#oh my god they were pen pals

[minnesota-fats]

Jason and Jazz becoming friends through a pen pal thing at school that would send emails and letters back and forth—even after the project ended—until one day when Jazz never got a reply to one of her letters, she kept sending them despite not getting a reply up until she moves out from home and to Gotham for college.

Jason never got to reply because he had died and Bruce and Alfred didn’t have the heart to open letters that were for Jason and couldn’t bring themselves to actually write to this kid who was Jason’s pen pal. If they had actually read the letters they would have learned that Amity Park was overrun with ghosts and that Jazz was scared for her baby brother and living in a very neglectful home. They would have learned that Jazz was lonely and that she missed her friend and that the only think keeping her sane are these letters that she is writing to her one and only friend, Jason.

When Jason finally starts talking to the family and even goes to a few dinners—that usually end poorly, but we won’t talk about that!—and Alfred gives him a pile of envelopes tied together neatly addressed to him in numerical order. Jason is confused for a second until it clicks and these were from Jazz and that she had never stopped sending him letters. He takes them home and cry’s for a bit because his friend never stopped writing him, even when he was dead. Then Jason READS THEM!!! And becomes increasingly concerned after each letter ranging in detail and severity such as, “my home town is being overrun by the undead,” to “I’m scared for my brothers safety, Jason.”

And then the final one saying, “now that my brother has graduated high school Im taking him and moving to Gotham, this will be my last letter. You are my best friend!”

The rest is up to you guys!

[merakidoll]

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

synopsis. : your first call with your pen pal makes your feel dizzy. - in a good way

cont. : chubby!reader. bimbo!reader. penpal!gojo. gojo’s in prison, readers hair is in braids so what does that tell you ? fingering ( f ), reader touches their self to gojo’s voice. pet names : ( mama, doll, daddy, precious) phone sex ! sexually frustrated gojo

mirah note. : think i read this too much now i’m overthinking it hehe. oh well, feedback would be appreciated <3 🎀.

your first call with pen pal!gojo came with all types of nerves. the call was planned weeks in advance, yet you still could feel your palm’s sweating. getting pretty you hadn’t realized until the phone was already ringing that he wasn’t even gonna see you dressed up, - yet - something about it made you feel good.

“h-hello” you whispered only hearing his deep sighs. bitting into your sparkle pink glossed lips he finally spoke. tone rough, and husky that it went right to your lower area, undies pooling with wetness. “hi doll” gojo looked up at the reflective wall a smirk curling onto his lips.

“hmm .. think i like actually talking to you more. get to hear that sweet voice” he spread his legs, leaning his arm on them, the black phone still in his hands. your throat hitched on the line, body feeling all sorts of things, wanting all sorts of things. “u-uh yea ! h-how are you ?”

“i’m good precious, looking at the picture you sent and god mama. aren’t you just beautiful” you couldn’t help but smile, leaning back against the plush of your bed. you listened to him speak out every detail of the polaroid you sent with your letter. spreading your legs until the tips of your fingers touched you sensitive cunt.

“mmm” you softly moaned spreading the fatness of your lips the cool air blowing against you. you were so in awe at his voice that you almost missed his question of if you were okay, which you sheepishly gave a short answer.

“yea! m’fine- what w-were you saying ?” gojo knew exactly what you were doing. he could hear the quiet moans that you thought you were doing so good of hiding. “what you doing mama” he watched the guards walk back and forth while chucking at your poor excuse.

“princess, if you needed daddies help all you had to do was ask. go ahead’ slid in a finger” huffing you looked up at the fairy lights, spreading your legs wider. you grew annoyed by your underwear, but was too needy to take them off. you rubbed your bud slowly, breathing heavy into the microphone all until the annoying voice lady came onto the phone to let you both know you had three minutes left.

“shit. gotta make it quick mama, slid in a finger. now.” pressing against your hole, your finger slid in with ease. “g-gooo mmm” you thighs started to shake but you needed more, wanted to fill fuller.

“second one. now baby” you followed instructions. your moans getting louder more desperate, and gojo was paying for it. his cock pressing into the fabric of his underwear feeling contained. “just imagine baby” he leaned back against his chair, throwing his head back and spreading his legs.

“imagine me there”

“m-mm”

“like that huh? wishin daddy was there, to ease that ache. he would use his fingers and fuck them into you so hard while my lips wrapped around that pretty bud”

your pussy closed in on your finger, tummy bubbling. gojo sat in silence in bliss listening to your rambles and begs. “wannadaddy w-want’em so bad”

“daddy know’s mama, gonna get him so soon”

one minute remaining.

“m-m’CUMMINGGG GOO” squirt shot out of you getting all over your stuffies. ruining your skirt and sheets. makeup smudging into the furry fabric of your blanket.

gojo eyes clenched, cock pumping in the jumpsuit pre cum slowly dripping down him. “t-that’s my good girl. daddy loves you” and the line went dead. you both sitting for a few moments taking in every thing that just happened.

and gojo only felt the need to keep you to himself become stronger.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: An Evening with Charles

Neil Gaiman: i should like to invite you all to an evening of spleniferous whimsy and unearthly magic Gaiman: [handing flier to Poe] for I, Neil Gaiman, shall be performing my world renowned Charles Dickens impression Poe: [reading flyer] "Sunday Sunday don't stay home" Poe: "Elevated theater at the monsterdome" Poe: "opening act: charles dickens"

Charles Dickens: neil gaiman's doing a reading of my work in character? Poe: oh yeah i hear its real good Dickens: well, i'll be the judge of that! Dickens: what's he reading? captain murderer? Poe: i think it's going to be a christmas carol Dickens: Dickens: yeah ok i guess you could read that

Poe: guys do you think that neil will include grip in his show Barker: i don't know, maybe Poe: i really hope he includes Grip Poe: i really love grip Barker: uh huh Poe: she talks you know Barker: yes edgar we know we were all here for that

Gaiman: welcome friends to an evening of whimsy, an evening of wonder Gaiman: as you enter the fantastical imaginarium of charles dickens Gaiman: where you can be anything! Gaiman: as long as you can imagine it!

Gaiman: and now watch, gentle viewers Gaiman: as i create an enduring christmas classic from the merest wisps of fantasy Gaiman: born of the very stuff of the cosmos -- the power of imagination! Poe: what do you think? Dickens: this is exactly right Dickens: that is exactly how i did it

Gaiman: ah Grip my constant companion, consort to gods and monsters alike, messenger of odin on velvet wings Poe: [pointing and whispering to charles dickens] that's grip Dickens: [annoyed] I know

Gaiman: from my pen shall spill the words of the ages! a tapestry of strange delights, the dreams of the sages! Gaiman: but hark! what noise do i hear at my door? Gaiman: is it the dark forboding spectre of hans christian andersen? Dickens: whoa no one told me this show was gonna be scary!!

[lesservillain]

inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994 

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but,  despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed. 

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship. 

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up. 

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.” 

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you. 

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.” 

 Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.  

October 7th, 1994 

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work. 

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter. 

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”  

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.  

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper. 

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously. 

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it. 

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

 “I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.” 

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at. 

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.  

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as  “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

 As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.  

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.  

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.” 

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

 It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994 

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you. 

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters. 

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher. 

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again. 

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!” 

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills. 

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students. 

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time. 

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid? 

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.  

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind. 

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.” 

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle. 

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…” 

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it.  Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.  

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued. 

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.” 

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right? 

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic. 

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.” 

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath. 

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.  

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

  “Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.” 

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front. 

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!” 

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared. 

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards. 

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body. 

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later. 

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?�� 

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading. 

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

  Eddie. 

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle. 

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.” 

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period. 

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed. 

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted. 

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune. 

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door. 

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you. 

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face. 

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye. 

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!” 

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else. 

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin. 

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?” 

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too. 

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.” 

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?” 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.” 

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles. 

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school. 

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face. 

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.” 

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts. 

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin. 

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?” 

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you. 

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?” 

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.” 

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest. 

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins. 

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon. 

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end. 

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise. 

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar. 

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you. 

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing. 

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you. 

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it. 

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself. 

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it. 

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain. 

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get. 

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely. 

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in. 

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground. 

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped. 

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what. 

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother. 

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash. 

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab. 

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face. 

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips. 

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

[yuyan]

To my darling

A/n: Merry Christmas and have a happy new year! I hope you enjoy it @pavo-ocell-me! This was a very fun event that I loved taking part in @2023gisecretsanta

Pairing: Lyney x gn!reader

Tags: Pure fluff! Modern au, implied school/college setting, penpals, pre-established relationship, reader is learning French, where reader lives doesn't have snow, one curse word just one ^^

"Take intermediate French they said. You'll be fine they said," you muttered to no one in particular as you read the Google translation over and over again. "My French teacher is going to kill me."

You rubbed your eyes, peeking out of makeshift pillow your arms made. Standing tall at the front of the class with a booming voice was your French teacher. She held a small, clear glass jar with folded bits of paper inside in one hand while placing a stack of letters on her lectern with her other.

"Speaking with natives is an excellent and necessary way to develop your language skills (unlike this soon to be 30 minute speech) so due to the cancellation of the exchange program for this year and the long dragged on meeting, we have decided to give you all pen pals!" she announced. Her arms held a wide stance, awaiting for something you were unaware of.

Some whispers and small squeals echoed through the lecture hall. Others groaned and put their head on the desk, waiting for celestia, perhaps even an archon to take them. You did neither.

"I wish I could turn back time," you sighed. After contemplating for an hour whether your teacher would ever find out that you used Google translate to write half your letter or not, you started handwriting it on a stack of fancy paper you really shouldn't have been able to afford. "Shell never know. It's not like he can tell her anyways."

As you dragged your pen along the piece of paper, you remembered the speech about how necessary this was, the small piece of paper you pulled out of the bag and the letter that came with it. With a small smile playing on your lips, you signed off and stuck the small paper that read "lyney" just below your name with a paper rainbow rose you made yourself. It had its imperfections but it's similarity to the fresh ones he sent you left you content.

"Oh my god why did he reply so fast?" you asked yourself. Not even 3 days later and you received another letter from lyney. You traced the grooves of the red wax seal made you shiver. He wouldn't ever know you used google translate right? With pursed lips, you opened it. Perfume immediately muddled your senses as you opened up the envelope. Your peers hadn't even sent their first letter, let alone receive their second.

As you skimmed over the letter, you took down some notes like where he's from–which was so uncessary–what he likes to do and some of his contact details. You hummed, giving yourself imaginary pats on the back for reading a whole three sentences before typing the other two paragraphs into Google translate. You really needed to switch classes, desperately.

