#period typical sexism

[terror-slut]

Please write some 001 fanfics!

Change of Heart

Chapter 01/?? Click HERE for this fic’s masterlist!

Reader is a troubled pediatrician at Hawkins lab when she crosses paths with this lovely orderly. Nothing will stand between Peter and his revenge. Not even really pretty distractions.

Pairing: Peter Ballard x f!reader

Word count: 1117

Ratings & warnings: SPOILERS, period typical sexism, violence, blood, NSFW, swearing, no (Y/N), no described defining features for reader. Ratings may change as chapters are added.

A/N: your wish is my wish as well my command!

She doesn’t talk much.

Not to her colleagues, at least. She speaks with dr. Brenner because she answers to him and she speaks to the children when they need her.

But not to the other doctors and nurses, not to the other orderlies. Not to him.

It has never bothered Peter before. He doesn’t need her, has no reason to let her live when his plan eventually comes to fruition. In his mind, she is just like everyone else who works at Hawkins Lab. Another mindless sheep pretending to care for the children, but in reality only interested in prodding their supernatural brains in the name of science and a paycheck at the end of the month.

Eat. Sleep. Work. Reproduce. Die.

It was stupid of him to let her become a distraction. He should have killed her when he had the chance.

“Peter,” one of the kids in the rainbow room groans to him, tugging on the spotless white sleeve of his uniform.

He crosses eyes with little 015 when he looks down, the boy looks paler than usual and his lips are chapped. The kid’s eyes are watery and his nose runny.

“I don’t feel so good, Peter.”

Alec locks eyes with him and then nods, signaling that it’s fine, under the illusion that he can handle these kids on their own while Peter is away.

“Come with me, 015. The doctor will make you all better.”

A disheveled mess greets the pair when he and 015 arrive at the sick bay, something that he’s not used to from the Hawkin’s lab pediatrician.

Though usually neatly put in a tight bun, her locks now tumble in unkempt tresses down her face and deep, purple circles have appeared under her eyes. It is out of the ordinary and bound to capture Peter’s attention.

“015 is not feeling good,” he states the obvious, expecting her to ignore him as she usually does. When her eyes find his deep blue ones before they wander off to 015, his interest is piqued once again.

Something is off, which meant the puzzle pieces could change and be rearranged. Peter always keeps his eyes open for little shifts in the matrix that could mean he has to change his initial plan. Has the doctor’s obvious distracted state any real meaning to him? Could and would she form a problem?

Peter watches as she sits the kid down in her office, producing a penlight and has him follow the light for her.

“Does it hurt anywhere, 015? Do you remember when it started?” She asks him, squatting in front of the kid so that they’re at eye level.

“I’ll come back later to pick him up,” Peter says, but before he can make his way out of her office and back to the rainbow room, she calls after him. Knitting his brows together in amusement, he turns around on his heels to look at the doctor.

“Yes?” His hands are folded neatly behind his back, ever the friendly, harmless orderly. She’s at least a head smaller than he is.

“I know we’re not supposed to intervene with the kids. And I’m not asking you to,” her eyes dart around the hallway. He wonders what she has to hide. “But tell dr. Brenner if you see any of the bigger kids picking on the smaller ones. I’ve had too many kids in here with nosebleeds that didn’t stem from their powers.”

“Why?” He asks. Not why should he tell dr. Brenner. He understands her motivation behind that. But why him? Why can’t she tell Brenner herself? Unlike Brenner and himself, she has always been on good terms with the man. What happened?

“I…” she hesitates, worrying her lip between her teeth as he looks down upon her. “You seem like a good guy, Peter. You’re here every day, you spend every waking moments with these kids. I know you care for them. Please?”

Please.

Please? Fuck.

If Peter was the person she assumed he was, good and kind, maybe he would fulfill her request. But he is far from that person and she must surely be delusional to think he cared. The only person Peter looks out for is number 001, and that meant that drawing attention to himself would only make dr. Brenner suspicious of him. He could and would not risk it, not even when she asks him so prettily.

“I’ll be back for him. After dinner,” she looks dejected, but it doesn’t matter to Peter. The clicking of his shoes on the tiles announce his retreat.

With a disappointing huff she watches the lean orderly go before turning back to 015 with a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Alright, kid. Let’s get you all better.”

It’s long after dinner when Peter makes his nightly rounds around the lab, enjoying the peace and quiet, free of the chatter between doctors that could be heard during the day. It’s moments like these Peter enjoys most. The deathly quiet where he can take a moment and think.

Back when he had just been assigned the job of an orderly, he used to take these moments and try as he might to rekindle his power. Every night for days, weeks, months he tried, until he had no choice but to accept that the blocker in his neck did it’s job. There was no way around it.

Later, he took these moments to order his thoughts and form a plan. An escape plan that not even dr. Brenner could see coming. He would be sure to make them all pay, Martin Brenner the first to atone and the last to die.

Nowadays, he saw these quiet moments as the calm before the storm. Much like a spider, he shakes his long limbs loose and his mind wanders off to a place he’d be able to call home. Somewhere he could be well and truly alone.

“For fuck’s sake!” Peter’s head snaps up at the muffled cussing coming from behind a closed door. His body stiffens and his breathing becomes steady like an animal ready to pounce on it’s prey.

Seconds pass like rain droplets joining a winded river as he waits for another sound.

Suddenly, a door on his left flies open and he has his hand halfway lifted before cursing dr. Brenner and his idiotic power blocker.

To his surprise, it’s not one of the other staff members on duty, or even one of the kids.

It’s the pediatrician.

And she’s not wearing her lab coat or her white pants, either. She’s wearing a pastel nightgown. His hand falls, in sync with her face when she notices him.

“Peter?!”

“Doctor.”

A/N: well, that’s the end of chapter 01! If people enjoy it, I’ll definitely continue. I have a bunch of ideas for this pair and I love getting in Peter’s head to discover his motivations etc. Also lmk if you want to be tagged for future chapters!

