#i know i over-share its not a secret and I do it with full knowledge and intent because I feel like it

[inuyashaluver]

hey idk if u still take requests but i got an idea (if u don't just delete the ask, I understand xd). Leah and R recently got married but R kept on playing with her lastname on the jersey still. But on one international break R (plays for a different nation, like idk Germany or Spain) and decided to put Williamson on her back as a surprise for Leah who is watching with her family/or team. Leah at first is confused about it and thinks its a mistake in the line up but then the camera zooms in on R with Williamson printed on the back, so she of course gets super emotional about it + maybe even getting a little teased for it ;) ps. love your writing (especially the leah fics) a lot so keep up the great work <3 (kiss cam was mad cute btw)

surprise - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which your wife sees your shared last name on your jersey for the first time

warnings: swearing

a/n: oh my goodness! thank you so much for the request and the love for my fics, i really appreciate it!! hope you enjoy xxx

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your wife, leah had been married for a little over a year after being partners for 6 years prior. it wasn’t a secret that you took on the williamson last name, however, on all your jerseys, it remained (y/l/n), taking so long because you don’t have the time to change it as quick as you would like.

you were working on changing it without leah’s knowledge, but it didn’t really faze her, she was confident in your relationship and you didn’t need to be labelled by her last name to be her wife. in her head, you’ve been her wife the first day she asked you to be her girlfriend.

you both played together at arsenal, where the both of you met and blossomed in love. however, you both play for different national teams, you for spain and her for england. this didn’t affect your relationship in a bad way, instead, it was good for it. you loved to tease each other about which team was better, who would win against each other and more. both of you were professionals, leaving everything on the pitch and not bringing into your personal lives.

it just worked, the two of you couldn’t explain it but it did. you and leah had a lot of love and respect for each other, both of you supporting each other’s national careers and arsenal careers.

—

it was national break, leah had already played in her group, the lionesses winning their group stage for the qualifiers. you had gone to each of leah’s games, her doing the same for you - wearing each other’s jerseys with bright grins and putting pride to the side, wanting to support your significant other.

as soon as leah had completed her group stages, you had your final match for your own group, deciding to bring keira and georgia along with her. your family were there, with leah, sitting in the family and friends section talking and laughing with each other before the game starts. before the teams come out, the announcer shares the starting line ups. leah was watching the screen excitedly, ready to see her pretty girl, each player gets an individual video of themselves with their names on the screen.

“number eight, (y/n) williamson!” her claps and cheers slow when she sees ‘williamson’ on the big screen, supported by your face in your jersey. her eyebrows quirk in confusion, she turns to your family and asks if they know anything about the ‘mistake’ but they offer her fake confusion, claiming they knew nothing of it. leah furrows her brows and looks at keira and georgia, who also shrug with a smirk. she sits forward on her chair, elbows resting on her thighs, her stern football face on full display waiting for you to come out.

she focuses her attention on the tunnel, waiting to see the back of your jersey, that’s when she sees it, ‘8 - williamson’ she immediately covers her mouth with her hands, letting out multiple tears when she sees you. she looks over to your family but they were already smiling at her brightly, recording her reaction for you to watch later.

she lets out a wet laugh, she can’t take her eyes off you, smiling with so much adoration. she knew you had her last name, she’s seen you wear her jersey, but she wanted to collapse at the thought of her girl finally having her last name officially on your jersey rather than hers, not realising how much this meant for her.

keira and georgia jump up and down, clapping leah on the shoulder and hyping her up. she’s still in disbelief, standing up with her hands on her head, looking at you with a big smile. she could tell that you were searching for her in the section, you spot the group of your family, your wife and some of your best friends. while waiting in line for the national anthems to play, you quickly wave at them, blowing a kiss in their direction. leah lets out a quick giggle, slightly pink in the cheeks.

“captain leah is a bit of a simp huh, g?” keira smirks, pretending to talk to georgia but directing it right at leah.

“who would have thought we would see leah weak at the knees because of her own last name, kei?” georgia mocks with a matching smirk

“both of you shut up” she sends them the captain’s glare but they just can’t stop, choosing to tease their friend for the duration of the match.

—

every time you got the ball, leah leaned forward in her seat, analysing your every move and whispering under her breath, “come on, baby”. she nods her head when you pass, smiling when you do something well. leah could see from the corner of her eyes her two best friends recording her and taking photos of her, knowing they would share them with you to make fun of her but she just didn’t care, she focused her entire attention on you and you only.

the whistle signals the end of the first half, spain was in the lead by 3 goals to 1, one of them an assist from you. leah watches as you walk towards the tunnel with your water bottle, you make eye contact with her, smiling excitedly at her. she returns the gesture, blowing you a quick kiss, grinning as you return the favour before returning to the change room.

her grin disappears when she looks over at her friends, them making kissy faces at her. she shakes her head, turning to chat with your family instead, the girls still teasing her behind her back. when you come back out of the tunnel with your team for the second half, her breath hitched seeing you in your jersey again, you looked absolutely breathtaking to her. about 5 minutes into the second half, you decide to take a risk, wanting to impress your fans as well as your wife.

you get the ball from aitana, running from the midfield and taking the shot. leah knows you can shoot from a distance like this, practising with you back at home, this doesn’t mean she’s not absolutely freaking out, her hands covering her mouth again watching you. the ball curves from your foot, landing in the top right of the box, the keeper just missing it. you scream in celebration, running towards aitana and celebrating while the rest of your team jump on top of you.

leah, your family and her two best friends were jumping up and down screaming. leah having the biggest smile on her face, only growing wider seeing your bright smile with ‘williamson’ on your back.

you quickly run towards the friends and family section again, blowing a big kiss towards leah and everyone else. in the corner of your eye, you spot the camera man filming you, you gesture them to come closer to you, spinning around and showing your back, then holding up the number one while smiling brightly. leah slightly tears up from your goal but her tears fall again at your celebration on the big screen, that was her wife, she literally couldn’t believe it.

the game concludes 4-1 win for spain. your team does a victory lap and you move around taking pictures and giving signatures when you feel familiar, strong arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. you laugh gleefully when you’re placed back down. turing around quickly and jumping on leah, she quickly catches you by your thighs, holding you tightly against her body.

she looks up at you with a bright grin,

“mrs williamson, you evil woman!” she mocks,

“what do you mean, mrs williamson?” you joke with a smirk,

“you look beautiful with our name on your back, baby, couldn’t take my eyes off you” you smile sheepishly as her, cupping her face and pressing a gentle kiss on her lips, she whines when you pull away to speak to her.

“so you liked my surprise, mi amor (my love)?” you tilt your head to the side, already knowing the answer based on how tightly she’s holding you and how pink her cheeks are.

“i-” she starts, interrupted busy her two best friends, forming a circle around you, linking their hands and rotating around the two of you.

“oh definitely more than like, (y/n/n), she’s a proper fan!” georgia says with a laugh

“oh yeah, the girl was fangirling so hard like she didn’t marry you” keira adds, laughing hard with georgia.

leah looks up at you sternly, placing you on the ground, giving you a tight lipped smile and a quick kiss on your lips. “excuse me for a minute, baby?” you hesitantly nod at her. the two girls already know their fate, running away as quick as they could with leah hot on their trail. you shake your head at them, going to spend some time with your family before they left.

you took leah into the change room with you after saying goodbye to everyone, leah was taking you home after this. when you get inside, you peel off the shirt and throw it next to you, leah rushing forward and picking it up and dusting it off.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she exclaims and holds the jersey to her chest offendedly,

“what-” you look at her confused,

“do you understand how special this is!” she starts, scoffing at your confused face, “you think i’m going to let my wife’s first williamson jersey get dirty when i’m going to frame it and hang it up in the house?” you laugh loudly at her, stopping when she gives you a glare, realising she wasn’t joking.

“mi amor (my love), it’s already dirty! i’ve been sweating in it for 90 minutes, i can get you a new one-” she shakes her head at you, “don’t try me, williamson” neatly folding up the jersey and holding it close to her. you smile at her, grabbing her around the neck and pulling her down into a hug, she quickly reciprocates, running her hands up and down your now exposed waist.

she lets you go quickly shower, coming out dressed completely head to toe in her clothes, you were killing her. has she seen you in her clothes all the time?, yes. did she marry you? yes. she still had the same reaction as she first did, both of you so completely in love with each other, it was sickening.

leah kept her word and framed your jersey, you convincing her to do the same with hers and hanging them side by side in your living room. now everyone knows the superstar couple, the williamsons were inseparable.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

just pretend it’s youuu - ily wally!

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: back from national camp with my baby, the williamsons are back in action!

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yourname: williamson supremacy, baby!

↳ leahwilliamsonn: fuck yeah

stanwaygeorgia: simp

↳ keirawalsh: simp

↳ leahwilliamsonn: uh, duh, have you seen her?

↳ yourname: stop it, i’m blushing

↳ leahwilliamsonn: oh yeah?

↳ keirawalsh: MY EYES

[starsjulia]

superhero girlfriend

leah williamson x pregnant reader

a/n : i’m in rome and im dying from the heat, so i decided to write something about it. also sorry for how short it is…

warnings : none! (for once) just fluff.

Leah and Y/N strolled through the ancient streets of Rome, the summer sun blazing overhead. The city was alive with history, every corner steeped in tales of emperors, poets, and artists. But right now, the only story Leah cared about was the one she was writing with Y/N—their last holiday as a family of two before their little one arrived.

Y/N rubbed her growing belly, feeling the baby kick gently. "I think she likes Rome," she laughed, looking up at Leah with eyes full of love.

Leah grinned, her hand finding its familiar place at the small of Y/N's back. "Or maybe she’s just excited about the gelato we're going to get later."

The couple had spent the day exploring the lesser-known parts of the city, venturing beyond the usual tourist spots. They had wandered down cobbled alleys, discovered quaint little cafés, and marveled at hidden fountains that seemed to spring up like secrets only locals knew.

But now, as the afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, Y/N started to feel the weight of the day. The heat was oppressive, and her feet ached from the hours of walking.

"Leah," Y/N said, her voice tinged with exhaustion, "I think I need to sit down for a bit."

Leah looked around, realizing they had wandered far from the main streets. The area was quiet, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of the city. No taxis in sight, just the silent presence of old buildings standing guard over the narrow streets.

"Of course," Leah said softly, her concern evident. She scanned the area for a bench, but the nearest one was a good distance away. Not wanting Y/N to exert herself further, Leah made a quick decision.

Without a word, Leah bent down and gently scooped Y/N into her arms. Y/N let out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around Leah's neck as she was lifted off the ground.

"Leah! You don’t have to—" Y/N started, but Leah silenced her with a soft kiss on the forehead.

"I've got you, love," Leah said, her voice tender. "Just relax. I'll take care of everything."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection. It wasn’t just the romantic gesture that made her feel so loved, but the ease with which Leah did it—how natural it felt to be cared for by the woman she adored.

Leah began walking, her strides strong and sure, as she carried Y/N through the winding streets. Despite the heat, she felt a cool calm wash over her, knowing that she was doing everything she could to make Y/N comfortable. They passed by a few locals who smiled at the sight—a tall, athletic woman carrying her pregnant partner with such obvious care and love.

Y/N rested her head against Leah's shoulder, closing her eyes as she savored the moment. "You're my hero, you know that?" she murmured.

Leah chuckled, her breath warm against Y/N's temple. "I'm just doing what any superhero girlfriend would do."

Finally, they reached a main road where taxis were more frequent. Leah carefully set Y/N down on a bench in the shade before hailing a cab. She made sure Y/N was comfortable, fanning her lightly while they waited for the taxi to pull up.

Once they were settled in the backseat, Y/N leaned against Leah, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. "Thank you for today," she whispered. "I know it wasn't easy."

Leah wrapped an arm around Y/N, pulling her close. "It was perfect," she replied. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything. Besides, it's our last adventure before we become three."

Y/N smiled, placing her hand over Leah's, where it rested on her belly. "I can't wait to see what the next chapter holds."

As the taxi drove them through the ancient streets, the city of Rome seemed to blur into the background. All that mattered was the love they shared, the new life they were about to welcome, and the knowledge that, no matter what, Leah would always be there to carry Y/N through anything life threw their way.

[ineffable-endearments]

Aziraphale's Entire Bookshop Is A Trauma Reenactment

This essay got so complicated. The main point is that Aziraphale's bookshop is a trauma reenactment and that's why he had to give it up.

This post of mine recently got a bunch of notes and I'm so glad people have liked it. For the unfamiliar: the gist is that Aziraphale wants. He wants books, he wants Crowley - but he can't let himself just desire things for their own sake or for his; he'll only allow himself to have what he wants if it serves a greater purpose. That's why Aziraphale has a shop full of books instead of just a collection of books. That's why Aziraphale always has some scheme for Crowley to get involved in.

However, I think that underneath the "purpose" of selling books and participating in the local economy, the shop has another purpose that Aziraphale hasn't faced. Instead of rewriting this, I'll partially copy over something I wrote after Season 1 and before we even knew Season 2 was a thing:

Aziraphale’s squirreling away of old books and erroneous Bibles, his hoarding of humanity’s misguided attempts at prophecy…he is roleplaying his relationship with Heaven, but with himself in a position of power. He’s gathering Knowledge and keeping it a secret while knowing all along that it’s inaccurate, so in that way, he is a lot like his superiors and God. Crucially, he gets to role play the entity powerful enough to have, but not share, his knowledge.

Note that also, in this scenario, the misprinted Bibles and vague or incorrect prophecies are highly prized. They are Aziraphale's favorites - just as you'd expect for a being who knows he's not what an angel is supposed to be but is desperately hoping God will favor him for exactly that reason.

So. The bookshop is a reenactment of Aziraphale's trauma in the same way that yelling at plants is a reenactment of Crowley's trauma. In both cases, the two of them are identifying with both their abusers and themselves. Crowley recognizes that his abusers are malicious and have only their own motivations, no drive toward the "greater good." That's why it's a sign of healing that he has started showing more attachment to his plants in Season 2 and seems to be treating them better: he is no longer acting the part of his own abuser.

Aziraphale is, despite his conscious efforts, still identifying with Heaven. Through his bookshop, he is trying to act like he thinks Heaven should, preserving (his books) and protecting (his books, Jim, Crowley) and orchestrating Good (the whole Ball fiasco). And each of these behaviors is for a Great Plan: running a bookshop, solving a mystery, throwing a ball. Everything he does has to align with a higher purpose, a grand scheme of some kind. Otherwise, how is he going to take on Heaven's role and do it better?

It's a twisted way of trying to make things right. Heaven has failed at its job. It's supposed to be the ultimate Good, but it hasn't been. Even in the Final 15 minutes when Aziraphale says "It's the side of truth, of light, of good," I'm more than convinced he's saying that because he wants it to be so rather than because he's sure of it. (Someone else pointed out this possibility, but it was many posts back and I'm not sure who. If I find the post again, I'll link it here.)

Aziraphale is stuck in a pattern of trying to play the role Heaven failed at. To be clear, this role is "motivating humans to do Good and keeping it all (the universe) running."

...But nobody should be doing Heaven's job. Nobody should be "orchestrating Good," not by trying to control other people. Nobody should be making grand plans for the universe. People should be allowed to just live out their lives.

I want to add, in case it's not obvious, that this is not a conscious process. With human beings, it typically is not. And as other people have pointed out, Aziraphale is smart, which is why he can end up in these patterns in the first place: he's good at rationalizing!

While his need for control is intensely unhealthy, it's reasonable that he would have ended up here. Aziraphale has never been in control in his entire existence. That's Heaven's form of abuse. I mean, I start having an existential crisis when I don't feel like I can say "no" often enough at work - I can't imagine being created with the same amount of free will but denied the knowledge to make any choices for millions of years.

(That's also where some of his most infuriating behavior comes from - another way of trying to exert control is through acceptance: to just insist on being happy even when things are obviously wrong. God is cruel? There must be a good reason we don't understand. Armageddon is coming? Well, it will all be lovely afterward, of course. The Metatron is being really persistent about trying to get me back in Heaven? That's great, actually! Now I can make a difference! Neil has commented that Aziraphale's favorite song with lyrics is "Spread A Little Happiness." Look up the lyrics. They are all about simply denying bad feelings.)