It was only then you spotted that a sentence in french came out the same in the translation. "You really shouldn't be using Google translate for these letters," written at the very bottom. Well fuck.

"You are friends with your penpal? Well that's lovely (name)," your French teacher clapped with bright sparkles in her eyes. It blinded you for a second and you had to look away before you lost the ability to see forever.

Instagram

(potato_name):lyney sent a reel.

(potato_name):lyney sent a picture.

(potato_name):lyney sent you a mes...

I didn't use Google translate for this one. Are you proud of me? You wrote at the bottom before slipping the letter into its envelope and sealing it with the new wax stamp set you bought recently.

You rushed back home. You winced at the clatter of your laptop in your bag hitting the floor, deciding it was a problem for future you. Ripping open the envelope and skimming through the letter, you read at the very bottom 'I am proud of anything you do, mon Cheri."

A smile broke out onto your lips as you neatly kept it away in a small box your mother got you from Fontaine when you were little. The small box was made of white marble with gold outlining its edges and gathering in a few swirls in the middle where the golden clasp rested.

The Sun shone brightly despite it being the middle of December. Rays of Sunlight squeezed through your closed curtains and you wondered if it was snowing in Fontaine right now. Did Lyney like playing in the snow?

Letters became less and less frequent as your peers lost motivation in writing long drawn out of paragraphs with nothing but small talk. A year and a half had passed yet your teacher held a strong morale despite the head of languages not enforcing this penpals program anymore. Even they must have gotten tired of the back and forth.

A few days until Christmas holidays. Opening your phone, you checked to see if lyney had texted you anything. Nothing...

Your eyes kept glossing over your texts from Friday 11am. Its been a week. Pictures of him and his two siblings who added you back on Instagram. Even Lynette had texted you today, showing some new tea she bought from inazuma last week.

Lynette

My brother has been writing non-stop for the past few days. Are you guys still doing the penpals thing?

You

No, maybe he is writing to someone else?

Your stomach dropped as you reread your message. "Writing to someone else...I need fresh air." You took your phone and wallet and headed out the door.

"Where are you going?" your roomate called out but you were already heading to the lift. You ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it out of your face with a sigh. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter but this is the fifth time you've checked your phone this morning and its been a week with only a read tag.

"I seriously need to ban myself from my phone."

Lynette

Oh...nevermind. I'll ask him then.

Sent Friday 10 : 39am

"The christmas carnival was so much funner this year," your friend said, laughing. Then one hiccup escaped from her mouth. And then another one. Until you and your other friend bursted out laughing. "Not funny!"

"Yeah yeah. I still can't believe (Name) won that plushie from that shooting stall," your other friend said. He tossed another chip in his mouth, after finally calming down from his laughter.

"I'm surprised too. Those games are typically so rigged, I mean did you see the look on the owner's face though?" you said.

Holding up the little classic brown teddy bear, you admired it at all angles. Its red bow had a little bell hanging from the centre, jingling as you walked.

Its silly smile matched yours and then you noticed it. The small teddy's bowtie resembled the one Lyney wore in one of the pictures he sent. And the small envelope the size of your palm that the teddy held was a real one made of paper.

"(Name)? Whats wrong?"

"Nothing! I just realised my parents wanted me back at 10 and well its 11 so I have to go," you said with a bright smile, "Bye!"

"You live in a dorm though?" your friend countered, "(Name)!" But you were already walking out of the festival gates.

Picking out the small envelope, you brushed your thumb over the grooves of the wax seal. The same wax seal that you used for the last letter you sent. Did he really get the same stamp?

A mini rainbow rose fell out. The vibrant colours provided a stark contrast to the humid summer night. One letter. Five words. I love you, Mon cheri.

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped the letter, fumbling with it for a bit. Taking in the cool nighttime breeze, you looked up only to see the person you hadn't talk to in a week standing only a few metres away from you.

Lyney held a bouquet of vibrant rainbow roses in one hand and the other behind his back.

"How are you..?" You took as step back, your gaze falling to the floor then back up at him again.

"I told you I'm a magician in one of my letters didn't I?" Lyney started, "I would appear anywhere if it was to be with you."

[thetiredstuff]

This is just mostly a handy little post for me but I asked people to rec me some destiel AU best friends to lovers fics and this is what I got:

Recs from ltleflrt:

okay, cupid. by orange_crushed On Air by wincechesters Just Turn Around and Go by @porcupine-girl Version 2.0 by Elizabeth1985 aka @cocklesheadboop Ignore the Butterflies: Best Friend Advice from Dean Winchester by impatient14 A Match Made (and Misunderstood) by surlybobbies More Views. More Money. by herbivoredinosaur Remember When by VioletHaze aka @scones-and-texting-and-murder When In Vegas by Dmsilvis & TobytheWise

Recs from doctorprofessorsong

One of my favorite fics of all time is Evangelist by @valleydean. It's really enemies to friends to lovers but the enemies part becomes friends pretty quickly because they are deeply obsessed with each other. One of the classics if you haven't read it is To Build a Home. Childhood friends who broke up and find themselves back in each other’s life. It is very angsty but they have a lifelong friendship so you get a lot of childhood and teenage friendship moments. If I may self recommend, I just wrote Can't Fight the Moonlight in which they are in this post canon partnership and both want to add sexual intimacy but the partnership is soft so you get some really fun platonic intimacy. It's not AU, obviously, but may have something of what you want. Seraph by @dothraki-shieldmaiden is a superhero au where they are friends and roommates to lovers. It has great world building. More than Kisses by @friendofcarlotta is a friends to lovers epistolary romance. Dean and Cas are pen pals and they share an absolutely gorgeous emotional intimacy. Tiamatv has a few that fit the bill. I'm gonna mention Marchen because I love the world built in that one. Dean Winchester is a prince locked in a tower. Feel free to also skim my fic recs. @riversrecs

Recs by castiellesbian:

tiamatv's "It's the End of the World (As We Know It)" is a friends to enemies to lovers if that counts? They were childhood best friends in that one "A Midterms Night's Dream" by Englandwouldfall is an au where they're roommates (oh my god they were rommates). "In Some Sacred Place" by schmerzerling is a good one where they're friends throughout most of the fic, but it's kind of depressing overall

Recs from porcupine-girl

Just Turn Around And Go (roommates-slash-best-friends): https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228830 Like four weddings and a funeral but without the funeral (Sam POV, Sam is clueless and doesn’t realize they’re together): https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225625 Go Down With This Ship (online fandom besties, don’t realize they know each other irl): https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642

Rec by trampledundercas

#i thought of ‘ready to fall’ by lemonsorbae on ao3

A whole bunch of recs from dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you

A Tale of Two Tropes by Amelia_Clark (E, 7k) As You Walk On By by MercyBraavos (E, 23k) Are We Any Different? by LeviathanBlue, SerpentCountess (T, 41k) More Than Kisses by  FriendofCarlotta  (E, 29k) things i knew when i was young by stormwarnings  (T, 16k) Alright  by  turningthepages  (T, 46k) To Build a Home by intothesilentland  (M, 383k) When In Vegas  by  Dmsilvis, TobytheWise (E, 16k) The Ocean Between Us  by  noxsoulmate  (E, 27k) Room for Two (The Mattress AU) by  almaasi  (E, 14k) Honey-Baked  by  mishaminion69, sydkn3e (E,  89k) The Ones We Choose  by  lightmyway  (E, 82k)

EDIT: MORE:

Recs by bexfangirlforlife:

The Graveyard Shift by riseofthefallenone. PurgatoryJar Evangelist by embrancsxx0 Stay with me Sweetheart by Mandalarose We are what we pretend we are by tricia_16 Tricks of the Trade by Trenchcoat_Impala

Recs by impaledbeetle:

okay, cupid by orange_crushed Seek to Know You Better (E) by ahurston Après (E) by Imogenbynight Here's a couple aus that i really really enjoy that aren't necessarily best friends to lovers: spirit of the west (M) by teen_dean Parachutes (E) by chaoticdean (this one literally changed my life it is so good) And This, Your Living Kiss (M) by opal_bullets (again, this is life changing) Roll With It (E) by saltnhalo (this is a The Proposal (movie) au) Shut Up (Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is) (E) by kototyph

Recs by butch--dean:

spirit of the west by teen-dean (everyone should read this 90's horse girl dean au where he befriends cas, a local veterinarian) I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) by unicornpoe (I am a sucker for all "cas using dean as a vessel" fics) Après by imogenbynight (surely everyone has read this? dean and cas in paris what more can you ask for) under the midnight sun by northernsparrow (dean is the caretaker of a research station in the arctic and cas is a mysterious bird researcher) (I also rec you can keep holding on by this author but be warned that it is very grief-driven - but it is an in-depth study of the way they care for each other) though the course may change by imogenbynight (fake dating AU at a couple's retreat - another one that everyone has probably read but is so worth mentioning in case you haven't) there's no cell service in the afterlife by screamsintothesun (cas gets back from the empty and his phone blows up with dean's voicemails & texts) Gold in the Edges of Our Vision by SewingNatural (dean and cas eat peaches together on a hot summer evening. The writing style on this one is really really lovely) these are just a few from my bookmarks but also there is a really good rec list here & here (this one has a link to a specific friends to lovers list here) that I refer to often when looking for new fics/authors to dig through!!

Recs by mercurialkitty for some reason tumblr won't allow me to add them to my post so just click on their name to go to their post!

These are all the ones i've gotten up til now but will def edit if I get any more. If you see this post and think of a Destiel AU best friend to lovers fic that isn't on here or just a Destiel AU (no abo) fic that isn't on here: PLEASEEEEEE GIVE ME ALL THE DESTIEL AU FIC RECS (no abo)

Also i didn't tag the people who recommended it cuz I don't wanna annoy them but I linked back to all of their original posts or comments!

A hugeeeeeeee thank you to everyone who replied to my annoying messages for fic recs cuz I really really appreciate it. thank you all so so so much!!!!

[meganslife]

Pen pals - p. parker (part two)

read part one here !!

pairing; TASM! Peter Parker x Fem!reader

summary: after peter and you exchange phone numbers, he finds himself yearning for you. it only gets worse after a long night of you partying. but drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

warnings: none!:3

a/n: i love love love writing this series so the second part has come very quickly. anyway, make sure to read the first part if you haven’t already!! happy reading!!<3

Peter doesn’t know when or how, but he became addicted to listening to you talk. You had so many things to say- so many beautiful words coming out of your equally beautiful mouth. He couldn’t believe you had such a soothing voice, not that he expected anything less.

God, he was down horrendously.

You both were on Facetime. Peter listens to you talk about your friends as you get ready for a long night of partying. He never thought you’d like parties, but he doesn’t care that he was wrong. He likes that calling you every day gives him more to know about you. He figures that you get outside more once it gets warmer. Spring was blooming. You and Peter had been talking every day on the phone for three months.

