#if we were rich I would be having the best time of my life. I'd love moving to a new place.

[running-in-the-dark]

help I can't stop thinking about furniture. it's keeping me from thinking about the other way more important things I need to be thinking about (Jenkins, Dan Fielding, etc.)

[mintaikcorpse]

Why Blitzø Likes Stolas

I've made jokes about Blitzø liking Stolas bcuz his type is tall, rich, powerful demons with musical talent, and that's probably kinda true, but I wanna talk about the real reasons Blitzø likes Stolas. Tldr at the end.

I think one of the major reasons Blitzø likes Stolas is how kind, sincere, and affectionate he is. Stolas is always making sure he is okay and is very passionate about litterally everything he does (dramatic little bitch, lol). And while he's ignorant ("my impish little plaything"???), he does mean well. Taking Octavia to Looloo Land to make her feel better, Going full demon mode to save IMP, his attentiveness to Blitzø during his mental breakdown in Seeing Stars, him absolutely adoring Octavia, him helping Ozzie when he gained no real benefit, etc, etc.

Also, expanding more on the affectionate part, Blitzø is shown to not get much affection or love in his life at all. His family situation was a giant mess (his dad literally sold him for 5 bucks and a condom Jesus Christ-), and Stolas is a very loving and affectionate person. Obviously, this is shown with Blitzø, but also with Octavia ('my precious little starfire', always staying patient with Via, even if he can be a bit dismissive, going full demon mode when Blitzø said he lost Via), and even his plants (he raised the flesh-eating plant since he was a kid, he pets the plant, on his insta he called a puprle rose "a handsome little rose"). And yeah, he's going to be affectione with Via, that's his daughter, but in Hell, (or maybe just from Blitzø's perspective, it'a hard to tell honestly) that's shown to be a rarity. So obviously, he's going to admire that about him.

And also, compare that to Blitzø's life. His dad saw him as less than, something happened that made his sister hate him, his mom seemed to be a good parent, but she's dead, his best friend and former crush hated his guts for 15 years, his daughter does care about him but she also mostly just shows anger and annoyance with him, and even Moxxie, who'd I'd argue is his best friend, gets annoyed with him constantly (I would too tbh but this isn't about that). Stolas just being his loving and affectionate self and being so happy to see him and always being so sweet to Blitzø is like a breath of fresh air to him.

Another thing is that Stolas shows clear interest in the things he likes. Take horses as example, bcuz we all know Blitzø is obsessed with them. Most of the time, his friends are pretty passive about it, but Stolas actually indulges him. Some of this is from their instas, but Stolas got him a horse Hoodie, he draws horses with him, and Stolas even got inspired to draw because of Blitzø.

(Also, plz note that in another post he commented that it smells like Stolas, and I want everyone to appreciate how happy he looks in this photo while smelling it again)

Blitzø probably admires Stolas's theatrics as well because despite growing up in a Circus where you were supposed to be dramatic and showy, he was still always taught to ignore or hide his true emotions (Cash ignoring that he didn't want to go to the Goetia Palace because "MONEY"). And while Stolas was raised the same way, he still wears his heart and emotions on his sleeve and is always showing them, whether it be positive or negative

And we all know thst Blitzø has major self hatred issues, but Stolas was genuinely interested in Blitzø as a person. Laughing at his jokes, asking how his day went, and with all of this, you can't help but wonder if Blitzø was figuring out that he did too. I think that's why he was so heartbroken about Ozzie's. Because to him, Stolas hiding his face was just proof that Stolas didn't care. That he was just a little plaything. But, Blitzø liked that Stolas liked him for who he was, and that he didn't have to pretend to be someone different.

Yes, ik Blitzø wasn't here for some of them, and he thinks that Stolas is just faking all of this. BUT, Blitzø can notice things subconsciously, and the stuff that Blitzø wasn't there for was to talk about Stolas's character as well. That's why I wanted to talk about this, to talk about what Blitzø sees in Stolas and his character.

Feel free to add anything if you want! I'd love to hear your guy's opinions, takes, and thoughts on the ship. I'm probably gonna a make a post on why Stolas likes Blitzø at some point, lol

Tldr; Blitzø likes Stolas because he's kind, sincere, loving, affectionate, passionate, caring, dramatic, and likes Blitzø for who he is.

[tarjapearce]

Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 7)

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Telenovela coded drama, emotional distress, Strained Relationships, unexpected visits, mild angst, relationship building, fluff towards the end, Miguel being a softie for his wife.

Summary: Even in darkest times, love shines through.

A/N: Hope you like it :') .

Intro:

"It's your fault." Rosaura's venomous tone didn't go unnoticed by her husband.

"My fault?! I did nothing but raise her well in the Lord's path. I didn't spoil her. If anyone here is at fault is you."

William's voice was ever serene, but his words were vitriolic.

"Me?! How dare you say such things!"

Once back home with empty hands there was nothing but more chaos. Blame turned into a hot potato game of who was the culprit of your apparent rebellious phase. Neither of them wanted to assume that none other than unrealistic and absurd expectations from them towards you had been the spark that started your emancipation fire.

A fire that was shining too brightly for their likings, consuming everything they had known and had taught you. Appearances were unable to be kept any further as your mother was confronted by her friends. Asking her if the rumors of you eloping with the farmer boy were true. It would be always a:

"That wicked man manipulated my daughter. We are trying to get her back, but his lies are convincing enough to keep her by his side."

or a "I'm sure he has her against her will, my little dove would never run away like that. I know her!"

But never a truthful He got her pregnant, claims to love her and now they live in their own home away from this mess trying to live honestly.

The rumors of you getting pregnant had made them another mirror to the single youngsters in town . Rosaura could hear the people talking ill about you and them. How they didn't work hard enough to keep you on check, how they never were firmer and stricter in your upbringing, and how they had been too stupid to actually let the devil in their own home and corrupt you.

It was enough shame to convince her husband and start looking for you. She had been embarrassed enough thanks to your naive games of love. And Miguel.

Her mouth scowled in disgust, heart heavy with resent. He would definitely pay. How dared he to lay his sinful eyes on you? How dared he to lay with you? Even worse, How dared he to take you for himself, impregnated you and call you his wife?

Bold and stupid.

Miguel had ruined her plan of getting you married off to a rich and wonderful man named Sergei Kravinoff. One of the best foreign clients the estate had. He was an avid hunter and collector, that upon seeing your picture was delighted and charmed.

But how was she to explain to him that her only daughter had ran off with the farmer boy? And was now pregnant with his child?

"If you wouldn't pester her with so many dating prospects maybe this... whole mess would have been avoided and she'd be under our roof. Following our rules!"

"Would you shut up?! You let that lowlife to intimidate you. I don't care if he's build like a tree. I want him down, chopped off from the root from her life."

"He's clearly done something to her. Did you see her yelling at us? I'd never seen her like that."

"Hormones make you stupid. And pregnancy hormones make it even worse"

"Just like you when you were pregnant of her. At least he will suffer a little more with that. Once she reaches the second trimester-"

"No no. that's where you're wrong. I won't let her to ruin her life. Sergei wants her!"

"I will have to stop you there, Rosaura. A child life is sacred. Innocent."

"Oh, the wretched child you're always complaining about is now an innocent life?"

"Don't tempt my ire, woman. I know you despise the man. And as much as this situation angers us, that's going too far. That's her punishment for giving in temptation. Let her bear with it."

"You're such an hypocrite. Do you know who Sergei is?"

"I do. Nor care. All I want is my daughter back. There are other ways to break them apart."

"What are you thinking?"

"Confronting them only brings them closer. I fell for her lie of loving him for a minute, but I know it's fear speaking for her. We'll let them be for now."

"No!-"

"And just when they think they are safe, it will be the time for us to step in. Let them have a little sense of security. I'll allow them to finish the place."

"You are waiting too long!"

"Rosaura. Enough. I know what I am doing. I know you hate waiting. But it will be worth it. I know so. Can't let the man that embarrassed me and my family, and tarnished my reputation to go unscathed with my daughter."

"You better keep your promises, William. I hate being lied to."

------

Miguel could barely get a glimpse of sleep during the night. Just when he thought his body would actually give in to the somnolence, he'd startle and remain awake. Pushing the sleepyness away as his mind raced with the many insidious thoughts about last night.

How had your parents found you? With their influence he was sure that they've got the address, they were known through the whole county by their horses business mainly, church was a secondary feat.

His hand ran through his messy hair. You had been put to sleep by Victoria, something he was thankful for. He was no baby expert but it was a commonly known fact that too much stress led up to bad things, and the least he wanted was something else happening. Specially to you or his child.

What had he gotten himself into, this time? He knew your parents were difficult, but this was something completely different from what he expected. He was not only dealing with them, but their direct threats as well.

Not that he wasn't regretting everything that had happened between you two. Had he been too rushed into marrying you? Of course not. He also didn't marry you because you'd be the future mother of his child. He had snatched you away for himself because he loved you. He loved you to bits and pieces and as a whole.

You were too much of a woman to be married to someone else that would treat you badly and wouldn't take his time to actually get to know you. You were too much for the rest of men that never made a step further in their conquer and we're satisfied with little, such as little glances or smiles from you.

He was ambitious, and had wanted it all. He went through so much to get you, still was. But knowing you loved him and even stood your ground against your parents, one of the reasons of his ongoing headache, made it all worth it.

He couldn't quite explain it. At first it was mere lust his body was filled with upon meeting you. The need to corrupt you had proven extremely difficult for him to keep himself at bay. That's why he was always so tempting, so forbidden, so inviting to give in around you.

But you were too sweet and pure. Always being concerned about him, ever attentive and gentle. A stark contrast with his demeanor. He had taken the job since his place needed renovations once and for all. He owed that to himself. He owed that to his old man. Vicky's late husband.

And then he had met you, for real. At first he thought of you another gorgeous spoiled, and dumb city girl if he was honest, but as time kept on passing, he was proven wrong in so many ways he felt the need to apologize to you as soon as you'd wake up later.

You were smart, not a genius but smart enough to be a fast learner and help your father with the finances, heavenly cooking skills and so eager to be more than a bimbo wife, a life most of your old friends had settled for. You had gone to college, just like him. You cared for those around you even if that meant to face your mother, just like him. You both were so alike in so many ways it'd be foolish to let you go.

What got him grovelling at your feet was your innocence and your will to make something out of your life even if your parents sabotaged you. The strength in you, the perseverance and hard work you had shown him even to this very day was the deal maker. And soon enough you'd make him a father.

You weren't only making his most precious dream come true, but were in tandem helping in making your love nest.

Investing all of your energies in building your forever home. Your own sanctuary and safe place with him.

And now it was his time to protect you, to stood his ground like you had done for him.

The room was filled with a warm and golden orange and yellow hues, basking the place in a gentle light, as if the universe was telling him 'Everything will be fine'. A hopeful thought to his already rattled mind. He was exhausted.

Exhausted of hiding and running away only to be harassed later. But that wouldn't stop him from working, no. There was still so much left to do around the hacienda.

With a deep breath he looked your way. A small tug on his heart sent a painful stab kn his chest at your expression. Frowning brows, hands clutched to the sheets and pillows, probably pretending it was him and puffy eyes that served as proof of your cries last night.

Your rage was something else. It made his tired smile to soften into a more admiring one. He hoped to never face it, cause he was sure he'd be on his knees, asking for forgiveness if you wished, even if it was over something so silly and irrelevant.

With a soft croak, you stirred and he embraced you gently. You were scared and asking for him last night, something he regretted to not have fulfilled sooner. But you and his child's safety was the main priority.

He'd have to talk to Joseph and Paco about new rounds done through the day. He couldn't install the safety cameras yet cause his area would take a lot to cover and it wasn't finished yet. If only he'd have some sort of superpower to make everything faster.

But the only power he had right now was to provide comfort to your heart and head. He'd die before something happening to you.

A mental slap came to his mind upon such though. If he died there was none else to look after you.

Even his mind needed a break. Birds chirped merrily, announcing the six am. But his body felt heavier and more sluggish than usual, his mind unclear as a fog came over his thoughts. He wasn't used to pull all-nighters. You turned on your side and curled in his chest, finally taking a hold of him. Eyes fluttered open, relief etched to your features.

Your arms embraced him so desperate it quickly had your eyes all glossy and teary again.

"Hey..." He mumbled with a lip tight smile.

You sobbed in his cradling arms.

"I'm so sorry, Miguel."

A gentle shhh came from him. His calloused fingers ventured through the strands of your hair, caressing with such care he'd thought you'd break.

"Why are you apologizing, cariño?"

"For everything that happened last night. You don't deserve this."

"Last night wasn't good for anyone, you specially, mi amor. But you are safe here. "

"It's not about that... I'm... scared. My father knows where we live now. And he could-"

"Cerecita, mi reina. Look." He sat on the bed and took a hold of your hand, to then kiss softly at the back of your palm, "Your father can make all the threats he wants, hell... He can even tear this place down if he wants to, but he won't take me away from you."

Your hand trembled in between his. You wanted to sit, but he laid back again, draping the sheets closer to you, making sure you were warm. Like a cocoon in his arms.

"It's not about that. You don't understand Miguel. My father is a man of word-."

"So am I." His fingers grazed your cheek softly, "I promised you that we'd be happy. And we will. I don't know how and I know it's scary for us, but as long as we are together, we will."

"I don't want you to get hurt. I... I couldn't stand something happening to you just cause my parents are too petty to acknowledge I married you."

"The only thing that would kill me? Is you leaving through that door and never come back. "

The sheer thoughts brought tears to your eyes. Hormones had also woken up to make a riot on your mind.

"Don't say that, please."

He kissed the top of your head and stared down at you.

"I know this is far from over, and trouble might keep coming. The only thing I am asking from you, is to stay strong. Can you do that for me, preciosa?"

"I can try"

"Good. That's all I'm asking, really. If you're strong, I'm strong."

You gave another silent sob while he peppered your face in gentle kisses. Soothing your worries away.

But he was scared too. Not a childish sort of fear, but something deeper. He knew that your parents were dense, if not denser than water itself. And would try things to keep you on edge, or worse try and mess with his estate.

Fear tactics won't make him lower his head and coward. Not when his pregnant wife was next to him crying, stressing and feeling guilty. Your fingers however traced his face gently, his tired lids drooped, as his eyes stared at you, curious yet fearful.

"Did you get some sleep?"

He chuckled bashfully, "I look that rundown?"

"No. But you do look tired. You're not used to stay up past twelve."

A tired and airy chuckle flared out his nose, his fingers took yours to then kiss the knuckles.

"I know."

Sleepiness had weighed him down completely, body made out of lead and muscles sore. Begging him to catch a break and sleep.

"You'll get grumpy" your hand slipped away from his and went to his face again, caressing and holding onto him. Grounding his wandering thoughts towards you. Anchoring himself in your loving and preocuppied stare.

"You need sleep. I'm sure Vicky will understand. Please?"

"Can't say no to you."

Doting arms embraced his neck, pulling him closer to your chest, it was your turn to protect him. He was always making sure you had everything, that you were alright. A giver by nature.

Just like you. This time you assured he'd cuddle in your chest, sharp cheeks rested on your mounds, ear pressed against you; allowing the steady beats of your heart lull him to sleep while you played with his hair.

Vicky didn't knock the door to awake you.

-----

You both awoke around 11 am, past breakfast. Vicky had instructed the construction workers where to keep building, guiding them in Miguel's absence. Victoria knew the plans her son had, so it was relatively easy to give orders. Some days more and the barn would be completely ready to then move to fencing properly the land.

It was a bit more money, but after much thought, a vynil fencing would be perfect. It not only offered privacy, but the chances of someone sneaking in would be less than 0, unless you knew the property like the back of one's hand.

To your dismay you had only seen the first part of it. If Miguel wished, he could start selling his own produce in the farmer's market. But right now, the soil was covered in weeds, and other invasive plants and thickets. It would be the final part of the renovations.

Vicky knocked the door, Miguel opened to reveal his mother with trays of food and some tea for you. She had heard the retching from the outside door. Stress was making your morning sickness worse and having an empty stomach didn't help either.

"Got you some things that will help you, and you too."

Vicky beckoned Miguel to help her, The little coffee table inside the room was used as support, brunch was served.

"Thank you Vicky" She patted your shoulder gently, as she served some flowery smelling tea.

"Don't you worry about it. You're making me a grandma soon."

The sweet smell and taste of the steamy liquid made your stomach settle gradually. Then you started eating with ferocious appetite. Miguel had his big cup of coffee, and ate as well, but his appetite was little.

Vicky smacked the back of his shoulder softly.

"Deja de preocuparte y come." (Stop over thinking and eat.)

Your hand slid into his and squeezed.

"Miguel?"

"Hm?"

"I'm scared too. But I also know that having us demoralized and afraid won't do good for us."

He pulled you closer and kissed your head for the umpteenth time, comfort and love were words you could use if you'd get asked what his hugs felt like. Despite his rough and cold demeanor he was one of the sweetest and gentle man you had ever encounter, even if his actions spoke volumes for him.

His head remained out of his hat, the piece had suffocated him enough through a good chunk of the previous night.

"That's exactly what those cabrones want. No offense, dear"

You chuckled and shook your head.

"Vicky is right. Whatever comes, we will face it together. As a family."

His eyes softened as you placed his hand on your belly.

"One day I'm sure this will be one of those stories you'll tell your kids when they get older and wanna know about family drama"

Miguel couldn't help but snort at Vicky's insinuation. But deep down he felt grateful. Thankful enough that two of the most important people in his life were reassuring him. His devoted and short tempered mother, a crucial part of his heart and now you and his growing child. All around him, promising they'd all be fine.

He needed to believe it. This wasn't one of the moments he was allowed to flank. He needed himself strong, steady with his head high. Ever vigilant and ready to face everything that came his way. He was an O'Hara. And O'Hara's endured.

That was his own mantra, bestowed and honored by previous generations.

The brunch and Victoria's presence had helped you both to ease the rising nerves and the subtle anxiety that undermined your head with unhealthy and raucous thoughts. Instead, even if a temporary distraction, work in the estate kept going. After all, it would take so much more than just a threat to break your spirits.

---

Miguel had tended to the barn and foresaw the fencing advance. Construction materials would be brought over the weekend to immediately start making his private property even more secluded, away from prying eyes and anyone stupid enough that tried to venture within the hacienda.

And after yesterday's fiasco, Miguel had come up with a new plan about security rounds until the fencing started. Just as he was about to explain, Joseph called him, a bit concern etched into his face.

"What now?"

"It's not the people from yesterday, but they claim to know your wife, Boss."

"How many of them are there?"

"Just three. Two women and a man."

He nodded and put his hand on his neck, trying to ease the tension that refused to leave his body despite the many attempts of cheering his spirits up.

"Where's my Cerecita?"

"Uh, with Vicky in the orchard."

"Right. Stay here in case there's trouble."

Joseph nodded and stood his ground, as he watched Miguel leaving.

Who would be this time? He wasn't armed this time, so whoever that had ill intentions with him would have to face the might of his fists.

But the silent threat remained as nothing but that. The only noises around were him, the gravel crunching underneath his boots, the subtle wind that played tag between the trees, little birds here and there and finally, the voices of people he knew, but didn't remember their names or faces .

A cool gust of wind threatened his hat to be blown off his head, but he secured it with a hand. Upon arriving, his surprise couldn't be hidden.

The two ladies were the one that helped you pack and were deeply saddened at your leaving. He always saw them around you, laughing and sharing whenever your mother wasn't around to shoo them away from you. And the man, one of the helpers back at your parent's barn.

"Mr. O'Hara? Im really sorry to bother, and showing up like this after what happened."

One of the women spoke. Miguel was cautious, and so far his intentions of opening the door didn't ring a bell on him. For all he knew your parents could have sent them to spy you.

"We quit. That Rosaura lady slapped my sister and it was enough for us. We were planning on leaving the estate even before the Miss left with ya."

But that definitely sounded something his beloved mother in law would do.

"I know you have zero reasons to believe us, but trust us. None back at the estate really liked the missus's parents either. We could only hold up for so long before everything came down. But we needed the jobs."

"I understand." With a sigh, Miguel opened the door and allowed them in.

A little rounds of thank yous echoed behind him before he guided them back at the main estate.

"Will you let us stay? Just for the night of course. "

"You'll have to talk to La Patrona." (The boss)

He chuckled upon you coming to his mind, "My wife I mean."

A little of hushed yet excited whispers trailed him along some 'I told you!' 'She did it!'.

The reunion was loud as he had expected. Loaded of hugs, heartfelt congratulations and of course them rubbing your belly.

Mary, the big sister was two years older than you, she had been one of the few that approached you with genuine friendship back at home, her sister, Susan was your age, even though she was on the quieter side, she was disciplined enough to keep herself busy and out of trouble. Always doing something. However her eyes kept wandering to Joseph.

They had asked your permission to stay overnight before returning to their hometown the next day. Of course you agreed.

They helped you to prepare everything, letting Vicky to rest for a bit. Even though they had spark, Vicky observed them with hard eyes, trying to decipher their true intentions. And so far she had found nothing. Not even in the man that quickly established a conversation between Paco and Joseph.

And soon all of you sat down at the table that seemed smaller.

"Like I was telling Mr. O'Hara, you mother was livid after you left."

"She was like a child throwing a tantrum, telling Pastor William to do something"

"Yeah, that's sounds like mom" An awkward smile came to your face as they spoke.

"But after last night, it was enough for us. She slapped Susan in the face when she got her the wrong dress."

Vicky couldn't hold back her gasp and contempt

"Dios mío, esa mujer ha enloquecido" (My God, that woman has gone mad)

"I'm really sorry it had to come to this point."

"Ya can't blame yourself, darlin" Mary spoke, letting her southern accent shine through for a second, "Ever since ya left people have been leaving, only to be replaced within some days."