You know how we've observed that the bookshop is painted in Crowley's colors? And how Aziraphale left both of them behind at the end of the season? Well, also consider how Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship pattern has become unhealthy and codependent - Aziraphale genuinely loves Crowley, but the only model of love he's had in his own personal experience, outside of fiction, is this weird power-control thing Heaven has going on.

He needs to break out of the control pattern before he can admit that he loves books and Crowley for what they are.

This is why I think the definition of "goodness" isn't necessarily Aziraphale's final final boss. The narrative could go that way. But I have a strong feeling his final boss will have to involve control.

When people wonder "Why is it taking so long for Aziraphale to figure out that Heaven is bad," my personal suggestion is that good intentions are a red herring for both the audience and for Aziraphale himself. He needs to stop believing that Heaven's job is necessary at all. He needs to see that the whole existence of the institution is a problem, not merely the management. No, not even the really bad management.

On one hand, Aziraphale needs to figure out the same things that Adam Young figured out - that existence is meaningless when people don't get to make their own choices; there's no point in having friends who can't talk back, and there's no point in making people's decisions for them. It's very honorable to want to truly do Good. But you can't do it through control. Even if you completely ignore the moral issues with controlling people, it simply does not produce a worthwhile result.

Aziraphale technically knows all this already. He knows people need to have choices. He knows choices hold no meaning unless people make them freely. He just hasn't grasped that Heaven is, at best, creating unnatural consequences for people. Heaven itself is getting in the way of that ability to choose.

On the other hand, Aziraphale needs to figure out that he CAN make his own choices. He doesn't need Crowley to dance him into the right decision, and he doesn't need God to tell him what to do. Aziraphale has already done some of this in the past, under extreme pressure. He needs to get more comfortable with it. I think his realizations about control will help this part fall into place. Realizing that Heaven's role is a problem can more easily cascade into a healthier notion of his own boundaries - choices that are his and choices that are other people's.

Giving up the bookshop is actually a step toward healing because Aziraphale is stepping up to see the inner workings of his abusive institution head-on instead of reenacting the abusive actions with his bookshop, his neighbors, and Crowley. We know that in reality, people don't get over trauma thanks to one event, but for the sake of the story, realizing that individual or institutional control is not the way to Goodness might just be the breakthrough Aziraphale needs.

And then he can stop feeling compelled to put the things he loves through Great Plans in order to spend time with them, and he can simply love them, hopefully in a cottage where no one ever tries to buy books from him and Crowley will sleep soundly every night.

How this will come about in Heaven is anyone's guess. I think it might, again, happen the same way it happened for Adam Young: with Aziraphale getting his way only to realize it's not what he wants.

Of course, the bookshop deserves to live on. It was a safe place for so long. Like all of Aziraphale and Crowley's other respective coping mechanisms, it offered protection and comfort, and it's become an inspiration to Muriel.

That's why I have a strong feeling Muriel is going to formally inherit the bookshop - with Aziraphale's full permission and enthusiasm, for keeps, not as a coerced posting by an authority figure. I may be getting ahead of myself, what with the enormity of what has to happen first, but it feels right.

[criminalamnesia]

I want to see a time skip of the traitor reader to them being healed up (physically and mentally) and having a full life without the 141 so badly 😭

Separate thoughts:

As someone who doesn't want kids, I am a sucker for kid tropes. Have Johnny stumble across reader holding the hand of like a 6 year old. It's not yours but Johnny doesn't realize that and if his math adds up you would have still been with Simon at the time. So he's running back to base like his life depended on it to talk to LT. Meanwhile after a day of babysitting your neighbor/best friend's kid so they could have some "me" time (and you can keep your best aunt title) , you're heading home none the wiser. Maybe you even saw Johnny. Your eyes locked for a second. You gave him a nod of acknowledgement then kept on moving. Only years of therapy has got you to that point but it feels good to know they don't hold that power over you anymore.

However, that doesn't mean a small amount of panic doesn't flood your system if Simon shows up at your door unannounced like "I just want to see 'em." And you have no flipping clue what he's on about but you do know that he needs to leave because this is your safe space and you tell him as much. Imagine that look when feeling clicks with knowledge and he truly realizes he's not welcome and never will be again. And that you have that right. Even better, once he leaves you reach out to Laswell or Price to let them know they need to speak with Ghost because you will press charges if he's stalking you. (He's not, technically. He just had a moment of panic.)

OR have the MC (so it's more inclusive for people who can't give birth) do the therapy but become a merc. And one day the 141 gets assistance from your new team. No one knows what's going on until you all see each other. You still don't trust them. You voice that in private, respectfully to your superior and leave it at that. You aren't mean to them but you aren't welcoming. You don't really acknowledge them outside of the necessities. You keep yourself surrounded by your new team so the 141 can't really approach. If any of them do catch you alone, you keep it professional and shut down any personal talk. You aren't with anyone romantically or physically (at least not on your team. you learned the hard way last time) but Simon doesn't know that so when you're buddy buddy with a teammate, a small little bubble of jealousy pops up inside him. He doesn't act on it. just keeps watching you but it hurts him and that's all that matters. even if it isn't intentional on your part.

(I'm so sorry if this is stepping over boundaries. I know some fic authors hate when people do this with their work and some love that their stories spark others creativity. I'm not sure which you are but I hope I didn't offend by sharing these ideas. Love the traitor series!❤️)

you didn’t overstep at all! I love when people send me their ideas or opinions about my work. you guys think of some incredible things!

also im a sucker for the secret baby trope, its angsty and if you couldn’t tell, im a whore for angst.

and as for joining another team and then having to work with the 141, @charliemwrites has a series like that, so I suggest you check that out! that series does include smut with the new team but it’s sooooo good!

[lizsos]

Love in the dance studio

Summary: The renowed cherographer bada lee has a secret that ruled her mind and her emotions. She become known for her persistent commitment to her profession and for living and breathing dance . But despite the difficult choreography and rigorous scheduling , she had fallen in love with Lushers older sister , you .

Genre: Fluff

You met bada one faithful evening following practise through the BEBE dancer lusher. When badas eyes landed on yours , her heart began to flutter slightly . She couldn't help but notice your demeanour, your smile, and your love for dance.

Months passed by , and bada noticed that she was attending BEBE's dancing rehersals more often . She wasn't just the to do her job anymore, but she was also hoping to see you. She would put on a professional face to cover up her feeling , but every time she saw you she felt a real passion coming from your hard work.

It didn't take long for the other BEBE members to catch on to bada's overt fascination with you , including Lusher, Kyma , Minah , Tatter, Cheche and sowoen . They would make fun at each others obvious crush while sharing knowing glances . Within the group , it grew into sort of an inside joke.

One day , lusher couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight of you and bada having a conversation about the new BEBE choreography . She said in a low voice to the other girls " I think our unnie has a crush"

Kyma grinned subtly. "Oh , its more than a crush . She's head over heels for y/n unnie"

Tatter joined in , "you can see it in her eyes every time she's here . She's totally smitten"

Minah nodded , " we should do something about it , you know . Our unnie deserves to be happy"

Sowoen and cheche looked at each other slyly . Sowoen smiled and added, "I have an idea"

It was their basic purpose to bring bada and you together. They made the decision to do something independently because they were aware that badas commitment to her career often left her with a little free time .

They planned to meet you at the same restaurant that you and bada met in . After some hesitation, bada decided to go . She was unaware of the girls plan .

You entered as everyone was gathered around a table , having lunch together , and your arrival radiated a positive spirit across the space . When bada saw you , her heart skipped a beat and she couldn't control the flush that began to rise up her cheeks .

Lusher , who was always badas cheerleader, gave her a little push and said "hey unnie look who's here !"

The mere sight of you made it almost impossible for bada to keep her composure. The evening was full of stories told , laughter, and energetic conversation about dance and life , as if you were the only people in the room .

As the night drew to a close , lusher leaned over to bada and whispered , "you know unnie , y/n thinks your wonderful you should ask her out sometime "

Once more , bada reddened , but this time she grinned , she came to decide that perhaps it was time to get out from her professional sheel and try something she had never done before-- a chance at love .

Bada turned to you and said , " I'd love to see you again y/n" bada started saying then continued by saying " would you like to go on a date with me any time ?"

You replied, "I'd love to bada ," with suprise and happiness in your eyes .

The BEBE members exchanged ecstatic grins as they realised their attempts at matchmaking had been successful. Lusher in particular beamed with joy for her best friend and her older sister .

So , in midset of dancing practices and choreography, an adorable love story stared to develop . The popular cherographer Bada lee discovered love on the dance floor with an amazing hard working dancer .

Bada and you started off on an attempt of exploration as the weeks went into months . You learned that bada was a woman of depth , knowledge, and persistent commitment beneath her professional exterior . She discovered that in addition to being a gifted dancer , you are also a nice person with a soul that is a exquisite as your movements .

Badas love for you became stronger every day . The way you laughed at her jokes , the way you talked about your dreams , and the way your eyes twinkled as you danced made her fall in love you even more . She saw you as a moving artwork , and she felt like the luckiest person in the world to have you by her side .

The BEBE members , who had initially played matchmakers , couldn't have been any happier for the two of you . They watched the growing intimacy between bada and you , their joking and taunting giving away their genuine joy for their unnie and her newfound lover .

Lusher in particular, was thrilled . She had always hoped that her sister would meet someone who truly loved her , and in bada , she saw the ideal match . She often found herself sharing quite moments with bada , offering words of encouragement and support.

You turned to bada and said , "i can't belive how lucky I am to have you in my life , bada" as the two of you sat on a park bench one evening while watching the city lights sparkle in a distance .

Bada grinned as her heart warmed up . " the feeling mutual, y/n . I never expected to find love in a dance studio, but I'm so grateful that I did "

The world seemed to disappear as you leaned in for a tender kiss , leaving only the two of you and the hope of love that had risen suddenly but brilliantly. It was love that had been built by mutual encouragement from friends and a love for dancing that would only deepen with each beautiful movmeng and heartbeat .

_____________________________________________________________________

Thats it for this one-shot I hope you guys enjoyed it when I wrote this i genuinely felt my appreciation for bada and the bebe girls 😊

Taglist : @badaleesbish @badaspebble @badasgirlfriend @badaladinha @badaleesimp @badaleewifeyyyeah @allur1ngs @mikaleialt @mikachacha @aericrys @woniverse-writes @ssivinee @sydnerss @sun-nyy

[geekywritings]

“You see me... for me.”

I got a lovely request from @christinaatyourservice92​ for a Cal Kestis x reader story. So here we go :D

You are a shy cartographer with a love for art, having travelled with Cal and the Mantis crew for quite a while now. Your feelings for the red-haired Jedi are a secret you have kept tightly, just as the little collection of sketches you have of him. Well, time for some secrets to be revealed. 

(If you also wanna send me requests and prompts, please do! I’m always happy to read them!)

____________

You all had different reasons for being part of the crew, but what brought you all together, made you a family almost, was the shared hope for a better future. You were all fighting an overly powerful enemy for a slither of a chance to live a normal life, each in your own way.

To be fair, Cal was doing most of the fighting. You weren’t a bad shot, but your talents lay elsewhere. You wanted to map out all the planets of the Outer-Rim, especially those the Empire had not completely overrun yet. Until then, you also put your talents to good use to forge maps for the rebel alliance, highlighting safe routes and the locations of enemy bases on the various planets the Mantis crew visited. A small job, some would argue, but nevertheless vital.

Four years had passed since you literally ran into Cal Kestis on Nar Shadaa, both of you trying to outrun some Stormtroopers, albeit for different offenses. Your knowledge of the intricate underground tunnels of the capital city had saved both your lives and the Jedi had offered you a place on the Mantis without hesitation in gratitude. Apparently, the ship’s doors were open to anyone willing to help.

After living and working alone for almost all your life, being part of a crew was difficult to get used to. Especially since you weren’t exactly an extrovert. Lucky for you, most of the crew wasn’t either. Cere always respected your privacy, almost as if sensing when you needed to retreat and Merrin herself seemed to prefer solitude a lot of times. Greeze was often trying to get you to loosen up with varying degrees of success, but even he never pushed too far.

And then there was Cal. Friendly, gentle and understanding Cal Kestis. He did his best to make you feel at home, testing the waters with each careful word and gesture. Especially at the beginning, he was fumbling with words as much as you were. But unlike you, he had grown more confident in the last few years. You were still a blushing mess when he spoke in that special low tone of his or placed a hand on your shoulder.

Not because you were still nervous… but because the Jedi had managed to work himself into your heart. You admired him for his optimism and drive, shared his hopes for a better future, and trusted him completely. And you were pining for him. Badly. So much so that even Merrin remarked on it one evening, asking why you didn’t say anything.

But you couldn’t. You knew little of the Jedi Order, having grown up in a very rural setting on a Mid-Rim planet, but you did know that love was forbidden for its members. Cal was still following the old lifestyle in many ways and you just assumed he would turn you down because of it.

So months went by and you soaked up every kind word and gesture, as if they were water in a desert, trying to convince yourself that it was enough. Eventually, you found another way to wrangle your emotions back into place: drawing.

Although your cartography skills were almost unmatched, you also had a talent for sketching. Landscapes, creatures and even people filled the pages of the small notebook that was constantly attached to your belt. Recently, however, your fingers automatically traced the features of only one person over and over again.

The new notebook you had started was full of Cal Kestis only. Pensive looking, determined, calm and smiling. You tried to catch every expression possible, burning it into your memory to then bring it back to life on the slightly yellow paper. It was your secret. Or at least had been… until now.

You had landed on a desert planet in the Outer-Rim to refuel and the crew had split up for provisions. Cere accompanied Greeze to find a spare part for the Mantis and replenish your food rations, while Merrin decided to explore the area. It left Cal and you alone on the ship with the task of cleaning up a bit.

“Why do we always get cleaning duty?”, the Jedi grumbled, as he collected the dishes from your last meal off the table, bringing them over to you at the sink.

“Maybe because we are good at it?”, you offered, unable to think of anything cleverer to say.

Cal raised an eyebrow at you, standing so close that your shoulders were touching. “I think you highly overestimate us.”, he replied with a tiny smile.

While you took care of the dishes, Cal busied himself with picking up the various items flying all over the living room area. At least five people shared this space and it showed. Somewhere in the back, you could hear BD-1 and Kip beeping merrily, making you wonder what the droids were up to.

“Y/N?”

The call of your name had you turn, ready to ask what was up, but when you saw Cal with your notebook – your OPEN notebook – you almost dropped the plate you had been holding. He was flicking through the pages, eyes wide in wonder.

Your entire face went hot, the color probably matching the red of his hair, as you watched in horror. Nobody was ever supposed to see these sketches. HE was never supposed to see them.

Stars, he was going to hate you. Or think you some sort of creep. Either way, things would never be the same between you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I was cleaning the table and it fell down.”, he excused himself, obviously noticing your discomfort.

“N-no… I… it’s fine…”, you began to stutter. “I should be the one to say sorry…. Sorry.”

The Jedi raised an eyebrow at you again, coming closer, but still holding the notebook in his hands. “Why? These are good. Certainly better than the Wanted bulletins of me.”

His humor never failed to make you smile, even now, but still. There was a tight knot in your stomach and all you wanted was to grab the notebook and run. Silence fell, as you were unable to find anything to say.

Cal saw the clear discomfort in your eyes, the blush on your cheeks and the nervous fumbling of your hands. Usually, your shy demeanor was cute. Endearing even. But at this very moment, it made him feel guilty for having brought you into this situation.

“Here.”, he said, holding your sketchbook out to you. “Next time you draw a new one, can I see it?”

Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the intense green. How could he be so perfect? Didn’t he know how hard it was to stop falling for him more and more? Was it even possible to love him more than you already did?