“Yeah, and like, Anna is great and all, but she’s so mean!” You rant, finishing up your makeup. Peter nods, watching in awe. Do you even know how pretty you are? “Peter, are you listening?”

“What?” Peter snaps out of his thoughts, “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can let you go. It’s like, 11 pm over there,” You pick up your phone, almost saying goodbye before Peter interjects.

“No, don’t hang up,” He says quickly, “I like watching you get ready. It makes me feel closer to you.”

Peter can see your cheeks turn pink. You’re embarrassed, and he could cry in your lap with how much his heart is fluttering.

“Okay,” You smile, positioning your phone so Peter could see your outfit. “What do you think?”

Peter wants to fly to Seattle and worship the ground you walk on like right now.

“You look lovely,” He grins from ear to ear. “Is that a new top? It’s fun.”

It was a basic tube top. Nothing special to you, but very special to Peter. He knew that you got insecure, so the fact that you were willing to wear this while going out made his heart feel full.

“Yeah,” You nod, giddy. “Maria got it for me.”

Peter and you talk for a little while longer. He wants it to last forever. But, eventually, you say you have to go.

“Text me when you get home?” Peter asks.

“Sure, but you’ll be sleeping,” You tease.

He scoffs, “And you’ll be drunk. I’m staying up for you.”

“Whatever,” You laugh. “Bye, Pete!”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Peter holds his phone to his chest once you hang up.

One day, he’ll tell you.

~

Peter wakes up at three in the morning to his phone blowing up. He groans, putting on his glasses and squinting at his phone in a poor attempt to adjust to the brightness.

He sees that you’ve been texting him and calling him. To this, he smiles. He forgot to stay up for you. Oops.

Your texts are furious and poorly written. You’ve definitely been drinking.

‘PETER BENJAMIN PARKER’

‘PETEY’

‘Oh my god pleas ansswr.’

*3 missed calls*

‘Pls pete i’m drunk and desperate’

‘Go to bed and drink some water, babe.’

‘Hehehe babe. You’re so cute.’

‘Call me? Ppleas? I miss uou.’

Peter sighs, face red and burning hot.

When he calls, you answer not even one ring after he calls.

“Did you get home safe?” Peter immediately asks.

“Jeez. Not even a hello?”

“I have priorities.”

“I got home fine, cutie,” You giggle.

Peter thinks you’ll be the death of him.

“How much did you drink, bug?” He sighs, “You should go to bed. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

You groan over the line, and Peter laughs. He wishes he was with you in person to see this.

“You’re so boring, Pete! I have priorities too, you know.” You insist. Peter is imagining your dramatic pout.

“Oh yeah? What are they?”

“Go to Queens and hug you.”

Peter wants to cry. He knows you’re very drunk, but he read somewhere that drunk words are sober thoughts. He really hopes that you’re being genuine. Maybe you think about him as much as he thinks about you.

“We… We can talk about this another time,” Peter suggests. “Sometime when you’re sober.”

“Okay,” You say, accepting defeat. “My head hurts. I’m gonna go.”

“Alright,” Peter manages a smile, even though you can’t see it. “Goodnight, honey. Sleep well.”

“Bye! See you soon!”

See you soon.

See you soon.

See you soon.

In his dreams.

— read about me and find my masterlist here <3

[daydream-cement]

The Interview

College!Miranda Hilmarson x College!Reader

You interview the star volleyball player at your university... and... she's flirting with you??

fun silly lil idea from my pal @booitsrue. who doesn't love some harmless flirting?

The school paper at your university was small to say the least, leading you to take on some odd jobs writing articles about the school’s athletic program. This led you to interviewing many of the sports team’s best players, and today you were interviewing one of the best volleyball players at the university: Miranda Hilmarson.

You had agreed to meet at a coffee shop on campus to keep the interview informal. Sitting patiently, you tapped the end of your pen against the notebook that lay before you, waiting for Miranda to meet you for your scheduled interview. Double and triple checking your watch, 9:03am, you huff at her being officially three minutes late, wondering if she could have forgotten about the interview. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, double checking your messages to see if you had misread the time you were supposed to meet.

Hi Miranda! My name is Y/n L/n, and I was hoping to get an interview with you for the school paper about the game last Thursday. Do you have any time to meet this week?

➜ OMG TOTALLY! 

➜ I have morning workouts and practice at night. 

➜ I can meet after criminal law at 9am Wednesday! :))

Perfect. That works for me as well. 9am Wednesday at the coffee shop in the library? 

➜ Oh, for sure!

➜ See you then :D

From her messages she seemed eager for the interview, but as a student of her popularity, you assumed, she could have easily forgotten about the meeting. You decided to give her another 10 minutes, filling in the margins of the notebook with more questions to ask in case she did show up. 

Your head shot up when you heard a voice behind you, “Oh my god, Y/n. I’m sorry. The line was so long.” 

Craning your head up, you turned to see Miranda smiling down at you. The blonde’s hands were full, an iced coffee in each hand, and she surprised you further when she set one of the cups in front of you. Your eyes narrow in confusion, glancing from the coffee to the tall blonde who now took a seat across from you, “What?”

“Well, I had to get you a little something to sip on for our interview.” The volleyball player smirked at you with a wink, raising her own coffee to her lips. You could see a thought enter her mind as she stopped herself from drinking when her eyes widened, “I looked you up after you texted me. I really enjoyed your article on the student protests that happened last year on campus.”

“I- Uh, thank you.” Miranda was full of surprises, leaving you stumbling to find the right words. 

Miranda propped her hand in her hand, resting her elbow on the edge of the table as she gazed at you. Her smile soft and gaze adoring, “Also, I swear I’ve seen you around before. Were we in stats class together?”

You hesitate to answer too quickly. She had definitely been in your statistics class, but if you seemed too quick to answer, she might think you were strange or a fan. After pretending to think for a long moment, you give your reply, “Yeah, I think so. I sat a couple of seats over from you.”

“Oh, I remember you! You used to wear the cutest earrings.” It was hard not to adore the way Miranda moved about as she spoke, gesturing about with her hands and the most expressive facial reactions you had ever seen in your life. You watched her eyes scan you, her teeth biting her lip as she suppressed a smile, “It took everything in me to not turn around and stare at you during class all the time.”

“Thank you...” Your cheeks began to warm, wondering if her words were flirtatious or just friendly in nature. 

She let out a soft chuckle, brushing your ‘thank you’ aside with a shrug before she settled deeper into her chair, “Okay, shoot. What questions do you have for me?”

Glancing down to your notes, you decided to start off easy with a bit of a get-to-know-you question to ease you both into the interview, “What made you choose this university, of all places?”

“Volleyball, mostly, but it ended up feeling like home. I’ve really been able to create a loving and accepting community for myself.” You made little notes under the question as she spoke, underlining the term ‘accepting community,’ making you wonder what she specifically meant by the term. Could Miranda be gay? 

As it wasn’t quite relevant to the interview, you moved on to the next question, allowing your curiosity to linger at the back of your mind. “Your reputation even before playing college volleyball was pretty impressive. What drew you to the sport?” 

“You are pretty impressive yourself...” Yet another crooked smile spread across Miranda’s lips as she complimented you, butterflies swirling around your stomach in response. She leaned back in her chair as she began reminiscing about her start in the sport in which she made her career, “It was just what we did. Go to the beach and play for hours in the summertime. Transferred easily when I was old enough to play in leagues. To answer your question, it was initially just a way to spend time with friends.”

You quickly shake off the compliment and take quick notes, the image of young Miranda playing on the beaches filling your mind. After a pause, you glance up at the volleyball player, eyes meeting, causing the both of you to smile, “How much time do you spend training and practicing in a week?” 

Miranda’s face twisted and turned as she added up the numbers in her head, speaking aloud as she walked you through her thought process, “Probably... 3 hours a day... 6 days a week... Give or take a little bit depending on where we are in the season, so nearly 20 hours, but not quite. That includes workouts and practice.” 

You joke lightly in response, “Hardly have time for anything else when you add in your studies, hmm?” 

“I find time for friends... and relationships.” You were taken aback by the way Miranda’s eyes darkened, her voice becoming low and flirtatious as she leaned forward resting her head in her hand once more. “It all takes a bit of balancing.” 

You started your next question, but were swiftly cut off by Miranda, “What-” 

“How do you like your coffee? I wasn’t all that sure what to get you.” Hilmarson’s interruption was accompanied by that same adoring smile and excitement. Her change of subject made you cock your head for a moment, not expecting the turn of informality in the interview.

Glancing down to the ice coffee she had set before you, you lower your head to take a quick sip, offering Miranda a smile of appreciation. It’s great... I, uhm, usually get an iced coffee just like this.” 

“That’s what I thought. You would usually have something in class with you, so I took a shot in the dark to guess what you had.” Miranda’s facial expressions were all over the place as she spoke, her wide grin shifting about as her hands gestured her thought process. If Miranda was flirting with you, you were beyond okay with it. From class and photos from the volleyball games, you always recognized Miranda as being attractive, but never before did you consider her to be a potential love interest.

“That’s very thoughtful-”

“It’s really nothing. Not every day you have the university's foremost... and prettiest reporter wanting to talk to you.” Miranda’s words caused you to blush deeply and her cheeky grin only grew as she observed your reaction. 

“Oh, I-” 

She cut you off once more with a wave of her hand, gesturing for you to continue, “Sorry, I’m getting off topic again. Go ahead with the next question.”

With a shake of your head, you needed to refer back to your list of questions in order to focus on the interview. “Uh, yes. Yeah. The next question. What’s it like being this year’s MVP?”

“It feels pretty good. I’ve been working really hard the past couple of years, so I feel like it’s really paid off with this year’s season.” You were glad the interview was being audio recorded as you weren’t paying attention to a word she said. Your thoughts were far too focused on the desire for Miranda to ask you on a date. At the end of all of this, you hoped this wasn’t pointless flirting, but rather hoping she was intending to pursue a relationship with you. 

When she was done speaking, you moved on to the next question on your list, “Do they do anything special for the MVPs?”

“There’s a whole dinner and award banquet this year for the MVPs for each team... Do you know what would be fun? You should be my date! It’s in a couple of weekends. We could meet up for another coffee tomorrow and I could share the details.” 

You were shocked to hear your daydreams manifest themselves. Had Miranda truly just asked you out? You found it all too shocking that Miranda would want you as her date to the athletic banquet as well as asking you out for tomorrow as well. Glancing up from your notepad, you narrow your gaze at Miranda, unable to help your confusion, “You want to go on a date? With me?”