"No wonder why they came in so pissed" You mumbled with a little giggle.

"How's... Agustín?"

Their faces fell and the man, his old helper James spoke.

"Pastor sold him to a guy. Joaquín is kinda sick and Luis, is the only one they actually pay attention to. You know, Joaquín is old so..."

Miguel could only nod with a saddened yet expected smile. It was a matter of time for Agustín to be sold.

"Do you know by chance who he got sold off to?"

"Some russian named Kravi- Uh... Kravinoff?"

"I see." Miguel’s shoulder slumped for a moment. At least he wasn't sent off to the meat market, "Hopefully that man knows how to treat him."

"He seems into animals a bit too much, sir. A bit eccentric with his fur coats. But apparently the man is a collector and the missus's parents best client."

Of course. Agustín was a purebred friesian stallion after all. His worth was over 20k.

You slid a hand on Miguel's thigh comfortingly. His subtle blue mood contagious. A lot of details you both were missing were spilled in the table.

Even though Miguel wasn't one for gossips, hearing your parents struggling to keep the appearances had definitely put a smile on his face. It served them right after all the unhinged things they had done. But he didn't let go that easy the fact that from all the horses remaining, Luis was the only one that was being properly taken care of.

Your horse.

A little hope shone in his darkened by fears heart. He didn't care if he was called a dreamer, but sometimes he pondered how would be his relationship with your parents would've been if they had a completely reaction to him.

Would they tolerate him? Would they be excited for being grandparents? Would they be happy for you instead of being petty and spiteful about it? He didn't know.

And he was tired of thinking over and over. Vicky's words remained closer to his heart.

If isn't your stubbornness, it's your love that will convince them.

But that was a very distant and utopian thought. All that mattered in his present was you and his new growing family.

The guest cabin was taken by the ladies and James joined Paco and Joseph.

Vicky drew you a warm bath to ease the remaining tension off your body. Miguel had been watching you. The changes in your body suited beautifully. Plump breasts, hips and thighs, gorgeous sudsy skin that had some flower petals adhered to it, enhancing it's beauty. You were the purest form of art before his eyes. The mother of his children. His wife.

He marvelled at the way you smiled upon rubbing your belly. The illusion of being a mother surely took you by surprise, but with Miguel's reassurance, you were excited even to meet your child. The ultimate physical form of love between you two.

Puppy and rusty brown eyes fixed on you as you let your hair down, letting the strands to cover your back to wash them next.

He stepped in. With a kiss on your temple and a bashful smile he sat behind you.

"Mira nomás qué chulada." (Look at that, so beautiful)

He pried gently the shampoo bottle off your hands and poured some on his hands to then lather your scalp with it. The lovely smell of cherries wafted in the air as foam appeared in your head while he massaged your scalp adoringly.

You hummed in approval at the careful and soft movements of his fingers. Inducing a relaxed state over you.

"Miguel?"

"Yes, Cerecita?" His voice matching his fingers.

"I don't ever regret marrying you."

His fingers faltered for a moment before resuming his washing. It was as if the doubts on his heart had secretly found a way to your ears and you were now reassuring him.

"You've the best thing that has shown up into that old house. Still are."

"Gotta be thankful to your parents for creating you, preciosa. Unbearable as they are"

The both of you chuckled, ignoring the looming dark skies that blended within the night's mantle.

"I'll take in Mary and Susan. I'm sure they'd be wonderful help around here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I will pay them of my own money I've saved. So don't worry"

"No, no, let me take them in."

"Miguel, all of these renovations are coming off your pocket. We are a team now, I know somehow it will work out. Let me help you."

He accepted his defeat with a little slump in his shoulders and lazy smile.

"Alright, as you wish, mi corazón."

"What do you love the most about me?"

His hands took the bathtub's head shower and rinsed your hair. Water splashing on his skin, like the sudden question.

"Your bravery, empathy towards others and loyalty. And you're drop dead gorgeous too."

Your cheeks warmed up with a little flush on them as he spoke.

"What about you, Cerecita? What does my wife loves about me?"

"Since you snatched the words off my mouth, I'd say loyalty, honesty and resilience." You took his hands in yours, weaving your fingers between his and smiled, "Many would've given up on me at this point because of my parents but..."

Another kiss, "Hearing you calling me your wife makes me all happy and the good kind of dumb. I know we won't have good days, or that we will be far from perfect but, You've taught me so much about myself is wonderful. "

His hands secured yours as another kiss on your temple was given.

"Thanks for not giving up on me, Miguel."

"Thanks for being my wife, Cerecita."

Your smile disarmed him. And that night your wish of being asleep in his arms came true. There was no horrors that lurked in the shadows.

[cutielando]

i'm trying for you ~ rafe cameron

my masterlist

If Rafe Cameron was anything, he was a softy at heart. 

Only problem was, he didn't know how to voice or express his feelings. Given the environment he had grown up in, it wasn't necessarily a surprise. 

He had Ward as a father, it was all the explanation one would ever need.

Frankly, he hadn't had a reason to get in touch with his feelings for a very long time. He would occasionally hook up with random girls, but it would never turn into something serious.

He just wasn't the type of guy who would be in a relationship.

Until you came along.

He had found a reason to change, to become a better person for you, to try and show you just how much he loved you and appreciated you being in his life.

From the very first moment he had seen you at one of his friend's parties, he knew that he had to get to know you. You were so intriguing to him, he would find himself thinking about you at the most random of times.

The first time you spoke and when he asked you out were imprinted in his mind like it was yesterday.

You in your flowery-themed swimsuit, swimming on your board in front of his house, stopping when you had heard him calling your name.

"What's up?" you had asked him once he had stopped running and came face to face with you.

"What are you doing all the way out here? This is nowhere near your house" Rafe tried to hide how nervous he was while talking to you, not wanting to let you know how nervous he would get in your presence.

Your eyes squinted, wanting to ask how he knew where you lived but decided against it. Your family was rich as fuck so you also lived on Figure 8, it shouldn't be a surprise that the Kooks would know where she lived.

"I was bored, decided to swim around a little and get accustomed to the marsh and everything" you explained, watching him closely with a hint of a smile on your face.

"Well, if you want someone to show you around, I could do that. I could walk with you around the island, show you the best places and then we could get something to eat" he was scratching his head, mentally punching himself because of how childish he sounded.

"I'd really like that" you smiled and nodded, almost chuckling once you noticed how surprised Rafe was.

"Really? Okay, perfect. Give me your phone number so I can text you the details" he said, almost dropping his phone in the process.

You bit your lip and typed in your phone before biding your goodbyes and continuing your activities.

That was the moment when Rafe knew he was a goner. The way you looked at him when he spoke, the smile you would try and hide from him, the twinkle in your eyes and your dimples, he couldn't get you out of his head for days.

When the day of your date came, he was a nervous wreck. He didn't want to screw anything up, knowing that he couldn't lose you because of how rusty he was in the love department.

He had enlisted Wheezie and Sarah to help him, the girls giving him some advice on what to talk about, how to act, what to do and so on. Rafe even took some notes, writing down some prompts to make sure he wouldn't forget anything.

You found it cute, how he would constantly check his phone and go in his notes, thinking that you couldn't see from across the table.

"Rafe" you put your hand on his and it made his head snap back to look at you, his other hand hurriedly locking his phone.

"Y-Yeah?" he tried to seem natural, but he knew deep down that you had caught him in the act.

"You don't have to be nervous and you don't have to keep checking the notes you have on your phone. You're doing fine and you don't need those notes when you're so amazing yourself. Loosen up, I won't bite" 

After that, Rafe could feel all the stress leaving his body as he finally relaxed back onto his chair, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

From that moment on, Rafe had done nothing but be himself. With the good, with the bad, he was being Rafe. The Rafe you would soon come to love.

He took you on several dates after your first one, only asking you to be his girlfriend after the 5th one, making sure he wasn't being too pushy and making moves too soon.

You thought it was very sweet of him, knowing that it was a significant change on his part from his previous relationships with girls all around the island.

The first time he told you he loved you was a very big moment in your relationship. Having already known how difficult his relationship with his feelings was, you wanted him to take it slow and not push him. He would slowly let you in when he would be ready.

It was a very chill evening in the Cameron household, a comfortable silence hanging in the air around you. Rose and Ward were attending a gala and would be back late in the night, Sarah was at a party with the Pogues and John B and Wheezie had so kindly agreed to having a sleepover with a friend of hers in order to leave the two of you alone.

Because of your busy schedules, you had barely spent any time together in the last couple of days, days which made Rafe realize how much he valued your presence and how much he appreciated it when you were around, even if you weren't doing anything.

As you were trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV, you felt Rafe's eyes burn a hole in the side of your head, which made you smile and look at him.

"You're going to strain your eyes if you keep looking at me so much" you giggled, which made his insides turn to mush and a stupid smile to appear on his otherwise broody face.

"I can't help it. I love you too much not to stare at your beauty all day long" he confessed.

At first, you hadn't quite registered what he had said, but the little unsure smirk he had on his face made you do a double-take and your eyes widened in surprise.

"What did you just say?" you whispered, your hands suddenly becoming sweaty.

"I love you" Rafe repeated, and now you were sure that you had indeed heard the right thing.

You couldn't stop yourself from jumping onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing every inch of his face that you could reach from your position.

"I love you too" you whispered, looking into his eyes before you finally leaned in and kissed his lips.

Rafe hadn't grown up around love, but he knew that what he felt with you was love.

Love in the purest form from the purest soul.

You.

You were his love. 

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[k4marina]

this was supposed to be a drabble, but fuck it, we ball.

bassed off of this.

warnings: gotham. moral of the story is don’t walk the streets of gotham alone at night

——

"i don't get it," you say into the phone that's pressed in between your ear and shoulder. your best friend on the other line hums in agreement. "it's like he's living like a double life y'know? rich corporate dude by day, and then some sort of street thug by night."

she laughs on the other end. "that would be an interesting movie plot. but for real, i'm glad that i'm not in your shoes, no offense-"

"none taken,"

"-i'd drive myself insane trying to figure out who my soulmate was."

you shake your head, smiling, "careful, keep talking like that and you'll end up in arkham."

her laugh fades for a second before coming back to the phone. "speaking of which, has your little thug boyfriend run across the batman yet?"

you shake your head, not that she can see anyways, "no, not yet. i wonder what that would be like though. maybe then he'd stop running around in the streets like an idiot."

"a little intervention by the bats?"

"totally," you laugh. you glance back at the little wall clock you had, groaning. "i'm gonna have to go, gotta head to work. talk to you tomorrow?"

"okay, stay safe, byeee," you could hear the sound of her kissing on the other end, you doing the same before ending the call and getting ready for work.

—

by the time 4 am had rolled around you had finished your shift and were steadily making your way back home. was it risky to walk alone in the dead of night in gotham? yes. but at least you have your pepper spray.

the streets are dimly lit, casting an orange hue onto the pavement. the second you turn the corner you could already tell something was off. your hand reaches into the bag, pulling out your pepper spray, uncapping it.

your eyes shift around, scanning the area in front of you when a hand reaches out, pulling you back by your shoulder. you hit the persons chest, instinctively pulling back to see who it was.

some street thug who looked like he hasn't taken a shower in days gives you an eerie smile, sending shivers down your body and paralyzes you.

"don't cha' know betta then to walk around at night?" his nasally voice makes you want to recoil into yourself. his rancid cigarette breath doesn't help when he speaks up again.

"hey, i'm talkin' ta yah. you not gon' answer me." he steps forward and you step back in fear. "what? you think you too fuckin' good?"

he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. "no like's a fuckin' bitch, yeah?"

before he could do anything, he stops, looking past you. you find the courage to turn, craning your head at the shadowy figure, spotting the symbol on his chest.

batman.

his eyes lock onto yours and you take a sigh of relief. he grunts, softly grasping your shoulder and pushes you behind him. only, when his hand makes contact with you, a white flash comes over your eyes and when it all fades away your met with the thugs face.

except, it's like you're in another persons body.. sort of how when you and your soulmate see out of the others eyes...

you watch as the thug gets beaten into a pulp in an all familiar way, now finally taking notice of the gloves he always wore and how thee thug rasps his name.

by the time the beating is finished your sight has returned to you and you stare into batman's back, your heart racing. he turns, and by the look in his eyes he knows too. he steps back to leave, but you're quicker.

"wait," you reach out, your hand just briefly making contact with his gloved hand. but it's enough for your sight to switch, momentarily seeing your own shocked face from a higher angle.

it was the batman.

"no fucking way," is all you're able to say. your soulmate wasn't a rich street thug.

i tired to make the creepy dude have a new york /jersey accent, but i've never written one before so it's probably shit lol.

[gravityglitch-blog]

More Elliot Manor thoughts, because I guess that's just where my mind's been lately

Last time, I wrote about how lonely Tessa's life must have been. I also have to wonder...why?

As far as I can tell, the Elliots were the wealthy aristocratic types. Traditionally, a family like this would have their daughter associate with children of other rich families from an early age. So why was Tessa brought up in such isolation?

One scene in particular makes me wonder if she had some kind of condition that prevented her from being around others, or was seen as a "flaw" by her parents.

First, it's just Tessa and J being kind of goofy together. I actually love this glimpse at their dynamic.

Then Tessa seems to feel unwell or upset.

And J looks at her with concern. I don't think I have ever seen J appear worried about anyone.

Tessa even tries to reassure her.

I feel like, apart from N, Tessa's best friend was J. All this just hits harder after the most recent episode.

Spoiler-related stuff under the cut

This probably won't happen, but I would love for J to be the wild card in the upcoming episode. Right now, I think she believes that she's following the real Tessa. If she were to find out the Solver not only killed her best friend...

...and probably weaponized J herself to do it, as we see here...but has been impersonating Tessa all this time and wearing her as a costume???

Imagine J going on a full rampage against the Solver. Showing that at one point in her life, she cared for someone, enough to follow them to the edge of the universe, enough to avenge them.

I just find all these characters so interesting, and I'd love for their personalities to be explored.

[maxwell-grant]

hi. you've mentioned Donald Duck a few times in your posts, with scrooge being one step removed from pulp heroes, Donalds Paparinik (Italian superhero identity which I love, the new PK Adventures where lovely) in terms of their relation to the Diabolik line of European superheroes and Donalds general tendency to run head first down slippery slopes. so I'm wondering if you have any further thoughts on his comics and weird place in the superhero/pulp world

Oh God, do I. I mostly wanna talk about the superhero side of things but I feel like it's worth mentioning I grew up with Donald Duck comics, specifically the Carl Barks ones. The picture above wasn't taken by me but I own and recognize like 7 of the books in it, my mom always bought these that collected several of his stories and had these beautiful painting covers so we could read them together, and I still flip through them on occasion and love them very much (I really wanna buy a translated edition of Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck to read with her but those cost a liver). Donald Duck was one of my childhood hyperfixations and I got my hands on all the comics and movies and cartoons I could find with him, and I actually did read several of the Italian comics, I could go down the stationery right now and grab 5. I first stumbled on Paperinik via those, and for long I didn't think much of it, because Donald Duck moonlighting as a superhero for decades isn't the kind of thing that comes up often. I just thought Paperinik was a weird but funny idea for the longest time and always liked rereading a story where he puts on the costume to scare a rich jerk into leaving his granny's farm alone. And THEN I stumbled onto PKNA, Paperinik New Adventures, and oh my god this rules so much.

Actually one of the best superhero comics I've ever read, it's just constantly and consistently doing these wild absurd stories and swings into genre territory and quality storytelling. It's famous for opening it's first issue with aliens genociding an entire planet and I thought that was kinda overselled, and it's not frequently this dark (sometimes it actually gets darker though, and I probably stopped before it could really get there), but it is a very weird comic. It's more akin to Fantastic Four's serialized consistency than any kind of graphic novel prestige storyline but it is frequently so good at what it does, even the lamer issues are still worth reading. I like describing it as Donald Duck falling headfirst into Batman-level resources, forced to deal with Superman problems (on both the "huge sci-fi horrors" and "people being really, really irresponsible dicks" ends), while trying to stay Ditko's Spider-Man and failing. These do not feel quite like any Donald Duck comics I'd read before and while they would hold up with a different character, I do think they deserve credit for how they make it still always feel like you're reading a Donald Duck story, if a slightly different one. In fact I'd even say PKNA actually makes the concept feel more suited for Donald Duck in a way that brought the idea full circle.

To those of you that don't know, Paperinik started as a villain, or more of a revenge fantasy. By that point there was a tradition of doing a lot of parody stories with Donald that started in 1953. By the late 60s, readers were dissatisfied with Donald Duck always constantly being mistreated by the rest of the supporting cast and losing unfairly, so it was decided to have one of those parodies feature Donald Duck as uncovering the fortune and resources of "Fantomius" and becoming a masked rogue able to get back at them by achieving the impossible, in that he both steals from Scrooge and defeats Gladstone's luck by framing him for it.

He had a stint as a master thief until it was decided it made him too mean, so he morphed into a superhero trying to overcome his prior bad reputation and using his new skills and gadgets (still prone to malfunctioning) to deal with his typical rogues and new ones, and having the admiration of his nephews who don't know that Unca Donald and Paperinik are the same. PKNA, in turn, was sort of a reboot, shedding the previous history and pretty much getting rid of Donald's traditional supporting cast and having Donald stumble onto a different set of resources and means to fight crime, but keeping the idea of Donald Duck having a superhero alter-ego that nobody suspects. The scale and menace of the threats he's up against DRASTICALLY increases, and if anything that fact is crucial to what allows these to still feel like Donald Duck stories, even with Paperinik being a genuinely impressive and cool hero able to save the world. Nobody believes Donald Duck could be a cool and impressive person if he tried, and so Paperinik becomes not just a power fantasy, or a call to something better or be someone better, but it becomes a key component of Donald Duck stories: a thankless job he's expected to do that he doesn't want to do until his pride or something crucial is on the line. These are still parables about human failures and what can be learned from them.

I'd even say a big part of why they succeed is because they introduce a character who can pick up Donald's slack as a comically unpleasant ill-tempered grouch in need of a lesson protagonist in Angus Fangus, a character who's sort of J Jonah Jameson meets Harvey Bullock. Angus has it out for Paperinik and gets up to a lot of the antics you would traditionally expect Donald to be doing if this was a classic Donald Duck comic (and even has a Gladstone-esque rival of his own in another reporter), and getting to learn lessons and be humbled and even have his own set of impressive moments. The choice to give an entirely new cast around Donald greatly added to the comic's ability to experiment and do new things while still keeping the core of Donald.

I actually like a lot of these new dynamics better than the ones he traditionally has, I love The Raider and Lyla and One and oh god Xadhoom, Xadhoom is so fucking cool, such a cool design and name, this powerful roaring supernova stickbug alien person in a crusade of murderous vengeance who names herself her language's equivalent of creditor because the death of her entire planet is the DEBT SHE WILL COLLECT IN BLOOD ENERGY and she is just the most 90s anti-hero ever made except she's stuck in a Donald Duck comic getting into comedic situations and learning to laugh and feel emotions and learn from her mistakes again whether she likes it or not. These two are so good together.

Even with a superhero lair and supercomputer and gadgetry handed to him, Donald Duck is so comically outmatched against his opponents he still winds up winning through guile and will and comedic trickery. Donald desperately wishes he could go on self-serving ventures or just sit at home and enjoy tv, and not get dragged into dealing with murderous alien invasions, or cyberpunk revenge stories, or collapsing future timelines, and still having to solve those problems so there's a world to come back. The stories are frequently fun and they are prevailingly comedic and very good at it too, but they also get a lot out of taking weird turns into unexpected territory.

I haven't finished it because I wasn't able to find it in full or keep track of what's the og series and what's the reboot, still trying to sort that out, but god what a find this series is. What a great strange turn in the history of this great strange character.

[smnthvxe]

Chapter 1: The Past Echoes

Chapter 2 , last chapter

Readers point to view

The sun dipped below the horizon in Sumeru, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as I closed the shop for the evening. The little coffee shop, once just a dream, had become my sanctuary, a place where laughter and the rich aroma of coffee beans filled the air. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle, my heart harbored a quiet sorrow, a longing for the one who had once been my everything—Kunikuzushi.

Our life together seemed like a distant memory, a fleeting moment of happiness that had slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. I remembered his smile, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, and the warmth of his touch. But those memories were overshadowed by the pain of his departure, the day he walked away, leaving me with nothing but silence and a heart full of unanswered questions.

"I wonder where you are now," I murmured to the empty room, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. The walls of the coffee shop, adorned with pictures and trinkets from our travels, echoed back my solitude.

Nights were the hardest, when the world fell silent, and the weight of his absence felt unbearable. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining scenarios where he would return, where he would explain why he left and we could start over. But as the dawn broke, reality would set in, and I'd brace myself for another day without him.

One evening, as the final rays of sunlight vanished, leaving the world in twilight, a figure appeared at the door of the coffee shop. My heart skipped a beat, a foolish part of me hoping against hope. But it wasn't him; it never was. Instead, it was a traveler, seeking refuge in the warmth of the shop and a cup of coffee to ease their journey.

"I heard this place serves the best coffee in Sumeru," A blond traveler remarked, breaking the silence.

" Yeah! Yeah! I bet her coffee can make Paimon jerk off all of the pain from that mean-rude-annoying hat guy!?" The little fairy spoke

I chuckled, pouring them a cup. "I hope it does little one."

As they settled down, the blond traveler—known as Aether shared tales of their adventures, of the people they'd met and the wonders they'd seen. And for a brief moment, I allowed their stories to transport me away from my sorrow, to remind me of the joy and beauty in the world. The world he promised to explore.