“Y-yes… sure…”, you said slowly, reaching for the item, fingers brushing against Cal’s in the process.

“I am honored that you pick me as your model.”, he continued. “Though I am not sure how I deserve the privilege.”

“You’re fascinating.”, you blurt before you can stop yourself. Oh stars, what have you done? Cal’s asking you silently to elaborate, while your fumbling hands are turning your sketchbook round and round, as you try to hold the man’s gaze.

“Your face… it’s handsome… and it reflects so many emotions in different ways. Your jaw clenches when you are concentrating. And your lip twitches upwards ever so slightly when you have a good hand while playing cards. And…” As if a dam had broken, you kept going on and on, revealing more tiny details that nobody but you had probably noticed.

“I-I… I just wanted to memorize them all.”

Cal was overwhelmed, but not in a bad way. People usually saw the Jedi in him. The survivor. The traitor if you asked on the other side. But you… you saw him. Every detail of him, inside and out. He saw you too, even though you preferred to blend into the shadows. You were quiet, but your actions spoke volumes. You were shy, often fumbling with words and he saw much of his younger self in that. Most of all, you were warm. Not in the physical sense, but emotionally. Your presence settled around him like a blanket, offering comfort and calmness. No matter how hard a fight had been, with you close, Cal could always ground himself again.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“For what?”, you asked, confused. This wasn’t the reaction you had anticipated after your awkward monologue.

“For being you. For seeing me…as me.” He had stepped even closer, barely leaving any distance between you now. Your hands suddenly stilled and you looked down to see why. He had grasped them in his, holding them gently, but firmly.

Slowly, your gaze wandered back to his face, being rewarded with an expression you had not seen before. His eyes were locked to you, as if searching for something. He looked both hesitant and determined and you noticed his lips parting and closing several times, as if he tried and failed to find the right thing to say.

“Listen, Y/N…”, he finally did begin, his grip around your hands tightening ever so slightly. “I have been thinking…” Again a pause, trying to sort himself. “The Order is gone… and while I respect Cere’s mission to rebuild it… I am not sure if I can be a part of it anymore…”

Where was he going with this? And why tell you?

“So much has happened… I don’t think I can call myself Jedi anymore.”

Your lips parted to protest, but you didn’t get a chance to even begin, as Cal continued.

“A lot of the Order’s rules don’t feel right anymore… I… I think I know what I want now.”

Slowly, one of his hands came up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “I’ve been thinking a lot… about you.”

This confession sucked the air right out your lungs and you felt your heart clench in the best way possible. Was this really happening? Had you heard correctly? Or was this a dream and you’d find yourself waking up in the cabin you shared with Merrin?

No, the feeling of your hand in his and the soft brush of his fingers against your cheek was real.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same… But after seeing the sketchbook…”

“I love you.”, you blurted right between whatever kind of confession he was trying to get out. The words had tumbled out without your permission and instantly you lowered your head to hide the blush that had certainly intensified a thousandfold.

Seconds ticked by and you wondered if the admission of your feelings had been too much. Fingers under your chin turned your face upward again. You were hesitant to look at him, but he didn’t leave you the chance anyway. Instead, Cal leaned down, pressing his lips against yours.

Slowly, and gently at first. Again, testing the waters with you and going only as far as you were comfortable. It was the sweetest sensation you had ever felt. The sketchbook fell to the ground again, as your hands came to grasp his blue vest instead, while his arms pulled you closer against his form.

How long did you stand there, lips locking over and over again, finally giving way to the longing you had both felt?

“I love you too…”, Cal finally voiced what the kiss had already made perfectly clear. You would remember that look in his eyes forever. So full of love and happiness. The next moment you got, you’d have to immortalize it in your little sketchbook again.

“That’s… That’s not what I expected.”, you admitted shyly.

“I didn’t see it coming either… but life has a funny way of taking unexpected turns… And I am glad to follow this new path with you. If you will have me.”

Of course, you would have him! And to prove it you rose to your toes again for another kiss, absolutely ready for a new kind of territory to chart together with him.

[vidavalor]

If I bring you chocolates, will you share the part of the meta you said you're working on where you see a scene where they're using a different pronoun for Crowley? 🙏 I'm really curious about that.

Hi! Sure, I can do that. 💕You don't need to bring chocolates but since ya did, I'll definitely have one... 😉Thank you.

The scene is the St. James' Park scene in the 2008 minisode in 1.01. The line you're asking about is Crowley's "no more fascinating little restaurants where they know you."

On the surface, this is a reference to, well, fascinating little restaurants where they know Aziraphale-- like the place where Aziraphale had sushi the night before and was supposed to be meeting Crowley. The hidden layer, though, pops up over Crowley's choice of 'fascinating' as the adjective he uses to describe these restaurants. When we use 'fascinating' today, we use it in its common meaning of "extremely interesting" and, when referring to places like the Japanese restaurant, Crowley was as well. It's just that the archaic, original meaning of "fascinate" was a word used to describe the way a serpent captivates its prey with its gaze.

Since food is euphemistic for sex in Ineffable Husbands Speak, places that provide people with food-- restaurants, cafes, etc.-- would then be euphemistic for a lover. (This is also in GO: Lockdown as the other layer to Aziraphale's pouty "all the restaurants and cafes are closed.") Specifically, in this case, Crowley is discussing restaurants who know Aziraphale well and are serpent-themed... so, a bit of a short list... 😉

Since the sentence is then also referring not just to places like Aziraphale's favorite Japanese restaurant but to Crowley, Crowley's choice to pluralize it then means that they are referring to themselves using a 'they' pronoun in this instance to Aziraphale.

"Fascinating little restaurants where they know you." Surface layer: a fascinating little restaurant where they know Aziraphale. Hidden layer: Crowley.

I also wrote about Crowley using "know"/"knowing" in reference to their relationship a lot in this other post here, if you're interested in that:

[dragoneye01]

Under My Skin (Jonathan Crane x Reader)

Word Count: 1,222

Summary: Everyone gets under Jonathan Crane's skin, even the one he likes the most. But you're different.

It was easy to get under Jonathan Crane’s skin. Most people were annoying, picky, and irked him. They got under his skin, but you.  .  . you were different. Oh yes, you did get under his skin. You asked a lot of questions, too many questions. You talked too much about too many things. If he didn’t know you to be an English Literature teacher, he would’ve taken you for a scientist or a philosopher. Your knowledge of the natural world was astounding, along with your takes on the human psyche. It was like a special interest to you, especially the effects of certain fungi on the brain. You were fascinated by the mushroom that controlled creatures, the fungus that moved creatures to its own will. 

Jonathan Crane, for the longest time, thought that you knew about his secret identity, especially after he was let go from Gotham University over shooting a gun off in class. 

“That was you? I thought it had been an overactive student.” You commented when the two of you had met for coffee after the incident. He had just taken up his mantle as The Scarecrow and was on edge, wondering if you KNEW. 

“I’m afraid the students did not appreciate my demonstration and thus I was fired. No one appreciates a good lecture anymore.” Jonathan huffed. 

“No, students are changing. Entitled little brats.” You scoffed. “Did I tell you about the class discussion where I couldn’t dock a student points for being a bigot because of the school’s policy? I wanted to expel this student from my class, but the dean insisted it’d be discriminatory against their beliefs, even though said beliefs were bigoted! Can you believe it? I should just quit school and create a life of crime.” You laughed. 

Jonathan laughed nervously. 

“Yes, a life of crime. And what would you do?” He asked, carefully. 

“Hmm.  .  . maybe I’d perfect an experiment on fungi that can take control of their host, controlling others into doing my bidding. I could release a toxin or cultivate it in a public space so that I could use others to steal money for me. Collecting books is an expensive hobby.” A smile broke out on your face. At that Jonathan could agree. 

And that’s where he found himself now. Using his fear toxin he broke into the Gotham University Library, into the old and interesting section. There were many books there of interest, but he only had eyes for one. It was a story collection from the mid-nineteenth century that centered on gothic fairy tales. Haunting and eerie tales that were beloved to many. You had a soft spot for this collection, so much so that he made sure to wear gloves when handling it. Stealing it was easy. Why keep this book hidden away in a library full of ungrateful people? That was his reasoning. You would love and cherish this book. Display it, keep it out of direct sunlight, find pride in it. 

Jonathan had invited you over to his apartment to share a cup of tea or coffee when he showed you the book. He handed you a pair of soft, cloth gloves and then bestowed the book to you. This was the moment of truth. Would you know who he was? The theft wasn’t in the news. Who would report on one stolen library book? But would you understand how he got it? Would you see his well-kept secret? Would you accept him for who he had become? 

You held the book reverently, easily identifying it as the one from the Gotham University Library. Softly, you whispered, “Jonathan, how did you get this?” 

Jonathan had left the room for a moment to get your cups after the tea had finished steeping. “Oh, don’t you know? I’ve begun a life of crime now and stealing books is my goal.” He said as sarcastically as possible. 

“You’re not lying.” You spoke. Jonathan stared at you, heart skipping a bit. “You have a tell when you’re lying. It’s like you slip, from the years of academia, and you get a twang to your voice. You’re not lying this time. You really did it, didn’t you? I heard rumors at the University about you, ya know? That you had.  .  .”

“That I had what?” He asked quietly, holding the cups of tea. You sat on his sofa with the book held to your chest, eyes open so wide. 

“They call you the Scarecrow now, don’t they?” It was barely above a whisper. 

“That they do, my dear.” Jonathan stared at you intently. 

“And you stole a book for me?” 

“It would appear so.” 

“A favorite of mine. What did you do to get it?” You asked curiously. Jonathan still held the cups, standing in the doorway. 

“I have created a fear toxin and I used it to scare the security guards senseless, letting me sneak in to take the book. It was such a small theft that it wasn’t reported. Can you imagine? That University admitting that someone so easily came in and took what they wanted? They’d never admit to it.” He noticed a look on your face, a look of curiosity. A look of interest. 

“Is it bad that I’m not scared?” 

“Did you know beforehand?” He asked. 

“I guessed.  .  . you know, with how you managed to still live decently after being let go. You seemed to be enraptured in something, but I never could guess what it was. But now.  .  . this is everything. You’re the Scarecrow! The King of Fear!” You laughed loudly, setting the book on the coffee table. Standing up, you walked over to the doorway and took your cup of tea. Jonathan watched your every move. 

“Are you scared?” 

“Should I be?” You asked, breathlessly. 

“Only if you want to be.” You both stood so closely together, taking up space in the doorway. He took a chance. Jonathan reached out a hand and cupped your face, running his thumb over your cheekbone. He leaned in for a chaste kiss, honestly surprised when you didn’t pull away. You pressed your lips to his and then pulled away before he could ask for more. 

“The tea will get cold.” You smiled. 

“That’s true.” He nodded. 

“Would you read to me?” 

“Read to you?” 

“Yes, out of the book. I’d like it if you read one of the stories to me.” You walked over to the sofa again. Jonathan sat with you, knees touching. With gloves on, he picked the book up, flipping it open to a random story. You leaned into his shoulder, listening to the drawl of his words. As he read, his southern accent came out, making the words drip like honey. Jonathan’s eyes scanned the pages, occasionally glancing at you. He never wanted this moment to end. But every story had to have an ending. 

“I almost wish the tale didn’t have to end.” He commented when you finished the gothic retelling of Red Riding Hood. 

“You could always steal me another book and we could keep doing this.” He liked that little smirk that came on your face. “We could have our own personal library. You read me a story. I read you a story. It doesn’t have to end with this.” 

“Oh, my dear, it’s just beginning.” Jonathan smiled, carefully shutting the book.

[illuminatedquill]

Prologue Summary: Thrawn has been defeated. The Imperial Remnant has fled in full retreat, disappearing into the Unknown Regions. All across the galaxy, citizens of the New Republic celebrate - free, at last, from the Empire's long shadow. But as the galaxy looks forward to a new era of peace and prosperity, not all are able to share in the celebrations. Mandalore, once again, finds itself on the brink of civil war. A new, violent faction of Mandalorians - vowing to punish the traitors who led Mandalore to ruin - has risen, sowing fear and anger wherever they strike. With the violence reaching a fever pitch, a clandestine meeting takes place in the dark ruins of the once great Mandalorian capital city of Sundari . . . one that has ominous consequences for the hard-won peace enjoyed by the New Republic. And as the future of Mandalore lies at stake, Bo-Katan Kryze makes a desperate call to the planet Lothal, hoping to reach the only two people she trusts to help prevent another war that will destroy any chance of a brighter tomorrow for her people . . .

Overture: RUIN

Ruins of Sundari, Night

Walking through the ruins of Sundari, Kaizer reflected, was a perfect illustration of the current state of Mandalorian society. He had been present during the Night of a Thousand Tears and, like countless others of his kind, believed that to be the true end of Mandalore.

Thankfully, he had been proven wrong. The planet - and its people - survived, as they always do. But it had come at a great cost. Countless wars throughout Mandalore's history, waged with outsiders and with each other, had left the planet barren. Rock and steel and ancient traditions are all that had survived until now.

Some saw it as a victory; proof that Mandalorians could survive anything the galaxy threw their way.

Kaizer knew different. It was the death of a thousand cuts. His people were starving; everything they subsisted on was imported. Crime, disease, and a general air of hopelessness pervaded the population. They had no economy to speak of; nothing to trade with other nearby planets, except for their services as mercenaries or bounty hunters.

The New Republic offered little help. They were too far from the Central Core, and they were still cleaning up the mess from Thrawn's campaign of conquest. At least, that was the official excuse.

Bo-Katan Kryze, newly installed in her position of Mand'alor, was desperately trying to find help where she could. But she was running out of time.

Yes, he reflected darkly, Mandalore survived. But survival cost more every time - and at some point, the cost would be too high to justify. There wouldn't be anything - or anyone - left to pay that price.

His steps echoed in the hollowed-out subsection of the city's underside. There were no city lights to guide his way, but the natural light from the stars and moon above were enough for him to see his way. The larger rubble and debris had been moved aside for somewhat safe passage; thin pools of murky water covered the exposed ground. Small insects and reptiles scattered in his wake as he made his way to the meeting spot.

Finally, ducking through a narrow opening between two chunks of large rock, he arrived in a secret alcove that appeared to be the remains of an archive. He gazed around at the shelves, holding countless data pads; all ruined, he was sure, by the wear and tear of time over the years.

He sighed. The valuable history and knowledge of his people lost so senselessly.

Would it end someday? The cycle of violence that plagued Mandalorians?

Kaizer clenched his fists. I will end it, he thought. I know the way to save us all.

I will do it for you, Melody. I will make it right. As you asked.

"You're late," came a voice in the dark.

He turned to find a cloaked figure, their robes shimmering crimson in the dim lighting. Kaizer barely made out a face: a hooked nose and a cruel twist of a mouth, along with amber eyes that glinted with a dark intelligence. Humanoid, male, and middle-aged.

Kaizer eyed the man apprehensively, weighing his response. He still had no name for this man or any other distinguishing information on his purpose or why he was here. He had appeared months ago, offering him the resources to kick-start his plan - a plan that would have taken years to get off the ground. Now everything was in place, mere months after his first initial appearance.

Their goals were aligned, was all that the man offered about himself. Suspiciously so, Kaizer thought at the time.

"Planning a coup happens to be a time-consuming activity," Kaizer replied.

"Indeed," said the man. "But my master asks for a progress report. He grows impatient."

"Your master," Kaizer repeated. "You've never said why he's so interested in helping our cause."

"As I've said before: our goals are aligned. Bo-Katan must not remain in power. New leadership would be beneficial to Mandalore's future in the years to come."

Kaizer studied him. "You're that scared of her?"

"Not so much her, but who she has chosen as her successor."

Kaizer arched an eyebrow. "You've heard the rumors regarding Countess Wren, I see."

"As have you," stated the man, a touch of impatience entering his voice. "I would hope you have a plan to counter Bo-Katan. Sabine Wren is a problem, one that must be handled swiftly."

He leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed. "We do have a plan. Sacha is ready. She has long prepared for her role in the events to come."