“Definitely. You’re cute... and intelligent, of course.” Miranda gave you a small roll of the eyes, shaking her head to emphasize how silly she thought your question was. Raising her coffee to her lips, she cocked her brow at you, “Tomorrow morning? I can do it after practice. We could get a coffee and make it a little homework date?” 

---------

“Are we allowed to be back here?” You asked in a hushed tone as Miranda tugged you along behind herself, her arm looped through yours. She had grown bored during the long speeches and had asked you to accompany her to the bathroom, but when you took a left instead of a right, ending up in the banquet hall’s empty bar/lounge, you knew Miranda was up to no good. 

“Ahh, who cares? That party was a little too stuffy anyway.” Your date took a step closer, her arm unraveling from yours to instead wind around your waist. Her eyes were trained in your lips, causing you to look nervously around the room, hoping no one would enter and catch you both like this, “You know, you look great tonight...”

All of your little dates from the past two weeks had been culminating in more sexual tension than either of you knew what to do with. When Miranda kissed you for the first time two nights ago, you were upset nothing had gone further than the lingering kiss at your apartment door. 

Feeling comfortable that no one else was about to enter the room, you turn your attention back to Miranda, giving yourself the opportunity to melt into her embrace. Leaning forward in her arms, you bring your hands to rest at the nape of her neck, brushing small circles against her collarbone with your thumb. “Thank you, Miranda... I, uhm, I like your suit.” 

Tilting your head, you ghost your lips against hers, eliciting a happy hum from the depths of Miranda’s throat. Her hand traveled up your back, fingers stroking at the bare skin your dress left exposed. She dipped in quickly, pressing a kiss to your lips, not entirely pulling away when she whispered, “Thanks...”

In a flash, her lips were on yours and you raveled your arms around her neck, drawing her even closer. You knew your lipstick would surely be smudged by the way Miranda began to bite at your bottom lip, not to mention the way your tongues swirl and mingle with one another. You couldn’t help but smile when you felt Miranda backing you up until your back hit a wall. 

The ravenous making out continued throughout the rest of the banquet, only realizing how much time had passed when there was a final loud round of applause. 

The suddenness of it all caused Miranda to pull away, a wide smirk growing on her face when she noticed the state of your make-up. Her thumb swiped under your bottom lip, her voice low and breathy, “Wanna come back to my apartment?”

[vidjausers-fable]

Pen Pals(Veneer X OC)Chapter 1

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Oh my god, I fell in love with Veneer and Velvet the moment I heard their silly little quotes and songs. I also have fun drawing them!? Anyway, this story is completely for fun, though it’s been a while since I’ve last written a fanfiction. Nothing is beta read in this chapter, so be kind if pointing out mistakes. Below is something I drew specifically for this fiction (though obviously it was inspired by the Barbie and Ken meme)

Also located on Wattpad and AO3. Chapter 2 and 3 are already located there, but soon will be here as well.

Once they had been arrested, Veneer and Velvet were booked and thrown into prison immediately. Well, it was more of a correctional facility if anything. A place where they wanted to prepare young adults who had made stupid mistakes for the outside world. Velvet didn’t take the change well but Veneer made no complaints, believing that it was the right thing to do because of the crimes they had committed. All those Trolls they had hurt…It weighed on him more than it did his sister. Velvet received a harsher sentence compared to her brother. Veneer’s was smaller because his heartfelt confession helped save the Trolls from his sister and expose their scam right away. 

However, the two shared a cell in the correctional facility due to a bit of a crowding issue. Their rooms were split in two, one side for Veneer and the other for Velvet. It wasn’t the ideal living situation, but Velvet was the only one complaining about it. 

The siblings looked completely different than what they used to. With no access to makeup in the facility, their faces were blank and deprived of any makeup and creams, and both adored the orange jumpsuits that read “Mount Rageous Correctional Facility” on the back. Velvet complained about her looks and image on the daily, as if it had not already been diminished. 

Veneer sat at his desk with one of the books checked out from the Library, trying to somehow read and drown out the voice of his sister whining in the background. It was hard to do both at the same time so he closed the book with a loud sigh, “What is it this time, Vel?” he asked and spun around in his chair to look at his sister. 

Velvet was half laying on the bed, her knees hanging over the edge. She threw her hands up and around dramatically as she spoke, “This isn’t fair! They took away another hour of my rec time from me just because I wanted an extra five minutes to eat. Didn’t I tell them I’m a slow eater?” She kicked her feet around as if she were a child having a tantrum.

Veneer leaned against his palm, unimpressed. As always. “And how did you ask for this extra five minutes?”

His sister glared. Did he Really ask her that as if she had done something wrong? “I asked, like a normal person! DUH!” she retorted sarcastically, throwing her hands up. 

Veneer rolled his eyes. He seriously doubted that, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “Maybe…just maybe Vel, you should ask a bit nicer,” he suggested and added before she could interrupt, “Unfortunately, the people here don’t like to deal with our attitudes.”

“Me? An attitude! As if! This place is worse than a shoe store with no branding,” she groaned. “And a restaurant without lobster.”

Veneer gave up talking to his sister and turned back toward his desk. There was no use arguing with Velvet. She was an entitled brat. She always tried to get the last word in, and it was impossible to point out her mistakes, or her flaws. In her eyes, she was flawless and never did wrong, and only did right. He’d dealt with that entitled attitude his whole life, and that attitude was the reason that he was in the correctional facility right now. It was honestly pathetic, but there was nothing that he could do about it except not give in to her tantrums and ignore them when they arose. Of course, it was easier said than done. She practically threw a rich snobby princess tantrum every day. “Why don’t you back me up anymore, like you used to?” Velvet abruptly sneered. Veneer could already see her expression without turning back around.  

“Veneer, don’t ignore me.”

Over time, Veneer had found ways to stand up for himself. It was easier when they weren’t next to each other, but also because he was over her and her dramatic antics. 

“Because.” Veneer closed the book he was trying to read, “It’s your fault we got into this whole situation in the first place.” He had to resist the urge to turn around and throw the book directly at her head.

“You didn’t exactly stop me when I kidnapped the Troll.”

“Because I couldn’t Velvet!” He argued, finally turning to her, “You took the Troll without even telling me at first. You put him in a diamond perfume bottle without a word. I knew it was suspicious when I suddenly caught you singing one day, or remotely have any talent. I bet if I didn’t walk in on you in your room that day with the Troll, that you would have kept all of that stolen talent yourself and left me at home with our parents, which by the way, I CARE about the fact that they disowned us. They get death threats because we scammed everyone, and can’t practice their dentistry anymore. They sold their business to pay off our debts, and you think they hate us? I know you hated them, but do you honestly think that they deserved all of that?” The entire ramble left him in a single mouthful it felt, leaving his sister appalled. He had so much to say to her that his words tumbled out almost all at once.

Velvet gasped, her jaw wide open and a hand over her heart, as if he tried to strike it. “They deserved it, Veneer, for the way they treated us growing up! They were nobodies and didn’t give us anything.”

“How did they treat us, Vel?! They literally did nothing wrong our entire lives! We had everything we wanted! You got a car for your sixteenth birthday and you pawned it off to buy a stupid golden ring! You don’t even have it anymore, you threw it down the drain when we became total frauds and got more money, which you used to buy worthless junk. Our parents are saints compared to how you talk about them.”

“Are you saying this is all my fault?”

“It is, Vel. It’s your fault we’re in here because of you. And I won’t change my mind about that.” He turned his back to her once again. Ever since they had been arrested, it had been nothing but anger between the siblings, bubbling over the tea kettle. Veneer swore that his steam was running out fast around her. 

“It’s your fault too! You used the Troll as much as I did!”

Veneer ignored her. 

“Veneer, you can’t throw all the blame at me!”

Veneer ignored her again, at least until he heard her stand up and stomp toward him. Right as he flipped around, she grabbed the front of his orange jumpsuit and began to shake him. She bared her teeth in anger at him, shaking him until his neck popped, “You can’t throw all the blame on me, Veneer! That’s just not fair. You used the Trolls just as much as me, so you’re not a perfect saint. Neither were our parents. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?!”

Metal clanged on metal and the siblings turned around to face the door of the cell. One of the Correctional Guards stood at the door, his baton against the cell bars, clinging back and forth until he had their attention. He glared at the two, though mostly at Velvet—the universal trouble maker. “Behave yourself Velvet, and stop arguing. That or I can extend your banishment from the rec room to the whole week. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

Velvet, still holding onto her brother’s shirt, glared at the officer, debating in her head if this was still worth it. If fighting her brother was worth the only freedom that they got in that joint. The two shared a long eye contact battle before she gave in, letting her brother go after shoving him back into the chair, and returned to her bed. “Whatever,” she snapped before rolling onto her side with her back facing the two. 

Veneer adjusted his shirt before looking at the guard, a bit frazzled and his heart racing. Even she got to him sometimes. “Whew…” Saved by the guard.

The guard watched Velvet and when he felt as though she was calm enough, looked to Veneer, the one he really wanted to talk to. He took out his keys from his side pocket and the clanging of the metal made the two perk up. “Veneer, your counselor wants to see you now.”

Velvet immediately interrupted, sitting up, “What about mine? Doesn’t she want to see me?”

“She would, if you would stop destroying her office at every appointment.” He stopped fiddling with the keys and glared at the sister, waiting for her to settle down again. He looked to Veneer and waited for him to approach the bars, as part of the protocol for entering and leaving the cells. 

“What for?” Veneer asked, approaching the cell door. “It’s not time for my appointment, is it? I don’t think it would be…” He sounded panicked. 

The guard opened the door. Veneer was required to step out and press his back to the wall with his arms out and palms faced down. Veneer was a low threat so only one guard was needed, though at some point Velvet needed four. He quickly locked the door because as expected, Velvet threw herself against the door and grabbed the bars in rage and growled. She even reached down to try and swipe the keys as they were shoved back into a secure pocket. The guard scoffed in her face and turned to Veneer, patting him down. The guard took his shoulder and pulled him in front of him, letting him walk where he could see him. 

Patting Veneer’s shoulder, he chuckled, “We really need to get you your own cell, buddy boy. Your sister gives me an ulcer everytime I open her cage. She’s like a dog who’s had everything handed to him, but still darts out the damn door whenever it opens.”

Veneer chuckled nervously, “Yeah…Uh, do you know why my counselor wants to see me? I didn’t do anything bad, did I?” He tried not to panic or ruminate like he used to. Besides, nothing he did was as bad as his sister…Though he honestly still felt as though he was a kid again, being sent to the principal's office, just multiplied by ten and with more consequences.

“I dunno, they don’t tell me anything. She didn’t seem mad, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I think it does.”