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 Three (Part 1) | Jacob Marley

Summary: After dismissing Bob Cratchit and Ms. Blackwood from his office, Ebenezer Scrooge makes his way home. Hopeful to have a quite evening, the man is utterly unprepared for what comes next.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the chapter delay, loves! Mental health got the better of me, as did schooling.

I struggled to find a good mid-way point between the two halves of this chapter and with how much film/book content to actually include. I hope skipping around some parts and only including the important bits is something that works for you guys, but please let me know! I looove feedback!

As you will see, this chapter is very, very long. I actually had to cut it into two parts. I am still working on the second half (which will become chapter 4), so please stay tuned for that! (ﾉ°³ °)ﾉ

Word Count: 4017 Ao3 - Mature Rating WARNINGS: None! :)

Please let me know if you would like to be included in a tag list!

@the-house-of-auditore-frye

"No decent man, no self preserving gentleman, will want to wed you. You will die a spinster. That is your truth.” The man stands there, chest heaving from such an impassioned speech, and has the gaul to look self satisfied.

“So no, madam, I will not be joining you, nor anyone else, in any celebration of this wretched season.”

/////

‘Ebenezer Scrooge…’ 

The grandfather clock ticks away, mocking him as he paces in his office. Ebenezer takes one turn, then another, before slowly retracing his steps. He begins blowing out his candles, starting with the one sitting on his desk. 

‘Scrooge…’ A ghastly pull of air, whooshing into the silence, goes unheard by the miser. The glass encasing the candle is overcome by a ghostly apparition, fleeting and flickering though it may be. It too goes unnoticed. 

The other candles soon meet the same fate, extinguished quickly and with little flourish. Ebenezer is no longer in the mood for dramatic flair. He’s had quite enough excitement for one week, let alone a single evening. He allows one uncovered light to continue flickering as he begins to lock up his funds. Meticulously, he collects every coin and weighs them out. He counts the rogue scale weights and odd ha’penny. But, as he lifts the coin purse from the scale, a feminine face stares back at him.

‘The pledges I’ve broken...’ He rolls his own sins through his mind. The woman stares at him from the shining metal and he cannot fight the wave of sadness that smashes his heart. ‘A fool I was.’

“Tell me,” He begins aloud and turns on his heel to face his mastiff. “Why should I be bright and merry? When all the things of this world conspire against me?”

He blows out the last candle and walks to the front room once more. Just one-and-twenty minutes ago he had sent home his clerk and ledgerman from the very spot he now stood. Just eleven minutes ago he had watched from his office, not ten paces back, as the seamstress fled his establishment in tears. A small twinge of regret runs through his heart, but he shakes it off with a snarl.

‘Ebenezer Scrooge…’ The call is deep, raspy, and once again goes unheard. 

Ebenezer adjusts his vest and tailcoat, buttoning the latter item to better prepare for the winter weather. His foul mood only worsens as he pulls on his frock overcoat and top hat, as he now has a clear vantage point of the storm outside. The mild flecks of snow from his previous excursion are transformed into raging, swirling pebbles of ice and enormous flakes. It is as if the cold finds a way past the door and into his bones just from gazing out of the window. The accompanying wind bashes brutally against the glass and he regrets having allowed Ms. Blackwood entry this evening. Had he not permitted her into the counting house he would now be sitting comfortably at home by the fire. 

“Come, Prudence,” He slips his gloves on and then slips out the door. “Let us get this over with.” 

And so the pair march through the snow, one keeping her head low to avoid the cold flakes and the other trying to steady himself on the cobbles with his cane. No carriages roll down the lane, nor are there any people about. He passes one man advertising some ‘Christmas Extravaganza’ and is forced to take one of his papers. Scrooge thinks the man a fool for staying out so late yet does not bother to stop and tell him so. Instead, he presses on from the business district to the housing streets, happily bidding his nightly farewells to Cornhill Street. Each streetlamp threatens to flicker out as he goes on and soon he quickens his pace, unwilling to freeze over. 

He moves onto the street, finding it better worn and less slippery than the walk way. Occasionally, the tips of his shoes flick up some snow and the metal of his cane slips on ice. The layers of white steadily build underfoot and distaste claws its way into the back of his throat. He can hear Prudence shuffling behind him and glances backward to check on her every so often. On one such check in, the hound seems to be occupied by the streetlamps. They flicker oddly in the corner of his eye, but he ignores it. Prudence, however, does not. The mastiff pauses, her long, low whine swallowed by the wind. She watches as the red flames swirl and flare into icy blues and deep indigos. 

Feeling uneasy, her master turns abruptly. His eyes scan the empty street frantically, from one walkway to the other. He spins a little on his heel, looking about as though he were a startled doe. “Hello?”

Ebenezer takes a moment to glance down at the late Marley’s pet. “Did you feel that Prudence? A shift in the air… Like someone was just here.” A pause. “Oh, great heavens! What am I saying? You’re a dog.”

With a growl, the man pulls his top hat further over his forehead and slaps his thigh twice; it’s a gesture which beckons Prudence to his side once more. Within a couple breaths, his stately lodging comes into view. Just past Cornhill Street, standing proudly at the edge of Groveland Court, it would have been easy to miss with the darkness of night finally settling and the fog rising to cover the blackened gate. Fortunately for the miser, his servants (of which he keeps only two and on occasion hires a charwoman) had arranged his home in proper order this night. He struggles with the gate for a moment, grumbling under his breath the entire time, before finally reaching his doorstep. As he reaches for the door knocker, a chill rushes through him too mighty to be natural. 

Ebenezer turns, sharp eyes glaring out into the steadily thickening blizzard. Nothing greets him. He turns back to the door, startling at the ghastly blue face that greets him in the knocker. He gasps aloud, tripping backwards for a moment.

“Ye gods!” But with a blink, the visage disappears.

With one hand over his heart, he uses the other to lift the offending metal. It remains as it should and the man has to blink away the residual shock. As he taps the intricately twisted rectangle against its backing, soft words leave his lips unprovoked. “I must have worked much too much, Prudence.”

