your new shirt. Where you’d assumed it was a plain black tee, you see that there is a logo, a little demon-faced character applied to the middle of the shirt in a slapdash way.

The words “Hellfire Club” are written above him in a semi-indiscernible script.

You don’t know what it means, but you like it, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you you might be subjected to further abuse for wearing demonic iconography in a public school sphere.

All the same, you push that from your mind and turn your attention back to your sweatshirt.

You spend the better part of an hour scrubbing and wetting and scrubbing and rewetting the stain, playing the morning’s interactions over and over in your head on an infinite loop.

It’s only the shrill ringing of the bell to signify the end of first period that causes you to rethink the whole endeavor. Just as you feared, all your efforts were for not, the blue stain splashed across the front is not any less vibrant than it was when you started.

You heave a dejected sigh, gather your belongings and take one final look at what up until this morning had been your favorite sweatshirt, then you wad it up and deposit it forlornly into the nearest trash can.

+++

The next few weeks go about as poorly as the first as you continue to fail to acclimate with the local population.

Hawkins High offers a plethora of intramural sports and extracurricular activities, none of which particularly appeal to you, which throws a bit of a wrench in your plans.

For the lack of any ability to make friends the good old-fashioned way, you had hoped you might be able to force it through team-building activities.

No such luck.

You don’t see much of Eddie, from what you understand he skips class about as often as he cares to attend, and when you do see him he doesn’t acknowledge you. You can’t muster the energy to let your feelings be too hurt over it, you’re far too busy with other pressing matters.

Debbie and her toadies have set about making your life a living hell like it pays their bills, and somehow, that is not even the worst development in your school year.

You have started to get pulled into regular meetings with the guidance counselor, Ms. Kim, who has taken a special interest in you after noticing your apparent lack of any kind of social group.

It is here you’d found yourself one rainy afternoon in late-December, the last day of school before the respite of the holiday break, unceremoniously pulled out of the hallway and into Ms. Kim’s office while you were attempting to make your way off campus to start the long trek home.

You didn’t hear most of what she’d had to say to you, consider the tiny, highly distracting animatronic Santa Claus sitting on her desk. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at it while she droned on and on about the importance of making connections in your classes, wondering if the Santa ran on batteries or if maybe it was supposed to dance.

You had discreetly started looking for the “on” button, trying to decide whether or not you could get away with pushing it when Ms. Kim realized she was making no headway with you and sent you on your way. More the better for you, you have a long cold walk home ahead of you, one you should already have been well into.

The hallways are all but deserted as you make your way towards the foyer, your shoes make hard noises against the slick linoleum. You are distracted as you go, fumbling with changing the tape out of your walkman, having decided it is not a John Denver kind of afternoon and that you will need the dulcet themes of Dreamboat Annie to keep you company on your way home. You are woefully unaware of the sharks in the water.

You round the corner and are alerted to the sound of approaching voices, the sight of gold and green uniforms sending a spike of adrenaline surging through your body as you clap eyes on Debbie headed your way, flanked by two of the minions she has on regular rotation for your daily torment.

Thankfully, they have not noticed you, and you take the opportunity to turn on your heel and go right back around the corner from which you’d come. You stash your walkman and break into a run, not trusting that the psychotic pompom twirlers aren’t right at your heels, ready to seize you in their perfectly polished talons and drag you kicking and screaming off to some corner to devour your soul or whatever it is that cheerleaders do after practice.

For lack of any better option, you duck into the first room you come across and unintentionally slam the heavy door behind you, scaring the bejesus out of the person you didn’t realize would be inside.

It’s the drama room, set up in the style of a black box theatre, folding seating vaulting ever so slightly down to bottom out in an arena-like flooring that serves as what would be an elevated stage in a normal theatre setting.

Standing at the bottom is Eddie Munson, hand on his chest like he was recovering from the minor heart attack you’d just given him.

“Jesus Christ, man!” He half shouts when you arrive.

You press yourself against the door and shush him, listening hard for the sound of approaching cheerleaders.