Veneer fidgeted his hands on the walk to his counselor’s office, guided by the guard. The guard opened the door and only shut it once Veneer sat across from his counselor. His counselor was a middle-aged blonde Mount Rageous person. She was prim and proper, and despite her strict posture and formalities of speech, she was a caring woman with bright blonde hair and honey amber eyes. Her office space matched the same atmosphere of her person. Everything was neatly arranged. There was a funky splash of red paint on the wall, pictures of cute animals under cheesy motivational quotes. There were also nick nacks scattered across the room. One of them was one of those solar powered bobble heads dancing along to no beat, sitting across from Veneer with a playful catty smile.

Linda greeted him with a warm smile. Veneer was still getting used to having someone like Linda to talk to. She always listened and never interrupted him, like his sister did. 

“Dr. Graham…Uh, why am I here?” he asked and the emotions immediately flooded in, trapped within from where he had been dealing with his sister all day. He sunk down into his chair, trying to hide, “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

Linda gasped and reached across the table. She knew that Veneer wasn’t a touchy-feely person, so she touched the desk right in front of him instead. “No, no, no, dear! Actually, I have something exciting to share with you.” She waited for Veneer to slide back up into his chair and sit properly.

“What…is it?” Veneer asked hesitantly. He expectedly leaned forward.

Linda bounced, her own excitement showing as she pulled out a folder from her file cabinet. Everything was so perfectly organized that it took no time for her to find anything. “Since our system runs on good behavior, and you’ve been on your best behavior—might I say even better than those who have been here for years—we decided to give you a huge reward. Now, we don’t just give these away to every patient here!” Her hand was on a document, which she pushed across the desk then flipped it so it faced him. 

Before him was a blank tan file cabinet folder. 

Veneer’s eyebrow raised. “What’s in that?”

“You won’t know until you open it. Go on!” She pulled her hands back and clapped as Veneer reached for the folder. He picked it up and opened it to the first page. He read it and frowned. 

Before he could get words out, Linda cheered and clapped her hands some more, “It’s our Pen Pal Program! We like to give these out to our top most behaved patients here. We were quite surprised to see how well you turned out, and how quick and well mannered you were, so don’t take this reward lightly!” She said and took the document back, flipping through the pages, explaining every single one of them until Veneer’s eyes couldn’t keep up with his brain. 

“Wait, wait…So I earned this?” he asked and put his hands on the papers, taking them when Linda let go of them. “What do I do with this? How does it work?”

“It’s easy!” Linda began to explain, “You fill out these forms and I scan and put it into the system. After a bit of Beep Booping on the keyboard, the system finds a pen pal that will be suitable for you! The system is surprisingly 95 percent accurate. When a Pen Pal is assigned to you, you receive their first letter and then write a response to them. After that, you basically send letters back and forth to each other. It’s very old school and the only part that technically plays a role is to keep your documents up to hand and sort out who your Pen Pal is!” 

Veneer was distracted by the exaggerated hand gestures Linda made as she talked. He shrugged it off and began to flip through the papers, looking at them carefully to make a decision. Having someone new and different to talk to sounded…different.

“If you fill this out right now while I still have you in my office, I should get everything uploaded and submitted within a couple hours.” Her fingers clacked loudly against the keyboard. Then she looked to Veneer and gave him one of her trusting, and warm smiles. “Is that something you’re interested in, Veneer?”

After looking through the last of the papers, Veneer took a second to think it over in his head. It would be nice to have conversations with someone from the outside world, considering he no longer had his parents. For once, he wouldn’t have a conversation centered around how did you get here? How did you get busted? Best of all, he could have someone to communicate with that wasn’t his sister. That was the icing on the cake. That’s what stood out to him the most. 

Placing the papers back down on the desk, he looked to Linda with a determined expression. He held out a hand to her, brows knitting together. “Pen, please.”

“That’s it! YAY!” Linda took out a pen from the pen box that was organized by type of pen, colors, and probably even ink levels. Veneer took the pen and began to read everything meticulously and filled out blanks while he glanced over the paper. Linda was quiet, but played calming and relaxing music that she knew Veneer liked to help him focus. 

The paperwork didn’t take long, and he finished it in less than thirty minutes. “Can you look it over and make sure I didn’t forget anything?” he asked, sounding timid as he handed the papers over. 

Linda took the papers and flicked through the pages at lightning speed. A smile crossed her lips. “It’s perfect, I’ll get everything ready for you and you should get your Pen Pal within a week or two.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Woo, look at the time. You have to get back to the cell for quiet time. Your favorite time!” She clasped her hands together. “Veneer, I’m so proud of the growth you’ve gone through these past months. You must have been eager for change before you walked through our doors.”

Veneer blushed at the compliments and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t necessarily wrong. “I’m not used to all these compliments…I don’t think I deserve all this praise.”

Linda shook her head and placed her hand back on Veneer’s spot on the desk, giving him a soft and understanding smile. “Just because your sister made you fight for affections, and do terrible things, doesn’t mean you’re less deserving of love. Remember what we talked about, okay?” She leaned back in her chair. “Also, Veneer?”

“Yeah?”

“I received your report for transferring rooms and approved it,” she answered, watching as Veneer became brighter every second. “We just have to wait for a room to become available, alright? You’re next on the list, I promise.” She nodded her head. 

Veneer was disappointed knowing that he had to wait a bit longer, but nonetheless was happy that there was at least one person fighting for him. He nodded his head, determined before standing. “Thank you, Dr. Graham. For everything.” He felt appreciative of the woman, who had gone out of his way to help him become a better person.

A different guard stood outside when Veneer came out of the room, and nodded to the male. Walking in front of him again, he walked all the way back to his room. He felt an anxious pit in his stomach, knowing his sister was there waiting for him and already heard her voice hounding him to tell her everything he discussed with Linda, as she always did. And he didn’t want to do that. Sure enough, his sister was waiting for him with her hands on the bars, and once again the guards had to fight simply to keep Velvet within her cell. It was the same thing everyday, and maybe this Pen Pal program would help change things.  

Veneer was tired of this life. 

[bingbongsupremacy]

Pen Pal Pt. 2

Pairing: Ellie Williams x reader

Warnings: Nothing serious ( Ellie's a bit more excited ig than in the game. ) I don't feel like I'm getting her personality right in this one. I just feel like she'd be happy to meet her friend for the first time.

Summary: You finally get to meet Ellie. God has she changed.

AU

*Not Proof Read* TLOU Masterlist

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

*****

May 2, 2034 (18 yrs old)

Receiver: elwilliams@email.com

Subject: So

I'd love to come to Wyoming! Maybe you could finally show me that fair you're always talking about!

I can't wait to see you in person. Also your tattoo is amazing. Cat is so talented! I bet she's a great girl. I can't wait to meet her.

As long as your dad's on board with it, I'd love to go. Thank you for inviting me. Please thank Joel and your sister.

I'm gonna go look at tickets!

Love, Y/N

------

After a long argument, my parents finally let me go to Wyoming.

I stare out of the plane window at the city below as we finally land. The pilot announces we can leave and people start to shuffle out of the confined space.

I make my way down the long hallway, not really sure where to go. I've never been on a plane before.

I finally make it to the baggage area where people crowd around the rotating machine.

Finally I spot the blue ribbons on my dark suitcase.

I follow the lane of moving people out a pair of large doors and into a bigger area of the airport. What seems like thousands of more people crowd the large area.

Fuck this is crazy.

I pull out my phone, sending a quick text to Ellie, letting her know I'm here.

I don't know where the fuck I'm supposed to go.

I scan my eyes around the room. There's so many people I'm not sure what to do. I think I'm supposed to meet them in here but I don't remember. Fuck why can't I remember?

A loud shout catches my attention.

" Y/N?! "

I spot a girl holding a white sign with 'Welcome to Wyoming' written on it.

My breath catches in my throat. Ellie.

The last time we sent pictures of what we looked like to each other, we were Freshmen. She's changed a lot.

Her auburn hair is shorter and half up in a bun. Her dark green shirt compliments her sparkling green eyes.

Her tattoo immediately captures my eye, causing me to trace her arm. Her muscles are slightly defined, leading up to her hands.

Her eyes land on mine and a small smile breaks out on her face. " Y/N? "

" Ellie! " I grin while immediately making my way towards her. I lug my heavy suit case and carry on behind me.

Ellie immediately hands the sign over to an older looking man I quickly recognize as Ellie's adoptive father, Joel.

I let go of my bags as I reach the trio. " Oh my god. You look exactly like your pictures. I'm so glad I haven't been catfished by a fifty-seven year old named Chuck. My friends were worried you were going to ax murder me. "

Ellie rolls her eyes. " Shut the fuck up. If I wanted to murder you, I would've had you come over sooner. " Ellie wraps her strong arms around my shoulders.

I'm immediately met with a the smell of the forest mixed with weed.

We pull away and Ellie introduces me to her family.

" Joel, Sarah, this asshole is Y/N. "

I slightly wack her in the ribs. " You're one to talk. "

" Y/N, this is Joel and Sarah. "

" Nice to meet you. " I greet the two. " Thank you guys for letting me stay here for the summer. "

" Nice to meet you too, kid. I've heard so much about you. It's no big deal. " Joel taps my shoulder kindly.

" Yeah Ellie never shuts the fuck up about you. " Sarah rolls her eyes. The older girl is immediately met with protest from Ellie.

" Girls, girls. " Joel sighs and rubs his forehead. " We have a guest. "

I grin at the two who apologize.

" Let's go. If we want a spot at Will's, we need to get our asses' to the diner. "

I turn around to grab my bags when a hand beats me to them.

Ellie hands one of the bags to Joel before turning to me. " Beat you too it. "

" I can carry my own bags, Williams. " I roll my eyes.

" I'm a fucking gentlewoman, L/N. I don't make my friends carry their bags. " Ellie grins.

Fuck her smile. She's so...fuck.

But friend? God of course. There's no way in hell she'd ever like me back. She's dating Cat! Why the hell am I still crushing on her? She's got a fucking girlfriend.

Joel leads us out of the airport and into a giant parking garage. " It's going to be a bit of a ride to town. "

" Don't worry, I'll keep ya entertained. I am your best friend, after all. " Ellie squeezes my shoulder with her empty hand. Joel opens the back of his truck and he slides my suitcase into the back. Ellie lifts up the suitcase with no struggle, easily sliding it next to the other one.

" Egotistical much? " I shake my head and slide into the seat behind Sarah.

" You love it. " Ellie hops in next to me, reaching over Joel's seat to turn on the radio.

" Driver picks the music. " Joel argues, switching the station.

" Actually the passenger. " Sarah smiles while changing to a pop station.