"Yes, your young ward . . ." The older man sounded doubtful.

"Is there a problem?" asked Kaizer sharply.

"The prophecy. Is she aware of it?"

"Of course she is. Her whole life is based around it."

"So is Sabine Wren's," countered the other man.

"Only she is not aware of it," replied Kaizer. "That gives us the advantage. The Countess remains in the dark without that knowledge. My sources tell me that Bo-Katan has not informed her about any of it."

The cloaked man went quiet for a moment. Then, he said, "I worry about your ward's lineage. It could affect her loyalties."

Kaizer gritted his teeth. "Sacha is loyal to me. To the cause. I have no doubt of that."

"She is a Wren. They are known traitors."

"Rebels," corrected Kaizer. "They fought for Mandalore. Even misguided as they were. And Sacha is only half-Wren, on her father's side."

The other man snorted disdainfully. "Your continued affection towards Clan Wren baffles me considering your own lineage, Kaizer. Your own clan - "

" - Deserved what happened to them," retorted Kaizer. "I don't need to be reminded of my own history, old man. Sacha and I will see the plan through. Bo-Katan will fall, and Countess Wren will never take the throne. I stake my honor on it."

"And what of my master's gift? Should your plan fail, are you willing to use it?"

Kaizer paused, feeling sick at the thought.

The Endfire. Kyr Tracyn.

"Better Mandalore be turned to dust, then let it fall into the hands of Sabine Wren in the future," urged the cloaked man. "She will bring your people to ruin. My master has seen it. You have seen it. That is why you agreed to accept our gift."

Kaizer chose his next words carefully. "It is to be used as a last resort, only."

The other man settled into dissatisfied silence but said nothing further. Kaizer took that as his cue to leave.

"I wonder what your father would think of you now, Kaizer Saxon," said the cloaked man to his back.

Kaizer slowly turned around, his blood freezing at the mention of his surname. It had been many years since he had last heard it uttered out loud. He had long ago chosen to walk away from it.

He shrugged. "He's dead, old man. And you will be too if you mention him again in my company."

A flash of a malicious grin underneath the cloaked hood. "You are so much like him, my dear boy. Not just in looks - your heart, as well."

Kaizer's eye twitched. His fingers rested on the butt of his blaster, holstered on his side, tapping away gently.

After a few tense moments, he finally restrained the impulse to murder the other man and stalked away into the ruined city.

Minutes passed and the cloaked figure stepped out and made for his own exit, taking short, cautious steps through the ruins.

When both men were long gone, Koska Reeves - personal guard to Lady Bo-Katan - stepped out of her hiding spot nearby. Checking her comm-link to ensure that their conversation had been recorded in its entirety, thanks to a data-recorder cleverly hidden in a shelf within the ruined archive, she then sent a quick message to her lady.

"Lady Kryze," said Koska. "You heard everything?"

"Yes," came the reply. "Are you safe? Did they see you?"

"I'm safe for the moment. They never saw me, my Lady."

"Good work," said Bo-Katan, her voice full of pride. "Come to my private suite immediately. We have much to discuss. The Elders are already here."

"At once," responded Koska. She paused. "Permission to speak informally, my lady?"

"Granted, Koska."

She let out a deep breath. "This is real kriffing bad, Bo."

"Understatement of the century," came Bo-Katan's dry reply. "We are knee deep in bantha poo-doo, I admit."

Koska thought back to what was said in the clandestine meeting. "Is it true?" she whispered. "There was another survivor of Clan Wren?"

There was a long pause - so long, Koska thought the signal had died. Finally, Bo-Katan said quietly, "Yes. Very few knew about it outside of the family."

"Even Sabine?" asked Koska.

"No. She was the exception. Her mother made sure she never knew."

"Why?" she asked. "Why wouldn't she want her to know?"

"Ursa had her reasons," said Bo-Katan. "But the main thing, as always with her, was that she was protecting Sabine."

Koska only knew Ursa Wren by reputation and from the stories told by Bo-Katan. The idea of a family member keeping the existence of one of their own a secret from another . . . she couldn't fathom it. How would that secret serve to protect Sabine?

"How - how does Sacha exist?" asked Koska. "And how did the son of Gar Saxon come to find her?"

"That's a long story, Koska. I'll explain it more when you return."

She nodded to herself and prepared her jetpack for take-off. The dark, ruined city around her suddenly felt malevolently alive - and it also felt like it was watching her.

But, one last question remained. "Bo?"

"Yes, Koska?"

"Are you going to call them?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," said Bo-Katan. "We need their help."

Koska thought for a second. "Everything will change once Sabine knows the truth," she said solemnly. "And this prophecy, too . . . she'll hate you, Bo. She might not be on Mandalore's side, once this is all over."

A deep sigh emitted from the comm-link. "I'll take that chance. But you don't know her like I do, Koska. I know her heart. I know who she gets it from. She'll make the right choice."

Koska didn't have anything to say in return. The words from Bo-Katan were hardly comforting. But it was all she had.

The future of Mandalore rested upon Sabine Wren and Ezra Bridger's shoulders from here on out. Their choices in the days to come would decide everything.

Koska shook herself mentally. There was still work to be done, and Bo-Katan would need her.

A Mandalorian and a Jedi, she thought, dark amusement flickering through her. They'll definitely cause problems, for sure. I just hope it's for the other side and not us.

She sighed. It was going to be a busy couple days ahead, full of violence and history shaping events.

Koska Reeves activated her jetpack and flew into the long, dark night.

TO BE CONTINUED IN:

THE FIRST VERSE OF A SONG OF STARBIRDS AND WOLVES

RECKONING

[icallhimjoey]

U know I always thought a cute fic idea would be where Joe is on ST set and there’s some riveting scene where he’s rescued from the Upside Down. Yn is the person playing the character but staff have kept Yn hidden from Joe until this point, to build up the suspense and genuine surprise for when he gets rescued in the show. Anyways there’s a riveting scene where Eddie opens his eyes for the first time and yns face is the first thing he sees as she’s in character and “tending” to his wounds. Joe just absolutely immediately smitten like “wow didn’t believe in love at first sight until now” and then as the show filming progresses yn becomes a love interest both on and off screen 😣

the way i felt so awkward writing this because it involves so many people i dont know how to write for, my GOD i hope you like what i've done with it Wordcount: 1.6K

----

Shit, that was hot

“Shh shhhh, guys, guys, this is it, quiet!” you managed to get the room quiet enough for the TV to blare over the chatter that had filled the air all throughout the evening.

“Watch that face,” you heard someone mutter from the other side of the sofa.

“It’s so fucking funny,” someone else replied.

You shot eyes at Joe who sat right next to you. He looked annoyed, like he was about to groan, but simultaneously he couldn’t hide his smile. It was adorable.

On screen, in the last episode of the Netflix series you all played parts in, you were all about to watch Eddie getting rescued from the Upside Down. By you.

It hadn’t been revealed to be you yet – not to the audience, as the scene was still working up to its climax, but also not to Joe or many other cast mates when you’d filmed it. It was the biggest secret you had sat on, and it was so difficult to not tell anyone all throughout filming. It had been one of the latter scenes you shot, so getting to know your cast mates had been fun, but the urge of sharing your exciting knowledge with others – never with Joe, you couldn’t fucking wait to see that face – had been almost too much to handle. There was a reason you’d be in quiet meetings with Matt and Ross so often. You just needed to talk about it with someone, just to get your excited jitters out so you’d be able to hold the news off for longer.

During filming, people had heard that there was a piece of script entirely blacked out.

“Ooh, that’s new.” Natalia had mused when Keery had asked her if Nancy was the one to save Eddie from the Upside Down. Natalia had reacted confused; was Eddie going to be saved from the Upside Down? That hadn’t been in her script.

“But look,” Joe had shown them pages of his script, which had so much blacked out dialogue, directions and even character names, he didn’t even know how he was going to rehearse any of it. "It's just directions for me- for Eddie, and then... it's all this shit. What do I do with this?"

“That’s the point.” Matt had made clear when Joe had gone to him with questions. “It’s such a pivotal part in the episode, we need to build maximum suspense and get your genuine reaction as Eddie.” They had skipped the full chuck at the table read and left everyone fully in the dark.

“You don’t think I can act surprised?” Joe had pressed them, instantly insecure at his abilities and his work up until that point, but Matt didn’t want to discuss it any further.

In make-up, Sadie asked if you’d heard about the surprise scene. You had to do your best to pretend to hear of the news for the first time. Amy and Sarah from the make-up department had listened in and you wondered if they knew – why would they need to, you thought first, but then you realized they’d need to get you ready for it when it was time to shoot. Of course they knew. But they’d kept silent, and Sadie hadn’t suspected a thing.

It almost slipped out of you when you heard Gaten talk to Joe and they were both so sure it was going to have to be Keery, the dude who’d asked pretty much everyone if they were the one that was blacked out. Surely, it was to distract from himself. Some sort of sick power-play, having everyone else talking about it and trying to figure it out as he got to sit back all-knowingly.

The small parts of the pages Joe had shown everyone before being told off by Matt and Ross – “Keep that to yourself, Joe. We hand people individual scripts for a reason.” – were perceived to be at least a little flirty. And who had Eddie been the flirtiest with throughout everything they’d filmed up until that point? Definitely Steve.

The words were so close to rolling off your tongue, wanting to pull Gaten aside and let him in on your secret, just to be able to shoot him looks whenever people would talk about it, just so you wouldn’t be suffering by yourself. But the NDA kept you from spoiling the surprise to anyone.

At the last minute, they had to let Maya know. Just her. She’d be on the call sheet as a distraction as to not give anything away to Joe. She didn’t have any scenes that day – you clearly had, but they kept you under wraps. They got Natalia and Joe Keery ready too, for a scene they had together, which still left Joe in the dark as to what exactly Eddie’s faith would be. And then Joel walked onto set, and Joe thought he knew for sure. “Of course, it’s uncle Wayne!” he said when he hugged him, but Joel didn’t know what he meant, and it left Joe with just as little of an inkling as before.

The day before shooting, and with Maya in on it now, you had to come up with reasons to explain your giggles whenever you’d make eye contact. “Maya broke a chair in the make-up trailer,” you said to Joe when you’d gotten strange looks from him. “Catering is doing a number on me.” Maya had laughed, rubbing her hand over her stomach, prompting you to laugh louder.

Your big watch-party of the series had turned into talking over whatever was happening on screen, reminiscing, and reminding each other of inside jokes, alternating with the odd silence when special effects would overwhelm you all to shut up and watch. And now the moment had come, where Eddie was about to almost miss his chance to get out and survive the alternate dimension. By now everyone knew it had been you who was the blacked out person with the blacked out dialogue and blacked out directions, but that didn’t make watching Joe’s reaction to it less fun.

You remembered everyone’s reaction on set when Joe was made to close his eyes as they called cut for just enough time to get you onto set, into the scene. Some of them had seen you be walked in, and had gasped, and Joe Keery had whispered "I fucking knew it," which had only added to the suspense Joe had felt in that moment. The Duffer brothers knew they could do more shots if they needed to, but the dream was to get it all in first go, just because they hadn’t put so much work into keeping secrets just for them to use a shot that wasn’t that first, true, genuine reaction.

When they called action, Joe needed to keep his eyes closed for longer as two hands managed to grab hold of him and yank him out of the situation he was in before shooting Hopper’s police weapon that your character had stolen from his abandoned house in the woods. You shot it right into the face of whatever monster the Upside Down tried to attack Eddie, which would be put in later by the SFX team.

“Watch his face, watch,” you pointed, as giddy as you could be.

“It’s the line, it’s so good!” Keery slapped his own leg repeatedly in suspense for what he was about to hear.

After the shots were fired, and Joe, as Eddie, had bunched himself up on the ground in self-defense, he had opened his eyes and had seen you, holding that gun, arm outstretched, the bad-assery practically dripping off of you. It had done something to Joe, and so that showed in Eddie’s face too – the cameras had captured it perfectly. “Whoa, I didn’t believe in love at first sight until now,” Joe spoke as Eddie in his heavy American accent, panting from the action scene. You had turned back to look at him, and you chuckled. “We’ve seen each other lots, idiot.” And you’d held out your hand to help him stand. “Exactly. But I just now realized I’ve loved you all along. Shit, that was hot.” And then Joe had pulled you in for a kiss that you had gladly accepted. It was the kind of kiss that felt like it would be the last kiss you’d ever have – like the world was going to end and you didn’t have tomorrow together. You remember being able to feel Joe's heartbeat in his chest, absolutely desperate to beat its way out of his ribcage. The kiss stopped abruptly though when it got called cut on, and had Matt and Ross laughing as they waved for the two of you to stop making out. They hadn’t included the kiss in the show, but everything else had stayed in.

“Shit, that was hot,” Keery quoted Eddie as he watched it, nodding along and his face showed how cool he thought the line was. It had everyone laughing, but Gaten was in hysterics. Joe was so embarrassed, and you took advantage, poking him in the sides as you watched his face scrunch.

“Okay, okay, all right,” Joe tried to calm the room down.

“Best bit of the show,” you cooed, your face too close to his for the company you were in. “Better than dontcha, big boy?” Joe raised his eyebrows at you. You’d gone on about that line endlessly after witnessing Joe ad-lipping it. “Mmmh, maybe not,” you said, leaning in and kissing Joe on the lips. You were instantly met with thrown over pieces of popcorn.

“You’re damn right, it's not.” Joe Keery commented, stuffing the rest of his handful of popcorn into his mouth.

—

The Taglisted: @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @bagelofthelord67 @nobody-000 @lluviamg06 @thatonefan-girl @kylakins88 - add yourself

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 13 - You Give Good Love

IN THIS CHAPTER: Vinegar fumes, an old photograph, and Eddie attempts to hang the moon [9.5k]

WARNINGS: angst, self-esteem issues, mentions of financial hardships, mentions of dead parents, small mention of period-typical homophobia (late 1960s)

A/N: i want to once again shout out my three fairy godmothers, my kindest merryweather (@duquesademiel), my loveliest flora (@justahappycloud) and my sweetest fauna (@gutterratt) for vibechecking dot and eddie's first big misunderstanding. also thank you for teaching me about 80s metal, you were right, dio's the last in line was absolutely perfect for this chapter. i keep thanking you three, and yet it is never enough. can't wait to hug the shit out of you in a month. <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

I found out what I've been missing Always on the run I've been looking for someone

Thursday, May 8th - 1986

Eddie Munson had the nagging feeling that something was wrong with Dottie Burke. He didn’t know what it was, but he was 100% sure that something was wrong.

For starters, she was being terribly secretive about that textbook she’d borrowed from the library the day before, going so far as waiting until he got up to go pee to return it without him getting so much as a glimpse of the cover. Then it was the fact that her bag looked particularly full and she wouldn’t let him carry it for her, quickly stashing it under her legs as soon as she climbed into his van. She kept her locker closed whenever he was around, and even changed seats to be far away from him during lunch, engaging with Jeff in a conversation about flowers, their heads down and eyes glued to the book they had open between them on the table. But what was perhaps bothering him the most, was the knowledge that the damn mystery card was still hidden within her backpack, tucked between her Home Ec notebook and her Chemistry textbook, taunting him with a peek of its pink envelope when Dottie rummaged through one of her pockets for an extra pen to lend to him during their shared English Lit class.

He couldn’t pinpoint if it was simply him being weird due to the recent discovery of his jealous tendencies or if she really was keeping secrets from him, but something had to give. He was getting increasingly paranoid over every little interaction they had and he wasn’t enjoying his current descent to madness at all. Eddie was planning on asking her if everything was okay between them as soon as they arrived at their destination, but when he pulled into the trailer park, he saw his Uncle gesturing at him to roll his window down, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Don’t get out, boy!” Wayne shouted, jogging to the driver’s side of the van. “Need you to run an errand for me in town.”

“Can it wait?” Eddie asked, turning around in his seat to see Dottie gathering her things. “We were gonna-”

“I need you to take this to Terry,” he slid him a big manila envelope with Terrence McKee’s name scribbled on the front.