Eddie is momentarily very put out to not only have been scared out of his wits but also summarily shushed by the strange girl who has just come crashing headlong into his sanctuary. Uninvited, no less. It takes him a moment, but he eventually recognizes you, and his tone steadily changes.

“Oh, hey, New Girl,” He says, “You scared the hell out of me…”

You’re too busy looking over your shoulder to answer. You can’t see much through the tiny inset glass in the heavy door, but to your knowledge, there are no pursuing bullies stalking the halls. You let yourself breathe a little and hope that maybe this time you got lucky enough to evade capture.

“Hey,” Eddie calls from the stage, “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You turn your attention to the room then and really notice Eddie for the first time. He looks more or less the same as he always does, give or take a different band tee. You notice that today he has swapped his white sneakers for a pair of beat-up combat boots, due to the rain you assume. The toe of his left boot is held together by an alarming amount of silver duct tape, like the muzzled maw of a great beast.

“Hello?” Eddie calls, “Earth to New Girl.”

“Sorry,” you say breathlessly, “I was just… uh… sorry, is it okay if I hide in here for a little bit?”

“Hide?” He asks, looking around like he’s completely bewildered by the concept that someone would want to hide in this room. Still, he shrugs and nods, “Yeah, sure I guess.”

“Thanks,”

You stand and make your way down the steps to a middle row of the small theatre, where you park yourself in an aisle seat and breathe a sigh of relief.

Eddie eventually goes back to what he was doing, setting up folding chairs around what appears to be three card tables put together, though he’s decidedly distracted, peering over at you with obvious curiosity.

He eventually endeavors to break the silence.

“Cool shirt by the way,” Eddie says, clarifying when you give him a puzzled look, “Dark Side of the Moon?”

You look down at the prism logo splashed across your chest and feel just a little bit silly for not immediately understanding,

“Oh!” You say, “Thank you.”

“You like Pink Floyd?”

“I do.”

After a moment, he gestures vaguely to himself,

“I’m more partial to The Wall but Dark Side of the Moon rocks too…”

Somehow that information checks out, but you fail to say whether or not you agree.

Another one of those awkward pauses blooms between you as Eddie’s nervous attempt at filling the silence falls flat. You’re still a bit too frazzled to realize you are being a poor conversation partner.

After another long pause, he tries again.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out lyrically, “What are we hiding from?”

Now here is something you’re of a mind to talk about.

“Psychotic fucking cheerleaders,” You huff.

Eddie nods sagely like he knows precisely what you mean.

“Debbie Blake, right?”

You shake your head incredulously and run your hands over your face. You hadn’t realized just how stressed you were about it until this very moment.

“I swear to God she’s trying to kill me. I don’t know what I did to piss her off but she is bound and determined.”

Eddie straightens, abandoning his task downstage, and takes a tentative step towards you, and then another.

“You probably didn’t actually do anything to her. People around here just don’t like it when you’re different.”

That statement strikes you with a strange and bitter tang in the back of your throat.

You blow out a harsh, shaky breath to try and dissipate the bad feeling wheeling in the hollow of your chest. Frustratingly - embarrassingly- your eyes are wet again, though this time from the breaking dam of the state of constant stress you’ve existed in for the better part of a month rather than anything else.

You have to fight to keep your voice steady as you speak, throwing up your hands in defeat.

“I haven’t even been here long enough to be different.”

The silence that follows is deafening, and you feel warmth bleeding into your cheeks as you try to compose yourself, wiping your eyes and clearing your throat.

That's twice now you’ve become misty-eyed in front of Eddie, and you can’t shake the embarrassment you feel about it. You can’t imagine what he must think of you, the weepy-eyed new girl always in need of some kind of rescue. You imagine it must be getting very old rather quickly.

In spite of all that, Eddie climbs the stairs and settles into the seat in front of you, crossing his arms over the back of the chair and pulling a sympathetic face.

“You’re the new kid.” He says matter of factly, “It’s reason enough for them.”

It feels like a noose looping around your neck, the death sentence of “they just don’t like you”, and after all the time you’d spent trying to fit in, to be normal.