He does not have time to do anything else as the door opens for him. A man stands on the other side, dressed down in evening wear. He welcomes Ebenezer inside, holding the door ajar for both man and dog. No words are exchanged as the lender passes his outerwear off to his doorman. Prudence makes her own way through the house and quickly disappears from sight. 

“Paulette has set aside your evening wear, sir.” The man's voice is muffled as he moves into a room adjoining the foyer. “I shall be up momentarily to-”

“No, thank you, Charles. I am capable of caring for myself this evening. I have the bell, should I need you.” Scrooge sighs harshly. 

He moves up the stairs that curl up and around the back of the foyer, stopping briefly halfway to bark an order. He does not look back, nor acknowledge the fact that his footman is in another room. “I will take dinner in the parlour, have Paulette light the fireplace. I expect my armchair has been moved accordingly?”

Charles reappears in the doorway, but the rustling of his clothes are not enough to draw the money lender’s eye. “All is as it was last evening, sir.”

“Good.” A couple more steps up and then– “Once you are through with your tasks, go home.”

“Pardon?” The surprise is plain to read from Charles’ tone. 

Ebenezer Scrooge turns, aiming a glare at the man. “I do not wish to be further disturbed this season. You will not be required on the morrow, neither will I require Paulette. Take her with you, before the storm prevents you. I understand that you may wish to spend the day with family.”

“Thank you, sir–”

“Get on with your work, Charles.” A dismissive flick of the hand sends the footman scurrying. 

/////

The green nightcap bounces against his shoulder blade as Scrooge stands from his armchair. The fire’s warm glow is slowly dwindling and not a tendril of sleep touched the miser. Unlike the dog sprawled just beside the fireplace, half asleep with a bone in her mouth. Taking the poker, he gently prods the coals. He watches, entranced by the fire as it roars back to life, and imagines the day’s events played out in the oranges and reds. Yet, his green evening wear shimmers in the light and catches his attention. From the pocket of his robe, the corner of a paper crinkles loudly. 

The flyer for the Liverpool Street Christmas Extravaganza greets him. With a shake of his head he thinks, ‘I thought Charles disposed of this garbage.’

He stares for another moment. “Every year, Prudence,” words both venomous and disappointed sound sweet on his wine-calmed tongue. “They are all filled with such joy, such gladness. They practically sparkle with it. They must know, surely, they must.”

He prods the fire a little harder before returning the poker to its rightful place. He replaces the empty space in his hand with the flyer. Scrooge squints at the page, turning it into the light to read it better, and speaks his opinions aloud, “With the growing surplus populus and housing crisis, not to mention the absolute mockery that is being made of good business with these workmen strikes, someone ought to treat these people tougher. Christmas? A humbug. It’s as though the entire city takes a day off! A day off, how ridiculous! Bring them down to size, I say.” 

Prudence glances up as her owner’s voice increases in volume. She drops her bone, stands, and walks further away from him and the fire. By the time he crumples the flyer and tosses it into the flames, she is adrift in the world of canine dreams once more. 

“I do not understand, will never understand, how they’re so cheery! I am not happy so why should they be? Do they not see how pointless and foul this holiday is? Well? Tell me!” He shouts, grabbing the poker once more to fully squash the remnants of the paper.

This time, however, as the poker meets the coals a bright flash of blue flame 

rushes up to meet him. With a startled yelp, Ebenezer flies backward into his armchair. The blue flame shifts and whirls however, leaving the gentleman even worse for wear. It begins to freeze, ice and frost overtaking the fireplace and the wall. The mirror above the mantel is encased in pale, blue shards which soon erupt toward him. Icicles form on the chandelier, reaching down for him, and the wooden floorboards beneath groan with the chill. A ghastly face, somehow familiar, stretches across the brick in front of him. Its mouth is formed by the firebox, its bottom jaw running down and across the hearth. His name, once unheard and unnoticed, comes calling on the howling winds. Snow and hail smash at his feet, faster and faster the louder the roars of his name become. It is a hell which ends only when the ghost of his former employer floats before him. The armchair, a symbol of safety and normalcy for the miser, is pulled from under him. He watches it scratch across his floors, glide smoothly to his midnight caller, before ultimately becoming the visitor’s throne. 

“J-J-Jacob Marley?” At first, Ebenezer speaks with fear. His voice trembles and he shakes in his slippers. Then he manages a grip on reality.  “Impossible! You’re–”

“Dead?” Marley laughs and settles into the chair. “Quite right, my friend, quite right. And yet… Here I am! If anything, I am dead tired.”

“What in God’s name–” Scrooge steps forward again, a scowl on his face once more.

“Oh no, Ebenezer. Do not bring your God into this.” The phantom groans and waves his arms about him like he is physically pained. “No, no. I’m not here on that old business.”

“What? What are you talking about? Why are you here?” His friend’s confusion is plain to see and Marley laughs again.

“I do apologise for the dramatic entrance, old boy. Those in charge insist on a bit of… pageantry, elegance, hell, even spectacle if you will. Goes with the territory, as is apparent. But, I am sure you and I can discuss the rest like reasonable men. No?” He rubs a ghastly hand across the right side of his moustache. The phantom’s other hand reaches down, patting and brushing along the coat of his prior animal companion. He muses to her briefly as he allows Scrooge to process his coming. 

The cogs practically screech to a stop inside the living gentleman’s head, his eyes brighten and he turns to the fire with a gentle smile. “Ah! Marley, I see it so: I must have drifted into slumber by the fire. I am dreaming! Oh what brilliance the mind does conjure!”

The shining, golden coins of Marley’s eyes shine bright then and a wretched mixture of a scoff & laugh exit his frozen lips. “Very well, Ebenezer.”

He rises from the chair, carelessly sweeping an arm to the side and battering the piece of furniture away. Prudence retreats, planting herself firmly behind her master. The winds within the room pick up, the chill of the air turns to bitter ice, and the world dims to near darkness. There is a momentary flash of blue flame, all consuming, and boxes of chains drop from thin air. They snap forward, flashing so quickly toward Ebenezer that he had no other option to let out a screech—

“No!” Ebenezer awakens in a flash, head pounding unnaturally. He is wrapped in the sheets of his own bed, but he cannot recall ever dragging himself into his quarters. 