“Aren’t you gonna see him tomorrow during your meeting?” he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering what the hell did the old man need him to deliver to his Union buddy so urgently on a Thursday.

“Yes but he needs this today, don’t ask stupid questions, son,” Wayne said with an air of finality. “You know where he lives?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffed, disbelief tainting his next words. “It’s literally all the way across Hawkins.”

“You better get going then,” he patted the side of the van like one would pat a horse to get him to move.

“Do you mind if I wait for you here?” Dottie asked, hopping off the van before Eddie could answer. “I really need to pee.”

“Go on, I’ll keep her company until you get back,” Wayne said, dismissing his nephew with another wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about her.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Eddie told Dottie, uncomfortable with leaving her at his trailer while he wasn’t there.

“Take your time!” she smiled at him. “Drive safe, ‘kay?”

He nodded once before peeling back into the main road and speeding away. Standing side by side while they watched the van get smaller, Dottie and Wayne could feel the tension leaving their bodies now that Eddie was gone. The older man let out a low chuckle, like he couldn’t believe they’d gotten away with their improvised ruse.

“What was inside the envelope?” Dottie asked, noticing mischief twinkling in Wayne’s blue eyes.

“Half of today’s newspaper,” he grinned, and she was instantly reminded of Eddie’s face when he pulled off something wacky during Hellfire. “Called Terry earlier today, got him to play along. Hopefully he’ll keep Eddie busy for a while.”

“You’re so evil, Mr. Wayne,” she said, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

“No problem, kid. Come on in, let’s get started before he comes back.”

Dottie stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of Eddie’s room, watching the pure black stain on the ceiling get more and more faded with each passing minute. The furniture was covered in trash bags to prevent it from accidentally getting damaged with the one-part-water one-part-vinegar mixture that Uncle Johnny had instructed her to concoct; the bucket holding the liquid was safely perched on a step of the small ladder Wayne had pulled out for her from an overflowing storage closet in the hallway. While she had been busy soaking the affected surface with a sponge, the eldest Munson had taken it upon himself to give all the carpets in the trailer a much needed refresh with an old vacuum that hadn’t been used in a while. If the loud sucking noises had been of any indication, there had been way more crumbs and dust accumulated in the living room than he’d hoped to find, and the less was said about Eddie’s bedroom floor, the better.

After half an hour had passed without any sign of her friend’s return, Dottie climbed the stepladder once more to begin cleaning up the mold with her trusty sponge and pink rubber gloves. She was pleased to find that just one swipe was good enough to remove almost all the gunk, but Uncle Johnny had mentioned at least two applications were probably needed to get rid of it completely. She was so absorbed into her work that she failed to notice a very familiar van parking outside next to Wayne’s truck; upon entering the quiet trailer, Eddie was confused as to why all the windows were wide open. Noticing that Wayne had fallen asleep on his armchair with their old vacuum at his feet, he tiptoed down the hallway towards his bedroom and pushed the door open, only to find his newest friend standing at the top of the little ladder his Uncle had gotten for him when he first came to live at the trailer park so he could reach the kitchen cabinets on his own.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he said, standing under the frame in shock.

“I’m cleaning!” she smiled at him like it was no big deal.

It was a big deal. It was a huge deal, actually, because Dottie cleaning up his own home embarrassed him to the bone. Suddenly, Eddie was back in middle school and the people he desperately wanted to be friends with were calling him dirty and trash and smelly, and the walls were closing in on him, and there was an acid smell in the air that reminded him too much of when Wayne tried to get rid of his lice by soaking his scalp with vinegar, which in turn reminded him too much of the acrid odor that was embedded into every corner of the house he had once shared with his Dad. Dottie’s usually gentle smile was now taunting him, and when he noticed that she was keeping her hair away from her face with one of his bandanas, deep seated shame bubbled up to the surface, bursting to get out of his system with no regards as to who it would run over in its path.

“Get out,” he gritted out, voice dripping with venom.

“W-what?”

“Get the fuck out!”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Is this fun to you?!” he yelled, eyes hard on her figure still standing at the top of the ladder. “You think you can just come into my home and touch all my shit and I’m supposed to be okay with it?!”

“Eddie-”

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m helping-”

“I didn’t ask you for help!” he heard heavy footsteps coming up from behind him but he couldn’t stop the poison coming out of his throat. “What, was it interesting to see what it’s like to be a broke piece of shit? Did you get tired of hanging out in a shitty trailer? Or did you just want to add me to your list of good deeds? Poor Eddie, I saved him!”

“Edward!” Wayne’s voice cut his tirade short. The older man looked tired with the kind of fatigue only years of hardship could give you. “She just wanted to help you out! I gave her permission to do it, so stop yellin’ at her!”

“You… you knew about this?” he looked at his Uncle, betrayal twisting his stomach. “What the fuck, Wayne!”

“Ed-”

“No! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Stay out of this!” Eddie kicked his door shut and threw all his weight on it, leaving Wayne knocking on the wood outside before turning to Dottie again. “You turned my fucking Uncle on me?”

“I didn’t- I just asked him if I could clean up the mold stain-”

“Do you think I need you to clean up after me like you’re my goddamn mother? Because I don’t! I don’t need you! I was doing fine before I met you!”

“I just wanted to help-”

“I’m not a child, Dot, you don’t have to treat me like… Like I’m some charity case you have to have pity for!”

A wet sponge flew across the room and hit Eddie square in the chest, right in the middle of his favorite Iron Maiden shirt he’d gotten out of a thrift store bin a few years back. The yellow projectile flopped to the floor where it hit the carpet with a squelch; Eddie looked up to Dottie to find her face had turned red, her jaw clenched in barely contained rage. She threw a fucking sponge at me, he realized, wary of what else could she’d throw his way. Her bucket was perfectly within her reach.

“Are you done?” she raised her voice, louder than he’d ever heard her.

“I-”

“I asked, are you done yelling at me?!” her hands turned into rubbery fists, eyes narrowing to look down at him from her vantage point. He didn’t dare reply. “I asked your Uncle for permission to clean the mold stain because that’s what’s causing your allergies. You’re getting sick from it and it could be dangerous!”

“How do you-”

“Do you really think it’s the first time I’ve seen mold in my entire life? Give me a break, Eddie, how sheltered do you think I am?”

“If you had such noble intentions, why didn’t you ask me about it instead of going behind my back and asking Wayne, huh?”

“Because you don’t let people help you! No, no, no,” she lifted her gloved hand to cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth. “You don’t get to argue back. Gareth has to hide gas money in your glovebox so you don’t try to give it back to him! Donny acts like he wants your peanuts so you eat the extra lunch he brings for you without complaining!”

“I don’t want your pity!”

“It’s not fucking pity! We want to help you out because we love you!” Dottie threw her hands in the air with exasperation. She exhaled loudly, shoulders sagging, defeated. “Don’t you fucking accuse me of seeing you as a goddamn charity case ever again, Eddie. If you can’t see by now that I think the absolute world of you, then I don’t know why we’re even friends anymore.”

There was a heavy silence in the room, and Eddie could feel his anger and humiliation turn to guilt. He stared at her with wet eyes, regretting every single word that had come out of his mouth since he’d returned from his strange errand. Dottie was breathing heavily, lips turned downwards, biting the inside of her cheek; he had seen that face before and instantly knew that she was trying her hardest not to cry. He felt like such an idiot. Of course that what he was feeling was completely justified but he had just accused her of essentially tricking him into a friendship only to mock him, like she hadn’t consistently shown him how kind and selfless she truly was.

Putting his pride aside, he launched himself across the room and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head into her chest and squeezing her tightly so she wouldn’t fall from the ladder she was still standing on.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clutching the back of the paint splattered shirt that had clearly once belonged to her Dad. She must have brought it from home to protect her clothes while she cleaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, pulling her gloves from her hands, letting them fall to the floor before dropping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You’re right, I should have asked you before I did it. That wasn’t cool of me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. “But I still shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she said, holding him tighter. “I would never pity you, Eddie, you have to know this. I admire you so much, I could never think any less of you. You’re one of my best friends in the whole world.”

“You’re one of my best friends too,” he admitted, looking up at her, his chin resting on her stomach. “I just… People are always judging, you know? And I don’t want you to see me differently because I’m… struggling.”

“I’m not trying to fix your life, or do charity with you. I just want to help you out the same way you help me out, and that’s what friends do for each other, okay? If you won the lottery tomorrow and moved to a big ass mansion in Loch Nora, I’d still help you out.”

“Because you love me?” he risked a little joke, testing the rocky waters between them.

“Yes, dumbass. Because I love you,” she said, fingers tangling in his wild curls, and despite the fact that he was sure his heart had never raced faster in his life, the waves lapping at his feet had never felt calmer.

If Eddie was taking more alternative roads and going slower than usual while taking Dottie home, neither of them said anything about it. They had spent the rest of their day together cleaning Eddie’s room as a team, her on ceiling mold duty and him wiping down every dusty surface and shoving things into his drawers and closet to deal with them at a later date. When they were done, they threw themselves onto his bed so she could quiz him on Sociology, trying to get him ready for his last test of the year before finals week. Wayne did not attempt to talk to either of them for the remainder of the afternoon, but he had hugged Dottie goodbye with a smile on his face and subsequently given his nephew a stern look that warned him about the scolding he was gonna get when he came back from dropping her off. Eddie had no doubts that his Uncle had overheard the rest of their conversation through the door and heavily favored her side of the argument.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he asked with a timid voice as he pulled into her street.

“You know I’m never gonna say no to tacos,” she said, turning in her seat to look at his profile. “Kinda been looking forward to it all week, actually.”

“Was really hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. “I’ve been looking forward to it too.”

“Taco Friday is still on then. They better be good or I’ll be so disappointed.”

“You won’t be, trust me. Best tacos you’ve ever had.”

“I’m counting on it. See you tomorrow, okay? Please go over your notes one more time before the test.”

“Will do, Captain,” he saluted, watching her jump off his van and walk backwards towards her front door.

“I mean it, Munson! I want to see you get at least a B or your ass is grass!”

“I’ll get you more than a B, princess, I promise!” he said, grinning when she rolled her eyes at him before scurrying inside.

He was in a fairly good mood again when he walked into the trailer, but instantly stiffened up when he saw his Uncle standing at the sink. He waited by the front door in silence for a few seconds before trying to disappear into his bedroom when Wayne put down the dish he was washing and turned around. His face gave away nothing as he motioned to the couch with his head. Oh, boy. Eddie sat down quietly and stared at the carpet. The eldest Munson crossed his arms and stood next to the coffee table, knee bumping Eddie’s to make him look up. He didn’t. The faint sounds of the trailer park settling down for the night were ringing in his ears.

“You two make up?” Wayne asked, getting straight to the point.

“Yeah. Sorry about the yelling.”

“S’alright. You know what she said to me? When she asked about the stain?” Eddie didn’t reply, so Wayne kept going. “That she’d rather have you angry at her than see you cough up blood.”

“I didn’t know it was toxic. I thought she was just… being judgy.”

“Now why do you think she was being judgy?” Eddie only shrugged and Wayne sighed, changing tactics. “You do things for her sometimes, don’t you, Ed?”

“I guess,” he could feel his ears start to get red.

“You drive her around, get her snacks. Made her that shirt for her birthday too, ain’t that right?”

“We’re friends,” he argued back, although he didn’t really know what he was getting agitated about.

“Do you judge her because she can’t drive herself?”

“What- no, of course not, I’m not an asshole!”

“Do you judge her when you buy things for her?”

“No!”

“Then what on Earth made you think she was gonna judge you, huh? That any of your friends judge you?”

“People like that always judge,” he grumbled.

“People like that?” Wayne repeated in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” Eddie finally looked at his uncle, exasperated. The older man lifted an eyebrow. “People that don’t live in a trailer park,” was what Eddie said. People that don’t have to decide what bill would hurt them less if it didn’t get paid on time. People that go thrift shopping for fun and not out of necessity. People that graduate on time, and go to college, and live in a suburb, was what Eddie implied.

“Y’know, for someone as perceptive as you, you can be really dumb sometimes,” he chuckled bitterly. “Open your damn eyes, boy. I know you ain’t blind. You’re not the only one who’s had a hard life ‘round here, so quit the self-pitying.”

Wayne could picture the cogs behind Eddie’s confused expression start to turn as he pondered on his words. A few seconds of silence passed between them before the eldest Munson fished his cigarettes from his shirt pocket and headed outside for a quick smoke. He turned around when he reached the door; Eddie was staring at him but his eyes were unfocused, mind miles away.

“Ed?” Wayne called, and his nephew’s head jerked violently, snapping out of his trance. “You be good to that girl, son. You don’t find people like that every day.”

Never in his almost twenty years of life had Eddie felt as productive as that day waiting for Wayne to leave for work. He’d vacuumed his bedroom carpet, put a new load of clothes in the washing machine, had dinner, washed the dishes, dried the dishes, and reorganized his tapes, all in an effort to keep moving, not stopping to think once. He was sitting at the kitchen table drowning himself in the dull black and soft gray of Jeff’s photocopied Sociology notes when his uncle finally laced up his boots, turned off the TV and headed out for the night, leaving him alone with the thoughts that could no longer be ignored.

He remembered the random five dollar bills he often found in his van: in the glovebox, between his tapes, tucked into the sun visor, laying on the dashboard. He’d always assumed he’d left them there while he was high or drunk after a gig; Gareth had never mentioned them and Eddie wasn’t a stranger to misplacing his own things so he’d never had any reasons to question his friend about it. He thought about befriending a freshman Donny when he was a junior, only a couple of months before he started selling weed and still couldn’t afford cafeteria lunches, bringing whatever little leftovers he could find in the fridge to keep his hunger at bay during the school day. He’d never given much thought to the fact that Donny kept asking him to trade a few peanuts or half his apple for a whole sandwich, not when his friend kept pulling excuse after excuse (“I hate this kind of cheese, please take it or I’m gonna throw it away”, “My sister made waffles for breakfast, I’m not that hungry”, “Dude, you know I love chocolate covered pretzels, come on, trade with me?”) and he was always happy to say yes. Donny hadn’t stopped doing it, only slowed down on the frequency once Eddie started selling and now had extra pocket money to spend on whatever he wanted.

Throat constricting, he looked down at the notes in front of him and saw Jeff’s handwriting spelling names and concepts he should be memorizing. Eddie hadn’t made the copies, Jeff had. He had gone to the library during one of his free periods and spent his time photocopying his own notes so he could give them to his long haired friend before their exam. Eddie wondered how many more things they had done for him throughout the years without getting so much as a thank you from him, and never once expecting anything in return. Never looked at him differently, never made fun of him, never questioned him. I’m a fucking idiot, he thought bitterly, before Wayne’s words rang in his ears. “You’re not the only one who’s had a hard life”, he had said.

Eddie twirled his pen in his hand, noticing it wasn’t his. It was Dottie’s fluffy pen, blue ink with a pink pompom that he loved tickling his own chin with. She was very protective of her things, never hesitating to lend them out to her friends but always having a sort of nervous anxiety until they were back in her hands. Dottie, who always waited to see what everyone else was picking at the diner before placing her own order. Dottie, who loved apple Kool-Aid and didn’t like sodas unless it was a special occasion, who knew how to bake and cook with whatever was in the fridge, who never threw away pencils until they were so small she couldn’t grab them anymore.

“Ah, fuck,” he said out loud, the weight of the words he’d carelessly thrown around at her rooting him to his chair.

Dottie who cut the toothpaste tube in half to get everything out. Dottie who always said “it’s thrifted!” or “I made it!” whenever someone complimented her on a piece of clothing that she was clearly proud of. Dottie who hated doing math but could calculate the price of things that were on sale quicker than she could read her own dice during a D&D session. Dottie, Dottie, Dottie. Eddie let his head hit the table, forehead sticking to a piece of paper. How had he missed all the signs? He’d accused her of looking down on him and all this time he’d never once stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, she knew exactly what he was going through. He’d been so concerned trying to hide all the things he feared she could judge him upon, and instead had been judging her all along.