You can’t deny that you had taken a quiet solace in thinking that somehow your torment was justified, that you had committed some kind of invisible faux pas that had driven your classmates to hate you for good reason, but hearing something like that from someone like Eddie sends that hope sailing out of your grasp.

You find that you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

He is not unaware of the effect it has taken on you.

“You know,” He starts to say, slipping into that gentle tone again, “I’d love to give you some sage advice and tell you it gets easier the longer you’re here, but take it from me, one misfit to another … it’s probably always gonna suck this bad.”

In spite of yourself, you laugh.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Eddie smiles broadly at you in a way that warms your insides.

“Made you laugh though.” He says, “It’s like I said, I’ve been here and much worse. And I had to do this part all by myself, so you’re already doing better than I was.”

You sigh and wipe your eyes. “Sure feels like I’m by myself.”

Eddie pulls a face and feigns offense.

“First of all, how dare you? I’m sitting right here.”

It makes you laugh again. He’s got a wicked amount of charisma, you have to give him that.

“Hey, look at that, I’m on a roll,” Eddie says.

For the first time since you met him, a silence blossoms between you that isn’t awkward.

You sit in quiet awe at the comfort his presence brings you, and you start to let yourself think that maybe this is what it feels like to have a friend. It’s a dangerous game, but it’s all you have to cling to.

Despite what you’d previously said, you can’t deny that having someone to commiserate with you does make you feel better. Better enough to change the subject at least.

“So, what is all this? Drama club?” You ask, gesturing to the stage and the table set up behind him.

Since your first official meeting in the southwestern bathroom a few weeks back, you have had the pleasure of witnessing the full effect of Eddie Munson, standing on tables, sermonizing, antagonizing other students.

Drama would make some kind of sense to you if it weren’t for the face he pulls in response to the question, like he can’t even fathom the concept of joining the drama club.

“No way, man. This is Hellfire.”

You stare at Eddie, uncomprehending like that is supposed to mean something to you. Then you remember the words printed across the shirt he’d given you back in November.

“Oh!” You gasp, pulling open your bag and rummaging through it until books and pencils and paperwork give way to reveal the black material shoved all the way to the bottom. You’d been carrying it around for weeks.

You liberate it from its prison and offer it to Eddie,

“I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.”

“Keep it.” He says, dismissing you with a flippant wave of his ring-bedecked hand, “We’re getting new ones anyway. Consider yourself an honorary member.”

Slowly, you thank him and stuff it back into your backpack, secretly very pleased to get to keep the shirt you’d since grown very fond of.

You suddenly can’t help yourself from asking, the curiosity has been gnawing at you for weeks and with no outlet with which to learn, the question has all but consumed you.

“What is Hellfire anyway?” You ask,

“It’s a D&D club.” He says matter-of-factly, clarifying when you give him a quizzical look, “Dungeons and Dragons? Never heard of it?”

You feel yourself scrunching your features and bite the inside of your mouth. “I don’t think so, no.”

Eddie pushes up from his seat and starts back down to the table he’d been setting up when you arrived.

“Come see,” He says, waving you over.

You tuck your backpack into your seat and follow him down the few remaining steps.

When you reach the bottom, Eddie spreads his arms over the table theatrically, “This… is Hellfire,” he says.

Across the table is scattered the various accouterments of the game, books, stacks of dog-eared paper scribbled over across every inch, little plastic character maquettes, and one rather large drawstring bag that upon further investigation you discover is full of dice of various shapes and size.

You recognize the same demon-faced logo from the shirt drawn crudely on the front of a manila folder.

You pick up one of the folders and read the cover aloud.

“Advanced Dungeons and Dragons … dungeon master screen… who’s the Dungeon Master?”

Eddie gestures grandly to himself, “That would be me. I sort of run the whole thing.”

“And what exactly does a Dungeon Master do?”

“Runs the campaign,” he says, “Tells the story and guides the players through encounters. Every player’s got their own character with special abilities that build up a party, and that party goes on quests and adventures and junk,”

Suddenly, like a lightbulb being switched on, your brain delivers you a tiny sliver of context.