There is a glass of water on his nightstand of which he takes a happy drink. The little light that streams in from the gaps of the curtains bounces along the wood of the bedside table, it lights the face of the small clock that which sits on it. The roundness of the moon peeks through and he wonders immediately at the time. A glance at the aforementioned machine shocks him and brings forth a fiery, recent memory. 

I have pulled a few chains… Marley’s dark tone mocks him, a vivid echo inside Scrooge’s head.

And arranged for three visitors to call upon you before morning… The clock reads 12:57am, a chill thrills his spine. 

The first shall come when the bell tolls One… Yes, he sees the vision of his visitor so clearly that he begins to sweat. 

The second will come calling when the bell tolls Two. The third shall call, well, at Three… Another glance at the time brings Scrooge to fling aside his bedclothes and pace the room. 12:59am. In his mind, he tries to assure himself that it had all been a dream. From the ghosts of past men forgotten, to the freezing grasp of the chains against his flesh, to the terror of truths laid out so plainly before him. But, in his heart, he feels a strange stirring. His gut flips and churns so wildly that he recognizes the truth. Marley’s ghost had been real. 

The chiming cascade of the tower bells draw him from his thoughts and he whips his head to gaze at the fireplace. Perhaps the next visitor would come to him as Marley had. He waits, listening. The bells sing beautifully, hauntingly, before the hour bell drums a single note. Yet, nothing happens. Not a single speckle of dying ember flutters forward, no flecking of dust sweeps across the floor by some unseen wind. An overwhelming sense of relief floods the miser.

“Just a dream.” He mutters aloud, a happy string of words if ever he had uttered them. He turns back to his bed. “Just a dream.”

‘The first at One.’ There in the corner of his mind Marley’s voice mutters and, the moment Scrooge takes a step toward his bed, the world falls into unnatural stillness. The dust that had been previously disturbed by his movements halts midair. His breath, visible in the cold room, is frozen in a perfect, cloudy puff in front of his face. There is no more time that can be granted for his observations, as the room begins to shake. A deep rumbling can be heard both externally and rattling through his bones. The ceiling above cracks and splinters, a fissure forming rapidly and purposefully. It strikes the mirror above the fireplace mantle, cracking it clean through, before cleaving down the brick of the firebox and across the floor. The clean break in the wooden boards extends into root-like splinters, reaching for the man’s feet. 

He yelps, tripping backward over his ottoman. Tangled in his upholstery and bedclothes, Ebenezer almost misses the arrival of the first spirit. At first a floating candle, a dripping wax figure begins to form before his eyes. He is rendered speechless, helpless to wait until the ghost has fully formed. A beautiful woman, if she was indeed that, is created from the wax. Her dress and hair holds up, despite all expectations. She seems to be talking to herself, adjusting her wax clothing and admiring her form in the mirror. He can only stare, even when she turns to face him.

“—llo?” Suddenly, their eyes lock and her face is inches from his.

“Hello?” He stutters through the word. He knows his face is the perfect picture of confusion and fear. An unbecoming blend. 

“Oh! There you are! Back with us… Scrooge? It’s Scrooge, isn’t it?” She speaks in such a rush that it is hard to keep up. The man in question can only offer a mute, small nod. “Yes! That’s it, that’s the one! Oh, my! What a funny name, honey!”

There’s no time for him to have a moment of indignation because the brief pause in her speech had only been to take in air. Did she even need it? “Are you comfortable down there, Scrooge? It doesn’t look very comfortable!”

“Um, well—” 

“Oh! Never mind that, up you get!” The wax woman pulls him to his feet.

He pulls away, “Who— What. Who? What are you?”

“Ah, who am I?” She smiles, clapping her hands together proudly. “I can be anyone you have ever known! Even you.” 

Her form changes, cycling through various people in the man’s life. Several of them are depicted in unhappy tones by the yellow wax, especially the seamstress, before he is eventually mimicked. It goes on for several moments and Ebenezer does not know whether to be appalled or impressed by the menagerie of forms stored within the wax like living memories, echos of the real world around him. It is beautiful and chilling all the same. He cannot understand the science behind it and almost returns to bed, far too exhausted for this tomfoolery. But, alas, he is drawn in.

“Christmas Past?” He dares to ask.

“Yes,” She says gently. “That is I. You were not told of my coming? Or, perhaps, the most important details were omitted?”

“I was given… some guidance.” He rubs the back of his neck and relishes the feeling of the silk nightcap against his hand. 

“You have nothing to fear from me. Afterall, your welfare is my business!” 

Her statement sparks something wicked within him. Scrooge snaps at her unapologetically. “I should think not! Ghost, spirit, phantom— no matter the kind of visage you are! To be disturbed at this hour is hardly conducive to my welfare!” 

Christmas Past appears affronted and she looks at him as though seeing him for the first time. There is judgement in her gaze when she says, “Your… redemption, then.”

/////

You bring a small tub into the light of the fire, empty save for a washcloth and a bar of soap. The pathetic embers swirling at the lip of the hearth are quickly stamped out and the coals replaced. There is a kettle hanging over the open flame and the soft noise of boiling water fills the cramped space. You are fortunate enough to have your own room in the poorhouse, separated from countless families, with two beds and a wood stove set apart from the living space. It is easy to maintain and has two windows which can be opened at any time of day with relative safety. 

Though it is not much, it is enough. Once you paid your debts, you would buy a room in a nice boarding house on a good street, with amicable neighbours, and plenty of windows to let out the stale air. Kitty would benefit from occasional lessons at the church and your focus could return to the shop. Yes, it would be harder to hide Kitty from the world but you would not impose this life upon her for all her years.

With a strained sigh, you bring yourself from your reverie and grab at the blackened kettle above the fire. The mit around your hand is barely enough to keep your skin from burning, so you make quick work of drawing up a bath. The water swirls, still boiling, against the sides and you move on to ready the warming pan as you wait for it to cool. Kitty sits in the corner, farthest from the open windows, watching you. 