He had to fix this. He had to show her that he was sorry for what he’d said, that he wouldn’t judge her anymore. That all this time he’d been wrong, and she’d been right, and that he was a Grade A Idiot who had gotten lost in his own head a little bit too much. Staring at an old camping lamp he’d found under his bed while he was cleaning, Eddie decided that to make things better he would simply have to hang the moon for Dottie.

Friday, May 9th - 1986

“Hey, Chris?” Eddie said, staring at the trees above him. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Is it illegal?” Chrissy replied, following the dancing leaves with her eyes.

“Absolutely.”

It was a sunny Friday, the kind of day that just made you itch to be outside, which was exactly what Eddie and Chrissy were doing after school while they waited for their extracurriculars to start. They were hanging out in their secret spot in the woods, lying on the seats of what they had claimed as their picnic table, looking up at the mostly clear sky while passing a joint back and forth under the wooden surface that separated them. Chrissy had been complaining about how someone on the Prom Planning Committee hadn’t booked the DJ they’d wanted on time and now the guy wasn’t available anymore; she had been scrambling all week trying to find a decent replacement or else everyone in their senior class was going to have to get down to someone’s cousin’s shitty mixtapes. As their shared blunt got smaller and smaller, she was thankful that she not only had a new vice to indulge in when things got overwhelming, but also had Eddie, who always listened and reacted accordingly to her frustrated rants.

“What do you need?”

“Can you sell me a couple of prom tickets? I really don’t wanna ask Kemper about them, she’s such a bitch,” he groaned.

“What did Luce do to you?” she turned to look at him, confused.

Lucy Kemper was a meek looking redhead that knew she was going to be an accountant since she was 12, and because of that, she’d appointed herself as the Committee’s treasurer as soon as she reached senior year. She said she didn’t trust anyone else handling money, so she’d taken it upon herself to be the only one selling tickets for both the junior and senior proms. Other senior students had, in turn, started calling her The Ticket Peddler - it remained to be seen whether it was an affectionate nickname or not.

“Well, for starters, Luce is the one that started that rumor about me stealing underwear from the girls’ locker room.”

“What? They literally caught Tommy Hagan breaking into a locker, Billy Hargrove dared him to do it as their last senior year prank, it was so gross. Why did she say it was you? Everyone knew it was him, it was all everyone talked about for two weeks.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie said sarcastically, the smoke he had been holding in his mouth getting lost into the breeze. “That’s why she had to drop it, but that didn’t stop Higgins from interrogating me twice about it before your coach caught Hagan red handed.”

“I hated that guy, he was such a little creep. And I didn’t like how he treated Carol at all.”

“Carol Perkins was a bigger asshole than her dumbass boyfriend ever was,” he declared, offering the burning joint to Chrissy with a lifted eyebrow.

“Not to me! She was always really nice. She let me borrow a tampon once,” Chrissy said, taking a drag.

“Ew.”

“Periods are completely normal, Eddie.”

“I had to take Health class twice, I’m not scared of periods. I said “ew” because you borrowed a tampon from the Witch Queen herself. You know, I’m surprised she didn’t ask you to give it back, guess she wasn’t in the mood for a blood ritual that day.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Chrissy giggled, making him crack up too. “I’m sorry about Lucy, though. She shouldn’t have done that.”

The more time Chrissy spent with Eddie, the more she wondered how many people around her had been horrible to others right under her nose without her noticing it. She knew that Jason could be mean to the metalhead sometimes, but she figured it was just a guy thing; Eddie stood on tables and badmouthed Jason, and Jason did it right back to him, and so on and so forth. Her boyfriend wasn’t a bully, was he? They both gave as good as they got, neither shied away from conflict when it concerned each other, right? It bothered her to know that maybe she’d misunderstood the situation all along. How many times had she walked past someone being mistreated and not looked their way twice?

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge and all that,” Eddie waved his hand like it wasn’t a big deal. It was to Chrissy. “So, can you sell me two tickets today and hold three until next week? I’ll round up the money and pay you for those on Monday.”

“Sure! Why two today though?” she asked curiously, putting out the roach on the underside of the table and letting it fall to the grass before it began burning her fingers.

“I have another study date tonight.”

“Oh my god, are you promposing?” she suddenly sat upright, eyes twinkling with excitement. “I thought you said you were all going together as a group! What are you gonna wear? Are you taking Dottie to dinner before too? You have to get her a corsage, I can help you pick a nice one if-”

“Jesus Christ, slow down,” he said, clumsily lifting himself up from the bench until he was also sitting down across from her. “I’m not promposing, we’re still going with the guys as a group. I just… kinda fucked up yesterday and wanted to do something nice for her. Make things right, y’know?”

“Define “fucked up” for me, please.”

“I, uh, I got angry and said some things I didn’t mean. There’s nothing to worry about though, we talked it out and we’re fine. We’re going out for tacos tonight.”

“Another date that isn’t a date, huh? I’ll have the tickets ready for you after Hellfire on one condition,” she teased him. “I want first row seats at the wedding.”

“Sweetheart, if we get married, I promise you I’m picking you as my Maid of Honor slash Best Woman slash whatever that shit's called.”

“Deal,” Chrissy stuck out her hand for him to shake on it and he grinned brightly.

It occurred to her right at that second with his hand on hers, that once they left high school, this regular hangout she enjoyed so much was no longer going to happen. Their picnic table wasn’t gonna be theirs anymore, left abandoned for other misbehaving kids to take ownership upon once the new school year started. No more smoking together, no more listening to each other's cassettes, no more lying on the benches and pointing out funny cloud shapes until their faces were red with mirth. And now Eddie was talking about his future like she had a place in it, and Chrissy wondered if her future had enough space for Eddie too.

"Eddie? What's gonna happen after graduation?" she asked, tracing a happy face with crosses for eyes that was carved into the wood with her index finger.

"Dunno, I'll probably try to get a job during summer. Weren't you going to Asscrack, Ohio early for the preseason?"

"Yeah, but that’s not until August. And stop calling it Asscrack, Ohio! OSU is literally in Columbus!”

“You could have gone anywhere and still chose Ohio. What kind of demented person chooses to live in Ohio?”

“They’ve won the UCA Nationals three years in a row, I want to win too,” she shrugged. “But that's not what I asked, I meant it more like- I don't know, like, what's after graduation for us, y'know?"

"Oh," he looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her thoughts by her anxious expression. "Well, what do you want to happen?"

"I don't want us to stop being friends," she said, getting straight to the point. "I like hanging out with you, I like that I can be myself when you're around."

"I like hanging out with you too, really, I do, but I think your Mom might ground you until you're 30 if she ever sees us together," Eddie warned her.

"She doesn't have to know. We can… we can hang out in secret until I leave for college. And you can come visit sometime! You and Dottie and the guys. I’d love to see everyone again."

"You wanna be friends with the freaks?" he asked, disbelieving.

"You were the one who said I was a freak too!"

Eddie really wanted to believe her, he really did. He wanted to call Chrissy to tell her the news whenever something good happened to him, wanted her to come to The Hideout and watch Corroded Coffin perform before college inevitably made it impossible, wanted to pay her back for her support and advice by being there for her during hard times. He wanted her and Dot to become friends like he knew they could be, for them to have girl nights where he'd pick them up from a bar all rosy cheeked and giggly, singing Pat Benatar until they fell asleep in his backseat.

He wanted all of that, because he actually really fucking loved being friends with Chrissy Cunningham, Queen of Hawkins High and Head Cheerleader, but also because it would mean that they had never been so different after all. That high school cliques and hierarchy didn't mean shit once you were out of that dreadful place. That people could change, and come to understand each other and that maybe Hawkins wasn't the shithole town he desperately wanted to leave behind.

Eddie really wanted to believe Chrissy, but he didn't. Not entirely. Not yet. However, given recent events, he decided there was no harm in giving her the benefit of the doubt if she was so willing to extend it to him too.

“How about we start with you signing my yearbook and see where that leads us?” he offered.

“Only if you sign mine too.”

“Fair enough,” he smiled at her, and Chrissy had the feeling he wasn’t lying at all about her being his Maid of Honor-Best Woman-Whatever It Was Called whenever he got married.

And luckily for him, she was serious about accepting the offer too.

“Did you pick one?”

Eddie climbed back into his van with a bag full of Mexican food to find Dottie going through all his tapes, the cases balanced precariously on her thighs. The parking lot was quiet, but soon it would start filling up with misbehaving teens looking for a bit of fun on a Friday night. Hot Sam was another survivor from the Starcourt Mall fire; they had relocated to Mulberry St. in Downtown Hawkins after collecting a big fat cheque from their insurance company and had managed to infuse a little bit of nightlife into an otherwise deserted area. The owners were just grateful that the still-in-construction Taco Bell at the mall, in order to not associate themselves with a tragedy, decided to leave the town altogether instead of moving somewhere else, leaving the Hawkins Taco Kingdom to be disputed between themselves and the owners of Olé Amigo!, who quite frankly didn’t know what a poblano was even if it hit them right in the face. Dottie huffed loudly as Eddie turned on the van and began backtracking out of the parking lot, right hand behind her headrest.

“Why are all your tapes in the wrong cases?” she complained, snapping Mercyful Fate’s Melissa shut.

“Gareth thinks switching them out is the peak of comedy.”

“He’s such a gremlin,” she said, putting another tape in its rightful case.

“Which one are you looking for?” he asked, glancing at her hand shaking Dio’s The Last in Line’s empty case. Wordlessly, he ejected the cassette that was in his van’s deck and lifted an eyebrow. “It’s ready to go.”

“How did you-,” she interrupted herself and chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief while pushing it back in and pressing play.

He shrugged, heat blooming in his chest as the first notes of We Rock rattled his windows. It had been a coincidence, he’d been listening to it as he drove to school that morning, but there was a part of him that always got giddy whenever she willingly chose to partake in his interests. He knew she always carried around a couple of her fave tapes, and there were enough mixes with non-metal songs in his glove box, so the fact that she’d picked one of his favorite albums was nothing to scoff at. She didn’t always like everything he showed her, but she still tried to understand it because it was important to him, and that meant more to him than she’d ever know.

When they missed the turn that took them to the entrance of the trailer park, Dottie eyed him suspiciously, his face carefully schooled to look very nonchalant. His fingers were tapping the final beats to Breathless on the steering wheel when he pulled into a road flanked by trees on both sides.

“Eddie? Where are we going?” she asked, looking out of her window.

“It’s a surprise.”

“You know I don’t like surprises,” she said, hands starting to sweat and the skin on her neck prickling.

“I promise you it’s nothing weird,” Eddie said, lowering the radio to a low rumble and letting his right hand fall to her left knee. He squeezed it comfortingly, but it only made her more nervous. “There’s a place I like to go for a smoke at by the lake, I just thought you’d like to see it. We can go back home if you don’t like it but it’s not scary, I swear.”

“We’re going to Lover’s Lake?”

“No funny business,” he insisted. “It’s just a really pretty place to hang out. And we can leave as soon as you want.”

“Okay. Sounds nice,” Dottie said, heart racing as she placed her palm on top of his hand and squeezed back.

Eddie didn’t remove his hand from her knee until he had to change gears to get onto a dirt road, thumb rubbing in circles over the bone underneath her jeans. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the possibility of something happening between them or nothing happening at all. The anticipation was eating up her insides as he parked the van in reverse under a thick tree like he had done it a million times and killed the engine, cutting One Night in the City off. A gentle breeze ruffled the grass and leaves around them, dull silence threatening to swallow them whole.

“Stay here for a second, okay?” Eddie said, patting her knee a final time. “Don’t turn around, I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”

“Okay,” she answered, but her voice was swallowed by the loud slam of the driver’s door being closed.

She heard him walk all the way around the van, open the back doors and get inside. He shuffled around for a few seconds before he hopped off and hurried to her side, opening her door and unclicking her seatbelt.

“Close your eyes for me, yeah? I’ll guide you,” he said, nervous energy bouncing off his tongue.

“Eddie, you’re scaring me,” she admitted, voice weak, feeling his hand remove her backpack from her shoulder and the bag of food from her tight grasp.

“Trust me, you’re gonna love this,” he took both of her hands in his and started walking her to the rear of the van and closer to the shore. “Just follow me, follow my voice.”

“Please don’t push me into the water,” she said, memories swirling in her mind. Jeannie locking her into a dark closet at a birthday party while they played Hide and Seek. Howie “accidentally” shoving her into a muddy puddle during a rainy field trip. Eddie’s fingers gripped hers tightly.

“I would never, darling. Just a few more steps, I’ve got you.”

When they reached their destination only a couple of feet away from the van, Eddie let his hands roam from hers up her arms all the way to her shoulders where he gently applied pressure to let her know he was still there. He stood directly behind her, leaning forward a little bit to match her height.

“You can look now,” he muttered over her right shoulder, equal parts nervous and excited.

Eddie’s secret Lover’s Lake spot was a little natural clearing right across the lake houses that belonged to the privileged few in Hawkins. Most of them didn’t live there; their everyday addresses were located mostly in Loch Nora, but they used these particular houses as a weekend getaway sort of space, a secluded oasis in a shitty little town the rest of the country had forgotten about. Eddie found a certain charm in sitting in the back of his van staring at the twinkling lights of those giant residences, watching them throw their entitled rich people parties from a safe distance where they couldn’t see him intruding on their privacy. He’d get high and observe them come and go, the voices belonging to drunkards only rarely carrying across the water, wondering what would he do if he ever had a house like that.

The water licked the dirt edge with barely audible waves, crickets chirping in the distance, birds settling into their nests for the night. Dottie watched and watched, the moon reflecting on the unperturbed surface of the lake, the boy behind her sitting with his legs dangling from the back of his van, one of his cigarettes perfuming the air between them. It was peaceful; she could understand why he’d come here to clear his head, be alone with his thoughts.

“This is beautiful,” she whispered, not wanting to break the bubble that had formed around them.

“Told you to trust me,” he said, the side of his mouth lifting in a smile as she turned around to look at him.

If the lake at night had seemed beautiful, what was in front of her was downright mesmerizing. Eddie sat a little to the side, feet swinging back and forth in the air, his weight resting on his right arm while he held his half smoked cig with his left hand. Behind him, he had set up an upturned plastic crate covered in blue gingham cloth as a table, various cushions and blankets were strewn around on the hard wooden floor, and a small camping lamp rested on top of an amp that belonged to Jeff. The soft yellow light illuminated him from the back, his wild hair looked like a halo, his figure surrounded by his broken, frizzy curls. He had set her backpack to a side with his and the bag of food waited for them unopened on top of the crate.

“This is for you,” Eddie reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin envelope.

Dottie stared at it for a second before opening it, then at Eddie, and then back at the papers in her hand. Two prom tickets. One for her, one for him, she assumed. Is this a joke? It would be cruel if it was, and she knew him to not be cruel. Maybe to others, to bullies, but not to her. Trust me, he had said. The photo hidden inside her bag was screaming, begging to be released. She swallowed the knot in her throat and looked at him with wet eyes.

“W-what is this?”

“I was an asshole to you yesterday. A complete and total asshole and you had every right to throw your dirty sponge at me, and I’m sorry.”

“You were upset.”

“Yeah, I was, but… I guess I’m just so used to people judging me that I thought if I did it first, it would hurt less. And it totally doesn’t work like that,” he chuckled, flicking ash onto the grass. “I want to make it up to you. You’ve been so nice to me all this time and I’ve just been a fucking idiot.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have, but it’s okay. I’m not planning on being one anymore. Not with you at least,” he threw his cig to the side and extended his hand to her. Dottie accepted it instantly and let him pull her closer. “I know we said we were all gonna go together to prom, and that’s still the plan, nothing has to change. But I didn’t want you to have to buy your own ticket.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No,” Eddie held her hands in his. “It’s a thank you. For cleaning my room, for taking care of me when I get sick, shit, for helping me graduate. I’ll deny it if anyone asks because as Club Leader I can’t exactly pick favorites, but you’re at the top of my list, darling.”