The three argue over who gets to pick the radio station, bringing a smile to my face. It's not like the arguments my parents have. There's no hate filled words being hurled around. Just jokes and slight annoyance. They aren't getting in each others faces. I don't feel scared to be around them.

I lean my head against the warm glass of Joels' truck. With a small yawn, I shut my eyes for a minute.

Just a minute.

-------

" Y/N. Wake up Y/N. " A hand softly shakes my shoulder.

I slowly open my eyes, squinting at the bright setting sun. " What the fuck? " I ask, confused where I am.

A small chuckle fills my ears. " Y/N get the fuck up. "

" Ellie? "

" Yes. We're here. Joel and Sarah are already inside saving us a seat. "

Oh shit I'm in Wyoming.

I hop out of the truck and follow Ellie into a brightly colored diner. " This place looks awesome. "

" The foods fucking fantastic. " Ellie holds open the door, waiting for me to enter.

" Thanks. "

We spot Joel and Sarah in the corner booth and make our way towards them.

" Ellie? " A voice asks.

A short black haired girl grins at us from her spot at a nearby table.

" Cat! Hey, babe. " A bright smile breaks across Ellie's face.

Cat hugs Ellie tightly before placing a small kiss on her cheek. " I didn't know you were gonna be here tonight. "

Ellie nods. " Yeah. Um you remember my friend, Y/N, right? "

" You're Pen pal, right? "

Cat finally seems to notice me. Her smile slightly less happy.

" Yeah. This is Y/N. Y/N this is my girlfriend, Cat. " Ellie happily introduces us. "

" Nice to meet you, Cat. " She's pretty for sure. And her style is great too.

" You too! "

Cat quickly moves back to talking with Ellie. I awkwardly shuffle in my spot, unsure what to do. Eventually I make my way towards Joel and Sarah.

" Ugh, Cat's here. " Sarah rolls her eyes once she looks up from the menu.

" Be nice, Sarah. " Joel grumbles, obviously not a big fan of the girl either.

" She's so fucking clingy. Like let Ellie breath. Damn. " Sarah explains.

Joel ignores the comment and continues scanning the menu. " You've gotta try the lemonade, kid. It's made fresh everyday. "

I grin at the older gentleman. " I definitely will. "

______

We got home around 8. Ellie and Joel help me bring my bags into the house.

" We set up the guest room for you. It's right across the hall from Ellie's. " Joel pushes open the door.

" Thank you so much. You guys...you've done so much for me. " I turn to Ellie and Joel.

Ellie sets my suit case in the corner of the room. " Of course. "

" We love havin' ya here kid. " Joel ruffles the top of my head. " Have a good night. " He leaves the room, leaving Ellie and I behind.

" I was thinking maybe if you're not too tired tomorrow night we could have a movie night? " Ellie asks while leaning against the closet door.

I nod. " I'd love that. "

[radioactive-earthshine]

why do you ship jayeddie?

1.) They were canon friends in the 80s.

2.) They were pen pals (gasp) oh my god they pen pals. The letters, what happened to the letters?!

3.) Angst. Everyone likes a little angst peppered in.

4.) It fulfills a trope I love, childhood friends meet up after years and reconnect but all with the baggage of death, demonic pacts, and murder.

5.) Book nerd vs. cinema nerd.

6.) Eddie's unwavering goodness and belief in people vs Jason's bs is a fun cocktail to play with.

7.) I appear to be incapable of shipping popular ships and someone told me I couldn't ship them so I'm going to be spiteful about it now, even though I have Jason blacklisted.

8.) It's free real estate from the perspective of world building, we only have a couple of comics where they even mention each other.

[callsigndragon]

Desperate times, desperate measures | Ch. 3: Mr. & Mrs. Seresin

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!writer!reader (Most of the times, she will be called Page)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of death, bureaucracy stuff, idiots being idiots, EMMA'S FIRST (and short) APPEARANCE, jake mentions sex once? This is a biiiiiiiig slow burn, man.

A/N: i posted this, but I'm not here lol. small chapter, but at least we have a chapter.

It's okay if you like it and all, but please... a comment is also welcomed and if you reblog it? I'll kiss you on the forehead.

Masterlist

“So you got married recently?” The lady at CPS says, while typing away on the computer. 

You clear your throat, looking at Jake before answering. “Yeah, we were planning on getting married in a few months, and our friends were going to help us organize the wedding, but... They’re not here anymore.” 

The lady, who you think is called Sandy, looks at you with a sorrowful expression. You want to roll your eyes. How can Jake’s plan be working? When discussing how to approach CPS about your rushed wedding, he said to pull the "our friends died" card. And it’s working. 

“I’m so sorry that you had to rush your wedding… I’m sure it was going to be a wonderful event.” She says, turning the chair around once the printer starts buzzing. Once those documents are signed, Emma will be yours. And parenthood will begin as soon as Emma is in your arms. 

“We were going to get married at the beach. It was a beautiful place.” Jake replies, placing his hand on your leg, just inches away from your knee. The contact burns your skin, and not in a romantic way. 

“Oh my god, a beach wedding? It would have been absolutely beautiful, Mr. Seresin.” The woman says, writing a few things on the document before giving it to you. She’s literally swooning over Jake right now. 

Pretty much like all the women you have seen in the parking lot before entering the building. 

“I’m just sad that my pretty…girl didn’t get to have the wedding of her dreams.” Jake continues with his lies and his intentions of fooling the CPS worker as much as possible. You’ve noticed the small pause, doubting about the next unsaid word. It feels like pronouncing the words "his" and "wife" in the same sentence was as hard as taking down an enemy aircraft. 

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance in the future.” She hands you the papers and two shiny blue pens, pointing to the blank spaces where you two have to sign. 

You grab the pen, feeling its weight, twirling it around your fingers, trying to find the perfect position to write with it. It feels uncomfortable, no matter how much you try it. But it’s not the pen that feels wrong. 

It’s you, signing a paper where it says that Mr. and Mrs. Seresin are now legal guardians of Emma Hawkins, who doesn’t feel comfortable. Because once this process is over, Emma Hawkins will cease to exist. She’ll be Emma Seresin. 

That’s all that's left of them. Their surname. And it will be gone. 

Just like they are.

“Well, give me a second, and I’ll bring you your daughter.” Sandy announces with a smile, saving all the files into the folder that is soon stored in a drawer. After that, she leaves the room, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway. 

“My daughter.” 

You turn your head slowly in his direction, feeling Jake’s words as your own. “It’s our daughter now.” 

“She’s not. She’s my dead friend’s daughter. Not mine.” He clenches his jaw, bouncing his leg up and down, and you wonder if this situation isn’t too much for you too. Maybe they shouldn’t have named you two Emma’s legal guardians. 

“Sorry to break it to you, pal. But once the process is over, she’ll have your name. She’ll be your daughter.” 

“Where the fuck did I get myself into?” He mutters, covering his face with his hands. 

“It was your idea,” you remind him, noticing that you still have the pen in your hand. You leave it on the desk, watching all around the room. They may look after children here, but this is the most boring place you've ever visited. Not even a child-related thing hangs on the walls; there’s only framed certificates and a clock. “I was ready to do this on my own.” 

Jake lets out an airy chuckle, getting up from his chair and pacing around the room. “They wouldn’t let you, you know it.” 

“I could’ve tried. But now I’m married to you for a fucking year.” 

He points a finger at you, leaning a bit over your seated figure. "I will not allow strangers to look after my goddaughter."

You slap his hand away, standing up to look him in the eye. “It’s your daughter, now.” 

“You’re fucking annoying,” he mumbles, stepping even closer and not even once darting his eyes away from yours. 

“You’re a hypocrite. You don’t want her to be adopted by someone else, but you refuse the idea of calling her daughter.” 

Jake clenches his jaw, talking through his teeth. “I’m not a father.” 

You pat his chest, whispering slowly your next words. “You’re a husband and a father now, Jake Seresin. Don’t think you can go around and live your life the way you’ve been doing it until now.” 

He’s so close now that you can smell his perfume. It smells good. It's strange how his entire being makes you want to vomit, but his essence is pleasant. “So what, you want us to play the loving family, invite our friends for dinner, and when they leave, we end up fucking on every surface of the house?” 

You scoff, wondering what the fuck he's on. "Do you intend to do that with your future wife?" 

“I don’t know if I’ll have a wife after this horrible experience.” 

“You better not. My heartfelt sympathies go out to the poor woman who has to deal with your sorry ass." 

“You little–”

Jake's words are cut short when the CPS worker opens the door. You were so engrossed in your conversation that you forgot where you were and why you came here. Did she hear something? Did she hear you say all those things, and she knows that you have lied to her in her face? What are you going to do? 

Your body acts on its own, taking advantage of the close distance you two are at, and you grab Jake by the neck, pulling him down so you can kiss him. Two newlyweds kissing? Yeah, nobody will be surprised by that. 

As if he knew the intentions behind your actions, his hands move to your waist, pulling you close. Playing the part, like he has been doing all day. 

“Oops, looks like mom and dad are having fun!” Sandy says, opening the door entirely with Emma in her arms. 

You can see in her little face that, even if she can’t comprehend what has happened, she knows that something terrible has occurred and that her life is not the same. She seems to have been crying, and her cheeks are still wet. 

“Oh my god, Emma!” You rush to her, grabbing her in your arms and securing her from the rest of the world. She hangs to you, her tiny fists clenching into your clothes. 

It's like she’s trying to hold on and not lose any other member of her family. 

“Hey, baby girl.” Jake walks to you, and Emma’s face lights up, emitting gleeful sounds of pure happiness. Jake might be a player and an idiot, but he loves this little girl more than anyone else in the world. “Oh yeah, I missed you too.” 

“You can take her home now. I wish you the best for your marriage. I know you’ll last. I can see how much you love each other.” 

Jake and you look at each other, raising an eyebrow. 

Maybe you should stop writing and start an acting career.

Once you leave the building, you go back home. Well, what now is your home. Anne and Luke’s will said that you had to live in their house. Gabs is there, waiting for you two. She has offered to take care of her all afternoon while you two go to your houses and get all the necessary things. 

“How are we doing this?” Jake asks, driving all the way to your house. “We can’t pack everything today.” 

You sigh, leaning your head against the window. “I know. And their house doesn’t have room for all my books.” 

“How many books do you have?” 

“More than I can read,” you confess, earning a snort from the man. “Do you read?” 

“When I have time. I don’t read your chick lit romance stuff, so don’t ask me about it,” he says, driving slowly once he enters the street you live on. 

“I wasn’t counting on it.” 

He parks in front of your house, a place that has been a refuge, and now you have to leave. “You want help?” 

You tear your eyes away from the main entrance and look at him. “You offering?” 

“I guess if I help you here, and you help me in my house, we’ll be faster. You know Gabby has stuff to do.” 