But as the night drew to a close and Aether thanked me for the hospitality, I was left alone once again with my thoughts. I wondered if Scaramouche ever thought of me, if he ever regretted leaving. The rational part of me knew it was futile to dwell on what could have been, but the heart is seldom ruled by reason.

I busied myself with cleaning up, trying to shake off the thought. "You need to move on," I whispered to myself, a mantra I repeated every day, yet found so hard to practice.

One day, curiosity got the better of me, and I ventured out, seeking any trace of him. I traveled to Inazuma, to the places we had once explored together, hoping to find closure, to finally let go of the past. But instead of peace, I found only echoes of our time together, reminders of the love we shared and the pain of his departure.

As I stood in front of our old home, now abandoned and falling into disrepair, tears filled my eyes. "Why did you leave, Scaramouche? Why did you break us?" I whispered, the questions lingering in the air, unanswered.

I realized then that I might never get the closure I sought, that some wounds take longer to heal, and some questions remain unanswered. But I also understood that I couldn't live in the shadow of his memory forever.

"Oh? Who you might be?"

A voice spoke from behind, i turned around to see a Kitsune-like woman with a shrine dress.

"I was.." you cutted " Visiting something"

"Visiting you mean that house over there? Sorry to say this dear but that house is already abandoned. "

She pointed to our shared home at the nearby hill.

"Yes, I know. I was just- recollecting some old memories"

By that she smirked and I bid my farewell, walking away.

With a heavy heart, I returned to Sumeru, to my coffee shop, my haven. I poured my soul into my work, creating a space filled with warmth and happiness, a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I slowly began to rebuild my life. I found joy in the simple pleasures, in the smiles of my customers, and also I became good friends with Aether, he would often visit my shop to drink coffee and share his adventures with me. My interest perked up as he said something about fighting a false god along with Buer. You were always a fan of sumeru's Archon that's why you choose to move there.

There are some days where I close the shop, drinking bitter coffee (which reminds you of Scaramouche) alone reflecting every moment I have spent with him.

And though I may never fully understand why he left, I've come to accept that some chapters in our lives must come to an end, to make way for new beginnings. So, I continue to move forward, one day at a time, carrying the lessons of the past and the hope for a brighter future.

In the quiet moments, when the world slows down, and I find myself lost in thought, I whisper a silent wish for Scaramouche, wherever he may be. "I hope you've found your peace," I say, letting my words drift into the ether, a final goodbye to a love that once was. But.. If ever he'll come back ...

A/N : hehe kinda rushed lmao

(You may notice some grammatical errors cus yk im kinda writing this and studying for our exam)

[mcflymemes]

ASK PROMPTS ABOUT THE PAST & REGRET *  requested by tatsunotsurugi

yesterday is gone.

you have to let go.

i never look back. it distracts from the now.

i just don't see why the past has to matter.

it's pointless to dwell on it, you know.

i don't know who you used to be.

memories are dangerous things.

the past is never where you think you left it.

i wish i could go back.

we all do things we desperately wish we could undo.

my past does not define me.

we can never go back again.

we were so intimate once upon a time i can't believe it now.

if we had met years ago, would you still have liked me?

scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

the past beats inside me like a second heart.

looking back you do not find what you left behind.

no one saves us but ourselves.

no trouble ever got fixed late at night. midnight is for regrets.

i wish i knew you back then.

what's past is prologue.

i want everything back the way it was.

put your energy into today.

my scars remind me that i did, indeed, survive my deepest wounds.

that was... the dumbest thing i've ever done.

no one is rich enough to buy back his past.

are you still thinking about what happened?

there has to be something we can do to change it.

it's being here now that's important.

there's so much i wish i could change about what happened.

i'm a product of my past, but i don't have to be a prisoner of it.

my past is everything i failed to be.

i regret knowing you.

what's done is done.

it might have been.

you are the only person i'd like to say goodbye to when i die.

it made you stronger. i hope you know that.

i am worthy of a future.

me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody.

memory is a mirror that scandalously lies.

take it from me. if you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and running its fingers up your spine... the best thing to do, the only thing... is run.

if only. those must be the two saddest words in the world.

the past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.

my yesterdays walk with me.

i loved you so much once.

i like who you are now.

i wish you'd just let go.

there's no future for me.

what do you regret most?

do you ever miss it?

there are so many things that i want so badly to tell you, but i just can't.

the past no longer holds you captive.

maybe in another life.

i hope you never have to think about anything as much as i think about you.

i never should have done that.

i'm trying to forget you. it's not easy.

you're just another story i can't tell anymore.

how many regrets do you have?

those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

you can learn from it... but you can't change it.

[starryficsfinishwen]

✧。◟ᴇɴᴄʜᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ — chrome x reader [PGR] [Happy Activation Day Chrome!!]

please don't be in love with someone else

a.n. - sometimes chrome just raghhhhhh. HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHROMEE!! I promise to finish that other fic for you LOL also thank you for being one of my resilient lil construct, my Lucia and Wanshi are happy to be with you <3 mwa mwa (IM SORRY AGAIN IM LATE)

pairing - chrome x f!commandant

words - 7,881 (it's why I took long TvT)

tags/warnings - none. fluff! alcohol is involved yet again! chrome x reader shenanigans. yall up to what happens in the end uwu. non-sexual naked cuddling. cute stuff for chrome because happy activation day!!

The stars seemed to have blessed Babylonia tonight.

A crowded room. A brightly lit, dazzling chandelier. Wine and champagne glasses clinking together. Orchestral music filling the room — this is a sight that those who can afford luxury would generally see in their life. High society placed itself on top of the pedestal, overlooking its body that wore no gold.

Forget the war that raged outside; Babylonia beheld the grandeur of the rich folk for tonight, and the stars had rewarded their presence by granting the brightest evening for them.

Such sight is normal to a Smith. After all, they were always born with a silver spoon, to feed and to be fed by high society, for everyone to see.

But not for Chrome. He always thought this life was never fit for him.

There he is — champagne in hand, forcing laughter and faking smiles to those who are around him. Humanoid legs are already used to the wages of war, yet they trembled under the hours of talking to people that only blur in his M.I.N.D.

He is only here due to his father, Mr. Smith. “For you to be familiar with the people you will work with in the future,” he always said to Chrome, “be on your best attitude. Show them the makings of a true Smith.”

But they only bore him. He would rather be doing things that are mundane in the eyes of high society, such as lounging in the comforts of Strike Hawk's dormitory; dealing with Kamui's antics, helping Wanshi fix his sleeping pod, tasting Camu's dishes...or cleaning the corners of his room, or strolling the walkways of Babylonia, or playing chess with a certain someone...

A scene flashed in his memory — a warm hand reaching out to him, a sweet smile, a soft laugh, and the chessboard with scattered chess pieces in front of him. A scene that happened not too long ago, a memory so fresh that made him flush a light shade of pink. Was it the alcohol? No, usual alcohol would never make a construct drunk, unless...?

“How are you holding up, Chrome?” A familiar voice called out to him.

Mr. Smith. Holding an identical champagne glass in his hand, he looks up to Chrome with an expectant gaze. Chrome straightens, clearing his throat. “Mr. Smith, I am doing well. I have met the people you told me earlier.”

“Glad to know,” He nods, “it's beneficial as a Smith to meet your future prospects. You know that already, Chrome, don't you?”

“I do, Mr. Smith,” Chrome solemnly spoke.

“Other than that, have you seen the Commandants who are invited tonight?” Smith tsked, “they have commendable records. They seem to enjoy tonight's feast before they go back to war once more. Especially Gray Raven's Commandant, hm.”

Chrome's ears perked up. “Gray Raven's Commandant is here tonight?”

He knew the party was for high society, with some specially invited commandants. Yet, Gray Raven's Commandant? He overlooked that part, why didn't he know?

“Yes, it's understandable due to the glory they have brought to Babylonia countless times now.” Smith paused, moving his hand to make a circular motion with his glass, “I've seen them earlier. Now, they are nowhere to be found.”

“Ah,” Chrome slightly faltered, muttering, “a shame.”

“They also seem to blend well with us, I'd say.” Smith hums, taking a sip from his glass now, “they look well with us, even. We should try asking them to join when they retire.”

A particular thought crosses in Chrome's M.I.N.D. — a person wearing a simple dress amongst the crowd yet so vibrant, the same warm hand he saw as she held onto his arm, smiling fondly at him. The very thought that somehow made his heart crumble in a good way —

“Chrome?” Smith asked, causing Chrome to snap back to reality, “are you alright? You look red.”

“I do?” Chrome muttered, “I'm sorry. There must be something wrong with my cooling system after I got injured last battle. I am planning to get a maintenance check once more.”

“Alright then,” waving his hand, Smith nodded, “I'll leave you be. I need to meet with other people.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Chrome approaches the nearby table tp place his glass, “I will return soon.”

Finally, away from the party, Chrome found himself lingering outside. The garden outside of the hall seems to be the answer to his dilemma, the cool breeze and the artificial night decorated with the authentic stars sparkling above him. He breathes into this sight — once more, a thought that popped into his M.I.N.D.

“The sight may be beautiful in Babylonia,” your voice sent shivers down his spine, “but the ones here on Earth are prettier.”

Bright irises staring at him with a gentle gaze amongst the dark plains, a genuine smile on your lips, “don't you think so, Chrome?”

The memory shook Chrome, his heartbeat skipping. What was it with him lately? Thinking of a particular person that he holds with high regard? It seemed unlike him, the man who only thought of perfection. Battles and tactics are his expertise that makes up his thoughts, yet such stray memories and incredulous scenarios have distracted him since his recent rendezvous with that certain commandant...

His hands tremble. They seem lonely. A small part of him wishes those familiar hands would hold them right now.

Gray Raven's esteemed Commandant. The very thought of her makes Chrome weak. He who should maintain a professional, beneficial relationship with her. Yet, thoughts beyond that relationship seemed to have spawned in his M.I.N.D.

Chrome entertains that thought to no avail. After all, a small part of him wishes he should have seen or heard from you tonight.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star~”

Yes, something like a nursery rhyme that is sung by you. Sometimes, Chrome thinks you drove him insane to the point that he's having hallucinations of you.

“...how I wonder where you are~”

Wait. That voice seems closer and familiar. Surely, he wasn't dreaming. Chrome rushes to the source of the voice.

“up above the world so high,” the voice hiccupped, “like a diamond in the ska-ay~!”

Chrome thinks this sight is one of the best he's ever seen: sitting on the ledge of a fountain, gazing at the water beneath, your sky-blue dress nearly submerged yet you didn't look like she minded; in fact, in your hand was a glass of unfinished wine, and your face seemed too pleased with your antics, a contagious smile written on your face.

Gray Raven Commandant in the flesh. And drunk. (According to Chrome's readings anyway)

“Commandant!” Chrome's voice - shaking? - echoed throughout the garden, making you look, “Over here! What are you doing?”

You finally look at Chrome, your usual bright eyes laced with tiredness and mirth. Upon recognizing the figure that was approaching you, you cheerfully raised your glass to him.

“Hello stranger!!” your shoulders shake with visible joy, “you're hereeee, come on, come on! Join me in watching the fishies~”

Stranger? Perhaps the alcohol fogged your senses. “Fishies?” Curious, Chrome follows where your hand points, to the fountain...devoid of any fish, “I...see?”

Instead of fish, Chrome could recognize that the 'fish' the Commandant referred to are the coins that people must have thrown into the fountain. The reflection brought by the moonlight highlighted with the pattern underneath the fountain must have tricked you into thinking she was talking to fishes. Not wanting to break your delight, Chrome plays along.

“I named that lil' blue fish Lee, because he looks grumpy.” You giggle as you point to a blue-shaded coin, “then that pink one is Liv!”

“That's cute, Commandant,” Chrome chuckles, opting to sit at a considerable distance from you, “who else did you name?”

Lights over the garden seemed ethereal. Haloed with the gentle glow of the skies, the white noise of the party inside the hall, and the mellow laughter of the Commandant — Chrome could easily capture this memory for a lifetime, although you couldn't recognize him. He could try taking away the glass in hand and tell you that you're drunk, but he does not. Instead, he asks more about the 'fishes' you found. And somehow, you went silent.

“Commandant?” Chrome gently pokes the silent Commandant, “are you alright?”

“Mmm,” closing your eyes, you tapped your chin, “stranger, I can't see Chrome...”

The nickname seems to grow on him now. “Well,” he shrugged, “maybe he's sleeping.”

“Fishies never sleep!” opening your eyes just to stare at Chrome, “that's basic knowledge!”

Chrome could finally see you properly: the dress snugly fit you, the train already submerged in the water. Some strands of your hair framed your face perfectly. Alcohol flushed your cheeks in the shade of pink. Irises that still lit brightly amidst the dark, a sight Chrome could never forget. Blinking to come back to reality, Chrome reached out to brush away the strand that was on your lips.

“Some fishes sleep with their eyes open.” Chrome smiled, “but what you said is still, it's true, Commandant is always smart.”

A smug smirk flashed on your lips, arms crossed to assert her amusement, “hm! I told you!”

One of the sleeves fell to your arm as you moved. Flickering to that, Chrome spoke before reaching out to lift it, “Yes, of course. Commandant, are you not cold?”

“Nope!” Somehow filled with a new burst of energy, you drunkenly placed the glass in front of Chrome, making Chrome reel back, before struggling to stand up on the ledge with the heels on. Chrome acts quickly, aiding you by holding your legs for support. “I realized something!”

“Commandant! What are you doing, get down!”

“I need to find Chrome!” you spoke with such reverence, it could make Chrome cry, yet it only made him scared, “he could be drowning!”

Drowning? “Commandant, I know you're smart,” Chrome hesitates, before speaking, “but fishes don't dro-”

“-I know what I'm doing!” you grin at him, rotating your arm as if exercising and exhales, “that's why I'm going to save him from this ocean!”

At that moment, Chrome realizes where he went wrong. “Wait, Commandant, no!”

At least he tried to stop her.

A shivering Commandant is wrapped in Chrome's coat for tonight.

“Are you alright, Commandant?” Chrome spoke as he ran through the streets, “do you still feel cold?”

After the stupid attempt at jumping head-first into the water, Chrome had to save you - even after trying to get away from his hold. Now, you were tightly wrapped in Chrome's coat, carried like a princess in his arms.

Sneezing, you shook your head furiously, “I'm fine, you stranger! Why did you stop me?”

“The waters in Babylonia in the evening get colder. I don't want you to suffer from hypothermia.”

You whine, before sneezing once more. “I was fine! Oh well, I managed to get Chrome though.”

“You managed to- what?”

Fishing out of his hold and the coat, you childishly held out a white and blue-tinted coin. Chrome could only sigh in disbelief.

“Also, put me down, you stranger!” Attempting to wiggle out, you whine more as Chrome tightens his hold on you, the familiar way illuminated by the lights already in sight, “my mama said not to trust strangers!”

“Right,” Chrome laughed, his heart skipping a beat, “don't worry, I'm taking you to Chrome right now.”

Halfway through the run, you drifted off to sleep (and it granted Chrome the opportunity to see you comfortable with your guard down). Finally, they arrived in front of the Smith Estate.

Carefully opening the door, Chrome is met with a comforting silence. Were the cleaning robots still around? He knew his father wouldn't be around until the next day, which meant the robots were the only company. Stepping inside, he finds the place deserted, the faint sound of the Commadant's breathing filling the room. Placing you (not minding the water dripping off of you) to his room on his bed, Chrome rushes to the kitchen.

Still no robots around. Easy to explain and less hassle to explain why a stranger was in his bed. He'll worry about that the next day. Quickly, he grabbed a few pieces of food from the fridge and concocted a hangover drink and water.

Upon returning to his room, Chrome finds you still asleep on his bed. Silently placing the items he brought for you, Chrome wistfully gazes at you.

“you're always taking care of me, Chrome,” you'd say if you were awake, your voice echoes in his M.I.N.D., “I want to return the favor.” (You are now corrupting his thoughts.)

A little stir from you made Chrome snap out of his daydream. Slowly opening your eyes, looking around your surroundings in a daze, Chrome leans down to check on you.

“Commandant,” he softly calls out to you, hand touching yours, “are you awake? Can you sit up?”

“Mmmhm,” rubbing your eyes as you sat up, Chrome aiding you, “where am I...?”

“You're in my room. I will take you back to Gray Raven's headquarters when you've freshened up and rested. Come on, drink some water.”

Your legs dangle on the side of Chrome's bed as you sat up. Your figure, although shivering from the stunt, still seems smaller than him. Chrome reached out to grab the glass of water and hold it out for you, but you only stare at him.

“Commandant?”

“Ch...” you whisper, slowly lifting your cold hands to cup Chrome's cheeks, “Chrome...”

His heart flutters at the call of his name. With a free hand, he caresses the hold on his cheeks. “Commandant?”

“Why are you...hot?”

Chrome's cheeks burn at your touch, he noticed. Was it really the cooling system, or that his growing fondness for the Commandant of another team making him like this?

“The cooling system,” he chose the first option, “I'm trying to get it checked, don't worry.”

“Mmh, Chrome...”

Your innocent, sleepy eyes were looking at him. And you were leaning closer to him. A human instinct, Chrome leans forward as well, until their foreheads touch.

“...Chrome. Why don't you call me by my name?”

It feels expensive. It feels surreal. He wanted to tell her, but the words die in his throat.

“I will only do so, if you wanted me to do it, Commandant.”

“Mmh.” Your breath fans Chrome's own lips, further intensifying the heat in both of your cheeks. “Then, Chrome...”

He closes his eyes. Closer, closer...until you pulled away so abruptly. And then, a warm liquid spilled across his chest.

Chrome's eyes opened. Sometimes, the timings are uncanny.

—

A bathtub full of bubbles, lavender dousing the room with its intoxicating smell. Near the bathtub, Chrome sweats nervously as he stares at the guilty figure sitting on the toilet.

“I'm sorry,” the Commandant, who was usually strong and courageous in the face of danger, shrunk in guilt, voice timid and remorse, “I didn't mean to puke in front of you.”

“It's alright, it's not your fault,” he dismisses it, smiling slightly, “I was planning to get you changed...”

He is already wearing a new set of clothing, compared to you. After that quick nap, you seem sober. But based on Chrome's readings, you are still far from being sober. At least, you recognize him now. Squeaking, you shook your head. “I can't just let it slide. Is there anything I can do for Chrome?”

Kneeling on one knee, Chrome awkwardly pats you. “It's okay, really. Um...”

A reddening blush was on Chrome's cheeks as the words died in his throat. He motions to your soiled clothes, clearing his throat in an attempt to gather his pride.

“Commandant, I am going to...” whispering, “...I'm going to take off your clothes so you can...um, take a bath.”

You stare at him. Blinking tired eyes at him, you slowly nodded. “Okay.”

You turn your back on him, presenting the zipper on your back. For you, it seemed normal (Liv and Lucia are always hands-on whenever you are invited to events like this, so they're seen what's behind those clothes). But Chrome, whose ventilation was now out of place from the possible outcomes running through his head, was shaking and turning into a blushing tomato.

“You can unzip me, Chrome,” you pipped, noticing Chrome's silence, “I can't reach the top.”

A shaky exhale from Chrome. He mutters something you couldn't hear, but could feel the small pressure from his hand holding your hair to the side before resting on your shoulder.

“I will...start unzipping you, Commandant.”

It feels...intimate. The way Chrome held onto the zipper with care, thoughts running wild in his M.I.N.D., dragging it down slowly. You notice it, despite the alcohol fogging your thoughts. The sound of Chrome's nervous breathing, the water dripping from the faucet, the bubbles on the tub — it almost makes you sober.

However, a question seemed to linger on your lips. But before you could ask, Chrome had already unzipped your dress, the sleeves finally down on your shoulders.

“I-I'm done, Commandant.”

You turned to Chrome, a smile on your lips, “Thank you! But...are you...okay...?”

“Yes.”

You weren't that convinced. In front of you, Chrome's hands shook, and his face was in the deepest shade of red. You tilted your head to the side, before shimmying out of your clothes. Yes, still in front of the man who has been nothing but an angel to you.

“I'm done!” You excitedly quipped, standing up, causing the dress to fall to the floor. “where am I going next?”

Seemingly snapping out of his trance, Chrome looks down to pick up your clothes and dashes to the door. He stops by the door frame, his back facing you. “I need to put your clothes in the washer. They'll be ready after you take a bath.”

“Chrome, will-”

But he was already out of the door.

Chrome remembers every part of the laundry process, even without help from the robots. Yet, even though he has loaded up the washing machine (he knows it'll be done in at least 2 hours, clean and fragrant), his hands are still shaking, the memory in the bathroom turning his mind into a haze.

Even when he closed his eyes after he unzipped your dress, or when he heard it drop to the floor, he couldn't help but imagine — how your skin must feel under his touch, soft or smooth; the expanse of your back, would there be goosebumps like when you touch him; would there still be a smile on your face even when you would know about his feelings?

He accidentally slams the door of the washing machine too hard. It's all pointless, really; all he wanted was to show how eager his rapt attention, yet terrified that he may have crossed unwanted boundaries. Maybe he needed some rest. That's right - it has been a long week anyways. Sighing, he leaves to go back to the bathroom, in case you fell back to sleep...

— except, he called it too early.

“Chroooome,” you cried out as you whimpered in the tub, bubbles covering everywhere but your face, “I'm drowning!”

Suffice to say, he wasn't going to be relaxed tonight.

The water was warm.

And so was the hand that you wish you held onto as you dangled your arm on the ledge of the tub, reaching out to Chrome, who sat on the floor. You wanted something - but the golden boy wouldn't budge.

“Join meee,” you pouted, “don't you see I am a lonely girl sitting here so lonely?”