“Mother,” Her voice is so delicate, soft. Her demeanour is far too demure for your liking, but you answer her call with clarity and calm. 

“Yes, Kitty?” You push the metal pan into the coals at the very edge of the fire, those just beginning to die out, and turn to face her.

“May I close the windows? The winter chill–” She shivers in her thin dayshirt and your heart breaks a little. 

“Yes, come, help me close them. I think we have left them open too long, let us not freeze or let in more snow.” You move to one side of the room and she goes to the other. Soon enough, the windows are closed and the bath has settled to an acceptable temperature. “Take your bath first, Catherine, I’d rather the warmth of the water go to you.”

Eventually, you are both ready to sleep. Catherine clambers into her bed, warmed by the bedpan you had placed underneath, and pulls the ratty bedclothes to her chin. It is easy to tuck her in, brush back her hair, and tell her a small story. It is hard to leave her, take the hot pan from under her bed, and listen to the howling of the wind as it rattles against the glass panes. It is agonising to lie awake, listening to the small child’s breath and thinking about the world of hurt Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge had caused you with but a few words. 

There is nothing that could properly describe the way your heart had been torn apart and the pieces set ablaze. The sadder yet was the fact that it had not even been his fault. He had been entirely cordial until the payments had begun to slip, until your debt grew and his frustrations mounted. You had revealed to him the truth of your status, your skeletons pulled from the closet of your own volition. The tears barely registered, nor did the taste of salt against your lips. Your family had cast you out, had struck a bargain, and all you had done was prove them right.Completely oblivious to the torment of your aforementioned debtor and the tightening strings of fate, you drift into a world plagued with nightmares. Nightmares that end with only one thing: giving up the one spark of joy in your world– Catherine. Your daughter.

[legends-of-time]

Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander Story) - Masterlist

Timelines:

19th and 20th Centuries

17th and 18th Centuries

Fraser Descendants (family tree)

Warnings:

Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Racism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con

Summary:

May 1744

He wriggles his toes, feeling his environment. He quickly realises how much his surroundings are constricted, his legs are tightly bound and he is being cradled in someone’s arms. He opens his eyes and sees a woman leaning over him and realises she must be the one holding them. She’s humming softly with a warm and happy smile. He can see that her skin is clammy and there are bruises under her eyes, the eyes that are amber, golden-brown as well as smoky topaz, but that doesn’t dim her smile as she gazes upon the person in her arms. She’s white and her brown hair surrounds her face in messy curls.

——

What if Claire and Jamie’s first baby survived and what if it had been a boy. How will the story change?

Chapters:

Chapter 1: Birth

Chapter 2: First Months

Chapter 3: Peaceful Family Life Disrupted

Chapter 4: Goodbyes

Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Chapter 6: A Fish Out of Water

Chapter 7: Conflict

Chapter 8: Sister

Chapter 9: Returning

Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter 11: The Loss of Hope

Chapter 12: Coping with Change

Chapter 13: Finding Him

Chapter 14: Moving to the Past

Chapter 15: Loss

Chapter 16: Lost Family

Chapter 17: A New but Old World

Chapter 18: Reunited at Last

Chapter 19: Big Brother

Chapter 20: Coming Together

Chapter 21: Fathers

Chapter 22: Dreams

Chapter 23: Fathers and Their Archaic Ways

Chapter 24: River Run

Chapter 25: A New but Old Face

Chapter 26: Caught in the Act

Chapter 27: Family Time

Chapter 28: New Beginnings

Chapter 29: Waiting

Chapter 30: Old Dreams

Chapter 31: Inferiority Complex

Chapter 32: Community Swelling

Chapter 33: Purpose

Chapter 34: First Sight

Chapter 35: Is it Happily Ever After?

Chapter 36: Gifts and Awkward Conversations

Chapter 37: Unravels

Chapter 38: Lay Up Trouble For Yourself

Chapter 39: War Wins Land, Peace Wins People

Chapter 40: Life Goes On But The Threat Looms

Chapter 41: Building Arsenal

Chapter 42: Romeo and Juliet

Chapter 43: Baggage Weighs You Down

Chapter 44: Misunderstandings

Chapter 45: Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

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[cthulhu-calling]

kill the lights and kiss my eyes : deform me to your likeness

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary : You never knew what love was, not until Natasha. But now that the King has his eye on you, will your perfect little world come crumbling down?

Warnings : medieval AU, smut, fluff, public smut, MISCARRIAGE, Bucky is a creep (18+)

Author's Note : This chapter is a little short and truly, not my best work (I might rewrite it someday) but I wanted to get this out. I hope you enjoy reading this. I appreciate all the lovely comments I've received. Feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. This work isn't beta'd so any and all mistakes are mine. Please consider the tags before you continue reading.

Word Count : 4005

series masterlsit

“In accordance with Article 17, Act V, In the event that a consort is unable to provide a male heir following five years after the couple has been bound in holy matrimony, the King shall be free to choose another, a second wife, with the aim of providing the kingdom with a legitimate heir.” the announcer finished, leaving the whole court in silence. All eyes were either on Natasha or Lady Morwenna, the king’s current paramour. When the king declared he had an important announcement to make, this was the last thing you or anyone had expected. Your eyes found Natasha’s, her face was a calm veneer of indifference but you could see the struggle inside. He hadn’t even thought of discussing this with her. She couldn’t say anything though. No matter what, they had to depict themselves as the perfect couple, happily married and deeply in love, a perfect unit. She had to act as if this was her choice too, nay, her suggestion for the good of the kingdom. 

“I know some of you might find this unacceptable but following the tragic events that took place a year ago, I cannot put my dear queen under such stress. Hence, with your blessings, I will seek a maiden who can provide our kingdom it’s future. I urge you to understand, consider everything without the shroud of social norm and expectations. Think of it from the point of a desperate ruler,” he pleaded with the court, his speech full of passion, pausing at just the right moments to emphasise his point, the change of the air in the court proof enough of what a great orator the King truly was . The court erupted into whispers when Lady Morwenna fainted, being barely held upright by Lady Ella and Lady Sybil, her two lackeys. 