“Oh wait,” You say, “I think I have heard of this. It’s that game that nerds play in their mom’s basements, right? Like with wizards and monsters and shit?”

Once again, if you’re being rude Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he goes as far as to laugh at the statement. It’s a light, musical sound that puts you at ease.

“Harsh, but sure, I guess some people play in their mom’s basement.”

“But you play here.”

You look around the theatre and really take it in for the first time. It’s moody, atmospheric, perhaps even dungeon-like. You understand how it could help set the stage for the game.

Eddie is watching you closely when you look back at him.

“It’s as good a place as any.” He says.

“I didn’t think people made school clubs for that kind of thing.”

He suddenly levels you with a hard look, like the words don’t sit well with him.

“That kind of thing.” He echoes, and you think you detect a hint of bitterness, “You mean like devil worship and ritual sacrifice.”

His tone is enough to make you sheepish. Somehow you manage not to crawl into yourself.

“So there’s none of that, then?” You tease,

Eddie shakes his head.

“We’re a group of like-minded individuals who like to get together and talk about our interests, same as any other club, except instead of chess or something we’re playing a fantasy game,”

You get the sense that he’s worn this argument out. You can’t imagine having to defend your interests so stridently when it’s so publicly condemned—misunderstood as you now understand.

“How often do you guys play?” You ask, bending to examine the intricate figurines set out on the table.

Some are painted, most are not.

“A couple times a month. Planning the campaigns takes time. Tonight’s kind of a big one, though. We’re wrapping up our session before everybody goes on Winter break. Big boss fight, it should be pretty fun.”

You zero in on one of the larger figurines, a grotesque creature in the shape of a ball with dozens of tentacles protruding outward from one large eye and a gaping toothy maw, both of which take up most of the real estate of its body.

“I like this one.” You say, pointing to the cyclops creature and giving Eddie a sidelong glance.

“That’s the big boss himself.” He explains, “The Beholder.”

You pick the figurine up to better examine it, then present it to Eddie in a way you hope is grand.

“Behold.” You say.

He smiles and crosses his arms, hugging his biceps as he rocks back on his heels.

“You could come play with us, you know,” He posits, “After the break, I mean. We’re always looking for new members, and collecting little lost sheep is sort of our specialty.”

“Is that what I am?” You ask, leveling him with a sly look, “A lost sheep?”

“I mean, this is the second time I’ve found you hiding from predators in a disused corner of the school.”

You pull a face, but you can’t deny there is truth in that.

You return the Beholder to his position on the table and stuff your hands into your pockets,

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” You say, despite how you feel you can hear Ms. Kim’s voice in the back of your mind, tiny, ever so slightly condescending, imploring you to take a chance at making friends. “I’ve never been much for roll play. Sorry.”

Eddie raises his hands to show he takes no offense to the rejection.

“It’s not for everybody. Offer stands if you change your mind, though.”

You smile, once again struck by the kindness he doesn’t have to think twice to extend to you and glance reflexively at your watch.

5:15.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Oh shit!” You gasp, “I gotta go!”

You turn on your heel and vault up the steps, grabbing your bag and heading for the door. You are halfway certain your mother has already put in a phone call to the Hawkins police department to report you as a missing person when you remember your manners.

You stop and turn to address Eddie one more time before you have to begin your mad dash home,

“Hey. Thanks for the sanctuary, this was … this was fun.” You say.

And you mean it, even if you didn’t share in his enthusiasm for the game, you enjoyed talking with Eddie. Evidently, enough that over an hour had flown by without your noticing.

The sentiment seems to take him by surprise and Eddie gestures vaguely, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Oh, yeah, it’s no problem. Sanctuary is what I do best.” He finally manages to say.

You turn to start up the steps again when Eddie calls out to you.

“Hey, uh… this might sound a little weird but, are you driving? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the parking lot.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling, “You mean besides when you almost took me out with your door?”

“Yeah, besides that.” He says, waving the thought away.