The light of the bathroom casts a glow over Chrome's frame. The sound of the water splashing around, paired with his humming, sends your mind in a close lullaby, you fear you'll only fall asleep at this rate.

“I see you well, Commandant.” He shook his head, “however, I will stay here.”

“Mean.” Huffing, you sunk to the comforts of the bubbling water, feigning annoyance to him “At least I could wash your hair...you said you'd allow me to see you with your hair down...”

“Commandant,” it's a surprise how Chrome could still hold his composure, voice calm and cool, “you are drunk. You are also very dirty, so it's best you wash up now and get dressed in something warm.”

“I'm not drunk!” Exasperatedly raising your hands, you glared at Chrome, “and I can't wash my hair...”

You look at him expectantly, to which he stares back with curiosity. Pointing to your wet hair, you whispered. “I always wondered what it's like to have my hair washed.”

“And?”

“Will you...wash my hair, please, Chrome?”

Crossing his arms, he thinks for a moment. “Will you promise not to do anything stupid?”

“No.”

As he scoots closer to you, you reeled back. Chrome mistook it as something else, when he sees the look on your face.

“...don't tell me you are planning to wash my hair in that.”

“Pardon?”

“Strip!” you pouted, “I get fussy when someone isn't touching me.”

In an instant, you see Chrome's cheeks tint a shade of pink. “Commandant, that sounded...”

“Hurry up,” you yawned, scooting a little closer to the faucet on your legs, “I won't look.”

True to your word, you look elsewhere but wherever Chrome was. Raising your hands high to your face (look how pruned they are, the longer you stay), before the shuffling of clothes and the sound of cautiousness tiptoes its way into the water, beside you. From your peripheral vision, you see two hands reach out to hold your open hands — have these hands looked so lonely until Chrome came?

“Look at you,” he huffs, fingers caressing the pad of your pruned fingers, “you should have been faster.”

You find comfort in this cramped space — the warm water that you're doused in, a familiar body close to yours, a heat that you never realized you've been craving all this time. You crawl; on Chrome's legs, your scent intertwined with the smell of lavender, you hope it rubs on the man beside you. Unknowingly, you crawled further, until your back hits the sturdy structure of Chrome's physique, leaning back to curl up in his chest.

“Can we stay like this?” the words slipped past your mouth, faster than you could have noticed. Without a word, his hands drifted to the expanse of your shoulders, your arms, your clavicle.

His hands rest there, as your body relaxes in his embrace. The subtle, erratic beating of his heart is there, it's not a surprise when yours mirrored his. And you smell the hint of vanilla on his skin, forgetting that he's humanoid in these very small moments. Yet, you breathe into it, the smell lulling you to sleep faster.

“If you want to,” he mutters, “I thought you wanted to rest.”

“I do, but I feel comfortable when there's someone else.”

The quiet snap of the shampoo bottle opens. Along the way, he places his hands over your head, gently massaging the tips of your hair to make the shampoo bubble, to your scalp. Gentle, soft as he held you like this. The way he pours the water over your head, careful enough to not let it reach your eyes. You must smell like lavender now; the scent already sinking into your skin, like how Chrome's warmth was seeping onto your cold ones. His touch felt unreal, it makes you want the world to freeze for a moment and only behold this scenario for a long, long time.

“Commandant,” even his voice was a whisper, movements slowing to a stop, a telltale sign that he's done, and a little emotion was hanging on your chest - annoyance - “finish up washing now. Your hair is done.”

A dissatisfied grunt escaped your lips. Sitting up straight, you turned to him, hands outstretched. “Let me wash your hair too.”

Slightly looking down from your chest, his eyes shot up to meet yours, the blush that was on his cheeks already invading his ears. “N-No. This bath is only for you, Commandant.”

“Pleaseeee,” you dawdled, brushing away the bangs that covered his face, “I want to help you.”

Although hesitant, he lets you anyway; you, crawling to straddle his thighs, reaching out for the shampoo on your right. His eyes were carefully trailing your movement, which made you shrink under his grasp, but you never minded (after all, the both of you are naked in front of each other, what else was the difference?). You mimicked his movements: massaging the scalp, entirely focused on how you moved your hands on him.

“You're so pretty, Chrome...”

“Huh...?”

“I'm drunk but you're still pretty.” you giggled, booping his nose, “in the morning, when I'm sober, I know you'll be prettier.”

You thread your hands into his hair now, forgetting that bubbles should come out, but you're too focused on everything around you, drowsiness coming to catch you.

“Your hair,” you mumbled, aware of his hands placed on your waist, “...it feels really soft.”

“Does it?” He chuckled, eyes closing, “I'm glad you think so, Commandant.”

Commandant. A title you've always worn, but the way he called you that, a gnawing feeling crammed in your chest — with that pretty mouth of his, a stray thought made you think: what would it be like if he were to say your name?

“You never call me by my name.”

Turquoise irises locked with yours. Unable to pull away, mesmerized by the magnitude it beheld as you stared at each other — you wanted to speak, but Chrome beats you to it.

“I- I never thought I'm allowed to say it.” Looking away, the flush you've seen earlier came back and dusted his cheeks, “we never established it before.”

“Call me by my name then, Chrome.”

You wonder how your name would sound when it leaves his lips. You wonder, if the sound of your heartbeat reverberates if speaks, if he calls you in a name hidden behind your title — and for a moment, you've realized.

“[Y/N],” it is quiet, a soft tone calling for your name, “[Y/N],”

All you could do is close your eyes. Your mind is racing. The sound of two people, breathing in the silence, in the warmth of another's presence. The bubbles are now dissolving in your fingers and in his hair, you're certain the ones on your head are gone too. Were you still drunk, or had the intensity of your feelings reached its threshold? It made your mind spin, and your fingers tremble. What was going on?

“Did that sound weird?” You opened your eyes to find Chrome's worried gaze. Still realizing the situation you're both in - and yet you were both comfortable now - you opened your mouth, only to close it.

You realized you've always liked Chrome all this time.

And the way he said your name is far from what you've imagined. You breathe in once more at his appearance: disheveled hair coated in shampoo, flushed cheeks in contrast to his pale complexion, doe-eyed in the shade of the light. Of course, you had to fall for this man. And it made your heart ache - alcohol or the touches alone? Who knows.

“No.” You quietly spoke, looking away, hiding the blush on your cheeks, “I...want to get out now.”

Chrome doesn't say a word. Instead, he stood up and left you there - confused, in a daze. When he comes back, a pair of clothes were on his arms.

“Can you stand, co...I mean, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for the clothes.”

You spoke by the time you re-entered his room, the oversized shirt hanging loosely on your body. You looked at your appearance in the mirror twice before leaving the room, where you'd deemed it was good enough, however; judging by the way Chrome was staring at you intensely, head to toe, you couldn't help but wonder - is something wrong?

Chrome must have changed the sheets first, the shade of blue occupying the space on the bed. He now stood behind a smaller stool, a hair dryer in hand. You awkwardly stood, gesturing to the sight behind you: “I promise I'll repay you back when I get back.”

“The shirt,” He looks away for a moment, before clearing his throat, “it looks...good on you.”

You looked down — the oversized white shirt with the print fading away reaching down your thighs, just above your knees. At least, you were wearing something to combat the cold, yet your back catches the wetness of your hair, which made your temperature drop further. Noticing this, Chrome motions you to sit on the stool.

You are compliant with his wishes. He starts to turn the hair dryer on, before carefully handling your hair. In front of you was a tall mirror, which must have been Chrome's height. As he gently starts to dry your hair, you take in your surroundings - it's your first time in Chrome's room. As they say, the bedroom reflects its owner; tidy, neat, and everything in place. Various books with small print on the spine you couldn't make out on the shelves, the Queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. A perfectly neat study table with a few papers here and there near the dresser of the bed. It brings you to shame, how cleanly Chrome sets up his room which is far different from yours.

It reflects; your senses in a daze as you feel Chrome weaving through your locks, attentive to how his turquoise irises are on his masterpiece. Your eyes look up at his face once more.

“You also look good with your hair down.”

His attention flickers back to you. It's true - he looks more human this way, hair framing his face. Blinking slowly, he sheepishly laughs. “Ah, I always have my hair down after a shower. Do I look weird?”

“No.” You admit, “you look handsome still.”

Another wave of silence washes over. You realize you're more sober this way, the guilt of not talking too much gnawing on the back of your throat. But you are thankful, Chrome takes the opportunity.

“You are wearing my shirt that the F.O.S. gave,” humming, he brushes away the hair on your back, heat radiating off on your back, “they gave it shortly after graduation. I took it before father could notice.”

The hair dryer shuts off. He places it on the dresser, eyes still on your now-dried hair. You asked, “does your father not want you wearing these things?”

“He thinks it's useless. After all, medals and honor are the only valuable things the college would give to you.”

“But I see that it seems well-used,” you smell the cologne Chrome uses every day, “like you've always worn it.”

His hand is on your shoulder, tracing the outline. “Shortly after my Construct surgery, I always wore this. Anywhere as long as my father wouldn't see.”

A thought where Chrome wears the shirt comes to mind, in bed, clutching the fabric. Holding a handful and raising it to your nose, you spoke, “is there a reason?”

But he only sighs. “I am a Construct.” He looks up to meet your eyes in the mirror, “I am made for war. I threw away my humanity a long time ago.”

Those words tugged a hidden emotion in you. Spinning to meet his figure, you craned your neck just so you can properly look at him. Words are bubbling in your mouth, but it comes out dry.

Yet, you try anyway. “It's true that you're made for war, but you shouldn't be denied of these...”

“It's alright, co...[Y/N].” The call of your name sends your heart into somersaults, “I've learned it the hard way. There is no need for me to feel that way anymore.”

“Besides,” he added, as he got on one knee, smiling, “it's time for you to take a nap. It's past 2 am now. I wouldn't want my Commandant to be sleep deprived, yes?”

“I-” you looked at Chrome, you don't pretend you didn't mishear his words. Looking at his irises, you took a deep breath.

“The first time I saw Chrome,” you began, “I always thought you were attractive.”

That caught his attention. Tilting his head with an eyebrow raised, he curiously asked, “I'm sorry?”

“I wondered why a human like me was roaming around the city ruins that day.” You fidgeted with the hem of your clothes, “But then, I saw your inver-device.”

Ah, this memory. Chrome remembers it fondly. In the heat of dispute, where Lee had been injured badly, he doesn't remember if it was the situation at hand or the way the sunlight shone down on you that day - either way, he always thought it was something for that moment.

“It didn't change one bit of my impression of you.” You take a deep breath, “I think...it became something else.”

Your heart beats chaotically. You're sure it's the alcohol, but you're also aware that it's your feelings shaping at this very moment. Your hands tremble with want - to hold Chrome, to hold his hand.

“Something else?”

“I don't see you as a Construct, Chrome,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his chin, eyes trailing where your finger touched, “I see you more than that.”

You're aware; his gaze on you, as his own fingers shake as they touched yours. Such feelings have echoed in your mind, and you are afraid they wouldn't go away unless you tell them upfront. Are you scared to be rejected? Too bad, you're not; let the alcohol drain all your fears tonight.

“I don't want you to keep calling me 'Commandant'. I don't like it when you see me as someone from F.O.S., but I like it when you touch me, or when you're close to me-”

His hand is holding yours now. Firm, gentle. He's in front of you, and you swore you could see the future reflect in his irises. It's warm, the way he grasped your hand, fingertips touching his lips. His eyes are closed - a single kiss on every finger, mouth muttering some kind of prayer.

“[Y/N],” he whispers on your fingers, gazing at you with an expression you've never seen him make before.

Loving. Adoration. Something along those lines. It claws on your stomach, inching up to the top, that if you opened your mouth you would regret.

“When I saw you at that time, I didn't know what to think. I remember thinking: would you only be another soldier I will see on the battlefield, regardless if dead or alive?”

“Am I the former?”

“A part of me thought so. But...”

He pauses, before taking your hand to his chest, a strong vibration echoing there. Your heart feels the same, it wishes to free itself from the cages of your ribcage and into whatever was in the middle of the both of you.

“If I were to lose you, I...wouldn't know what I'll do.”

Heaviness weaves in your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck for support, blissfully unaware of the distance left between your lips. “Chrome,”

“[Y/N], I cannot...”

“I like you, Chrome.” It is a genuine confession. You never lied. “I like you too much, that I feel like my heart can't handle it if you disappear on me, too.”

A confession that brought tears to your eyes. “I want to run away with Chrome. I don't want to be away from you.”

“I'm not going away.” He took you by the waist, propping you on his thighs, “I'm here.”

“Meeting you...being here with you...it feels enchanting.” You closed your eyes, blindingly touching wherever your hands meet, “Please don't be in love with someone else...”

Chrome feels like it's the first time for him to recognize the ability to love. The passion for studying, living in the moment where examinations take place, keeping everything orderly — it has always been how he always lived. Yet, for the first time — someone was here in his room, in his touch, in this space. It makes him greedy; it makes him wild.

“[Y/N],” his hands cup your cheek, nuzzling your cheek, “I feel the same way. I like you - I adore you. Every glory I will bring to you, it will be all for you.”

That confession triggered something inside of you - to bridge the gap between the both of you. Leaning forward, the urge to slam your lips to him right there and then grows fervently. However, a hand stops your advances. Pulling back, you are met with a blushing Chrome, looking at you in awe.

“Comman- I mean, [Y/N], as much as I want to kiss you...I cannot. I can't kiss you when you are still drunk.”

“But I want to, let me show you how much I like you.”

His hand easily slips under your shirt, warm ones grasping your hips, rubbing circles around it, “In the morning. When you are sober, when you are about to make better judgement. I will let you do whatever you want.”

A mischievous smile graced your lips. “Anything?”

The blush on his face became a darker shade. Shyly nodding, “Yes, anything.”

He eases into his arms. Lifting you up and carrying you to bed, a thought crosses your mind — you, in a long white gown, and him, in a silver tuxedo. You see him in the lights of the room, illuminated in this dark evening, his smile sending ripples of your heart into motion. You see him this way, your hand carrying a bouquet of flowers that you both love, your fingers intertwined with a ring of promise. In your thoughts he carries you like this, and you swore it felt familiar; one day, you wish. You would have to tell him in the morning.

But for now, the alcohol hits you harder more than ever, drowsiness threatening to shut your eyes. As you felt yourself dip into the mattress - his bed - you wish you could stay with him, the lingering warmth on your skin now fading as you feel him pull away. But your mouth is a jumbled mess, only opting for the fatigue to succumb to you. So, you use your hand, grasping whatever you could reach - his shirt, his hand, his arm.

“Don't go.” You beg, voice laced with grogginess and want, “won't you stay here?”

“I will be sitting here next to you. Don't worry, I'm not going away.”

“No,” your voice sounds like you're pleading now, “don't go, stay beside me. I want you to be beside me when I wake up.”

“[Y/N]...”

“Stay with me, Chrome.”

With a sigh, you feel the space beside you dip. The shuffling of sheets, the smell of lavender invading your weary senses. At last, warm hands enclose yours, before placing them close to his lips, one last kiss before darkness consumed your senses.

“Goodnight, [Y/N],” you knew he'd tell you that, “I will see you in the morning.”

Chrome doesn't see you in the morning.

When sunlight slipped through the windows, he woke up to an empty space beside him. Disappointment comes knocking on his door, calling out that he was only dreaming for something unreal, something that only humans would indulge in. Although the sheets prove that someone else was here with him last night, he doesn't dwell on that slipping hope. Instead, disappointment and frustration, paired with despondency, makes a home inside his chest and his M.I.N.D.

No longer interested in ruminating on the mattress, he drags himself out of bed. However, the robots that usually greet him aren't around still. But the floors and the walls on the rooms he passed are cleaner than what he saw last night.

Probably elsewhere. Probably at the garden.

But the glass door to the garden shows no signs of robots, at least where his sight can reach. No robots cutting grass or cleaning the pool. At times like these, they should've been around. Where were they?

A sound of an R5 cleaning robot chimes in nearby. Chrome follows the sound, and the sight isn't something he was expecting.

“You did well,” your voice feels like a cloud, floating amongst the sea of beeping robots, “thank you for your help.”

Your back faces Chrome. Crouching in front of a faceless R5 cleaning robot, you gently patted its "head", small giggles on your lips.

“You're a good robot, aren't you,” the sound of beeping seemingly mirroring an appreciative noise, “you're a very good robot.”

A sizzle comes out of the oven, to which you jump to your feet, scrambling to reach the stove. “Ah, it's getting burned!”

Chrome couldn't help but admire you; the way you move, your interactions with the robots although lifeless, and your cautiousness seemed to boost his adoration for you. It must have been his M.I.N.D., but the sunlight on your toes, his shirt that fits you perfectly despite being too big for you, and the smile as you tasted whatever you were cooking — it hits him harder. The want, the like, the adoration for someone he could never think he'd fall for. The feeling that his chest had earlier disappeared; only warmth began to repair its fractured roots.

“Chrome?” Your quiet voice called out, the beep of the robot chiming in, “you're awake.”

“And you're here.”

Is this what pining feels like? An unspoken feeling that settles deep between the distances of the two of you. He knows he shouldn't hope, when a night drowned in alcohol remembers nothing. Yet, the way your eyes seem to tell him something, he hopes to cling onto whatever was left in his pride.

“Good morning,” he spoke, aware of his morning voice now, “I apologize that you had to be the one to cook.”

“N-no, it's alright! The robots mostly did the work. I merely supported them.”

“Still,” he slowly approached you, timid footsteps leading to you, “the fact that you treat them as if they're human too speaks a lot.”

“It's even a surprise that they show no hostility to you. They are trained to fend off those who are unfamiliar in the household.”

“Commandant [Y/N] is welcomed.” the robot from earlier chirped, “helped us with housework.”

“Mr. Smith also invited me here once in a while to talk about politics.” You shrugged, opting to pat the robot once more, “I just did a favor for them.”

You nodded to it, to which it purrs in your touch. Satisfied, it happily trots away, probably deciding to work elsewhere.

Another silence. You've decided to go back and finish cooking the food, but the fire had long been doused (probably from the advancement of this stove?). Chrome wants to talk, yet no words could be formulated in his head. After the agonizing long silence, you took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

“I remember what happened last night.”

Chrome freezes. He looks up to meet your guilty eyes looking elsewhere. “You do?”

“I...am regretful that I puked on you. That's why I decided to clean up here as an exchange.”

Ah, so you don't remember what happened afterwards. Chrome's heart sinks, before noticing you looking away, and a creeping blush on your cheeks.

“I...also remember that I asked you to take a bath with me.”

Memories of last night came crashing over his M.I.N.D. The garden, the bed, the bathtub, the hair dryer, and your skin — all a mixture of things that only makes him go haywire. His blush mirrors yours; that means one more thing.

“I also remember telling you how I feel.” You began, “and I...”

The sinker comes. And Chrome's heartbeat isn't sure now. But you - you approached him, eyes down, figure covered, but reaching out to him. With shallow breaths, you raised your hand to his chest, before looking up. And there - your eyes meet his. Same innocent, shimmering eyes looking at him with vigor, with enchantment; he forgets how to breathe.

“I like you, Chrome.”

You've said it once more. Sober, genuine, and true. And it breaks Chrome's heart into pieces, folded and mashed into dough, before it forms in the shape of a heart. You've set the oven now; his feelings are ready to be baked, ready to be eaten - and he wants you. No, he needs you to be the one to take it.

“I still like you, even when I'm drunk or sober. I want to be with you all the time. I want you, Chrome. I want you to be part of the future that I am building.”

Wordlessly, he captures your hips and pulls you close, him leaning down just so the proximity knows no bounds. He feels your breath ghost his lips, your heartbeat in his ribcage - it beats, and beats, and beats so loudly he forgets you're in the kitchen at daylight; in a house he's grown up with no love, but he's here now. Creating a love that no Smith can forge.

“A concrete object made of materials and information, whose borders are continuously constructed and reconstructed,” said the definition for 'Smith'. He could live in that definition forever, but what about Chrome?

“I am forging a new one.” He whispers, “I am...bridging the new future with you.”

Your eyes are shining, and there he knew-

“I like you, too, [Y/N].”

If only bodies were capable of seeing what's happening underneath, a cadenza ringing in Chrome's heart, beating furiously for you, only you. You smiled, a mischievous gaze written across your face.

“Does the offer about me doing anything I want when I'm sober still stand?”

He smiles back. “Of course.”

“I want to kiss you.”

Tiptoeing to reach Chrome's height, you craned your neck and tugged his shoulder. But Chrome is kind; he hoists you up by the hips, capturing your lips in an instant.

Sweet is a word to describe the first kiss Chrome shared with someone in his life. Forget the war, forget that you're on the kitchen island; it's only two lovers baring their adoration for one another, sharing a kiss blessed in daylight. It's warm, it's soft, it's needy - the way you both melt into each other, how you wrapped your arms around his neck, or how his hands are holding you up. Enchanted, Chrome's M.I.N.D. echoes, it's really enchanting.

Satiated, you both pull away, breathless, as your foreheads touch. He doesn't let you go, though. You (unfortunately) do, when the other kitchen door opens, a parade of little robots bursting through the door.

You cheer as the little robots go through the surprise: a small banner written "Happy Birthday!" hastily, and the cake you baked earlier with the robots. Chrome looks at you confused, before noticing what the parade had brought.

“How-”

“Happy birthday, Chrome,” You beamed, hands cupping his cheeks, “you deserve the celebration.”

“Thank you.” He whispers on your chin, leaving little kisses there, “I really appreciate this...I appreciate you.”

“You should enjoy today.” You winked, “my birthday present to you is for later.”

“Later?”

You squeezed his arm. He blushes. “Yes, later.”

Chrome is thankful his heart doesn't need to somersault out of his chest now. At least, until later.