When the court was dismissed for the day and everybody was back to business as usual, the ladies were in a state of unrest, waiting for the Queen in the gardens. She had disappeared before you could even think of following her. The ladies were all abuzz with the King’s declaration. The married ones were scandalised at his decision, not wanting to even imagine themselves in their Queen’s shoes. The unmarried ones, though sympathetic towards the Queen, could not let go of such an opportunity. There would never be a chance of a more advantageous marriage, and that was everyone’s goal, wasn’t it? To secure a betrothal, that’s what they were at court for. 

“How could the King do this? Disrespect the Queen as such in front of everyone?” Lady Violet asked. 

“Oh, he had every right to. It’s not like the Queen has been able to provide him an heir. No wonder he strays,” Lady Sybil said. Lady Morwenna had been taken to her chambers, the one she shared with Sybil, Ella, Morganna and you. She had yet to wake according to Sybil who had come back, leaving Ella there. 

“Keep your voices down! Your words are seditious,” Lady Virginia, Lord Stark’s wife, hissed. 

“It is the truth. It is what has landed us here, with the King seeking another wife. What’s the point of speaking in whispers now when soon, the whole kingdom shall know?” She shrugs, leaving everyone in a stunned silence. 

Lady Virginia stalks off, followed by Lady Violet as the rest of you are just sitting and waiting, watching the chaos unfold all around you. 

*

When James enters his receiving chambers, followed by his retinue of Lords, Natasha is already waiting for him. Seeing her there, he’s quick to dismiss the Lords as he takes a seat at his desk, making himself comfortable. 

“What is it?” He asks dismissively, angering her even more. 

“Really? How do you explain yourself at court today? You have completely humiliated me!” She rages and he just leans back, fixing her with an icy stare. 

“I did what I had to do, what was best for this kingdom and it’s future,” he shrugged. 

Natasha snorts, laughing humorlessly, “We all know for exactly whom this is the best for.”

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” he warns and Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“Who is it? That whore, Lady Morwenna? But knowing you, it could be anyone. God, James, you’re pathetic. You disg—” before she knows it, the King is on his feet, grabbing her by the throat and forcing her against the wall, effectively cutting off whatever she had to say. 

“Do not forget that I am still your husband and your king. Don’t you dare forget, it is by my desire and my hand that you still have that crown on your head. So now run back out and join you ladies in the garden, like a good queen would,” he says with a light slap against her cheek before stepping away from her and sitting at his desk again like he hadn’t just choked Natasha. 

She’s breathing heavily and clutching at her throat, her eyes blown wide. He’d never been like this. He was unfaithful but never had he ever raised a hand on her, hurt her physically. She walks out of the King’s receiving chambers in a sort of daze. She didn’t bother with meeting her ladies, asking one of the maids to let them know they’ve been dismissed. She’s beyond the point of caring, she doesn’t care what the people think of her. First the announcement and now this? She really does not know him, this man that she has called husband for so long. 

She sends one more maid to call for you, in secret. When you come to her door, she’s quick to let you in, pulling you in and shutting the door. She has a vice-like grip on your hand but she won’t meet your eye. You gently lift her chin up, forcing her to look at you and that’s all that it takes, the catalyst she needed as she breaks down crying, dragging you to the floor with her. You hold her close as she cries into the crook of your neck, rubbing her back and urging her to let it all out. You know she’s been strong for so long, longer than anyone should have to be. 

Once she’s reeled her emotions in a bit, she declares that she should probably talk to June, she is sure to have heard the declaration by now, though Natasha doesn’t know how much the little princess actually understood. 

You fix her hair as she reapplies her makeup, something that’s a routine of sorts for the two of you that brings a sense of normalcy, and the two of you make your way towards the nursery, the Queen’s foot soldiers following closely behind. No one could tell that Natasha had been crying, her cold and uncaring facade perfectly back in place. 

She dismisses Lady McCarthy, the pity clearly visible on her face. Her personal guard waits outside and you swiftly close the door, making sure they can’t hear what’s going on inside. Natasha and June walk hand in hand to the small cushioned bench near the massive dollhouse. You just stand behind Natasha, your hands on her shoulders to offer her some comfort, some much needed support. 

“June, my love, I am sure you have heard of your father’s decision today?” She asked and the princess nodded. 

“I’m going to have one more mama, isn’t that right?” She asked and Natasha couldn’t help but smile at her innocence. 

“Yes my love,” she says, feelings relieved that this was going much better than she thought it would. But her relief is short lived when June furrows her brows, a question at the tip of her tongue as she weighs whether she should ask it or not. 

“What is it?” 

“Is Lady Morwenna going to be my new mama? I don’t want her to be,” June says, crossing her arms and pouting a little. 

“Honey, that’s for your father to decide,” Natasha says, trying to keep a tantrum at bay. June just nods her head solemnly, not knowing what to say. “But you can come talk to me whenever you feel like it, I’ll always listen,” Natasha promises. 

“Okay,” she sniffs before getting up on her feet, “will you play with me now?” she asks and you and Natasha can’t help but laugh, nodding as you all sit on the ground, surrounded by a wide array of toys, playing until the princess is sleepy and her maid takes her to bed. 

You and Natasha part ways as you walk towards the chamber you share with some of the other unwed ladies. Just a few feet away from the doors, in a tiny alcove, you hear a hushed but heated conversation. A fight. 

“And what? I am just supposed to sit by and watch as you marry someone else? Who is not me?” You could hear Lady Morwenna hiss, trying to keep quiet but failing spectacularly.

“I am King, I can do as I wish. What you do or do not do bears little importance to me,” he seethes.

“Then I will tell everyone of how you’ve defiled me, how no one would have me anymore. You’ll have no choice but to be wedded to me,” she declares and you can almost imagine the confusion on her face when the King starts to chuckle. 

“You truly seem to believe that you have the upper hand here. Well, let me tell you right now, no one’s going to believe the word of a disgraced whore over the word of the King. So I suggest you turn around and walk back to your chambers, lest you’d prefer to spend the night in the dungeons,” he says. You can hear a strangled cry as Morwenna runs off, the door slamming shut behind her. 