You giggle, which is odd because you’re not the giggling type, but suddenly you’re feeling an emotion you can only think to describe as giddy. You have to subtly pinch yourself to try and come back down to earth.

“Yeah, no I don’t - I don’t drive. I’m walking.”

“I mean… Do you want a ride home?” He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with them.

The offer itself takes you by surprise and you find yourself declining on instinct.

“Oh! No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows like he genuinely didn’t expect you to refuse.

“You sure?” He asks, “It’s probably dark by now, and with the rain?”

A brief silence hangs between you like he’s holding the floor open for you to reconsider. Still, you decline.

“Yeah no, it’s only like a ten-minute walk.”

You kick yourself for saying that. You know very well that the walk home is much longer than ten minutes when made in broad daylight, and it is a truth universally known that all long walks are made that much longer under cover of darkness.

Almost as if somehow he knows you aren’t being honest about the distance, Eddie throws up his hands.

“Could be a five-minute drive?” He says, his voice lilting in a sing-song way.

In spite of yourself, you’re grinning again.

“I like walking,” You insist.

“I like driving.”

You find yourself briefly considering it before your eyes fall upon the figurines laid out on the table, “I don’t want to make you miss your club.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” He says, starting up the stairs like he’s already made up his mind to drive you, regardless of what you say. “I’m the boss, remember? They can’t start without me.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.”

You surprise yourself by saying his name, and strangely enough, you like the way it feels on your tongue. You have to stop yourself from saying it again just to keep it there a little longer.

“No, come on. It’s dark, it’s raining. Come on, I insist.”

Suddenly, he’s standing on the step below you and you’re face to face. He’s looking expectantly at you in a way that is making your insides go squirmy for reasons you can’t quite comprehend and you feel the muscles in your face starting to ache for much you’ve been smiling over the past hour. You suddenly notice that he has the softest, prettiest eyes, like dark pools of satin. You bite the inside of your cheek and briefly consider turning him down once and for all, particularly considering the state of your insides and the butterflies that have begun to make residence there, but Eddie from math class is kind, despite what his reputation suggests, and the walk home is very long.

“Okay.” You finally say, slowly. Carefully.

His face lights up in another one of those big broad smiles and your insides twist in on themselves again, “Okay.” He says, “Great, let’s go then.”

It isn’t completely dark by the time you emerge from the school, but it is dark enough that Hawkins, in all its small-town glory, would have forced you to walk a long stretch of the way in pitch darkness due to an inexplicable lack of streetlights along your route. You’re suddenly very glad you’d let Eddie talk you into taking that ride.

The rain has stopped, the air is thick with the smell of creosote, and the pavement crunches underfoot as you follow him across the parking lot, angling towards his large, semi-shitty panel van sitting at the far end of the lot like a crouching beast. It is not the only car in the lot, much to your chagrin.

The cheerleaders have joined the basketball team, and they all stand gathered around their various expensive vehicles, probably each revealed with a bow waiting for them outside their houses on their sixteenth birthdays.

You’d gotten a crisp twenty-dollar bill for your sweet sixteen and a note explaining that your mother was working late and there were leftovers in the fridge, and you’d been happy to receive it. You’d put that money towards your precious walkman.

The social elite of Hawkins High grows strangely quiet as you pass them. You can feel them watching you with their eyes out on stalks like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.

Eddie Munson and the weird new girl. What could they possibly be doing together on this dark, Friday evening in mid-December? You can’t even begin to imagine what kind of rumors this will spark.

If he’s bothered by their staring, Eddie does an incredible job at not showing it, meanwhile, you are exhausting all of your willpower in fighting the urge to hide behind him just to try and escape being looked at with such severity.

“My adoring public,” Eddie explains with notable sarcasm.

Mine too, you want to say, but anxiety has wired your jaw shut.

It takes what feels like a very long time to reach the van, and when you do, Eddie makes the gentlemanly effort to open the passenger door for you and hold it while you climb up into the cab. The heavy door swings shut with a slam and you watch as he circles around to climb in on the driver’s side.

“Okay. So do we want music or quiet reflection?” Eddie asks, as he settles in.