“Really? Top of the list?” she whispered theatrically, thumb playing with his.

“There’s you, a small gap, then Erica because she scares me, a big gap, the rest of Hellfire, another gap, and Mike.”

“Why is Mike at the bottom?”

“Have you seen his hair recently? He’s trying to steal my look. Can’t have that, they’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“You are soft,” she said, pointedly.

“I’m Satan’s lost son, princess, haven’t you heard? I’m corrupting children with my dice and cool dragon stories,” he grinned, thoroughly enjoying how easy it was to slip into banter with her.

Dottie looked at their entwined hands with a heavy heart. Here he was, opening up to her, accepting his faults and wanting to change, and she felt like such a hypocrite. All Eddie did was wear his heart on his sleeve. He was open, and honest, and even when he was scared and lashing out there was still a heavy dose of truth embedded into everything he said. He wasn’t a child who needed coddling, he didn’t want anyone’s pity because his life was rougher than others’. He just wanted to be Eddie, wanted people to look at him like that’s all he was: not a failure, not trailer trash, not a sob story. Just Eddie. And Dottie didn’t want to be Just Dottie.

Everything about Dorothy Burke had been kept under several padlocks from the moment she could talk, and every time something important happened, a new one would get added to the chest. There was a key for each padlock, but she guarded them fiercely, only lending them out to her Dad or one of her Aunts and Uncles, immediately asking for them back as soon as they had peeked at her secrets inside. There were systems in place to not have to talk about things. There were schedules, and lists, and routines. If everything looked right from the outside, then everything was right, so Dorothy Burke didn’t get into trouble, didn’t get bad grades, didn’t fool around with classmates who could look into her a little bit too deeply. Everything about her was so tightly wound and the screams coming from inside her backpack were so loud. Something. Had. To give.

“Eddie?” she mumbled. The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears was daunting. “There’s something you should know about me.”

“Okay,” was all he said, keeping his hold on one of her hands while she reached for her bag with the other one.

She put the prom tickets on the floor of the van next to Eddie’s thigh and opened the big zipper. He could see the pink envelope that had been tormenting him for a few days between two notebooks, but Dottie pulled out a piece of glossy paper instead. She pushed the bag aside like it had offended her, and offered the retrieved item to him. For a brief second, Eddie didn’t know what he was supposed to be getting from it. The man in the photo didn’t look like anyone he’d ever seen before, and the place where it was taken was a complete mystery to him. Only when he noticed a baby hanging onto the side of a white tub, yellow pacifier in her mouth and wild curls sticking out did it occur to him that this was a piece of Dottie’s past.

“That’s you,” he said, not really asking for confirmation.

“Yeah. And that’s my Uncle Johnny.”

“Wow. You were tiny.”

There was no date on the back of the photo and Eddie hadn’t been around too many babies to accurately guess her age, but he could tell that her Uncle looked very young. He was wearing an old dark red t-shirt with bleach stains and yellow rubber gloves, posing to the camera with a big grin and a sponge in his hand. He was cleaning something behind a white square thing; the full object wasn’t visible in the photo but if he had to guess, it was probably an appliance of some sorts. A washer or a dryer maybe?

“After my Mom died, we couldn’t afford rent on our own,” Dottie began, eyes stuck to the picture in Eddie’s hand. “My grandparents helped us for a few months but it just wasn’t sustainable in the long run. We had a lot of debts, my Dad was still paying his student loans, and there were so many medical bills, it was just… too much for one person to handle,” Eddie didn’t interrupt her, but tugged her a little bit closer so their knees were touching. “So when my Dad began looking into apartments closer to where he worked to save on gas, Johnny told my Dad that we should all move in together. His lease was up and I loved it when he babysat me, so it seemed like a good idea, y’know?”

“How old were you?”

“Around 11 months? I had just found out that if I grabbed onto things, I could stand up all on my own.”

“I can see that,” he lifted the picture. “Look at those chubby thighs.”

“Still got them,” she laughed. “My Grandma says I’ve got chicken legs.”

“Shit, princess, you can't say that and now show me those weird ass toes now,” he grinned.

“I said chicken legs, not chicken feet. Big thighs, small ankles,” she pushed him away jokingly and he pulled her even closer, his thumb rubbing back and forth on top of her hand.

“So you guys moved into this place?” Eddie looked at the photo again.

“Mm-hmm. No one wanted to rent an apartment to two 23-year-old guys with a baby, they thought it was weird. Like, what were they doing with a kid, y’know? They asked for my birth certificate once, it was such bullshit.”

“They accused your Dad of stealing you?”

“Yeah. It was just one time, and the guy was super weird, but still. I think… Well, I know a lot of landlords thought they were gay. And honestly who gives a shit if they were? Gay people need houses too! It’s not like they live in a magical land far far away. And especially in fucking New York City, like, Broadway is right there.”

“Yeah, no,” Eddie scoffed, his heartbeat rising a little bit. “Total bullshit. Fuck Reagan.”

“Fuck Reagan,” she repeated, and they both knew what they were talking about but it wasn’t the right place or time to discuss it. “That’s how Johnny became Uncle Johnny, actually. There was this apartment that was super cheap, great location, near a daycare, and the owners were this old couple, very traditional, so Johnny lied to them so they'd let us rent it. Said my Dad and him were brothers from different fathers, and had this whole speech about how family always helps family during hard times.”

“Go Uncle Johnny.”

“Honestly, he’s awesome. This is from the weekend we moved in,” Dottie pointed at the photo. “There was this old washing machine in the bathroom, the owners said we could throw it away ‘cause it was broken but when we moved it, the entire wall was covered in black mold. Like, you couldn’t even see the wall behind it, it was gross. My Uncle cleaned it up all on his own and repainted the wall so I wouldn’t get sick. That’s why I knew your mold stain was dangerous.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she ground her sneaker into the grass. “I… It hurt when you said that I was treating you like a charity case because it wasn’t easy for us either while I was growing up, you know? We lived in that apartment for four years. There were only two bedrooms, and I shared a bed with my Dad until we moved on our own and my Uncle Rob built me a princess bed for my fifth birthday.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t know-”

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad. I’m telling you because I want you to know that I understand more than you think I do.”

“I know. I know you do, I’m just stupid,” he smiled up at her. “I do this thing sometimes where I convince myself that no one else in the world knows what it’s like to be me and Wayne has to remind me that I’m not as unique as I like to think I am. Not your fault, darling.”

“God, you sound like Ms. Kelly,” she giggled. “I think I’m… too emotionally constipated for my own good? I should probably work on that.”

“Is that not what we’re doing right now?” he set the photo to the side and finally let her hand go, only to pull her between his open legs for a hug. “Opening up and shit?”

“Yeah,” she let herself sink into his embrace. “Feels nice. Thank you for listening to me.”

“Thank you for sharing your story with me.”

They stayed like that for a few more minutes - just hugging each other, backs a little bit less loaded and hearts a little bit heavier. Before Dottie pulled away to put the photo and the prom tickets into her bag for safekeeping, she stopped for a second to kiss Eddie’s crown. It wasn’t a sexy kiss, or even a romantic one; she grabbed his head with both hands and cartoonishly said “mwah” loudly when she pressed her lips to his hair, but it was still charming enough to make him melt. He glanced at her hands and saw the damned pink envelope peeking out while she tucked away her things. Something was still left to give.

“Can I be nosy for a second?” Eddie said, lifting himself from his seat on the edge of his van to help her get in.

“Sure.”

“What’s that pink thing in your bag?”

“Pink thing?” she sat in front of him at their makeshift table and began unwrapping their forgotten tacos.

“Yeah, you were talking about it with Jeff the other day when we were at Gareth’s,” he said, acting nonchalant.

“Pink thing… Oh, you mean this?” she retrieved the envelope from her bag with one hand while she grabbed a plastic cup with her other hand. “It’s a Mother’s Day card! I always get one for my Mom and write her a little note.”

“That’s… that’s really sweet, princess,” Eddie said, suddenly feeling so very dumb. “You celebrate?”

“Yeah! Just like doing something special, y’know? I feel like she deserves it.”

“I get that. Wayne and I get breakfast at a diner and take flowers to my Grandma. ‘S nice,” he gave his taco a big bite. “D’you still wanna get together on Sunday? We can postpone if you have other plans.”

“Actually,” Dottie looked down at her food. They really were great tacos. “D’you wanna come over and celebrate together? I always bake a cake and do a little bonfire thing… It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he shook his head. “I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, you are kinda bribing me with cake so…,” he said, downplaying the fact that the tips of his ears were red.

“You’re the worst,” she laughed and he beamed at her, a little bit of guac smudged on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe Dottie could trust Eddie with a key. Maybe she could give him his own to keep, so she couldn’t chicken out and ask for it back as soon as the morning sun made her rethink her choices. Maybe, with time, she could be comfortable enough to give him all her keys. But for now, eating the best tacos she’d ever had in her life with the boy who felt like getting into a warm bed after a long day, this first key was enough. It was only fair to give it to him; he’d given her a key to one of his padlocks too, after all.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology

[willowuponavon]

Thinking about “Decameron” again and the merits of a limited tv show that is written to work in the frame of its form. It doesn’t need to be able to stretch into seasons, make moments into episodes. It can just be, existing, perfect in its length. Not rushed nor too long.

I also have even more thoughts about the show under the break

I finished watching “The Decameron” (2024, created by Kathleen Jordan), and after a three day binge watch it may be my new comfort tv show. It was funny, compelling, full of emotions from romance to hatred. There were false identities and plots afoot. All of these combined to create such an engaging story of a group of nobles and their servants stuck in a rural villa as the Black Plague ravages the cities. In ten days (the show’s namesake), all the plots collide messily and the plague and mortality loom over them all. This show is a must watch for those who love a gritty dark comedy, laughing in the face of death, a sprinkle of sexy romance, and of course seeing nobles all fall apart.

I loved this show, mostly because it reminds me of “The Great” (2020, created by Tony McNamara). There are the same dirty and crude humours of any historical (or semi-historical) satire, not covering up the foul conditions of the time period. The gruesome reality becomes the foundation for jokes, and there are many. From flowers clearing the bad air that causes the plague, to falling down a well to test God, to affairs and vies for titles. The sheer amount of drama packed into this eight episode limited series is astounding, yet it does not feel rushed.

The characters have time to develop, sinking deeper into their sin or rising above their class rank. We come to love each of them in their own unique way, and they are unique. Each character is distinctly their own, each worth loving and wanting to see win. We track them each at their time in the villa, chasing their own desires (many times no matter the cost). The stakes feel well established, what each has to risk and what secrets they all have. Which is why I think I found this show especially loveable. There are many plots and secrets thrown about, and while the other guests of the villa do not know these, we as viewers do. We are not unclear about actions or motivations, and humour arises from how characters act versus what we know (like trying to win the affections of someone long dead). This juxtaposition of how knowledge is shared makes this show unique. We are not in the dark with the characters, but omnipresent watchers, merely along for the ride, seeing every sinful act and dirty detail.

I have even (even) more to say here:

[a-weird-writer]

It's interesting that Diablo doesn't stir even in front of an eldritch entity, any human would probs go mad when seeing an eldritch true form but Diablo keeps together. I love all the little details you mention, especially when it comes to the descriptions of madness and the inhuman similarities he and eldritch reader share. Honestly he would prefer the true form probably.

Thank you, I love writing horror!

Gore gives me brain rot; I'm melting beneath the monsters that wanna rip me apart and the horrors that wanna destroy the planet. Eldritches and the moral concept of the mind, horror and scares send me in a massive spiral, with the drama and suspense packed into it? Amazing!

It's a whole lotta fun to run deep into, and its great practice if you ever want a feel for the horror genre. There are so many things you can do, more things to experiment with. I own a bookcase full of horror I admire revisiting, my inspiration mainly stems from them and other books I grew up with.

It made sense to me that Diablo wouldn't flinch in front of an Eldritch, given why and how he acts in TTIGRAAS canon. He is by no means a fool, and even more merciless. Less so to his kind and those separate in inhumanity, to which you are an upmost product of. A pinacol of extreme strain furthest thing from human, a foreign definition of unbalance further then demons themselves. Just more reasons to show no weakness, with you at a level of 'supernatural' Diablo could never physically reach no matter what form he evolves or achieves.

It takes an enormous amount of effort to intimate, let alone flinch, Diablo the slightest bit, head straight and his back even straighter. He is pretty fearless and cares not for the contrary. I said multiple times before, Diablo is completely unmoved by appearances all together, even ones meant to...

'unhinge' the brain.

The thing with Diablo is not only is he inhuman, but also extremely experienced. In other words, knowledgeable in more ways than one in good and evil. He knows quite a lot and knows exactly how useful-and dangerous-such knowledge is. Well informed of the powers and possible secrets beyond his world. As there are always shadows, he has only seen near all. Powers ahead and behind, in between and hidden, waiting for the light to drive them out. You are just another shadow, in need of studying, yet another secret to be revealed.

Uncovering thought and purpose is what Diablo specializes in, leaving no stone, vein and magicule unturned. Pride is Diablo's sin, and he absolutely shows it. There is no silliness with Diablo-even in the games he plays-only a master of the chess board, who aims to use his pawns to the fullest potential and predict the moves of his opponent long before they make it. In fact, it's something he is passionate about; the excitement, the amount of pleasure and satisfaction he gains from unveiling an ancient mystery, unraveling the world's lost wonders over yonder.

And what greater mystery then you?

A glitch, tearing solar wind in space, and a mistake in natural design?

No degree of science, experience in this universe or understanding could ever comprehend you, not when they measure with normalcy. No one who is normal, no one who is human could ever hope to survive singularity, your unstable, unchained self.

Your existence, the proof of a where above the atmosphere, requires a substantial amount of sheer will power and understanding-assuming you could be understood entirely-to even keep oneself' together, so much so you have to stabilize and simplify yourself beyond to walk amongst people,

even then it's still a stretched maybe.

Seeing as Diablo is a primordial demon that committed his fair share of atrocities within or outside Rimuru's rule,

no person in their right mind would call Diablo normal.

Diablo is a demonic weapon of mass destruction. He witnessed madness and insanity aplenty in his line of work, in all his centuries of walking the Earth. Downfalls of angels, humans and their greedy spiral for power and wealth. As well as fellow calamities, falling victim to their destruction and despair. Evidenced further by the primordial Demon Lords and their flow in the natural world, the innate fear they strike and the mayhem-all life devested within their range-they bring forth. To both innocent and deserving.

While Diablo is not immune to trauma, he experiences it vastly different than how normal people do, as expected from an ancient demon.

Cold as ice, incredibly discreet and ever most loyal to a fault. An enigma as you are, unpredictable and crafty as they may come. A shadow in a shadow, a secret of secrets. A riddle designed to confuse and overwhelm the morals, driven with very keen interest in the unknown and the mysteries of his world, the offers on the harsh outside.

Diablo is one of the few people who will effectively stand up to intense beings like Eldritches and some of the fewer that can come to understand them-or in this case you-individually and carefully. Or relate to them on certain scales.

[nightingaletrash]

I am once again thinking about a Dragon Cult faction in Skyrim and the dragons being intelligent conquerors rather than random monsters that pop up from time to time, all thanks to Vox Machina so yeah I’m gonna ramble :p

Alduin uses Helgen as his chance to declare his intentions, that his dominion over Tamriel has begun and Skyrim will be the first to kneel. The survivors of Helgen flee and begin to spread the word of what they saw and what was promised. Skyrim is torn by the story as it spreads; there’s hysteria, there’s denial, there’s a frenzy to prepare, and a steadfast refusal to engage with the story at all. People are either terrified or they’re convinced it’s complete hogwash until they see it with their own eyes.

Ulfric knows the legends well enough to recognise the threat and the Stormcloaks are also familiar with Alduin’s story, so they take the threat significantly more seriously than Tullius and the Legion, who aren’t quite so readily familiar with the tales and need convincing by the likes of Rikke and other Nords in the ranks to treat the situation with the full gravitas it deserves. It’s a serious threat, yes, but they don’t realise just how significant Alduin’s return is and what it means for Tamriel on the whole.