You nod, knowing that he’s right. “Yeah, sure. Come in.” 

He turns off the engine, grabs two boxes from the back of his truck, and walks behind you until you reach your doorstep. He chuckles when you open your bag to look for the keys. You turn to look at him, frowning. “What’s so funny?” 

“Never thought I’d see the day you’d let me in your house,” he responds, scratching his eyebrow. “Not after that date, at least.”

“It wasn’t even a date. We never got to the restaurant,” you recall, shaking your head at the thought of that horrifying night. 

“You didn’t want to go out with me, Page.” 

You open the door, enter your house, and turn on the lights. “Actually, I did.” 

“You did?” 

Why does he sound surprised? “Yeah. Luke said so many good things about you. I was interested in getting to know you better.” 

“Miss Page had a little crush on the fighter pilot, huh?” Jake teases, and you grab a pillow and throw it at his head. 

“No. And all the chances of me having a crush on said fighter pilot died when he made a booty call while we were still in the car,” you move around the living room, collecting your laptop and charger and some other things you might need. 

“I must confess, that was a dick move.” He admits, opening the boxes and leaving them on the sofa. “I’ll go get the edibles from the fridge.”

You watch him walk away, feeling bad for him. You two are acting like idiots one second and being civil the next. You've had too many emotions in the last few days. “Jake?” 

He turns around, looking at you. “Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry for being mean to you. You’re having a hard time, like me. And... I'm sorry you’ve lost your best friend.” 

Jake’s eyes shine a bit more than usual, the result of the unshed tears that threaten to fall. “Thank you, Page. I’m sorry for saying all those things back in the office. It’s…this isn’t how I wanted to marry, you know?” 

You nod. Of course you know. “I write romance novels, Jake. I crave the romanticism and the slow burn and falling in love and…” you sit down, letting out an air you’ve been holding since who knows when. “I won’t have that anymore.” 

“In a year, you’ll be free, Page.” He reminds you, leaning over the threshold, arms crossed across his chest, tightening the t-shirt around his muscular biceps. “Just a year.” 

“It’s easy for you to say, but… I’ll be a divorced mom in a year. Who wants to marry a divorced mom?” 

Jake wants to say something that’ll make you have more confidence in yourself and maybe have hopes for the future, but he knows that there are a lot of men that will run away at the thought of you having a baby. It’s not going to be impossible for you, but it would be complicated. 

“You’ll find someone, Page. I’m sure of it.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

“We’ll think about it in a year, okay? Now pack your things, we still have to go to my house.” 

You put all the things you’ve found around the living room in one of the boxes and move upstairs, followed by an uneasy feeling. Maybe you have to enjoy this year. It might be the only opportunity in married life you’ll ever get.

BONUS: Luke and Anne's (Now Jake and Page's) house:

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[soullessjack]

oh my god wait I need to bring back my violent slapsticknatural posting. like you don’t get it we literally have zero power scaling for how far cas and jack’s healing factors go. we’ve only ever seen them got shot and stabbed , so who’s to say what else they could heal from? like picture this. you’re a monster of the week doing your monstrous business with some monster pals or something, completely unaware of angels or demons or anything else like that, and then in barges this stupid annoying hunter family to ruin the fun.

one of these guys looks like a cross between a gay porn parody of Columbo and a tax accountant. the other is, for one, Staunchly young to be a hunter, and he also looks like he would’ve been plastered on some teenage girl’s wall as a poster with little pink glittery gel pen hearts and initial pluses drawn all around him. maybe even have a major role in a Disney sitcom. gay porn Columbo could put up a pretty good fight but you can take heartthrob out like it’s nothin.’ so you go and work some monster magic beating his ass and eventually you snap his neck like a twig.

your monster buddies run a clawed fist clean through the chest of gay porn Columbo and for a minute he goes satisfactorily limp on their arm. for a minute small town Zac Efron lies on the floor with his head at a horrible angle, looking like a doll that got dropped the wrong way, and for another minute more you hear the jolly green giant and his tiny little Ken doll screaming and shrieking in total agony and because you’re a narrative monster of the week it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. But then something happens. gay porn columbo twitches and jumps back to life with an arm still lodged all the way through his chest, and with a strength even more inhuman than yours he rips it out of himself, groaning with pain but still acting as if he were merely removing an inconveniencing splinter.

your monster buddy shrieks at the touch, then howls in pain as gay porn Columbo just fucking breaks his arm. tiny little Ken doll and jolly green giant are elated but also not very shocked that their pal survived that. hm. you silently make note of that and then turn to face your own kill, only to find the most sickening nauseating sound ever coming from his corpse, like a thick wet grinding, and his head slowly rotating back around like a doll again. to your horror, you realize that his very spine is completely rearranging itself, setting itself back in place and his head is very correcting the angle you sharply pulled it to.

you don’t know what to think anymore. you don’t know what to do. these are hunters, human hunters, hunters are always humans, that’s how it fucking works. it’s never been anything else, it’s not some unspoken rule, it just is the reality of hunters and monsters. the other two guys, jolly green and Ken Doll, are clearly human, and they’re hunters, but then why are they parading around with whatever the fuck these freaks are? And why are these freaks hunters, too? Are they traitors? What the fuck is this? but before you can even move your thoughts into words, you’re gutted and shot and broken along with your monster buddies. as you lay dying, bleeding out, still trying to make sense of everything that just happened, oscillating between darkness and fleeting vision, you hear the gruff voice of gay porn Columbo complaining about his chest pain as if he were experiencing heartburn from a bad pizza. how it takes so much out of him to waste his “grace” on mending clothes along with wounds. then you hear the voice of the annoying boy band clone whine about a headache, asking if the other two guys have any aspirin strong enough for a broken neck.

then you die, and you still don’t know what the fuck just happened.

[lysol1201]

One Hell of a Vacation

RE4!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: You're in Spain for a vacation, but you wound up in the wrong place… you find your savior, but… you might annoy him. Just a little.

Takes place in modern times and not 2005, because I said so, and so then I could make certain jokes lol

Also, probably not very correct in the timeline of the game, it's really just for the haha's LMAO

Word Count: 1409

Genre: Mostly just comedy

TW: profanity, not beta read (we die like luis)

++++

Leon walked up to a home with his gun in hand. He’d already encountered many… “locals” in Spain, and he was always prepared to be greeted by more. He didn’t expect to hear whines from behind the door, though. Unsure if it could actually be an enemy or not, he knocked. Suddenly the whines stopped and it sounded like someone held their breath.

“Who’s in there?” He spoke with a stern tone. No response. “You don’t have to pretend, I know you’re in there,” He sighed.

“Nobody’s home,” A small voice spoke, almost like a squeaky mouse.

Leon groaned and placed his forehead on the door while he leaned onto it. “I can’t deal with this shit…” He muttered to himself. “I’m coming inside!”

“That’s trespassing!” The tiny voice spoke up again. “No one’s here!” 

Leon ignored the small voice and went to open the door anyway, which was locked. “Unlock the door, or I kick it down,” He demanded. Silence. “Okay,” He shrugged and backed up. He put all of his strength into his right leg and kicked the doorknob, forcing it open.

“Ahhh!” The no longer squeaky voice yelled at the loud bang and him as he walked in. They were sitting in the opposite corner of the room from the door. Knees-up, arms wrapped around their legs. “Don’t come any closer I, uh,” They stuttered, searching around them in a panic. “I have a stick and I know how to use it!” They grabbed the wooden stick next to them and pointed it at Leon.

Leon’s shoulders slumped and he sighed in annoyance. He pulled up his gun and pointed it at them. “Who are you?”

“Guns aren’t something to mess around with, you know!” They panic again. “Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me!” 

“Tell me who you are, or I’ll shoot you like you’re one of the cultists!” Leon threatened.

“Please, I don’t even know how to speak Spanish!” They shouted in fear, dropping the stick and raising both hands up in surrender. “Please, I came to Spain on vacation and now Adam Sandler is trying to get in my head,” They started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Adam…” Leon put down his gun and looked at the person in complete disbelief. “Sandler?” He groaned and threw his head down, placing two fingers on his temple as he massaged it. “Do you mean… Osmund… Saddler?”

They look up at Leon through their blurred tears, and their facial expression almost turned into one of shock. “Oh my God, I thought they were saying Adam Sandler this whole time!” They exclaimed, then began sobbing more uncontrollably. “I’m so stupid!” They groaned into their hands while they covered their face.

If Leon could abandon this random human, he would. Unfortunately, he was… a good person. He groaned at the thought. “What’s your name?” He sighed in defeat.

They released their hands from their face and looked at Leon with puffy red eyes. “I’m Y/N,” You replied.

Leon walked forward to you and crouched down to your level. You flinched slightly. “I’m Leon,” He introduced himself and stuck out his hand. “I’m here to help,”

You looked at him in awe as he began to be more calm and assuring towards you. “Really?” Your words came out in a whisper.

“Yes,” Leon responded. “Really,” You took his hand and he helped you get up on your two feet. “How did you get here, anyway?”

You scratch the back of your head and chuckle awkwardly. “Long story,”

“I got all day. Except not really,” 

“So, basically I had a pen pal from Spain, and we planned this trip to meet, but I got here, and I was like ‘woah, they aren’t at our meeting place, did I get catfished?’ or however it’d be, and so I asked around the town for their location and people knew who they were, but said they recently went missing, so I was like ‘yo what the fuck’ and so they explained to me all the missing people shit and this area and that my friend had come here, so I decided to Nancy Drew this shit thinking I was the bravest person to walk the Earth, and now I’m here,” You responded in one long run-on sentence in one long breath. Once finished, you started breathing heavily to catch your breath. “There’s the TLDR.”

Leon listened attentively to your TLDR. “Do you know where they are now?”

“Oh, they’re dead,” You spoke bluntly. “Like, dead dead. SUPER dead.” You laughed, but it was obvious to mask the pain and trauma of whatever happened.

“How did they die?”

“Have you seen the anime, Chainsaw Man?”

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” Leon sighed, unsure of what to say. “I’m in way too much shock right now to think, if I just smile, it never happened, right?” You speak with a look of pain on your face along with a smile. You kind of look awkward and freaky.

“It happens,” Leon shrugs. “Anyway, I need to find someone. I’m on a rescue mission for her. I had her, but she ran after Saddler had gotten to her. Have you seen a young girl with blonde hair anywhere?” 

You shake your head. “I’ve been hiding in here for a long time now. I haven’t seen much,” You explain. “I also really need to pee, so it’s hard to pay attention to anything,”

Leon groans in annoyance. “Is there not a bathroom in this place?”