He fishes his keys from his pocket and twists them in the ignition. The engine roars to life and his stereo blares an indistinct metal. Eddie quickly reaches out to turn down the volume, waiting for your answer.

“Music is good,” you say immediately, though you are struck by the sweetness of his thinking to ask.

He leans over and pops open the glove compartment at your knees, instructing you to “find something you like” as he shifts the van into drive and you begin to move towards the edge of the parking lot. You lean forward to try and better examine the mess of tapes he has piled up in the little drawer, squinting against the dark.

“Alright, my Lady,” Eddie says as you roll up to the stop sign, “Where am I taking you?”

“Gloucester and Cornwallis.” You say, absentmindedly thumbing through his cassettes.

Eddie stomps the brakes a little harder than you’d expected, your lack of a safety belt causing you to lurch forward in your seat. You catch yourself with a palm against the dashboard as Eddie swings his head around to level you with a very pointed look.

“What?” You ask, suddenly a little worried that you said something wrong.

“Gloucester and Cornwallis?” He echoes, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“What about it?”

He leans back a little like he needs to take a better look at you.

“That ain’t no ten-minute walk, Babe.” He says, and you feel warmth creeping into your face. He’d called you babe. Something in you is suddenly ravenous to hear him say it again. “That’s clear across town.”

Strident concern for your wellbeing oozes off of his tone and you can’t stop yourself from bleating out a peal of incredulous laughter. You’ve been a latchkey kid so long you might as well share the same creed with the postman, Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night…

“I told you you didn’t have to drive me!“ you insist, “If it’s too far I’ll get out and walk”.

You pull the handle of your door and start to push it open but Eddie is already shaking his head, his shaggy brown locks bouncing as he reaches across you to grab the door. His fingers curl over yours as he takes hold of the handle and you freeze as he pulls your door shut.

“No way. Absolutely not. I said I’m driving you, so I’m driving.” He insists, and then, “Put your seatbelt on.”

“You’re the boss.” You hum, pulling the belt across your midsection

Once it is clicked into place, Eddie puts his foot on the gas and pulls out onto Cherry Street, a straight-through town shot up to Gloucester.

You’re back to examining his collection of tapes, stifling a smile as you listen to him mutter angrily to himself about so-called ten-minute walks in the dark.

“You walk that far every day?”

You nod, “Every day, to and from.”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, “You do like walking.”

An easy silence falls over the cab after that, the sound of the radio is barely audible.

You’re not surprised to discover that Eddie’s collection is mostly generic metal. Bands you’ve heard of, bands you haven’t. You flip through his tapes until finally, you come across something that speaks to you.

“What about this?” You ask, retrieving it from the glovebox and holding it up for Eddie’s approval. He glances at you and immediately shakes his head,

“No, don’t show me,” He says excitedly, all thoughts of your daily commute forgotten. He punches a button on his stereo, ejecting the current tape from the cradle and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. “Surprise me.”

You can’t deny that you are slightly horrified at how he treats his cassettes, thinking of your own pristine box of alphabetized tapes at home, but you feel a nervous trill of excitement in your chest as you push the tape into the cradle and let the machine take it. You sit back and tilt your head toward the stereo.

“You’re gonna want to crank it.” You say.

Eddie grins at you and obliges.

“Atta girl,” he says. You’re blushing again.

After a moment of mechanical whirring, the song starts up with a guitar riff you know very well. You’d spent hours and hours listening to your own copy of this cassette until tragically it had exploded into that dreaded ball of scrambled tape.

The excellence of your choice is not lost on Eddie, whose face splits into another one of those bright, broad smiles as Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song blares from the speakers.

“Oh yes,” He says, heeding your previous advice and further cranking the volume of the stereo, “Great choice!”

You fail to swallow the smile lighting up your face, happy to have received the Munson seal of approval and laughing when Eddie starts throwing his head back and forth in the sheer joy of rock music. It’s infectious, and before you realize it, you’re both shouting the lyrics, despite how you can barely hear yourself over the pounding music.