HAPPY LATE ACTIVATION DAY CHROME!!!!!! please like, reblog, share, comment down on this post! don't copy and plagiarize my work!!

[notmorbid]

greta & valdin.

dialogue prompts from greta & valdin by rebecca k. reilly.

you can fuck right off.

i don't like reading about people being in love with each other.

maybe, in retrospect, that should have been a red flag.

no one wants to go to work. you just have to.

sometimes i think i can gain control by doing everything right.

no one wants to hear your sob story.

i better now that you're here.

what are you doing here? has something terrible happened?

you'd hate it if i died.

i want to live vicariously through your drama.

sorry you had to come and rescue me.

i know it's weird. it's best not to think about it much.

thank you for being my friend. even when i was terrible.

there are pockets of time where nobody likes to talk about what happened.

i'm good now. better than i've ever been.

have you always been like this?

do you ever feel like you've done wrong by your kids?

you know who you look like?

my only advice is to marry rich and don't get trapped in a shithole.

what did you do while i was gone?

what did you do while you were away?

now i just live my life and try not to die. people seem amused enough.

i don't hate you. i'm in love with you.

well, it's my story. you asked for it.

you're never embarrassed.

i'm going to be focused on my career. like a woman in a 1990s movie.

would you like to hear my speech? i think i still remember it.

we're all strange, emotional people here.

you don't want any weed, do you?

i know you only listen to sad men prancing around in singlets.

being gay used to be fun. and illegal. and dangerous.

did you ever have a dream of what your life would turn out like?

your generation knows better than to have dreams.

have you been in love before?

some things we talk about all the time, and other things we don't talk about it at all.

i don't like to publicly announce my feelings.

thank you for talking to me.

are your parents together? what's your mom like?

what's your favorite ____ song?

could you stop sassing me for a second and listen to my story?

my vibe hasn't matched anyone else's all day.

you never seem nervous about anything.

everyone should be allowed to have secrets.

what was it like meeting my parents?

i have no idea what you like anymore.

you've become a sad portrait of masculinity.

you should write a book about flirting.

i would have loved you, anyway.

how much does love really matter in this economy?

i feel very far away from everything.

you have no idea how much people love you.

i shouldn't have thought those things about you.

people have all sorts of different reactions to their circumstances.

since when do you ever tell anyone how you really feel?

i just want to be happy. maybe see some things i haven't seen before.

you can talk to me about anything, any time. i won't judge you.

sometimes things happen and you just have to go with them.

do you think i'd be a good parent?

i have to tell you something before anyone else does.

sometimes you don't have to tell people everything. you just have to trust them.

sometimes people give me too much leeway just because they're glad i'm not dead.

what's going on? do i need to call an underhanded coroner?

i just freaked out and started baking.

my life changed when i met you.

it's hard to do shots from a wine glass, it turns out.

how can you really know what anyone else is thinking?

when you love someone, you have to trust them.

there's something in our line of sight that we shouldn't be privy to.

i'm sorry i told you you're shit at driving.

i would always rather know than have you spare my feelings, even when it's hard.

you're not the bad person you think you are.

[limeade-l3sbian]

Some time ago, before I cut contact with my dad, I would often contemplate his mindset. Not of why he was so lackluster in all manners of fatherhood but about his unbiased, objective few of me as a girl and, now, a woman.

On some obligatory level, I know my dad loves me. I think his perspective of what makes someone a “good Christian” demands this of him. And in a small percentage of the time we spent together, he might love me for the child he knew. And to hear that a father loses interest in his daughter when she grows up/develops the ability to defy and to think is not a new experience. There were telltale signs of it coming so I was fully prepared. But I expected a casual indifference when we got to the point we are now. He would lie about me to the family and retain his desperate image of a father “trying his best.” Like I said, I saw it coming years before.

But it didn't really play like that. Because while he definitely began to detach, there was this frustration and rage in his eyes when he spoke to me. When I called him out. When I didn't just shrug off what he said. He was so angry when I threatened to stop talking to him for a while and followed through. As a child, he couldn't understand why I chose to live with my mom in a homeless shelter over staying with him and his now ex-wife. And there are a handful of family facts and personal history that I won't just spill but I know for a fact play a part in this. I was more interested in his objective perspective of me, like I said.

And to be frank? My dad loves me in a very superficial way, but in no way likes me. My family is the type that say “blood is thicker than water” no matter what. Generations of abuse and neglect founded on the back of “respect” that is inherited rather than earned. My mom was the first to make me challenge that, and I think my dad resents her for that to this day. 

When I was younger, I considered him cool. Especially since he seemed supportive of my feminist ideology that I garnered very early on by just being with my mom. My thoughts then and now? How can a woman's place only be by a man's side when my mom has given me as much of the world as she can without one? I just wasn't buying. But he always told me he wanted me to be independent and strong. So I can give him that credit. No one in my life ever told me I couldn't be whatever I wanted to be, and that is a real blessing I don't take lightly.

But his support had a veil of contrasting expectations. I didn't have to wear makeup…but I should have my hair pressed or braided. I could wear pants instead of skirts…but you need to ask your mom to teach you how to shave. The role models he thrusted upon me were strong figures still deeply layered under a presentation that was appealing, especially to him. To him, they were still “women.” Strong but ever willing to submit. 

And his support always came with imaginings. When I inevitably became rich, he would joke that I could get him things. When I won a writing award as a kid, he didn't drive me home for twenty minutes until he finished boasting to his friend about me. He thought I was the most intelligent person he'd ever met. If I could just stop being so disagreeable and more presentable then the world would be my oyster.

And as an adult, hearing him speak, I could finally understand why my average intelligence seemed like such a world shattering achievement. Because to my father, I was intelligent in spite of being born female. I immediately thought back to all his interactions with women. How they were either dismissive or lewd. How he rolled his eyes when my stepmom would demand basic respect from him. And I'd laugh with him. [Go ahead and insert infamous quote about how it will not save the daughter.]

His perception of women was secondary. Adam's rib. He wanted to raise me as Eve and felt (and feels) cursed that he was bound by blood to Lilith. And the only Christian thing to do is spend the rest of his life trying to change me. And when I came out, that thin smile of support from him told me that he felt his ability to control not just slipping, but being yanked. I did not recognize men as authority. His only card he had and has left is that we are bound forever by blood.

But I don't care about blood. The water of strangers and women in my life and in this community has carried me further in life than blood ever has or, at this point, ever will. 

[direwolfrules]

Oh my fairy godmother I am so happy you are post about Ever After High!!! Do you have any fanfic or au ideas involving them? Like, what if one character had another destiny or what if they were in the Star Wars universe?! It’s just interesting to think about!

Hey! Glad to see we share another fandom interest!

So, I have this barebones post for what I would have done as a crossover between g1 Monster High and Ever After High.

As for general fanfic ideas I have a few. I shall now list them in varying levels of detail:

1. A Very Charming Groundhog Day Year:

Basically, the Charming siblings time loop back from a bit after Dragon Games but before Epic Winter to the day before the school year started (the day of the Family Ball in the books). While it would be kinda angsty, the best time loop fics are usually crack fics, and this would be no exception (if I ever wrote any of these things).

So Daring, Dexter, and Darling are all initially in states of panic and anxiety. Daring, he was in the middle of a quarter-life crisis and now has to deal with everyone and their fairy godmother thinking he's Apple's Prince Charming.

"Daring Charming, more like Distressed Charming, am I right?"-- Dexter, who should get to exhibit asshole little brother energy more often, as a treat.

Speaking of Dexter, he's panicking cause of all the awful stuff that's going to happen during the school year and also because now he has to go through the nerve-racking ordeal of asking out the girl he likes all over again.

Darling's in hell because everyone and their fairy godmother expect her to be this perfect little damsel, again, which is just- ugh. There are days she wishes she could carry her sword around with her, and they're most days. Also, she never got to talk to Apple about their True Love's CPR, which is just tragic.

The loops go on for a while, some constants in them include: Darling freeing herself and helping little Good-Enough Charming get one of their grandfather's trophies for the scavenger hunt, Dexter and Darling teaming up to kill the changeling and free cousin Charity (sometimes Daring helps but he's content to let his siblings have fun for once), Darling accidentally on purpose flirting with Apple and Apple experiencing several degrees of gay panic, Dexter fumbling asking out Raven for the first time (he's really such a dork, just a funky dude), and the Charming Siblings teaming up to make Milton Grimm's life a living hell.

In one loop they secretly film him playing with his toy unicorns and his action figure of himself and they hijack Blondie's mirrorcast to play it to the entire school.

After several loops a Monster High crossover happens, and so in every loop after that the Charming sibs, who have grown incredibly gremlin-like after experiencing the insanity of the school several dozen times, make sure to drop monster slang when it's just them and Cupid. Like:

Darling: "Wow, Cupid, that top looks clawsome."

Daring: "Totally, it's freaky fierce."

Cupid: "What?!"

Darling: "That top looks nice on you. Anyway, we gotta run."

Dexter: "Yeah, see you later ghoulfriend!"

I have some other half-baked ideas for this one but it'd probably be it's own post.

2. Murdoch Mysteries-ish AU:

This one makes no sense if you've never watched the hit Canadian Detective Show, Murdoch Mysteries. Or maybe it makes some sense, idk. Instead of a modern AU, we have a 1895 detective AU. It's barely an idea, I have no idea if I'd even keep this in the fantasy setting of (an 1895) Ever After or not.

Dexter is the Detective William Murdoch of this AU, the man with no game and beautiful blue eyes who women keep inexplicably falling in love with. He's observant and a little strange but he's also a brilliant detective. One of the major differences though is Dexter is the disowned son of old money parents.

Raven's the Dr. Julia Ogden, the outspoken, independent, and compassionate coroner helping solve cases and being amazing. Her rich, controlling mother doesn't much approve of her life choices but old Mrs. Queen can suck it. Raven and Detective Charming have a clearly mutual attraction but they're both hesitant to act on it cause what's a romance without a good slow-burn.

Hopper's the Constable George Crabtree of this AU. Listen, the everyday George matches Hopper's human side, and writer George matches Hopper's frog side. I will not elaborate, because I really cannot. Just feel the vibes, cause the words aren't coming.

I'm not 100% sure who'd be the Inspector Brackenreid. Part of me kinda wants to make it Professor Badwolf, and then I could make Milton Grimm the asshole commissioner. Coach Gingerbreadman is the Inspector of Station 5, the rivals of Station 4.

Daring is heir to the Charming family fortune. Golden boy, everyone loves him, wants more than anything to be able to talk to his little brother in public, but their parents would disown him as well if he stepped out of line.

Apple is one of Raven's housemates at Sisters boarding house, run by Bella and Brutta Sister. She was once courted by Daring, it was at the point where people were expecting an engagement announcement any day. That's when they suddenly broke it off, with no explanation (the explanation is Daring's in love with another girl and Apple's in love with his sister). Snow White and her husband barely agreed to let her move into the boarding house, I honestly have no clue how Apple managed to pull that off but good for her.

Idk, Darling's a vigilante. She's got the same deductive genius as Dexter, she just doesn't have the same ability to join the police force. Inspector Badwolf is tired of his cops being outdone by the mysterious White Knight (yeah, yeah, I made Darling into Victorian-era Batman). Couldn't the White Knight patrol Station 5's territory? (The answer is no, because Darling really wants to catch a glimpse of her twin and also because Sisters Boarding house is in Station 4's territory and sometimes she likes to secretly crash with her girlfriend).

3. The Destiny Cycle AU (AKA: Ever After High but the Rebel Movement is an actual Rebellion AU):

What it says on the tin. Raven discovers the book is fake before Legacy Day. Her and Dexter, who in this AU is believed to be Ashlynn's future Prince Charming because someone made a good post about the potential dynamics that could cause and I love it, set out to uncover what other secrets those in charge are hiding.

Basically, in this AU Ever After is a dystopia where the Royal Families tied the survival of their dynasties' rule to their stories. Like, magically tied them. The Fates themselves have been bound by the magic of the Destiny Cycle. Ever After's Destiny-bound citizens are forced to repeat the same stories as their ancestors, all because Happily Ever After doesn't include a revolt or the institution of democracy. All stories are repeated as a precaution against anyone figuring out what the ancestors of the Royal Families did.

Taking some inspiration from the SDCC Raven Queen doll's letter from her mother, the Evil Queen discovered the truth about the Destiny Cycle, said "not my kid you bastards", and proceeded to try to break the Cycle's bonds. Her taking over other stories and cursing Wonderland was an attempt to stretch the probability bonds of the Destiny Cycle's magic to the breaking point.

Stuff's gonna go down and basically these kids know time is running out until there's a war, cause the only way to avoid being offered up as a lamb to the slaughter is to overthrow the whole system.

God, I really gotta make this into it's own post as well now. But here's a basic rundown of some stuff I'd include:

Dexter and Raven being young and in love and just all the secret romance feels

Snow White knows about the Destiny Cycle, but Apple absolutely does not know.

Apple being born blonde is a sign that the Evil Queen's schemes loosened the grip of the Destiny Cycle, at least for a moment.

Ashlynn, Hunter, Dexter, and Raven as secret rebel leaders.

The backgrounders will have actual roles dammit! (Looking at you Lawrence Bonecrusher III, aka Orc Boy).

An exploration of artificial Destiny Cycle "True Love" vs. real True Love, featuring Apple, Daring, and Darling.

C.A. Cupid, sent by her godly family to infiltrate Ever After and cure it of the Destiny Cycle, because it's interfering in the domains of the gods.

A unique Monster High crossover idea that I will elaborate on in another post.

These children absolutely end up having to kill someone and it scars them forever.

As for different destinies AUs or Star Wars AUs, I haven't really given them much thought.

I think, in a Star Wars setting (possibly Old Republic?), Raven would be a Jedi padawan descended from a long line of Sith. Instead of Mirror Prison, her mom is dead and her Force Ghost is bound to a giant, mirrorlike piece of kyber crystal. Uh, not 100% sure who her master would be.

Darling would also be a Jedi padawan, and Maid Marian would be her Master. Maid Marian gets into custody battles over this kid with this old Jedi Watchman known only as The White Knight. She'd still have her time-slowing hair flip, in this AU it's just a unique way of activating the Force Slow ability.

[sixofpomegranates]

☠︎ Tutor ☠︎

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Carver!Fem!Reader

Word count: 13K (it's a long one | That's what she said.)

Summary: Trading tutoring for guitar lessons, Reader’s hopeless crush on the towns freak doesn't seem so hopeless after all.

☞ Picture does not describe the looks of the reader!

A/N: !Body & Skin color Neutral! Reader! IMPORTANT: Jason is also still alive. Reader is Jason's cousin and grew up with Robin as her best friend. They worked together with Steve at Scoops Ahoy.

CW: Smut, Fluff, Angst 18+| Eddie (Bullying/Self-Deprecation/Feeling of not being good enough) It is implied that Eddie has ADHD or is at least in the spectrum, [y/n] (Rich Parents not supporting your dreams/Shady family wealth-white supremacists) Mentions of Vecna/Chrissy/S4/Near-death experience/Scars/Nightmares, Pining, Drugs & use of (Weed), Making-out, Fingering, Penetrative Sex (Virginity/Loss of virginity, Unprotected, Creampie)

Pinning my tutoring flyer on the board in school, I sigh. Another year of tutoring to have more than this couple of peanuts my parents consider my pocket money, I guess.

Fun fact, it's called pocket money because it's little enough to fit in your pockets, even if Dad gives it to you in pennies.

But okay, I want something, I'm eighteen, and I am able to earn the money for it. Sure, my uncle and aunt just bought Jason a new car because our family name's soaked in wealth, and apparently, we think that the price of a dead girlfriend is exactly the same as for an Audi 5000CS Turbo Quattro; but okay...

If anyone in my family would know that the disaster that was March and the giant earthquake were actually a real-life boogie man coming to collect teens; and that there was something the kids I tutored over the last years called 'The Upside Down', I'd get my guitar lessons paid within the blink of an eye...

But Robin, Steve, and Nancy were very clear about why I've got to keep it to myself.

So no hero status or guitar lessons for me, only tutoring either a child that Steve will adopt the second it comes into his five-mile radius or a stupid jock that will try flirting with me every session and stare at my cleavage instead of his books.

Simply not fair.

As somebody reaches past me to grab my flyer, I jump so severely that my headphones fall off my ears, and the smell of marihuana fills my nose.

"Jesus," I mutter, turning to the person behind me and meeting the face of Hawkins's most hated man. Eddie Munson.

March has fucked up everyone; me being particularly jumpy and having my walkman on all the time is actually one of the better outcomes.

Eddie is now hated by most. They couldn't link him to a satanic cult (Just officially named him a freak and loser that likes dungeons and dragons, which seems to be a gateway drug to demon worshipping now...) and with the government and Chief Hopper's help, they also stopped trying to convict him of Chrissy's murder, but the town hates him.

They still believe he has something to do with it, whether proven innocent or not.

How he still makes it through the day, a big smile on his lips, truly baffles me.

"So, you're tutoring?" he asks, not looking up from my flyer. I nod. "Yeah, need the money."

"You only tutor the freshmen or..." "Everyone's welcome," I smile, turning off my music. "Even the full-on, nonconformist metalheads."

Cocking his head, he raises his eyebrows. "You really think you could help me pass chemistry with Kaminsky?"

"Depends." "On what?" I grin. "If you pay for your lessons."

Faking a heartbroken reaction, he giggles. "And that after I saved you from being demobat food. I'm a hero, y'know?"

Shrugging, I pin another flyer on the board. "Well, Munson, what can I say? We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl."

Eddie pulls a face as though he is about to vomit. "Gross, don't Madonna me."

"I Madonna as much as I like to," I laugh, punching his chest gently. "So, chemistry, anything else you'd need help with?"

That is when the bell announces lunch. I watch the metalhead tense up before me but still trying to play it cool.

"Uhm, we can talk about it while having lunch," I offer, but he shakes his head. "Nah, I- They throw stuff at me when I enter the cafeteria, so I'll just relax outside a little," he tells me, still smiling, but his eyes can't hide anything.

He's afraid.

"Yeah, sure," I smile back. "After school?"

The hallway starts to fill with students, and Eddie becomes visibly uneasy. He already begins removing himself from the conversation, turning around only to lift his flyer. "After school," he calls over to me and vanishes in the crowd.

*****

After school, I wait outside for Eddie, having him see me and smile from afar, ditching Dusting and Mike while they're still talking to him and running up to me.

"Hey, Carver," he says teasingly, making me smile. "Hey, Edward."

He nods, knowing he deserves the comeback. "You shall be forgiven."

"Okay, business talk. What classes do you need help with?" I ask, looking around. My parents insist on my cousin driving me home for safety, and I really want to avoid Jason seeing me with Eddie.

"Well, chemistry is currently the biggest problem. Have you heard of Kaminsky's All-or-Nothing Test?" I nod. "That's the one you have to take if you screwed up every other test-" Realization washes over me. "Oh, Eddie."

He smiles at me apologetically, cheeks turning a little pink.

"Why didn't you say something earlier? I- We could've studied together."

He shrugs. "To be fair, I know we were in the Upside Down together and stuff, but I didn't think we'd know each other enough to ask."

True, we don't. I'd only ever seen Eddie from afar in school or at the mall. And before all hell broke loose with Chrissy's death and those bat-things nearly killing him, I'd actually been massively intimidated by him.

He is loud, handsome, and definitely a little crazy; that had been enough to keep me away.

But since the Upside Down... That place and all that comes with it – let's just say it helps you forget your social status and makes you become allies even with the handsomely crazy ones.

"I- I still would've helped you if you'd asked. You have to graduate this year, or else-" He interrupts me. "I know. I just didn't want to be a burden. Like, 'Oh, you killed a bat for me, now I have to study with you.'"

"You're not a burden, Munson," I tell him, looking into his warm, brown eyes.

"Heard different things before, and you only say that because you haven't tried studying with me yet," he grins. "So, how much per lesson?"

"How bout a deal?" I ask him back before all bravery can leave me. Eddie's lips split into a gorgeous but mischievous smile. "Oh, I'm good at dealing."

"I swear if you pull out your lunch-" Before I can end my sentence, he's already pulled out the black metal box containing his drugs.

"Eddie, you're not paying me with drugs," I tell him sternly, forcing him to put the lunchbox back into his backpack.

"It's good stuff," he tries to assure me, but I shake my head, hardly able to bite back a grin. "And I still don't want it."

After a final try at handing me the metal box, he shrugs, putting it away.

"You play guitar, right?" I ask him as if I haven't been part of the most metal concert the Upside Down has ever experienced. "How bought instead of paying me, you teach me? I wanted to take classes with that money anyway."

He blinks at me a couple of times before letting out a loud, excited laugh. "Y-Yeah. Totally. I- I taught it myself, so if I can learn it, you can learn it."

"Cool," I answer. He scratches the back of his head, echoing me, "Cool."

We stare at each other for a moment, somehow not knowing what to say. God, this is awkward, isn't it? Am I making it awkward?

Quickly clearing my throat, I announce, "I'm babysitting Mike and Holly tonight, and the Wheelers always allow me to bring company. So, bring your books, and we'll see how bad the situation actually is."

Eddie smiles, as he almost always does. It is actually quite distracting. "Okay. Uhm, then I meet you there at...?"

"Six," I blurt out, then giggle a little anxious. "Six. Great," he chuckles in reply.

Before either of us can say another word, our attention is drawn to a small group of jocks, Jason being their leader, on their way to us and their cars.

"I'm gonna drive the kids home," Eddie tells me, still smiling as if he could hide the real reason he wants to leave. I grant him the illusion of having fooled me, smiling, "Okay. See you tonight."

I watch him hurry away, get Mike, Lucas, and Dustin – including their bikes – into his van, and drive off. Jason rushes now closer, having seen us from afar. He lays his arm around my shoulder, pulling me uncomfortably close.