You’re too stunned to move. You wait around the turning, staying hidden until you’re sure the King has left. You quickly run to your chambers, closing the doors. Inside, Lady Morwenna is bawling her eyes out, Sybil and Ella trying to comfort her. You fall against your own bed, staring up at the ceiling and willing for sleep to take you. 

You’re groggy during your morning prayers with the ladies and throughout breakfast. You were already trailing behind as the ladies made their way towards the gardens, not watching where you were going, bumping into a hard chest. You scowl but it’s swiftly wiped off your face when you see the King, followed by Lord Rogers and Lord Wilson. 

“Are you alright my Lady?” the King asked and you nodded, apologising. 

“A Lady not with her Queen? Are you lost, my Lady?” Lord Samuel joked and you offered a fake smile, trying to excuse yourself when the King grabs your wrist, letting your wrist go at the scandalised look in your eyes. 

“Forgive me,” he said as he let your wrist go. 

“I must leave, my Queen does bid me. If you’ll excuse me,” you say and curtsy and leave once he nods his assent. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” Wilson wondered out loud, receiving a scowl from Steve. Bucky just nodded with a hum, watching you go. 

In the gardens the ladies are all seated and your place lies empty next to Natasha. It seems like the same scene from a few weeks ago when you were tardy, the ladies deriving their laughs at your expense. But today, the ladies are quiet. No one thinks to say much, not even the ever chatty Lady Violet who just sits and whispers with Lady Virginia. Lady Morwenna is absent still though everyone can more or less guess the reason for it. 

“I apologise, Your Majesty, I did find myself accosted by His Majesty and his Lords,” you whisper to Natasha who just nods. You haven’t told Natasha about the scene you happened to witness last night but that’s only because you haven’t yet the chance to do so. You didn’t plan on hiding anything from her. The ladies all spent the morning in an uncharacteristic silence. Not a word was spoken during the afternoon meal either. The ladies were left to their own devices post that as you and Natasha escaped to her chambers. 

You recount every detail of the scene you happened to stumble upon. Natasha listened with a blank expression. If she found the situation puzzling, she didn’t let it show. When you finish and she’s still quiet, you wonder if she just tuned you out completely. You softly call her name, prompting her to look at you. 

“I thought I knew the King. Not anymore,” she shrugged. 

*

The feast is in full swing, the band playing a lively tune as couples move around the dance floor. You are sitting alone at the table where the Queen’s ladies sit, already having declined an offer from Lord Rogers for a dance. He accepted glumly when you gave the poor excuse that you’d imbibed far too much and couldn’t be trusted on your feet. The King though, would not be so easily deterred. He ordered one of the servants to bring you a glass of water and promised to be back just in time for the next dance. Your eyes found Natasha’s nervously, wondering if you still had time to slip out without getting noticed. 

He might dress it up as much as he liked but everyone knows the true purpose of the feast. All the maidens dressed to the nines were proof enough. You wore a nice enough gown, a gentle shade of pink with your hair left down. Your eyes drift from one end of the large room to another, checking if the King is anywhere close. You push your chair back, standing up slowly when the clearing of a throat from behind you draws your attention. 

“I was just coming to find you, My Lady. It seems you were doing the same,” he says with a sly smile. You hold back a sigh, plastering on a smile as you let him take your hand and lead you onto the dance floor, surrounded by dozens of other couples who suddenly seem to be more interested in you and His Majesty over their own partners. You can feel all eyes on you, your back burning with the heat of their gaze, but the King only has eyes for you. 

“How are you enjoying yourself this evening, My Lady?” he asks. 

“It is a fine event, it truly is. The cooks have really outdone themselves,” you answer as diplomatically as you can. 

“And what about the company? Do they leave anything to desire,” he asks, his hand that was firmly maintained at your waist up until this point, slowly drifting downwards, further than was considered appropriate. 

“I’m in the finest company in the whole kingdom,” you choke out. 

“I spoke to Lord Y/l/n only recently. He is joining me for the evening meal tomorrow. I would be greatly honoured if you’d accompany him,” he asks but you know it’s not an invitation you can deny. 

“It would be untoward for an unwedded Lady to dine with the King. I should be serving my Queen,” you say but stop when he scoffs. “The Queen has enough ladies, your absence for an evening would hardly make a difference. Your father shall be present so you have no reason to worry.I do not  plan on taking no for an answer.” he declares bowing slowly as your dance comes to an end, walking away as you’re left standing in the middle of the floor. 

*

The next evening comes too soon as you meet your father in his receiving chambers as the two of you proceed towards His Majesty’s chambers in relative silence. Your father seems to know what this is about though he won’t say it outright. He had always been one to count his chickens before they hatch so it’s surprising, when he’s this quiet. You were not naive, well aware of the purpose of this meeting though you weren’t too happy at the prospect of it. Surely, you’d prefer Lord Rogers to His Majesty in a heartbeat. Natasha was aware though you’d made it clear to her, you would not accept any offer the King would place in front of you. 

In the King’s receiving chambers, the table is laid out with all types of preparations that one can imagine, a roast turkey, seasoned vegetables, breads, a platter of cheese and meats, an endless flow of wine, this is truly a meal fit for a King. It feels wrong, seeing so much food laid out for only three people, it felt wrong. 

“Your Majesty,” you and your further bow as the King smiles, welcoming you in. You’re all seated at the table, the King at the head of it as you and your father are sat facing each other on either side of him. You’re mostly quiet, observing the conversation as they both danced around the true purpose of this meal, the food on your plate forgotten long before. After a while of polite conversation, the King gathers your attention with a loud clearing of his throat. 

“I must admit, my invitation to sup was not without cause and I believe it’s time I laid it out before you,” your father looks on with a frown, feigning confusion expertly. 

“My Lord and My Lady, you and all of my subjects are aware of my plight, of the decree announced in court as of recent too,” he says with a show of vulnerability, a farce. Your father nods sympathetically. 

“Keeping so in mind, I would be honoured if you would give me Lady Y/n’s hand in marriage, I would want to proceed with your blessings,” he says. 