You can only imagine the picture you must paint to the innocent bystanders of Hawkins, milling about the main street as you come barreling down the road, music blaring. You half expect to get pulled over, and you are half as much surprised when it doesn’t happen.

The song goes on to its grand finish before cycling to the next track, and the sound on the stereo is dialed back to a reasonable volume. Your heart is pounding and you’re half way to giddy in a way that only singing along to very loud music can make you feel.

Eddie pushes his hair back out of his face, “So have you been pulled in to see Ms. Kim yet?” He asks.

“Yeah, today actually.” You say, “She’s worried I’m not acclimating to the local population.”

He hums thoughtfully, “It stresses them out when the new kids don’t conform right away. It’s like they think you’re more inclined to go postal or something. Don’t be surprised if she starts trying to get you to join a club after the holidays.”

You laugh humorlessly and think back on the exchange you’d had with Ms. Kim only a few hours before.

“She also wanted to know how that whole thing with that Byers kid was affecting me,”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I guess she assumed I know his brother because we’re both…” you trail off as you try to think of a delicate way to put it.

“Social outcasts?” Eddie posits,

You breathe out hard through your nose, “I think the word she was angling towards was weirdos,”

He seems to find that endlessly amusing, “For the love of God, please, make my day and tell me that she actually called you a weirdo”

You scrunch your nose and try to let him down gently, “It was more implied than actually said,”

Eddie feigns disappointment and hits the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. “Damn,”

“Sorry.”

Before you know it, you’re rounding the corner onto Gloucester and pulling up to the front of your house. The lights are on and you can only just imagine your mother, chain smoking and wearing a groove into the carpet from all her frantic pacing.

Eddie throws the van into park and gestures grandly to your house.

“There you are, my lady, safe and sound, as promised.”

“Thank you, good sir, for the ride, the stimulating conversation, and the music.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and begin gathering your backpack and the rest of your belongings as you prepare to step out.

“Anytime.” He says, and you think he means it.

You smile at him and try to push down the warmth blossoming in your chest as you pull the door handle. The night air is cold and crisp with the leftovers of the rain. You are almost immediately shivering as you hop down from the van, but as you turn to shut the door behind you, Eddie stops you, same as he had on the stairs back at school.

“Hey,” He says in a way that almost reads as sheepish, “I feel like I should probably warn you, this…?” He gestures between himself and you, “…isn’t gonna make you popular with your friends. Hanging out with the freak kind of makes your a freak by default,”

You pretend to consider it, though only for the briefest of moments. “Everybody already thinks I’m a freak, and I don’t have any friends.” You say, throwing up your hands.

Eddie leans over the steering wheel and levels you with a pointed look.

“Oh come on,” He says, “What am I, chopped liver?”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Are we friends?” You ask, only half teasing.

The muscles in your face are starting to hurt again from how widely you are grinning.

“We could be, if you wanted to.”

Again, you are stunned by how effortless it is for Eddie to extend a little bit of kindness. It might not mean much to him, asking you to be friends, but to you it’s everything. You don’t think you could have spoken at that moment if your life depended on it, all you can do is nod emphatically and hope you don’t look too eager.

Eddie smiles another one of those big broad smiles at you and your insides go squirrely.

“Okay, Weirdo. I’ll see you at school.”

You shut the door and start up the grass towards your house, imagining you are glowing for how bright you feel.

Just as you’re about to reach the front porch, you hear Eddie shout your name. He revvs the engine as Immigrant Song kicks up again, cranked all the way up for the full effect.

You turn around once more and can’t stop yourself from laughing out loud when Eddie sticks out his tongue and throws up the horns, full rock and roll energy on display as he stomps the gas and roars off down the street. The familiar riff can be heard blasting through your neighborhood, even as the van whips around the corner and disappears from sight.

You watch him until he’s gone, then turn back to the house to find your mother standing in the doorway, a scandalized look on her face.

“What in the world was that?!” She demands, hands on her hips.

You stare at her for a long moment of silence, contemplating trying to explain yourself, before you smile and simply say “I made a friend.”