Maybe I'd felt safe being protected by him when I was five, but now I only see the always returning, dangerous paranoia in him. The way he brutally beat Lucas, saying he protected Max but left them both behind as the Upside Down ripped through the old Creel house... He isn't the same person he was before Chrissy died anymore.

"Hey, was the freak bothering you?" I struggle out of Jason's hold, walking to his car. "No, he wasn't, and don't call him that."

He opens the car, throwing his backpack into the backseat. "Come one, [y/n]. You know this guy's a satanic cult leader and murderer. Think of what he did to Chrissy."

It always spins back to this. It always becomes religious. Religion, whichever you pick, can be beautiful, but unstable people will always find a way to turn it into a weapon for their insane reasoning.

"He didn't do a thing to Chrissy, and you know it," I tell Jason, hating that I can't just explain everything to him. I honestly don't even think he would believe me. He's too far gone.

"I know what I saw," he insists as we sit in the car, harshly gripping my wrist. "Around him, things happen. Strange things, evil things."

His fixation on Eddie never eased, even after he was proven innocent. Jason believes in everything being the fault of the sweet metalhead, simply because he was in the wrong place, with the wrong person, at the wrong time.

"You need some serious therapy before this whole town joins your bullshit again, and we have a second Salem witch trial on our hands," I snarl at my cousin, ripping my wrist from his grasp.

The more delusional he becomes, the more violent even his slightest actions become.

"I'm just watching out for you," Jason tries to explain, driving out of the school's parking lot. "Do me a favor and don't," I ask of him, looking out of the window.

My conversation-ending tone, however, isn't enough for him. As if he could frighten me with his tough-guy act, he threatens, "Stay away from Munson, or I'm telling your parents."

I nod. "Well, in that case, I'm telling Aunt Iris and Uncle Frank of how you faked a house break-in to hide the aftermath of your School's Out Party '84."

The discussion finally dies. Jason turns on the radio, listening to the religious station he's recently so obsessed with, and I continue staring out the window, watching cars pass us by.

*****

After getting Holly to say goodbye to her parents, I tuck her in and walk into Nancy's bedroom. I sit beside Robin on the bed while Nancy does her makeup at her vanity.

"Hey, Nance? You think you could borrow me your notes for Kaminsky's class?" I ask as she is done putting on mascara.

"Yeah, here," she smiles, handing me her pink folder. "So you're really tutoring tonight instead of going out with us?"

I roll my eyes, laughing. "And I am babysitting, so you can go out."

"And we're very thankful for that," Robin snickers, styling the mane of the little plush zebra on Nancy's bed. "So, who's the poor soul fucking up chemistry?"

"Eddie," I answer, looking at the folder to avoid meeting their eyes.

"Oh, so it's that kind of a study date," Nancy says, and I meet her grin through the mirror.

"What? No. He needs help with Kaminsky's All-or-Nothing Test, and in exchange, he'll teach me how to play guitar," I begin explaining myself, but Robin nudges my arm, rolling on her back.

"Funny, 'cause when Steve needed tutoring, you were very clear about not being into trades, even when he offered you free ice cream."

"She's right," Nancy giggles, agreeing with Robin.

"No, she's not. I worked at Scoops myself, so I didn't need free ice cream. Eddie plays guitar exceptionally well, and I wanted to pay for classes with the money I would've earned. Two birds with one stone."

"And it has nothing to do with you having the hots for Munson?" Robin asks me deadpanned, and I fall silent. I feel my face heat up and shake my head.

Rolling back onto her stomach, Robin smacks my arm. "Oh, come on. [y/n], we grew up together. Journey, Led Zepplin, Dio, Black Sabbath... The phase when we were thirteen, and you were dead set on marrying Eddie Van Halen? How you drooled every time Munson passed Scoops when we were working?"

Nancy laughs loudly, and I shrug, regretting always telling Robin everything, although I know she can't keep secrets for longer than thirty minutes.

"So... I may have a type. That doesn't mean I have the hots for Eddie," I blatantly lie, Robin raising her eyebrows and grinning at me. "Which Eddie? Ours or Van Halen?"

"Fuck you," I cuss, making her only hug me and laugh at the fact that I never really curse.

Knocking on the door, Steve comes in, scanning Nancy up and down. "Hey, are you ready to leave? Mike is talking to El on the phone, and I'm getting really bored alone downstairs."

She nods, and so we all make our way downstairs. I send Mike to his room, telling him to call Eleven from the phone upstairs and walk to the front door with my friends.

Steve opens the door, almost bumping into Eddie, who was about to knock. "Munson," Steve says, surprised. "Harrington," Eddie replies, also greeting the other two. "Robin, Nancy."

His eyes fall on me, and I smile, "Hey. You got your books?" He nods, lifting his black backpack. I step aside, letting him in, "The living room's to the left. I'll be there in a second."

As Eddie can't hear us anymore, Robin grins, wiggling her eyebrows.

I ignore her. "Bye, guys. Have fun." "You too. Do nothing I wouldn't do," she cackles. I raise a brow as she hugs me. "Do I need to remind you that you're gay?"

Sticking her tongue out at me, she drags Steve to the car, Nancy already warming it up.

"Isn't Eddie coming with us?" he asks, confused, Robin wiggling her eyebrows again. "He and [y/n] are having a study date."

Steve's mom-mode kicks in the second he hears that. "Should we stay and help them study?" "Go to the movies," I insist. "Please, I can't work with you eyeing us down."

"You're staying in the living room and do nothing any of us would do. Except for Nancy. You can do what Nancy does," Steve tells me sternly.

I raise my eyebrows. "So, I'm allowed to have a shotgun and shoot Vecna?"

"No?" he asked me as though I'm completely nuts. "You can study. Nothing else."

"Yeah, no dirty couch sex," Robing calls over, making Nancy look mortified. "Robin," she exclaims, then looks at me with a pleading gaze, "Please don't have sex on my couch."

"I hate all three of you," I tell them, closing the front door just in time to hear Robin call after me, "Nah, you love us."

Shaking my head, I return to the living room, where Eddie is busy walking and looking around.

As he notices me, he grins. "I like this place." I smile back. "Yeah, the Wheelers have good taste."

Stretching his arms out, he spins slowly in the living room. "It's so big. I mean, look at this. All of this is the living room, and nobody sleeps here."

"Your uncle sleeps on the couch?" I ask without thinking, quickly regretting my question.

Eddie's cheeks become red, and he stops what he's doing. "Folding bed, but it's a good one..." he tries assuring me, voice falling flat with embarrassment.

I smile at him, sitting down on the carpet and unpacking my study materials on the coffee table. Grabbing his hand, I make Eddie sit beside me and hand him Nancy's pink folder.

"Y-You have a pretty handwriting," he compliments me while flipping through it. "Oh, those are Nancy's notes. She's so anal about them," I tell him, handing him some of my notes for comparison. "That's mine. Not that clean."

After staring at them for a few seconds, he looks at me. "Huh. Like yours better."

"Charmer," I say, my face becoming hot again. To distract, I hand Eddie my chemistry book. "Here."

"What are we doing?" Eddie asks as I hand him a bunch of sticky notes.

"We're transferring my notes into your book. I like to use those to write down simplifications, extra notes, and explanations, and then I stick them on my pages. I also color-coordinate the highlighter I use with the color of my sticky notes. I believe it's more comfortable to learn if it's easier on the eyes..."

Feeling Eddie stare at me, I stop talking, look back at him, and ask, "What?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "Nothing, just... thanks."

*****

"Wrong again. Maybe we should focus on-" After hours, I finally feel my patience running thin. "Eddie?"

"Huh?" He asks as though he hasn't been staring at me for the last five minutes.

Fuck, am I so boring that he starts zoning out?

"I was talking to you. I- Can you please try to concentrate?" I ask him, smiling, trying not to sound offended.

He nods, stretching a little before leaning over our books again. "Totally. Yeah. Sure. Sorry."

As he answers the question wrong again, a deep frown appears on his face. I sigh, putting my pen down. "Okay. How bout a break? I'll need to get Mike to go to bed anyway."

He nods, almost relieved, and I make my way upstairs. After some debating and a non-verbal threat, I take the phone out of Mike's room, and it's lights out as his parents requested. I know he'll still stay up some hours reading his comics, but I'm willing to let that slip.

When I come back into the living room, Eddie's gone. Instead, he sits outside on the porch, smoking.

"Hey, is that marihuana?" Of course, it is. He smiles at me charmingly. "It's just a little pot to help me concentrate," he says as if I wasn't about to jump his throat.

A wave of anger rushes over me. "Are you even taking the whole thing seriously? I mean, I've been sitting in there for three and a half hours, trying to teach you something, and the first chance you get, you run outside to get high."

I walk back inside, starting to pack my stuff. I apparently thought too highly of Eddie due to my years of crushing on him. I should've known he wasn't taking it seriously, but I just made a fool out of myself.

I hear fast footsteps behind me. "Hey, hey, [y/n]. Look, I'm sorry. I really just smoked some to concentrate." I turn around, and Eddie steps closer, pleading, "[y/n], please. I have no reason to lie to you. I promise I want to learn."

"Didn't seem like it," I murmur, and he nods.

"I- I know. It's- I struggle to focus, always have. If something isn't interesting enough, my brain just shuts off and then does silly little things it finds more interesting – like counting the little daisies on your top."

We both look down on my shirt and then at each other.

"Please, let's try it again. I swear, no more drugs, and you get me on my best behavior," he asks of me, giving me this distracting big smile again while he cups my cheeks.

"Okay," I nod, without even thinking twice. "Okay?" I nod again. "Okay, Munson. Sit down."

We sit back down, and for the next minutes, I could swear he tries really hard. But as we start working on a practicing sheet with many questions on it, his concentration seems to crumble again.

"I- I'm sorry. I think I mixed the questions up," Eddie mumbles, angry at himself.

"You always keep looking down on the next question while solving the one above," I observe, and he nods. I hand him an empty piece of paper. "Here, try that."

He holds it up, confused. "A piece of paper?" I take it, laying it over his worksheet. "As a divider. We cover the next questions, so you can't look at them."

From here on out, it actually seems to work. Yet, I yawn, exhausted from the hours of work before.

"I'm hopeless, aren't I?" Eddie asks, grinning at me. "No. I'm just tired," I answer. "You're actually doing well."

His grin becomes wider. "I so do not believe you." He gives me a gentle shove, making me giggle, "I'm serious. Especially now that we stopped you from mixing up the questions."

"Do you think I'll pass the test?" This time Eddie seems more serious; there is no smile on his face that would indicate that he has any hopes for it. "If you study enough... I mean, Kaminsky's tests are super hard, but like, I'll help you as much as you need me to."

"Nice way to say that I'm fucked, Sweetheart," he coos, hand moving up to my face again. His cold rings burn on my hot cheeks. "You have to study for your own finals. I can't have you hold my hand through my own mess."

"Eddie, I have my studies down and don't mind helping you," I tell him, although I'd rather whine as he removes his hand. I wish he would've left it there.

"Hey, you know what my mom made me do whenever I wanted to achieve something?" I ask him, taking one of Holly's green sheets of crafting paper and folding it in half. "Goal cards. Write down the reason you want to graduate."

"The reason? I'd say because I'm twenty and can't repeat class again?" He deadpans, making me shake my head.

"Not like that. I meant the hopes you have." Licking my lips, I admit, "Like, when I was thirteen, I made one, saying I wanted to learn how to play guitar. Inside I wrote that I was doing it to become a famous musician and marry Eddie Van Halen. Even glued a picture of him in it."

Eddie is quiet for a moment, then bursts into laughter. I shove him. "Stop laughing. I'm trying to help you here."

He nods, whipping away some tears, "Uh-huh." "Fuck you," I tell him in fake appall.

Eddie collects himself, shoving me back and mocking me, "Oh, such big words from such a proper little lady."

As calmness returns to the room, he grabs his pen and the card, opening it. He stares at it for a while, pen ever so often pushing onto the paper, but no words come out.

"Do I have to write it down?" he asks me, a little defeated, this time without a smile. "If you want, you can tell me, and I'll write it down for you," I offer, and he hands it over to me.

Eddie is silent for a while, caught in deep thoughts. Suddenly he says, "I- I want to graduate, so I'm not ending up like my dad."

I look up at him, not yet writing. He continues to explain himself, "He dropped out, married his high school sweetheart, and just barely got by with petty crimes or – you know – selling drugs and stealing cars. Then mom died, and he just spiraled, became violent..."

As his voice loses its strength, I ask, "Where's he now?"

Eddie shrugs. "Does it matter? Prison? Maybe dead?" he says. "Uncle Wayne took me in after CPS contacted him about my dad breaking my arm when he was high... He told his younger brother to fuck off, and we haven't heard from him since."

We're quiet. I don't know what to say. I can't even remember his parents. I only know the version of Eddie that he is now.

"I changed my mind," he then says, tapping on his goal card. "Write that I wanna be a better nephew to Wayne... Don't wanna be a burden anymore, a fuck-up."

I shake my head. "Eddie, you're not a burden. Your uncle loves you."

He nods. "And I only disappoint him. I can't even fucking finish high school. I sit in my room all day, preparing for my D&D campaigns or playing guitar. I sell drugs to assholes that love beating the crap out of me for being a freak, and now I am also a satanic cult leader with demonic powers that murdered Chrissy and two other guys I didn't even know... Yeah, [y/n]. I totally don't sound like a burden."

I'm shocked at how low Eddie seems to actually think of himself. Behind this always smiling and joking façade, there seem to hide years of self-hatred and a, probably trained by his father and the school system, thought of being a worthless burden.

"You took in freshmen, nerdy little kids that don't fit in. You let them be part of your club so they wouldn't have to be alone or get bullied," I argue, having him shrug. "Somebody had to. People can be real assholes."

"You saved Hawkins." "Not like I can tell anyone about it."

I smile a little, "Well, you also saved me from those bats, almost getting killed while trying." "Matter, of course. Everyone would've done that."

I shake my head, "No, they wouldn't, and you know it. Jason didn't care for Lucas or Max, even though he claimed to have beaten Lucas to protect her. He just pissed himself, ran away, and saved his own ass."

Eddie gives me a half-hearted smile and lays his hand on mine, patting it several times. I close the cart and hand it to him. "How about you keep your goal card and write something inside it once it feels right, okay?"

He nods, putting it between the pages of his book where I think it will get forgotten. Then he opens the book on one of the other chapters, pointing at something.

"Can we go over that E cell stuff again?" He asks, clearly wanting to change the subject. I nod. He's been open enough for one evening. "Sure."

After learning for another hour, I fall asleep, face on the coffee table. When I wake up, Eddie is gone, only his leather jacket draped over me like a blanket. In my book, I find a small note asking me to study with him at his place on Friday.

*****

"You call me, and I'll pick you up; my number's on the back," Jason lectures me as he holds his car in front of the Munson trailer, handing me one of the phones from his duffle bag. "I'm meeting with friends, but should you need anything-"

"Don't sell your soul to the devil, and please call me. Yeah, I know," I interrupt him, eying the mobile phone in my hand. "Those things are starting to become really small, or am I crazy?"

He sighs, hating that I am going to spend the day in the trailer his girlfriend died in, with the guy who was the last to have seen her alive.

"Seriously, [y/n]. The minute he tries something, or you realize you're in a circle of blood with strange symbols drawn around it-" "Yeah, because that happens so casually often," I interrupt my cousin again.

"This is about your safety," he tells me as though I am unreasonable. "No, this is about you being paranoid and needing therapy," I answer, grabbing my bag and getting out of the car. "Thanks for driving me. See ya later."

I walk over to the trailer, knocking a couple of times. After a few seconds, Wayne Munson, Eddie's uncle, opens the door.

"Yeah?" he asks, holding a baseball bat behind his back. A safety precaution, I understand but disklike that he has to have.

"Hi, Mr. Munson. I'm here to see Eddie." He eyes me up and down, and I add, "I'm his friend. I help him study."

He looks over my shoulder, nodding to Jason's car with his chin. "And your friend in the car? That's Jason Carver, that little bastard," he says, highly suspicious of me.

"He's my cousin. My parents want him to drive me around since the earthquake," I explain, and his face becomes softer. "I'm sorry, Kid. I-"

I interrupt him with a smile. I understand why he has to be protective of Eddie after all that happened. "No, don't worry. I'm not crazy about that mental case either," I say. "Uhm, can I come in? I'm afraid he might get out of the car if we stay out here for too long."

Wayne lets me in, closing and locking the door behind me. From Eddie's room comes the sound of an acoustic guitar playing 'Sweet Leaf', one of my favorite songs.

"Eddie, your friend is here," he calls down the small hallway. I join him, calling, "Hi, Eddie."

We hear some rummaging and cussing, then Eddie practically rushes out of his room, only wearing his boxers.

"Hey, [y/n]," he greets me as I instantly look the other way, feeling my face burn like fire.

"Son, put some damn close on. You're in the presents of a lady, for God's sake," his uncle scolds him, and after a millisecond, Eddie cusses like a sailor.

"Shit, fuck. Sorry, I just woke up. I- It'll only be a second," he tells me, and from the bumping sound, I figure he almost ran into his bedroom door.

"Uh-huh. Take your time," I tell him, finally looking in his direction again as the door closes.

"Now, [y/n], can I offer you something to drink?" Wayne asks me, and I shake my head. "No, thanks. I'm good," I tell him, looking around the living area I know pretty well in both this dimension and whatever the Upside Down is.

It is scary to think that the portal simply closed, not leaving an ounce of trace that it ever even existed.

My eyes fall to the folding bed, open in the middle of the room. Eddie's uncle rushes over, taking the blanket and pillow and putting them inside the couch's storage department.

"Sorry, he didn't tell me he'd expected someone," he explains, embarrassed, folding away his bed. I smile at him, shaking my head. "Don't worry. Really."

The awkward silence is broken by Eddie coming out dressed in black, ripped jeans and a washed-out band shirt.

"Hey, hi," he greets me again. "Hi," I answer.

"I- I made the study cards you told me to," he explains proudly, and I grin. "Do they work?" "I think so. C'mon."

With his hand on my back, he escorts me to his room, signaling me to sit down on his bed. I, instead, only put my bag there and look around his room. In bright daylight and without the risk of dying or Robin screaming that we need music to save Nancy, it's actually nice in here.

It helps that it's also cleaner than last time and smells like air freshener and fresh linen.

"Edward, the door stays open," Wayne calls into the room, just as I pass a pile of clothes next to his closet, to look at the small, hand-painted figures that I think belong to his dungeons and dragons game.

I turn around, looking at Eddie. "So, the door stays open," I tease him jokingly, and he nods, becoming red while scratching the back of his curly head.

"Yeah. When something happens again, Wayne can give me an alibi saying he saw you the whole time during your visit and that you were okay."

My smile instantly vanishes, and I begin to apologize, "Oh, right. Sorry, I didn't think of that. I thought it was because-" "Because I'm having a pretty girl in my room?" he asks, tilting his head and stepping closer.

My breath hitches as he backs me up closer to the wall; I bump into the dresser behind me. "Naughty girl," he whispers with a mischievous grin as he cages me between his arms and his dresser.

I shake my head, becoming dizzy, "I- I- I didn't-" He chuckles, "I'm just teasing you, Carver. Calm down."

I am almost disappointed as he steps away, truly having only teased me. I turn my back to him before he can see the look on my face, but my gaze meets a mirror, showing me my pout.

Silly. It's silly that I'm sad he wasn't actually flirting with me. I focus on the guitar hanging in front of the mirror. Sweetheart, that's what Eddie calls the guitar. I begin chewing on my bottom lip, telling myself that I don't need this metalhead to like me back.

It would be too difficult anyway. Especially in fucked up times like these, where we don't know when Vecna returns.

Doesn't make me want Eddie any less, though...

"You like her?" Eddie asks behind me. I nod, suddenly feeling his hand on my shoulder, moving me back to the bed. "Well, not gonna let you touch her just yet. You need to learn acoustic first."

As I sit down on his bed, Eddie takes the black acoustic guitar full of band stickers that was leaning next to it and kneels down in front of me, showing it to me.

"This is Honey. She was my first guitar, first love, if you will," he chuckles. "She's pretty," I whisper. Eddie nods, "Glad you think so, 'cause she's yours now."

"What?" I exclaim, making him laugh. "Don't look so shocked," he says. "You need a guitar to practice on."

"But she's yours." He nods again, laying the guitar on my lap. "And she's been painfully neglected for years now, especially since I bought Sweetheart. Now take her and be good to her."

"Thank you," I whisper, following the outline of an old Metallica sticker.

As I look up, mine and Eddie's eyes meet. He'd been watching me closely. We grin at each other a little stupidly, and I feel my heart race like it's trying to win a marathon.

"I made you something," he says suddenly, jumping up and grabbing a bunch of small cards from one of his drawers. "Those are the different chords and where you have to put your fingers."

On the cards are drawn guitars necks, dots on the exact spots where my fingers need to be. "These are awesome, Eddie. And you really made those cards for me?"

He nods, cheeks turning pink, "We have a deal, after all. And if I teach you how to play guitar, I damn well will make sure you're becoming a real star at it."

I put the guitar aside and take his jacket out of my backpack, awkwardly and completely flustered, handing it to him. "You forgot your jacket at the Wheelers' home a couple of days ago."

"I didn't want you to freeze," he says, throwing it aside. "Why did you leave?"

"Because I know the reaction people have when they see me. I didn't want Mike's parents to think I was there to sacrifice their kids or have them be mad at you for letting me in."

I bite my lips again. "I wish you would've stayed. We could've gone home together." "I could've driven you home..." he smiles for a second before it vanishes again. "But people know my van, can't have you be seen with me."