During the lull after Alduin’s arrival, Mirmulnir was planning to take Whiterun for himself and was systematically weakening the city's defences before launching his assault, only to end up encountering the one person who could truly kill him. Word of a Dragonborn spreads rapidly and before long, so do the dragons. They rise from their graves and abandon their long-forgotten hiding places, and they take to the sky, intent on taking back what’s their’s.

Falkreath is the first to bend its knee because Siddgeir isn't so stupid that he thinks he can best a dragon, and surely there'll be some benefit to capitulating, just like there was when he sided with the Imperials. He'll take whatever he can get and becomes the first modern Dragon Priest, all to ensure that he retains his power as well as his life. The Dragonborn isn’t safe in Falkreath, not until it seems that there’s an earnest chance that they can best the ancient dragon that resides there. Siddgeir will always throw his lot in with the winning side after all... Whether his doublecrossing actually serves him depends on how the Dragonborn chooses to handle the situation.

Meanwhile Winterhold and Dawnstar are mostly ignored by the first wave of dragons. There are bigger prizes elsewhere. Only once the best territories have been claimed does anyone take an interest in the north, and still Dawnstar doesn’t tract much attention. Winterhold, however, finds itself in a tricky situation - the dragon that arrives is one with a thirst for knowledge. It’s shrewd, cunning, and apparently indifferent to Alduin’s desire to conquer Skyrim. It barters with the Archmage over the Jarl. It offers the College protection from the local Nords and others that might do them wrong, its own knowledge of history and magic, and secrets known only to a dragon. In exchange, they share their secrets with it and let it learn from their troves of knowledge. It’ll leave the village alone provided the people there don’t cause trouble; it doesn’t care to rule. It just wants to learn and be left in peace. It’s a deal that seems almost too good to be true, and the mages can’t tell if this dragon is just like them or if it’s plotting something terrible.

Riften is initially prepared for a dragon to arrive on account of the Stormcloaks preparing the city ahead of time. Then it storms for days on end, a relentless torrent of rain and lightning. People swear they hear a voice in the thunder as their streets flood and the Nords in town put two and two together. Some advise that they should make offerings to try and persuade the dragon to put a stop to the storm. Gold, jewels, whatever meat they can get - they offer it all if it means the storm will stop. And for a time it does... until Jarl Laila puts her foot down and puts a stop to the offerings. Appeasing a dragon won’t save them, after all. And so the storm resumes as it did before, and people are afraid and angry. But still, anyone caught making offerings is punished, and the storms grow worse with every person jailed, so people leave to seek out the beast to offer themselves in service. They become its eyes and ears in the city and report to it when the Dragonborn arrives. When they do, they’re sent to extend an invitation to Laila just as she’s requesting them to hunt down the dragon and slay it; it requests a parley in neutral territory with Laila. It’s up to the Dragonborn to decide whether Riften remains free or if it falls under the control of the dragon.

Markarth is a tempting target, but the city's architecture makes it a tough nut to crack. They have all the steel they need for weapons manufacturing, and are prepared for a siege thanks to the Civil War. To complicate matters, the Reachfolk are as much a problem for the dragons as they are for the Nords; freedom runs in their veins and they wouldn't give it up for anyone. Not for the Nords, and not for a bunch of big ol' lizards either. Any dragon trying to take territory in the Reach has their work cut out for them, both inside the walls and out.

Morthal ends up under dragon control pretty quickly, much like Falkreath. Igrod knows that her tiny community stands no chance at all, so she makes an offering just before the dragon shows up and assumes her role as Dragon Priest. But she's not simply rolling over like Siddgeir. She's biding her time and protecting her people the only way she can, waiting for the one person that can save them.

Solitude and Windhelm remain free on account of the power they've each marshalled. They're both powerful enough to ward off the threat for now, but it won't last forever. Especially if the dragons seize more and more territories.

Other small settlements fall as easily as Morthal and Falkreath, with the communities swiftly capitulating to the dragons that arrive in the hopes of being spared; Kynesgrove only narrowly avoids that fate. People were preparing to bring offerings to the Dragonmound and instead see their would-be-ruler slain once he’s barely fresh from the grave. The villagers are some of the only people in Skyrim that the Dragonborn and the Blades can trust for safe shelter if they’re passing through the area.

With Whiterun and Kynesgrove standing free, along with any other cities that the Dragonborn has chosen to liberate or has a dragon ruling in their name over Alduin’s, the dragons are more than aware that they have an adversary out there, but those that have established themselves and their territory are unwilling to depart in search of them. Instead they use intermediaries; some want the Dragonborn dead to be presented to Alduin at Skuldafn, others think they could be a useful tool or ally, while others are just interested in securing their borders against any potential threats.

[thatcrazycrowgirl]

Hey Crowie! It's nice to see you here again and that you want to get back on track. You know I'm a big sucker for Jacob but Arno is a handsome man as well haha. So if you like what a out the promt of sharing a kiss over a cup of coffee or tea for those who prefer tea, like I do ;) but Arno is definitely a coffee drinker

I hope you're doing alright and you're getting better *hug*

Hello there, @havatnah! Hopefully at some point, I can get back into the right headspace to be able to write Jacob properly again. In the meantime, thank you for indulging me with your ask for Arno. hehe Also, your ask actually gives me a fun idea! ;)

And thank you, I am gradually doing better, I think. Hope you enjoy the piece! <3

10. Sharing a kiss over a cup of coffee (and tea)

Closing his eyes, Arno took in a deep breath and sighed with the upmost content. In his hands, he held a cup close to his face, the vessel still warm with the freshly-brewed coffee that was in it. It was still rather early in the morning; the café hadn’t opened up to the public yet, leaving you and Arno to enjoy your breakfast in peace at one of the tables.

And peaceful it was, as the two of you quietly indulged in your meal, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Happy to have your ‘bean water’ back?” you teased gently, breaking the near-silence as you smiled over your own cup of tea.

Arno cracked open his eyes and gave you a small, yet vaguely impish smirk. “Given that I was stuck drinking ‘leaf broth’ for nearly a week, yes, I am,” he joked back.

It was no secret that while you and Arno agreed on a lot of things, your choice of morning beverage was not one of them. You liked the subtle flavor of coffee in the desserts served at the café well enough, but drinking the coffee on its own just never quite appealed to you. Arno, on the other hand, practically lived off of the stuff, sometimes drinking it all day - especially when the weather turned colder.

Unfortunately for him, with the winter season fast approaching, the customers at the Café Théâtre were doing pretty much the same, ordering cup after cup and quickly depleting the supply of coffee beans in the kitchen pantry and the side store room. With the supply ships also coming in at a slower rate as well that time of year, this left the poor man without his favorite drink for longer than he would've liked.

His first day without it didn’t seem too bad, but by day two, you could see a noticeable difference in his demeanor. His mind was less sharp, he seemed more irritable, and he even stopped his business-related paperwork in the middle of the day to take a nap, due to an apparent headache. Fortunately, those side effects lessened a little when he finally took your gentle suggestion and try to drink a cup of tea; but despite him not saying anything, you could tell he didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as his coffee.

So, to now see him in a much more pleasant mood than he had been all week, thanks to again having one of his favorite aspects of his morning routine restored to him, was a relief; not only to you, but to anyone else who interacted with him.

“I still don’t understand why you prefer that one drink over all the flavors tea has to offer,” you nevertheless continue to needle him. There was no maliciousness in your words, however, quite the contrary. Light banter between you two was common by this point, the knowledge that it was coming from a place a love well-understood most of the time.

He shrugged. “You know I prefer something a little more...robust.”

You nearly snorted at that. “Says the man who practically dumps half a sack full of sugar into his cup.”

“I beg your pardon! Not half a sack!” he exclaimed, seemingly offended. His tone then changed slightly as he mumbled, “it’s more like quarter of a sack.”

He took another drink, but when he pulled his cup away from his mouth, you could see he was smiling. You couldn’t help grinning yourself when you realized why. He had made a joke. The previously coffee-deprived grump had made his first joke in what felt like ages. This only lifted your heart more. He was finally returning to normal.

“I must say, though,” he continued, “I’m surprised the ship with our order came earlier than expected. Not that I’m complaining.”

“It still hasn’t. That coffee you’re now drinking was from another shipment on a different ship,” you revealed.

He paused for a moment, processing this, before setting down his cup. His brow was slightly furrowed in confusion. “Then how–”

“I personally paid them a good price to sell me one of their sacks of coffee beans,”  you confessed. The corners of your mouth sweetly quirked up. “Just for you.”

He blinked. “Really?”

You nodded, your smile now reaching your eyes. “Mmm-hmm.”

You barely had time to register the brightening of his face, before he launched towards you over the table, his lips easily finding yours. If any of the staff passing by had caught Arno’s public display of gratitude and affection, he paid them no mind - and neither did you.

“You, my dear, are truly the best as they come,” he praised after breaking away for a moment, before meeting your lips again with a much deeper kiss. Quickly and very willingly reciprocating it, you set down your cup and brought your hand to his warm cheek with a hum. You could taste the coffee on his lips and tongue, but for once, you didn’t care.

You were just happy to see him back to his old self again.

[fedcrypt]

COME GET LOST IN THE SHADOWS

buffyverse related

WRITING WARNINGS: pregnancy and birth (as i know some are not comfortable with that), angst, physical & mental & emotional abuse in a forced marriage, badass witch, death, brief talks about hallucinations and the source.

XOXO, CHESHIRE — i got overly excited from writing more about angel’s / angelus’ past and mentioning his mother that i decided to post all about my headcanons of her <3! also she’ll be in my original characters section of my blog so y’all can request things with her as well as any other character that i write for!

welcome to my ramblings about our beloved horrific vampire’s mother whom i have taken to name her … dorothea pinegrove ✨🩷!

she’s a beautiful brunette woman with hazel eyes. she has soft yet firm features that truly shows she has been through a lot in her life. she appears as if she is the one in charge in many situations and mostly she is, unless it comes to her own marriage, but she’s a very headstrong woman and you can see that written all over her.

i’ll share her fancast with y’all overtime if you happen to love her 🤭 because her fancast suits her perfectly 🥹

so let’s start all the way back to her childhood!!

dorothea pinegrove was born to a newly-widowed woman that had lost her way after her husband’s death which had lead her to being taken in from a nearby secretive coven of witches who had then taught her and dorothea, as she grew up, all about what it takes to be a witch and to connect with the universe itself. her mother soon leaves the coven and stops practicing witchcraft, a few years later, once some women had been put into trials surrounding the topic and yet dorothea had stayed with her fellow witches and the few warlocks that had befriended the mostly feminine coven.

she was never the one to shy away from her magic and embraced it as it was merely the only thing keeping her sane in her boring town that she lived in, allowing everyone to try and insult her for living her truth. she had gone through a lot with the townspeople, after all, they did try and slaughter her throughout the years as she grew yet as she grew up — so did her magic and what she could do with it.

dorothea had learned certain spells and tricks that she could do with the mind, which had led into being one of her favorite subjects and practices of hers. later on in life, and found in many of the tales in rupert giles’ personal at-home book collection, being deemed as the retorta moderatoris. she simply loved toying with her victims and messing with their heads, changing their perspectives and breaking them like they were simply dolls to be played with. a skill that she later passed on to her future beloved son who would then destroy drusilla.

upon her sixteenth birthday she had been found by a man named draven who had saw her performing a lovely ritual underneath the moonlight as a way of celebrating and honoring the full moon and all its beauty. instead of reporting her to the people of the town, claiming that the ritual was something more of evil intent instead of the honest truth of it being something of celebration, he had demanded that she would marry him that night in order for him not to run to the town and start a riot over her.

dorothea had with the knowledge of what would happen to her if the town had discovered her beloved ritual along with the glimpse of the future she had gotten upon meeting the man — agreed to marry him. fully knowing the hell that would greet her within their marriage would be easier to handle than what would come from the townspeople that were just waiting for her to slip up so that they would be in their own right to murder her.

the only two good things, that came from her marriage with draven and all the hell that she would take from him, happened to be — the fact that she could use her magic whenever she chose to do so and nobody in the town would say anything as her husband would loudly boast how he had the most powerful woman in town wrapped around his finger and at his very command, and her precious beloved son that she was pregnant with by the time she reached the age of eighteen. luckily for her, during her pregnancy and until liam had reached the age of two years old, draven had paused his physical forms of abuse upon her.

dorothea spent liam’s entire childhood teaching him all about her abilities, what herbs went into certain potions and spell jars, what certain crystals could do for their owners or within certain spells, how to perform rituals and spells, along with teaching him the phases of the moon. though whenever they were alone, not bothered by draven, she would take to calling him by the name she wished she had given him at birth — angelus. you see, he was always the curious child who had a soft spot for his mother and her craft, usually speaking highly of other witches and gypsies who had similar skills to witches. this was something that dorothea had prided herself on.

sadly their shared joy and time together had come to an end upon liam’s thirteenth birthday. dorothea had done something she never should have, according to her husband, and used a honey jar to try and make her husband be a bit sweeter and less rough upon her. clearly her spell had not worked and made him worse, it had backfired upon her. liam had come down the stairs in the morning of his thirteenth birthday to discover his father standing over his mother’s broken, bruised, and bloody body that was no longer moving nor breathing. that day had been the day where liam started transforming into a nearly as cruel man as his father.

dorothea spent her afterlife watching over her dear boy with her heartbreaking as she watched him transform into a younger version of her dear husband. she wished and she hoped and prayed to the source, the first ever deity to ever exist in all the multiverses, that there could be a way that her son could escape draven and be his own man. she was luckily gifted with the appearance of darla, a pretty blonde force of a vampire to be messed with, someone who gained her trust as she noticed the vampire’s adoration for her son.

she had been pleased when the blonde vampire loved her son enough to turn him into one like her. she had been at his grave squatting down in front of it, watching as he dug himself out and smiled softly at him while she called out his true name, angelus, which made her very much pleased when he started claiming that was his name. dorothea had softly called to him, using whatever small time she had been gifted from the source, to persuade her son into murdering his own father. as she had watched the blood be drained from draven’s body from her son’s own teeth, she had lovingly praised him and spoke about how proud of him she was. only to be even more pleased when draven’s buddies had entered their family home and she watched as angelus had murdered them all, practically clapping and spinning around in pure excitement at her son’s own horrendous actions.

she spent years being excited and praising her son from beyond her grave, as she watched over him and how he soon turned a beautiful brunette woman who had been able to see glimpses of the future like her. dorothea felt no sympathy towards drusilla as she felt the same strength had she had within herself — within drusilla. she knew that drusilla could take the mental and physical torture that her son would perform upon her.

later on, when a gypsy had — out of fear — cursed him with getting his soul back ; dorothea had been gifted from the source, her own ability to tie in a spell of her own. a resurrection spell that was tied with the dark voided soul of angelus. one that had her kneeling before her son whom was screaming out in pain due to the other woman’s spell before she had placed her hands upon his face. she began taking away his pain as she simultaneously tied that resurrection spell to her son, as he was gaining his memories back and angelus was fading away. due to her own spell, angelus would never truly leave angel’s mind and would sit in the back of it.

then dorothea would continue her journey of overseeing her dear boy, seeing his struggle between being good and being bad as his memories from his soul being gone plagued him. angel had a period in time where those little blood vials that he would drink would lead to him hallucinating his own mother which would make her happy as she would be able to spend time with her own son. she ended up being the reason for him to escape the hotel, in the fifties, as the source had allowed her to perform yet another spell which had her thanking the source endlessly as the deity seemed to like her well enough to allow her to ensure that her son would be safe.

the reason why it had hurt angel so much, once him and buffy had soon slept with one another, wasn’t because it was angelus returning — it was because his own mother was returning at the same time. leaving the pair of them to terrorize the small town of sunnydale together, hand in hand as mother and son. dorothea loved her son, whether he was angelus or if he was angel, he was still her precious baby boy and nobody would ever take her away from him again — she’d make sure of it.