“There is a bathroom here, but that’s disgusting! I don’t want to get some disease, or even worse, have some worm thing eat my ass!” You complain, your words shocking Leon and having his entire body language and facial expression fall in defeat.

“I have no idea what to do with you,” Leon mumbles. “Is there a bush outside you can just use?” He huffs out.

“But what will I wipe with? I don’t want piss on my underwear.”

“A leaf, I don’t know?”

“Wouldn’t that be painful?”

“God, just piss your pants then for all I care!” Leon’s voice raised in frustration. He was so upset and annoyed, and you were no help for him. But, he couldn’t just leave an innocent civilian, either. “You can argue with me about where to piss, or you can just do it! I’m going to leave here with or without you!”

“Okay, okay, God, I’ll pee in the bush!” You shouted back and rushed out the back door. Leon waited, quite impatiently, and when you returned from your bathroom break he looked at you in defeat. “I’ve successfully pissed in the bush,”

Leon shut his eyes tightly. He was never one to be religious, but he was suddenly praying to God to give him strength to deal with you. “Let’s get going,” He huffed.

When you two had turned around to walk away, two locals had begun to walk over. You screamed. Obviously, like any normal human being. Leon quickly took out a shotgun and shot both, their heads blown to pieces. You stared in shock. Your face then turned pale when tentacles came wiggling out of their necks where their head should be.

“Oh my God, why are they worms!” You screamed. “No, I will not love you if you were a worm, get away!” You panicked, going over to Leon and grabbing the pistol in his holster.

“What are you-“ But before he could finish his question, you began shooting aimlessly at the worms. 

“This is why I don’t wanna use the toilet! What if they eat my ass!” You scream, your eyes shut as you continue to shoot. You were lucky that you didn’t shoot Leon, and the locals did get shot a couple of times, but you did waste all the ammo Leon had.

“God fucking dammit!” Leon shouted as he turned back to the enemies and shot them with his shotgun again, enough to kill them entirely. “What the fuck were you doing?” He shouted at you.

“Self-defense!”

“You used all the ammo!”

“I was scared!”

“Gah!”

“Ahh!”

After Leon was done with his fit of frustrated grunts, and you finished your confused screams, you both caught your breath. “I’m going to help you leave,” He started to speak while he panted. “And then I never want to see you again. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” You squealed with fear and saluted Leon.

You were having one hell of a vacation.

[free-for-all-fics]

Stupid, silly Namor or Attuma fic ideas. Don’t think too hard about these they’re just funny little ideas. Pls tag me if you write or get inspired by any of these. Like always, there are no rules:

1. The reader is labeled as the village idiot because she likes to sing with her head underwater to "sing to the mermaids". The village ridicules her for it. One day, she is swept out in a riptide, and no one is willing to come to her aid—no one from the village, that is.

2. Reader is full of bad puns and dad jokes, much to the chagrin of Namor/Attuma. "Why are seagulls called seagulls?"

“Stop now.”

“Because if they flew over bays, they'd be bagels! Oh hey, What did one wave say to the other?"

“I swear, if you make one more ocean related pun, I will murder you on this island and tell everyone you died in a shipwreck."

"...well, someone's salty."

3. You put a message in a bottle and set it out to sea in the hopes it’ll reach Namor/Attuma so you can be pen pals. “Oh my god I love you but you’re so stupid.” They say because you have no idea that’s not how mail works.

4. You’re in love with Namor/Attuma, but you’re also obsessed with monsters and cryptids so you keep asking them questions like “Is the Kraken real?? What about 6 headed hydras? Have you seen Nessie?? Are they friendly? Darling tell meeeeeee”

5. Reader does that stupid prank thing where she pretends to do a magic trick with an egg and a bottle of water. She’s like “Ok now look inside” and squeezes the bottle, spraying water in Attuma/Namor’s face and runs away cackling.

6. You introduce Namor/Attuma to a wonderful human invention - Water beds. They are less than amused. Reader, consider your sexy time privileges revoked😑

7. Attuma/Namor trying to teach reader combat and how to fight like a Talokanil but reader keeps making it sexy and Namor/Attuma is like “Ok maybe we should stop. You’re not even listening to me or learning anything properly!” And reader is like “Oh I’m learning all the right techniques perfectly. 😏😘”

8. Those videos from EVNautilus of the people in a submarine coming across a dumbo octopus and a googly eyed stubby squid but instead it’s scientist reader being shown Talokan by Attuma or Namor and fawning over the sea creatures because they’re just little guys. Sweet underwater babies. And reader being like “it’s just a baby can I adopt it pls” 🥺 and Namor or Attuma being like “pay attention. Remember why we’re here.”

9. “Your child brings home a raccoon, mistaking it for a cat and begs to keep it” trope but instead it’s Namor/Attuma and their child has brought home an anglerfish or some other hideous abomination of the sea. It’s surprisingly docile and follows the child around like a pet anyway so can we keep it??? Please father 🥺

10. Namor and Jeff the Land Shark crossover. That’s it. That’s the post. Reader wants to adopt Jeff as their child. He’s just a baby 🥺

11. Peter Pan “They were just having a bit of fun, weren’t you, girls?”

“We were only trying to drown her” Mermaid Lagoon AU

12. “General, I’ve brought the cartographer into the war meeting today. I believe you owe her an apology for ruining all her maps when you stab them to dramatically mark a location.” (What if the “cartographer” is actually Attuma’s small daughter or sister drawing doodles of maps and playing pretend/mirroring what her dad or brother does because she wants to help and it’s all in jest hehe)

13. 2 days ago you went to an animal shelter and adopted the most adorable cat. What you don’t know is, he’s the reincarnation of an Aztec god. Your food offerings are unacceptable and that ugly small box that feels like it’s made from scratchy carpet will not do. No. He’ll be sleeping in your bed with you. Don’t try to lock him out; he’ll just scream and sing the songs of his people until you let him back in. (Or maybe through a magic mishap Namor has been accidentally transformed into a cat. Yeah Namor as a cat AU. I told you these ideas were silly.)

14. “Would you still love me if I was a worm” meme With Namor or Attuma but instead it’s “Would you still love me if I was a sea cucumber” or something ocean related

15. Namor or Attuma are taking their daughter trick or treating this year and ask what she wants to be for Halloween. A superhero, a mermaid, a princess? No. She wants to be a horseshoe crab. Possible Modern AU.

16. Reader goes to the beach often and befriends the seagulls/pelicans. So they start to bring her gifts like shells, rocks, etc. Except one day they bring you a golden bracelet, beaded necklace, or jade earrings (your choice of which). It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. A few days later, Namor shows up at the beach, looking very annoyed as he asks for his necklace/bracelet/or earrings back.

17. You and Namor or Attuma meet on the beach in your special spot. You don’t get to be with him often considering he’s kept away by his responsibilities and loyalty to Talokan, and you’re human. It’s usually your only chance to have time where you can just quietly love each other. Except a stupid fucking seagull or pelican has been following you to both the beach and your home; squawking incessantly, wreaking havoc and basically cockblocking you. Untitled Goose Game AU but it’s a seagull/pelican.

[askweisswolf]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Thank you for the tag @foibles-fables!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

19!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Currently at 89,257.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Oh man, uh. I think it would be better to say what fandoms I don’t write for at this stage, it’s still crazy to me to think it’ll be twenty years this year that I started writing fanfic. Currently I’d say Baldur’s Gate 3 has me by the throat, with a little bit of the DCAU (specifically, Justice League/Unlimited) and the occasional dash of Fallen Hero and Dragon Age that I post to Discord servers. I’ve also got a few Mass Effect short pieces floating around. I really need to post to my AO3 more.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I’m going to mess with this one a bit and go off of my top five finished fics by fandom and stick to the ones I wrote solo, that way it’s a bit of a mix. I apologize in advance since a lot of these are years old at this point, but it definitely goes back to what I said before about writing in multiple fandoms, ha.

Rest for the Weary (Frozen) Flare (SPOP) The Same Big Sky (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) Skin Deep (Dragon Age: Origins) At The Door (Baldur's Gate 3) 5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! I’m not always the best at it but I genuinely appreciate everyone who takes the time to comment on one of my fics, it means the world to me and I always love hearing everyone’s feedback and thoughts, it makes me so excited for my own writing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If we’re going purely by just what’s on AO3… hm. For stuff that’s a bit older, easily The Silence Is Your Answer (Fire Emblem: Three Houses). For something I wrote more recently, Few Finer Torments (Baldur’s Gate 3) because I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Shadowheart in Act 2 specifically.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

… Most of them. Oh my God I’m mainly a fluff writer, like I knew this about myself but to actually realize it so starkly is something else. Of my most recent stuff I’d probably say A Little Slice (Justice League Unlimited) has possibly the softest ending I’ve written in awhile.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully not.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not often but I do sometimes! All of it so far has been for f/f ships, mostly with a lot more focus on like… the thinking and the feeling aspect of it and not so much the physical aspect, if that makes sense? I just like using sex as a way to explore the characters, when I’m in the mood to write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Oh, man, okay. I have written a few crossovers over the years, but my favorite is still one I co-wrote with a friend of mine for the Beast’s Lair fan forum back in the day that was just a complete off the walls one-shot crack crossover with Fate/Stay Night, Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha, and I think we had a dash of Highschool of the Dead right at the end. It was insane, we wrote it on a Skype call in a matter of hours.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know, thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not! When I was more active on FIMFiction.net though I did have a few people who did live readings of my fics, those were always neat.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I’ve co-written with him a lot before, but Pen Pals (Frozen) was co-written with Moczo. Just a heads up that I think he has it set that you can only read it if you’re logged in, if you want to check it out.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

… I don’t think I can only pick one, man. I really don’t. If I have to, my brain always comes back to Shayera/John or Raven/Terra.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I feel like I owe everyone who started reading my The 100 fic or my Black Widow fic an apology at this point.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, emotional payoff, character study (I guess?). I have one friend who told me I write very good Catholic guilt.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sex and fight scenes are the absolute bane of my existence, for as much as I enjoy the character potential of the former in particular. I’m also slow as hell, I’ve been working on this one Shayera/John fic now for like a year trying to finish it before I post it and ugh.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If it fit the context of the fic I would, yes! I’d double check it with someone else who knows the language first, though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Like, ever? Chip and Dale: Rescue Rangers to my old Fanfiction.net account when I was 13. I had a bunch of old stuff saved to floppy discs that I never posted, though.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This changes on a nigh daily basis, but currently I’m having an absolute blast with my The Beast Whisperer series focusing on my Tav who romances Shadowheart, so I’ll leave the link for it here.

Going to gently tag @optiwashere, @kittlesandbugs, @antigonick, @miabicicletta if you guys want to participate, no pressure! And of course anyone who sees this is free to respond as well.