Before I can stop myself, I say, "I don't mind being seen with you, Eddie."

He stares at me, touched, chocolate brown eyes becoming glassy, "T-That's a C. You think you can play it?" he quickly asks, swallowing hard and handing me one of the cards as a distraction.

I take the guitar but struggle with my finger placement. Eddie notices it and crawls behind me on the neatly made bed.

Hands on my waist, he makes me sit between his legs and helps me hold the guitar correctly. "Is that okay?" he asks, looking at me over my shoulder.

I nod, and he takes my fingers, placing them on the strings. As they are placed, he hands me a pick and helps me play that note. It sounds correct, and I smile at him. Eddie smiles back at me as though I just performed a concert for him.

"There you go, rockstar," he chuckles, placing my fingers differently again.

For a while, we play the chords, and I become more and more comfortable with his arms around me. It feels nice. Safe and calm.

We're both ripped from the moment as Wayne knocks on the open bedroom door. "Hey, you two. I'm going to work. Can I leave you both alone?"

Eddie nods, barely acknowledging his uncle. "Uh-huh."

"Eddie, are you sure-"

This time he looks up, interrupting his uncle, "Yes, Wayne. We're just playing guitar and studying a little. I promise nothing shady will happen." Eddie looks at me, "Right?"

I nod, assuring his uncle, "Oh, yeah. Absolutely not. I'm also getting picked up later."

The man nods, hand running over his head. "Okay. I- I'm just worried."

"I know," Eddie tells him, this time seeming to accept and understand his uncle's worries. They share a serious look that shows concern and affection.

Then Eddie smiles again, pointing at the polaroid camera on his dresser, "Hey, can you take a picture of us?" He asks, having his uncle nod. "Sure, son."

"That's okay for you, is it?" Eddie whispers into my ear, making goosebumps appear on my skin. I grin, nodding lovesick.

After taking a picture of us, me seated between Eddie's legs, the guitar in our hands, Wayne hands the picture to his nephew, wishing us goodbye, "It was nice to meet you, [y/n]. See you in the morning, kid."

"Oh, I'm gonna keep that one," Eddie whispers delightedly, looking at the picture.

I put the guitar aside, trying to look at the polaroid. "Why?"

"No reason," he tells me, standing up. I follow him, "Why, Eddie?"

"Because you look cute in it," he says, but this isn't enough for me.

I try to grab the picture, but he holds it up. Therefore, I stand as close to him as possible, standing on the tip of my toes to reach it.

Eddie wraps an arm around my waist, starting to spin us around. "Care for a dance, milady?

"You're so weird," I giggle, unable to reach the picture, but holding on to his wrist.

"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm completely insane," he tells me, stopping our spinning. "Now sit down and tutor me."

He softly pushes me back on the bed, and I make myself comfortable, looking at my own study cards while Eddie sits down next to me, going through his own. I have no idea where the polaroid picture went, but I sure hope I don't look ridiculous in it.

After two hours of learning together, Eddie lies back, staring at the ceiling. "I need a break."

I put the guitar aside and join him. "Same. My fingers are killing me."

"Yeah... Takes some time till you build up calluses," he chuckles, taking my hand into his, gently kissing my sore fingertips and stealing my breath. "Pretty soon, your pretty lil fingers will look like mine."

I don't know how he does it, but Eddie makes my heart beat so fast I feel like becoming dizzy; he always had me wrapped around his finger in that way, even as I only knew him from afar.

He's everything that my parents taught me to avoid, but I want to admire him forever.

"So you think I'll pass the test?" He asks me with a crooked smile, luring me back into reality. "Hm... I'd say I'm 99.9% sure," I smile, making him nod bothered as he lets go of my hand.

"Yeah, still room for me to fail." I prob myself up on my elbows, assuring him, "Well, I believe you'll make it."

A grin creeps over his features, making me certain that mischief is brewing together a plan under his curly mop of hair. "Would you be mad at me if I'd smoke one as a reward?"

I shake my head, and he sits up, grabbing a pre-rolled joint from his cluttered nightstand. "Do you want to...?" He offers, lighting it and taking a hit.

I shrug, uncertain since I've never done something like it before. "Uh... I- I don't know."

He looks at me with a serious face. "Hey, I'm not somebody that's pressuring others into things. I just thought... Would you want to try it? Now would be your chance, and it's safest to get high for the first time when there's somebody with you who has experience and watches over you."

I sit up as well, nodding. It isn't like I never wanted to try it.

"You sure?" He asks sternly, trying to avoid a reaction of mine that is solely based on the need to impress him.

I nod again. "Yes. Please."

Eddie leans over, holding the joint's butt to me. I lean forward, lips on the joint, taking my first pull; his eyes are on me, face as close as possible to inspect me.

"There you go. Small hits, baby," he coos his instructions. "Hold it, and now let go," I do as he says, coughing a little due to the smoke in my lungs. "Burns a little, I know."

It is hard not to stare as we lock eyes, his chocolate brown ones metaphorically bringing me to my knees. He has me smoke half of the joint, and as stupid as I feel for thinking like that, it feels intimate.

The way his big hands bring the joint back and forth between us, the gentle way he coos and praises me, and his eyes, his eyes are on me, so fascinated and intrigued as though I am one of the dirty magazines he unsuccessfully tried to hide under the bed.

I love that gaze of his and want to find a way to make it stay, although I probably just over-romanticize it because of the pot and my crush on Eddie.

As he puts the joint's end into the ashtray on his nightstands, I let myself fall back onto his mattress. "This feels nice," I say, feeling wholly carefree and peaceful for the first time since Vecna.

Eddie lies down beside me, explaining, "Yeah, it's the good stuff. Knocks us out for a while, perfect for relaxing."

We lay on our sides, facing each other. As he reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek, I notice some ink on the back of his hand. I take it and read, 'Clean bedroom. [y/n].' on it.

I like my name on his skin; a weird thing to feel, but it fills me with a bit of pride.

"You forgot that," I tease him, pointing at the to-do list on the back of his hands. He chuckles, "Baby, I wasn't in school so that I could clean up."

I sit up, looking around. Then I giggle. "Okay..." "Hey," Eddie warns me in fake appall. "I even changed the sheets today."

I'd noticed the sweet, floral smell of the linen under me earlier, so I nod. "I appreciate the effort," I tell him, laying back down and kicking off my shoes.

"Where will life take you after graduation, Carver?" He asked as I make myself comfortable on his mismatched set of pillows.

"Where will it take you?" I ask back, but he quickly dismisses my question. "We both know I'll stay trailer trash, now answer me."

I sigh, saying my secret plan out loud for the first time, "I'll take the trust fund I'll gain access to once I have my diploma and run."

He furrows his brows. "So you'll leave us?"

"I meant that metaphorically," I say, making him look confused. "My family had different funds set up for me when I was born. One for high school graduation, one for college, one for marrying, and one for when I have children – a son, to be specific..." I explain.

"That sounds like a very thought-through version of manipulation," Eddie concludes, angered, seeming disgusted by my family's forced conforming.

"It is. I grew up thinking that I have to achieve all these set goals, but now..." Another sigh escapes me. "We don't know when Vecna will return, and every fight becomes more dangerous. I don't want to go to college and become a rich, famous, whatever. I don't want to play happy housewife for an upper-class jock my parents pick for me.

"If I die, I want to be able to look back and know I chose my happiness instead of social obligation."

My whole life, I'd been the perfect, preppy, old-money daughter my family had wanted. I exceeded in school, never went to parties, and stayed away from 'bad apples'. But I'd almost died, and as the weeks had passed, I came to realize that I would've left a life of unfulfilled dreams behind. One I'd only lived to make my parents proud.

"You thought about that a lot, huh?" I nod. "Ever since the bats attacked us."

My hand wanders over Eddie's stomach, resting on a spot I know is now holding a serious scar. He'd gotten it while protecting me from the bats as I'd tried to lure them from the trailer.

"Does it still hurt?" "Only sometimes. At least I have some very metal scars now," he jokes, hand coming up to my thigh.

Under my clothes, I hide some scars as well. It's not like I am ashamed of them. Why should I be? But they need to heal and fade enough to stop looking like bites first – as my family believes they come from an accident caused by the earthquake.

"What about yours?" Eddie asks, and I nod. "Same here. Do you sometimes dream of the Upside Down?"

"Aren't we all?" he chuckles, pushing down the trauma we all experienced. "It took me a while to even realize that all that actually happened, and when the wounds stopped hurting..."

"It'll get easier," I assure him as his arm moves up to my waist—another spot where a scar rests. I'm surprised he still remembers all of the spots.

"Right, wasn't your first rodeo," he remembers. "So, what are you doing with the money? Your trust fund, I mean."

I grin, biting my bottom lip, "You know the retail park between Hawkins and Derry?" "Who doesn't?" he laughs. "I wanna rent a space there and have my own music store. Sell instruments, cassette tapes, records... All of it."

Eddie's eyes become wide, sparkly. I seem to have piqued his interest. "Sounds amazing." "You think?" I ask, and he nods. "Totally. We'll always have music, so you'll always have a job there."

Either his reaction, his touch, or the pot – maybe all three of the things combined – have me smile. I prop myself on my elbow, hand dancing over the letters of his old Black Sabbath shirt.

"If you're not too set on becoming trailer trash..." I start, feeling his heartbeat under my fingers. "I could always use a good business partner who loves music."

"Be careful with those words, Sweetheart," Eddie warns me, propping himself up as well. "'Cause if you mean them, you'll never, never, ever get rid of me."

As he begins towering over me, I whisper, "Sounds good to me."

And just like that, his lips collide with mine. I feel like bursting into flames, like I am losing my mind, and as though I only imagine this moment. I let myself fall back into the pillows, taking Eddie with me as he crawls on top of me.

The kiss is heated and longing. Eddie's hand cradles my face, wanders upwards, and his fingers tangle themselves into my hair. I gasp into the kiss as he tugs on my hair, my hips jolting up due to the literal electricity he created within me.

Suddenly the kiss stops. Eddie sits back up on his heels and looks as though he just violated me. "I- I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you. That wasn't okay. You're high, you're-"

I sit up as well, embarrassment almost making me dizzy as I admit, "That had nothing to do with me being high. Did- Did you just do it because...?"

He shakes his head so harshly that I fear he'd give himself whiplash. "Was looking for a chance to do that for a while now."

I can't believe his words, asking, "Really?"

Eddie nods, looking me up and down as he licks his lips, "Jesus, you're so fucking pretty. Makes me dizzy."

We giggle and smile at each other childishly. I'd never thought he'd be interested in someone like me. I'm not an innocent, happy-go-lucky, preppy cheerleader like Chrissy was. I'm not a cool, not caring what people think of me – metalhead like him.

I am basic, normal. I go to school and do my homework, I listen to all types of music, mostly not even caring for genres since I mix through them all the time anyway, and I dress uncoordinated, solely based on what makes me happy that morning.

I've always thought I was invisible, one of the nice girls you see for five minutes in a movie and have totally forgotten about by the time the credits come on. This had given me some advantages as we saved Hawkins but socially made me feel out of place...

Eddie leans closer again, making me back onto the pillows, his knee between my legs. "That okay?" he asks softly, and I nod.

He towers over me, making my heart beat irrationally. He's so beautiful, and the fact that he wants me has me forget everything, even my name. I push myself up, cupping his cheeks; our eyes lock as he looks just as surprised and overwhelmed about all this as I am.

This time, I kiss him. His lips are soft and gentle as he kisses me back, hands carefully roaming my body as though I'm made of glass. I kissed a few guys before, but none of them had ever made me feel like this.

It feels so right. Like I was made to be in Eddie's arms, being accepted although coming with nothing else to offer than myself.

As our kiss becomes messy, something I've never experienced before, our hands become greedy and inquisitive. As my nails dig into his upper arms, Eddie's hand cups my clothed breast, groping it harshly.

As I moan into the kiss, he chuckles, kissing down my neck and plastering its skin with hickeys and soft love bites.

I moan again, hips jolting up and causing me to whimper as I accidentally rub my most sensitive area against his thigh. "Fuck," I softly cry, repeating the motion once more.

Pecking my lips softly, Eddie places himself now entirely between my legs. I can feel his erection through our clothes, right where I want him most.

"Nice, huh?" he asks teasingly, rolling his hips against me and enjoying how my eyes roll back.

Our lips find each other again, and while we sloppily begin making out again, our bodies move in unison, friction having us moan and gasp into our kisses.

As his hand sneaks under my shirt, cool rings kissing the warmth of my body, I stop Eddie. Propping myself up a little, I stammer, embarrassed, "Can we just- I don't- I never..."

I've never done anything like this before. Before today, I never kissed somebody with this much passion, never let one touch me like this. I've never felt this need, lighting my body on fire, before... And it scares me. I am not sure if I want to go any further than this.

Eddie smiles and softly chuckles. He leans down, kissing my cheek. "No worries. Rule one of being high is not to make big decisions when high. Have two tattoos proofing that point."

Somehow, I expected him to be mad at me.

"So you're okay with just kissing?" I ask, concerned, but he drops onto his elbows, forehead against mine. "I could do that for a lifetime."

Turning on some music, which plays softly in the background, we fall into another kiss, and another, and another. At one point, Eddie even has me sitting in his lap, hands groping my ass as he bucks his hips against me.

Only as our lips are sore, we cuddle on his bed, lips still coming together for little kisses from time to time.

I fall asleep in his arms, feeling safe and happy; I dream of this moment lasting forever.

*****

The next time I open my eyes, it is dark around me. I hate being in the dark, I become nervous and scared. Time has shown me over and over again why I should stay away from the darkness, but Eddie's chest, slowly rising underneath me and his arm around me, have me calm.

Closing my eyes again, I try to go back to sleep.

"She was supposed to be home hours ago, old man!" An angry voice yells outside the trailer.

"Listen, I am sure there is an explanation-" an older voice tries to communicate calmly but is interrupted.

"I don't give a shit about your excuses. You and that satanic scumbag-"

The older raises his voice warningly, "Hey, be careful what you're saying."

Eddie moves underneath me, laying on his side and pulling me into a hug. Suddenly he jumps up, turning on the lights. "Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"What is it?" I ask sleep-drunkenly. "We fell asleep, Sweetheart. It's 5 a.m.," he explains loud but softly.

I jump out of bed the second my brain processes his words. "No!" I exclaim, looking at the radio alarm on Eddie's nightstand. I pull on my shoes, Eddie throwing over his jacket.

"[y/n]! [y/n], are you in there?" The angry voice from before yells, and I have a realization. "Fuck, that's Jason," I tell Eddie, who nods, handing me my backpack.

We rush outside and see Jason and his friends in front of the trailer. Wayne stands there on the steps, a baseball bat in his hand. They're all looking at Eddie and me.

I look back and forth between Wayne and Jason. "I- I'm so sorry. We fell asleep, I-" "I called you a hundred times," Jason interrupts.

I push past Wayne, walking down the steps. Eddie's uncle keeps him in the trailer, not letting him out.

"I just told you I fell asleep," I answer my cousin as he walks closer, looking at my disheveled appearance, then at Eddie's.

"What have you done to her, Munson?" Jason growls, and I step between him and the stairs. "He did nothing. What's wrong with you?"

He's clearly drunk and out for confrontation with his favorite victim.

"Fuck, you smell like a distillery," I mutter, having to look away to catch a huff of fresh air.

"We're leaving. Wait till Aunt-" my cousin tries to threaten me, grabbing my arm and walking us to the car. I shake my head, interrupting him. "You're drunk. I'm not letting you drive me."

As I try to pull my arm from his grasp, he hardens his grip. "[y/n]," he warns, trying to drag me to the car. "No," I exclaim, trying to stop walking, but Jason becomes rougher. "Ow."

"Hey, don't grab her like that," Eddie calls over, forcing himself past his uncle.

"Or what, Freak? What satanic monster from hell do you want to summon here in front of everyone?" Jason asks, irritated, fumbling his keys out of his pocket, a little cross keychain on it.

By now, half of the trailer park residents have noticed what is happening. All looking, nobody intervening.

"Man, just- just let go of her arm," Eddie tries to reason with Jason. "Please, you're hurting her."

As he takes a couple of steps closer, my cousin raises his keychain. "Don't come near us."

"Eddie, it's okay," I tell the sweet metalhead, then look to his uncle, who has his baseball bat equipped. "It's okay."

"Are you sure, girl?" Wayne asks me, concerned, but I nod.

"Yeah. I..." I finally can escape Jason's grasp and look at him and his friends. "Is anyone of you guys sober?" None are, so I sigh, "Kay. Give me your keys and get into the car."

Jason obliges since me driving the car means he gets what he wants, and I leave with him. I have the drunken jocks get back into the car, noticing that one had held a wheel-wrench the entire time.

I buckle Jason in the passenger's seat, make sure his friends buckle in as well and grab the wrench. Shaking my head, I look over at Eddie and his uncle, waving at them and trying to force a smile on my lips as I got into the driver's seat.

Leaving the trailer park, the drunks in the back fall promptly asleep, while Jason seems to calm down, experiencing an adrenaline crash. He tells me the addresses of his friends, and I drive everyone home.

"I was worried," he explains, head heavily resting on the headrest of his seat.

"I know," I sigh, having just dropped off the last one of his friends.

"I miss Chrissy," he mumbles, and I watch him take out the little velvet box he carries around everywhere. "I thought we would be together forever."

Jason had planned on proposing to his high school sweetheart after graduation. Chrissy was dead for months now, but he still carried the ring around.

I look at the broken shell of a man beside me. Jason had lost his mind when he'd lost his girlfriend. Our family believes he just needs time, but he desperately needs therapy.

He wasn't always like this; he was a good guy; we grew up like siblings – Yeah, sure, he was a little douchey sometimes, but he was the guy nice to mostly everyone—a preppy, old-money boy.

His moral compass hadn't been broken before he came into contact with Vecna's darkness.

"Eddie didn't hurt Chrissy," I tell him, but he looks at me with tears in his eyes. "I know what I saw."

I can't tell him about the Upside Down, which makes me helpless. I have to sit between the chairs, see Eddie being hated, and watch my cousin lose his sanity, and there is nothing I can do about it.

"Look," I start, carefully thinking of how to phrase my sentences, "I know what you saw. I know how it looked like and how much it scared you, but Eddie was solely at the wrong time in the wrong place when... when Chrissy and Patrick were attacked."

Jason looks at me in disbelief, his eyes wandering down to my neck, where he notices the marks left by Eddie.

"So that's how it is," he says disgustedly, sitting back in his seat and refusing to look at me again. "You let the freak fuck you, and now you're excusing him and his actions. You're choosing him instead of your own family and friends and completely disregard his victims."

"That's not what I'm doing, Jason," I say. "If- If you really think there is something evil and satanic going on... Maybe the monster hunted Chrissy and Patrick, and when it attacked, Eddie just happened to be there."

He shakes his head. "Munson is a vessel. I don't know when he became one, but I know what got him there... This satanic game and the music he listens to."

"Jason, Dungeons & Dragons is a fantasy game. It's like being the main character in The Hobbit. You know we loved that book when we were younger. It's harmless, and Eddie is basically a sweet nerd with rough edges. And his taste in music...

"It's just metal. You know it doesn't make you a murderer. You secretly bought me my first Black Sabbath cassette tape when Mom and Dad forbid me to have it."

He ignores me, angry tears in his eyes while he continues to fidget with the velvet box in his hand. I start the car and drive us to my place. I am too tired and frustrated to drive any more than that.

*****

"[y/n], do you have any idea how worried we were?" my father yells angrily, Mom agreeing. "You stay out all night, and your cousin has to pick you up from a trailer park."

I sigh, pressing my palms onto the cold kitchen table. "Come on. He was drunk as hell. I had to drive him and his friends home. You can barely say he picked me up."

Jason had used the hurt he felt from losing Chrissy and our talk in the car to unload all his paranoia of the night on my parents, then went to bed in our guest bedroom, leaving me to pick up the mess.

"Still, your behavior-" I interrupt my Dad, "I know. I made a mistake, and I am sorry. Can I now please go to my room?"

"No. I don't want you to see that boy anymore." "What?" I ask loudly.

"This Munson kid has caused enough harm. I will be damned if I let you end up like Chrissy Cunningham," Dad yells determent, making me shake my head.

"Eddie had nothing to do with Chrissy's death."

"We don't know that for sure," Mom says, trying to be the calm voice of reason as my father becomes angrier by the second.

"Yes, we do," I argue. "Jason has been spinning out of control for months now. Why isn't anybody in this fucking town questioning his bullshit accusations?"

Mom hands my father his coffee, and he takes it to the living room. Simply leaving the discussion like he always does. Then she sits down beside me, trying to hold my hand.

"People wouldn't find it so easy to believe if the Munson boy hadn't given them so many reasons to."

I let out a sarcastic laugh, then scoff, "Funny, 'cause when people tried to – very rightfully so – suspect that our family's wealth comes from decades of slavery and human trafficking, you both told me that foolish people are willing to believe everything just to run their mouths."

"[y/n]..."

I shake my head, so angry at my family's hypocrisy, "You're not treating Eddie fair. You're judging him and his character through his upbringing, social status, and nonsensical rumors from an unstable family member."

"Hun, I know you like that boy, and dating a bad boy sounds exciting for girls your age – I know, I've been there – But boys like that have the power of ruining your life."

"You don't know him, Mom," I tell her, tears in my eyes. The Upside Down had thoroughly messed up my relationship with my family. "When the earthquake hit Hawkins, I was with Eddie and our friends. If he hadn't been there, I would be dead now. He saved me."

Mom looks at me, shocked. I've refused to talk about the accident until now since I still haven't thought out a perfect lie. I see the pain in my mother's eyes, I know she loves me, and after so many died due to the earthquake, it terrifies her that I could've been one of them.

"Mom, Eddie's a little weird, sometimes completely bonkers, loud, and obnoxious, but he is neither dangerous nor bad for me."

She presses her lips together, trying not to mess up her perfectly applied lipstick. Then she nods. "Go to bed. We'll talk once you have had some sleep."

I go to my room, locking the door behind me. Dressing in some fresh underwear and an oversized band t-shirt my mother hates, I lay down on my bed.

It's already light outside, soon, my dad will go to work, and my mom will pop some uppers and drive around town, spending some money on things we don't need and thinking about what to serve for dinner.

I wonder if I would've ever noticed how dysfunctional our family is, even with all our money, wouldn't I've gotten involved with Will's vanishing?

Would I've ever known how much more important my happiness is than following my family's plans and traditions?

Knocking on my bedroom window pulls me from my thoughts. On the tree branch in front of my window stands Eddie.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I open it, letting him in.

"I wanted to see if you're okay... And I brought your guitar," he smiles, turning the strep across his chest and putting Honey into my view. I'd forgotten the guitar in my hurry.

"I'm sorry, [y/n]. He grabbed you really hard. I- I should've defended you," Eddie says, hands running up and down my arm, causing goosebumps to appear.

"Jason was drunk and with his friends. They were only looking for a reason to hurt you," I tell him as he hands me the guitar, and I place it on the floor next to my vanity.

I turn on some music, not too loud to annoy anybody, but loud enough to hide that I wasn't alone. Eddie, meanwhile, starts snooping around, almost reminding me of a puppy being in its new home for the first time.

"Now that's a preppy room. I've never seen a preppy room, but this one..." he chuckles, his big button eyes filled with amusement. "I know. Mom decorated it."

He looks further around while I sit down on my bed. As he opens my closet door, a poster of Eddie Van Halen has him crack up before he goes on a deep dive to see all the things I hide in there from my parents.

"Now, that's more like you," Eddie exclaims, pulling out my old working uniform. "You know, I always walked by Scoops Ahoy when I was at the mall... Always hoped to see you."

With butterflies in my stomach, I watch him hang the uniform back into the closet. "I saw you walking by a couple of times. Why didn't you talk to me?"

He shrugs, walking to the end of my bed. "I chickened out. I mean, would you've actually talked to Eddie 'The Freak' Munson, or would you've called for Harrington to protect you?"

"I would've loved having you talk to me," I assure him, and he begins to grin. "Careful; I might start believing you had a crush on me, Sweetheart."

I crawl to the end of my bed, pulling Eddie down by his jacket. His grin becomes bigger before his lips press down on mine. I shuffle back to my pillows, pushing his jacket over his shoulder and throwing it aside. We kiss again as he makes himself comfortable between my legs.

Eddie breaks the kiss, whispering, "I need to leave before your parents come in and find us like that."

His knuckles brush over my cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, and I realize that I don't want him to leave—the quite opposite, actually. I want him to be even closer to me.

"My door's locked," I tell him with a cheeky grin. "They think I'm sleeping."

His softness quickly begins harboring an aura of mischief. "Naughty little thing," he whispers, pressing his lips against mine.

The kiss becomes rough and demanding as Eddie growls into it, starting to explore my mouth with his tongue. After hours of doing nothing else last night, his hands on my body and lips on my own feel natural. My fingers glide into his curly mane while I start rocking my hips against him, searching for friction.

An excited whimper leaves me, and I reach for his belt. "N-No, Sweetheart," Eddie stops me gently. "We have no condoms."

"Pill," I exclaim, needier than planned. "I'm on the pill." He raises his brows for a second, and I add, "I started taking it as part of a feminism phase Robin and I had."

Eddie props himself up, looking at me, insecure. "And you're sure you actually want that? I'm not really the upper-class jock your parents want for you."

I'm looking up at this intimidatingly looking metalhead, smiling. Looks can be so deceiving. "I know, and I like you better that way," I tell him, watching his self-doubt melt away and replace with a contented smile.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he tosses it somewhere in my room. I goggle at his naked chest, the tattoos, the scars, the happy trail. I'm close to tears, and I don't know why; my body feels like I'm being lit on fire; all I can think of is how badly I want him.

"I want you," I whine, hips moving up against nothing. "Please..."

Eddie leans down, pecking my lips for a moment, "I know, baby. I want you too." As he moves back up, he grabs the hem of my shirt, waiting. I lift my back enough so he can take it off me. He tosses it over his shoulder, eyes locking with my breasts.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, eyes wandering across the room for a moment. As he looks at me again, he licks his lips. "You're so beautiful."

He drops onto his elbows, kissing me again. Eddie's hands roam my body; thighs, stomach, breasts; there is no place he doesn't explore. So at one point, his fingers glide over my clothes pussy.

I try to move into his touch. Eddie chuckles, pulling my panties aside and letting his fingers run through my folds. He grunts into the kiss, moving up a little, "Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You're so wet."

I nod, embarrassed, swallowing a loud moaning the second he touches my swollen clit. He shushes me gently, pecking my lips, then moves his fingers to his mouth. They glisten in the morning sun, and as he licks my wetness from them, I become dizzy for a second.

Eddie grins at me, fully aware of the effect he just had on me. He comes closer again, kissing me and letting me taste myself on his tongue. Then he kisses my neck, wandering down and stopping at my breast, gently sucking on my left nipple while playing with my right one.

I struggle to stay quiet, hating the thought of having to wait any longer. "Eddie, please," I whine, hips jolting up and meeting with his clothed erection.

He grabs the waistband of my panties, making me lift my hips to help him remove them. They are quickly thrown aside, my hands on his belt again. This time I'm triumphant; Eddie climbs off the bed, taking off his jeans, underwear, and shoes.

I bite into the pillowy part of my bottom lip as I'm met with the view of his hard, veiny cock, making him chuckle and kiss me playfully all over the face as he climbs back on top of me.

Guiding his cock up and down my pussy, he coats himself with my arousal, using it like a natural lubricant. "Ready?" he asks, and I nod, grinning excitedly.

Lining up with me, he pushes in slowly until he fully bottoms out inside me. My eyes press shut, and a whimper leaves my lips at the stinging. My nails dig into the skin of his upper arms. Eddie doesn't move anymore, giving me time to get used to the new, stretching sensation.

"Doing so good, baby," he whispers, kissing my cheek, the corner of my lips, and then me fully. I melt into his gentle touches, hands stroking up and down my sides.

"So beautiful," he grins. "And all mine." I nod. "All yours."

Eddie begins to move, making me feel so full, that I think I'm about to break in two, but instead, every thrust of his makes me feel alive.

I want more, figuring out how to meet his thrusts, moving against him. Our breathing becomes louder, moans and praises are spoken with hushed voices.

Eddie doesn't pick up the speed, my bed already threatening to give us away. Instead, he becomes harsher, administrating long and deep thrusts that make my eyes roll into the back of my head.

I moan loudly, arching my back. In an instant, his hand covers my mouth. "We need to be quiet, baby," he reminds me quietly but doesn't stop pounding into me for even a second.

I moan into his palm, holding onto his wrist, so his hand doesn't move from my mouth. "I know. I know, don't worry. I'll make sure they don't hear you," he promises with a low grunt as he rolls his hips into mine.

Our eyes lock, his gaze full of lust and admiration. Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead. His thrust become more demanding, and I hear my own wetness every time he rocks against me.

As control seems to escape us, Eddie's deep, husky moans become louder. The secrecy of having raw sex that I was taught would get me to hell before marriage feels so filthy, yet it is heaven.

My nails dig into the flesh of his back, and his lips press kisses against my shoulder and collarbone, occasionally biting into it. Tightening around Eddie, I  am on the edge of my orgasm.

"Fuck," he moans. Our eyes meet again, his hand still over my mouth. I lift my hand as he curses again, clasping it over his mouth.

His hips stagger at this before a moan vibrates in my palm. I come right then. I fall apart into millions of pieces and am put back together a new person—a free one that doesn't care about any social status anymore.

If this is wrong, if this is sin, I want to be amiss for the rest of my life.

A deep growl is muffled in my palm as Eddie comes, both of us silencing the other's moans as we ride out our high.

As his hips still, our hands retreat. Stupid, exhausted grins on our lips; he kisses me and pulls out. I whimper at the sudden emptiness, having him chuckle and lie beside me.

Eddie pulls me into a tight embrace, and we just lay there, wrapped around each other for a few minutes, listening to nothing but our breathing.

My head rests on his chest, fingers circling his tattoos and dark pink scars. We're both sweaty, but neither of us cares. This moment is perfect.

"[y/n]?" Eddie whispers into the silence, hand locked around my waist to ensure I stay put.

"Hm?" I hum, looking up at him. "Your parents want you to stay away from me, right?" He asks, insecurity, sighing deeply as I nod. "Figured."

"Eddie..." I whisper as he sits up, grabbing his boxers. He shakes his head, pulling them up. "No, they're right. You'll find better, deserve better."

I stop the curly-headed metalhead before he can dress any further. Hand on his arm, I lean close. "Don't say that. I- It's only until we're graduating. Once I get my money, I'll move out, and we can be together... If you still want that."

He looks at me for a second, then whispers, "Your family will be furious with you." I nod. "Yeah, but they'll calm down once they see how happy I am... I hope."

I don't have much faith in it, but I refuse to live the miserable life my parents approve of. Eddie's tongue swipes over his lips while he is thinking; I can visibly see the cogs turn behind his chocolate eyes.

"So, that would make one month where I don't get to hold, kiss, or even talk to you," he says emotionless.

"Is that okay?" I ask, unsure. We are rushing; the decisions are way too extreme for the little time we spent like this.

But like I said, Vecna could return at any moment. We could die faster than we seem to be rushing. I have to go all in and live.

Eddie turns to me, the knuckles of his ringed fingers brushing offer my cheek. "Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," he hums a familiar quote, proving him to be a soft nerd under all his leather and chains.

"I have been head over heels for you since I was seventeen, and until everyone thought I was a murderer, I never even dared to look at you for too long. I can handle loving you from afar for a month."

My heart skips a beat as I echo, "Loving me?"

Pressing a kiss on my lips, he chuckled, "Seriously, if you haven't picked up on that by now, you're the one who needs a tutor."

He pushes me back into the pillows, climbing on top of me. Insecure all my life, I absolutely don't mind being completely naked in front of Eddie. He makes me feel safe and like it doesn't matter what I look like.

"Shit," I cuss, remembering his test. "How are we going to study for your test?" Kissing the tip of my nose, he smiles, "We don't. I can handle my studying, [y/n]. I'm a big boy. You just keep practicing with Honey, so I can have a jam session with my girlfriend soon, okay?"

Girlfriend. I am Eddie 'The Freak' Munson's girlfriend.

My life has been full of titles until now, the cheerleader, teacher's pet, Jason Carver's cousin, golden child, tutor, babysitter... But this is the first one that I feel proud of, the first one that feels authentic.

➤ Here is Part 2: Girlfriend

[heartfullofleeches]

Fehoeken Reader was killed/died from a disease after having someone paint a portrait of them and now is stuck on a painting and the people immediately assume they are some type of evil spirit and plan to burn it until some rich person buts them and they keep being passed by some rich people until they stop at the museum. Even though the reader is constantly sad and tired somehow they are the piece that gets the most attention both from the visitors but also from the pieces and workers

(tw:mention of non human gore)

"Smile, my dear. Be happy."

You don't remember much before your death. Your final moments were spent in an unfamiliar room; forced to keep a smile as a painter captured your image. There were people around you. They were... always so sad in the bits of memory you had. You can't recall why.

Your first step back into the living world was followed by a shriek. Everything was so dark when you first woke up. Had you really awake, or were you trapped somewhere where? You couldn't move; couldn't see. Didn't even know what you were. The viel over your eyes was lifted, and you found yourself in another foreign room. A living room, from what your mind could piece together. A person was minding their own business on the other end of the room; oblivious to what was occurring behind them.

You look out the frame of your painting; the piece hung neatly on the wall. You look back. Behind you, another room stood. The one you remembered a little clearer. The couch you sat on and other accommodations were there, but the other two corners of the room didn't exist and no one else was there. You try the door on the far corner, but it doesn't open no matter how hard you pull. The only option is that window into another world.

You put a hand out first. The air circles around you like a vacuum. You pull your upper body out of the frame; using the wall as support as you step out. You feel around the walls in a state of intrigue. Everything is different compared to inside the painting. The foundation is imperfect and rigged, while the walls inside the painting are sooth to the point of unsettling and cold to the touch. It felt real.

Your curiosity is cut short by a scream. The owner of the house had finally turned around and seen you standing in the middle of the room. What happened after that is a blur. They ran away, you ended by back in the painting before dawn- and packed up in the back of a moving truck by noon.

That's what your left was for a while. Tossed around between home and home. You tried to leave whenever no one was around, but you would always get caught. You hated it. The small reach of your room; its coldness. The memories of a life you can't recollect. The sadness that fills your entire being. It was that one fact that drew many towards you. The mystery behind such a beauty's sad eyes. It wasn't enough for them to keep you around when they found out you were alive, but enough to want them to get rid of you for good.

You heard them- whispering. In the daylight where you were immobile, they spoke of ways to rid your wicked spirit from the wood is was confined to.

"The rumors are true! I swear I saw its eyes moving."

"We should get rid of as soon as possible."

Was that the best choice of action- for all of you? What would happen if they burned your painting? Would you be freed, or turn to ash just like the rest of it. Distressfully, it would not be the day you found out.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'd like to ask you about that painting in the lobby over there."

-

And that is how you were acquired by the gallery. You were certain that as you were packed up once more, the owner winked at you. Your debut happened mere days later; you spending the time in between at his home. You never left your painting then; fearing being discarded yet again, but that man always talked to you. He joked that if he had been a few years younger he'd love to keep you around, despite you technically being older than him at this point.

You were an instant hot topic. The grief inside you had become engraved into every inch of your painting, yet the elegance behind its craft and the beauty of your image kept people from looking away.

That eve was the night you found out who you were. You were skeptical about leaving the painting at first, but with no guards around you decided to go for it. The marble floor clinks under your weight. You glance at the painting, it's frame now edged in gold. A panel was engraved into the wall beneath it; every memory you had forgotten crashing back as you read it over.

"Y/n - A piece dated around the early 1900s of a young adult painted weeks before their death due to long term health issues. Their family had the portrait done as a way to remember them by, shortly before their illness claimed their life."

A picture of the deceased was placed by the plate. You remembered that day; you remembered everything. How hard to was to keep going in the later stages of your life. How hard your family tried to keep you in positive spirits before you died. They were dead by now. Dead, and probably gone on to the afterlife, whereas your misery and grief bounded you to this state of purgatory for the rest of eternity.

You start to cry. The tears that fall to the ground are thick and cloudy; reminding you that you aren't just a phantom, but an abomination of paint and soul. Your sobs echo down the halls as you cradle yourself towards any sense of calm, but with no one to comfort you - it was pointless.

"Hey there.... Don't cry."

A voice from the shadows. You look around for its source, but find none.

"Who.. who's there?" You croak.

The voice laughs. "Why your neighbor, silly!"

You glance towards the painting besides yours; ink warping as the focus of the piece drags itself from the frame. They were human like you, aside from the left half of their face being unfinished - left in a sketch like state. Their clothing had less detail in some areas, and they were missing their right arm entirely. They kneel besides you with a sort of half smile, brushing your hair out of your tear stained face.

"Whoa, you're super cute! I couldn't see early while they were installing you, or during the opening, but now I can see why everyone was crowded around you.

"W-what?..." You couldn't wrap your head around the situation. There were others like you? And here of all places? Did the owner know? Was that his goal? Your wondering thoughts are snipped as the other painting wipes your face.

"You're probably confused, huh. That's okay. We'll get everything explained when we go meet the others."

Others? They drag you off before you can question them. With each step, a new resident of the gallery awakens. Some had already seen you due to the posters displayed about, but are still keen on greeting you as you cross paths. They're nice to you, unlike anyone you've met since you've died besides the owner, but you chalk it up to you all being in the same boat.

-

Time passes and you get to know the first floor residents better. You attract the humanity out of those with knowledge of the concept; your sadness and overall giving them a need to protect you. The second the gallery closes, you're bombarded with one of your protectors queries on your wellbeing.

The daytime isn't so bad either. You lose some of the initial attention from your big debut, but people still came by to see you. There was one person that visited you every day. A security guard who'd wonder his way to your place on the wall during every shift - just, staring into your eyes. He even snuck a few pictures when no one was looking. Odd in your own context, but not too out of the ordinary for a casual art enjoyer.

All in all, you were content in your new life. Not quite happy just yet, but at peace.

Squish.

You wake up one night to the sound of a squelching noise from down the hall. It's followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Over, and over again. You exit your painting, venture down the walk way to see the source of the commotion. The door to that room opens before you can push it open. The break room.

A guard steps out of the room; his entire upper torso and arms covered in splatters of fluid, and a hammer gripped tightly in hand. He checks through his phone with his opposite; grunting in annoyance as he taps hard on the screen.

"This is the floor, right?.... Oh. Hey."

He grins lazily in your direction, finally noticing your presence. He attempts to greet you as warmly as he can, but all you can focus on is the scene behind him.

A body lies on the break room floor; its head caved in and multicolored blood leaking from the remainer of the cavity. Its remaining eye stares out at you; limbs twitching ever so slightly. The guard eases the door closed.

Paint drips off the tool in his hand as he stretches. "I was taking a nap when your friend attacked me. Don't worry about them much. Paintings are the lucky ones. Won’t hurt ya unless I damage the frame itself. The only you should be worried about is yourself..”

You step back.

The nightguard grins wider, breaking into a small fit of laughter as he waves the threat off. “I’m just messing with you. Even if you’ll be fine, I wouldn’t want to bludgeon a cute one like you… Unless you give me a reason to.”.

He snickers more, smile falling as his chuckles die down. “Another joke, sorry. In all honesty, I stuck around to see you.”

The guard closes the distance between you; smearing paint over your cheek as he carcass it. "I like you. You don't bother me much when I hang around - doubt you've even noticed me at night, but I've seen you. First time I've gotten through your little gang of guard dogs. Shame about that sad look you carry around. Maybe I should take you back home with me and fix it."

He moves his hand to the top of your head, staining your hair in blood. "But I don’t think it's time for that just yet. See ya around, Y/n."

The guard walks off. You hadn't realized you lost your voice until a startled cry comes from you as the break room door opens. The headless painting wonders out of the room, wondering aimlessly towards your direction. You meet it half way, grabbing one of its outstretched hands. The feeling of your skin calms its tense muscles; relaxing under your hold as it holds you close. Its hands find their way to your cheeks - wiping the tears away.

[fanfiction101]

Jareth x fem!reader

Hey loves, here is another Jareth x reader fanfic. I hope you all enjoy and feel free to message me or comment any fanfic requests! Love you all! <3

The night was rainy and cold. But, the castle was bright and warm and filled with life.

We were in the throne room. I was lazily sitting on my husband's throne. I was slightly tired from the day's activities. My legs dangled off of the arms of the throne while I watched as Jareth sang and danced with the goblins. I wasn't much of a singer or dancer, but never the less, Jareth has never stopped trying to get me to dance with him. This night was no less.

As Jareth sang his sweet melodies, he traveled over to the throne and extended his hand with a mischievous smile. "A dance my lady?"

I rolled my eyes but smiled as I took his hand. I stood up and he led me to the middle of the throne room. He sang a slower paced song. It wasn't one that would make you want to jump around and twirl, but one that had me leaning into him. I felt his hands wrap around my waist and my arms wrapped around his neck.

As he sang, I looked into his beautiful, strange eyes. The goblins were no longer throwing each other around or scream-singing. They sort of stood there, listening to Jareth's voice. His voice was smooth and warm. Like a rich cup of coffee on a cold winter's night.

We gently swayed from side to side.

When he finished his song, the goblins burst into cheers and applause. He smiled at me and I smiled back. He lifted his hand up to my cheek. He pushed back some baby hairs. I could tell he was admiring me, as he often does. As much he could claim how mighty he is, I knew that he was a softie.

"I love you." I say softly.

"I love you too." He said and he leaned in. He kissed me so sweetly, yet so passionately.

As we pulled away I said, "Well, as much fun I am having, I am a bit tired. I'd best be going to bed."

"Let me join you. I think that we need some...quality time alone, together, hm?" Jareth replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes appearing.

I quietly laughed and nodded.

"Alight. I will meet you at our room."

I smiled and walked out of the thrown room, hearing Jareth order the goblins to clean the mess up and to return to their homes.

I went to our room with our bathroom attached. I took a quick shower. As I stepped out I heard Jareth close the door. I wrapped a towel around my body and I stepped out into the bedroom. Jareth smirked and I felt his eyes trailing down my body.

I felt my face heat up and I turned towards the wardrobe. I pulled out a silky, royal blue night gown that hit about mid thigh. I could feel Jareth's eyes stare at me as I changed.

When I turned around, I saw him leaning on the bed's pole with the same smirk plastered on his face. "Well, don't you look absolutely beautiful this evening?"

I put on the same mischievous smile and put my hands on his chest. "We should get to bed, my dear."

"Yes, I suppose we should." Jareth said as he lifted my up, carrying me like we were newly weds. I laughed he dropped me on the bed and wrapped me in the warm comforter and he did the same for himself. We faced each other and smiled.

Jareth kissed me again. It was deep and more passionate than the one in the throne room. As I tried to pull away from a short breath, he only leaned in more, deepening the kiss. When I could finally breath again, he kissed down my jawline and then pulled away.

He looked into my eyes and asked, "What did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing and beautiful as you are?"

I softly smiled, "I don't know. But, whatever you are doing, you are doing it well."