Your father acts like he’s deep in contemplation, as if he hadn’t already planned everything out. You make a noise of protest that’s quickly silenced by his one look, your heart beating wildly at the thought that your own father would gladly sell you. 

“I was approached by Lord Rogers for my lovely daughter’s hand in marriage too. I’d say, the wife of a Duke is much preferable to the second wife of a King, isn’t it?” He wondered out loud and you looked on, scandalised. 

“Father!” 

“Hush, girl. You do not interrupt when two men, both well above your standing are speaking,” he says. 

“I would make her the reigning Queen, not a secondary. You will have more land and holdings than any other Lord. I solemnly swear on that,” he says, almost desperately. 

“It is a becoming offer, Your Majesty but you must give me the time to contemplate, let me sleep on it,” your father says and His Majesty nods his head, “Take as much time as you need, My Lord.” 

“What about me? Do I not get a say in this?” You finally scream, your blood boiling. 

“You would refuse your King?” He asks incredulously. 

“I cannot betray Her Majesty, I serve her,” you declare. 

“Oh enough with this already! That queen of yours is nothing but an imposter. Tell me, with what pride does she proclaim herself Queen when she cannot even bear me an heir? She should be thankful that I have found a solution, or I could have just as easily have her banished,” he declares and that stops you in your tracks. 

Banished? 

“Banished? On what grounds? She’s your Queen, Your Majesty, do you not love her?” You ask, tears threatening to spill. If he truly was to banish Natasha, what would you ever do? 

“I loved her but all she has done is scorn me. Tell me, do I not deserve true love?” 

You swallow harshly, your heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of your chest. 

“Would you truly banish Her Majesty?” You ask, tears free falling as you come to accept your fate. 

“I would if you give me no other choice, I’ll have you by hook or by crook,” he promises and you nod your head. 

“Then I accept,” you say, sobbing openly now. You cannot hold it in as the King is smiling from ear to ear, no longer able to contain his joy. He had well and truly won.

The King grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as he shushes you, rubbing a large palm across your back. “Hush my dear, this is a joyous occasion. You are finally going to be mine, only mine,” he declares with a chilling finality to his tone. 

*

You could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning. Your bed no longer felt comfortable. Half asleep and bone tired, you made your way towards the chapel for your morning prayers when you were suddenly pulled into a corner by strong hands, one immediately moving to your mouth, muffling your screams. You looked up as icy blue eyes met yours. 

“Now I finally know why you never did consider my feelings, let alone reciprocate. You had your eyes set on another prize altogether, didn’t you?” He spat venomously. 

“I should’ve known. I always thought what could a Lady want more than a Duke? Especially a Lady with such a low standing in the peerage, the daughter of an Earl,” Lord Rogers had almost choked you now, only letting you go as somebody came looking for him. He stepped out of the alcove, straightening his doublet, acting as if he hadn’t spewed such vitriol at you, his lips adopting a saccharine sweetness as he spoke to Lord Wilson, blocking you from his view. 

You were shaken, close to tears at his words. You finally found the courage to walk out of the alcove once both the Lords were far enough that you could no longer hear them. You found yourself contemplating if you made the right choice. Should you have just accepted Lord Rogers when you had the choice? But how could you have known of your current predicament that puts bars between the owners and their rights. 

Your mind is restless, elsewhere altogether. You don’t even realise when Natasha approaches you, a gentle hand on your shoulder startling you out of your reverie. Natasha can see you’re close to crumbling so she guides you to her chambers in a bit of a daze, telling the other ladies to proceed with their breakfast without her. She closes the door gently behind her as she leads you to her bed, pulling you close as you break down. 

The familiar scent of her perfume and something that is just entirely her, brings you comfort as you’re able to reign in your tears, telling her all about the meal you shared with His Majesty the previous night. 

Natasha has noticed a pattern, she’s found herself in this position so often in the past few months and she can identify the root cause. Her husband. She doesn’t doubt that if it truly came to it, James would find a way to get rid of her. She knew what she had to do then. She knew she couldn’t escape, not truly and not without repercussions

. 

“I will marry him, if it means that you’re safe. I’ll do anything,” you swear to her and she shakes her head ‘no’.

“You will do no such thing. You will run away, you will escape. I will make sure that he shall never find you,” she tells you and you’re pleading no.

“I cannot live without you, I will die,” you cry as you realise, you were just as naive as you prided yourself for not being. You couldn’t live without Natasha, no matter how much you thought you could. “I will marry him, if it means that you are safe, and then we can be together. We won’t have to worry about June. It’s our best bet,” you say and though Natasha wants to disagree she has to admit, her husband had well and truly got all of you in a corner with only one way out : through him.

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Once upon a Midnight Dreary Chapter 3

Tw: mentions of murder, violence, grief, insanity, and other dark subjects

Also this takes place around the 1800s, so be aware that some of the reactions are implied to be typical of the period. This does NOT reflect my perspective on mental health. Note: A bit of a tamer chapter. Not particularly my favorite, but it's to estabish more the setting.

Chapter 4 will be the introduction of Daisy and Nick. I am working on chapter 5

I will wait a bit for the poll to get more votes. I didn't intend it to make it a week, but it was the only option I had. I will eventually post it on AO3 soon

Previous chapter:

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Library

Chapter 3: Interrogatory

My arrival at the psychiatric institution has become a blur of memories. It was ironic as I swore not to forget my first day, as it was a source of my deep hatred and revenge against the man who convinced everyone I was mad. I suppose that my tired brain decided to remember the hatred and pain I felt. I could recall being forced down to a stranded bed and being forced fed raw eyes, or it was something like that. The only thing that came to mind was being unable to throw up.

That was only a spoon of the misery I would be forced to live with…

The rest of my days were quite similar, due to the established routine by Dr. Gubberson himself. I would wake up in the middle of the night hearing the bells that announced my parents dead, being forced down to bed by the doctors and knock out until morning came. Then, I would be dragged by the doctors for examination, being force down some bitter medicine before eating whatever cardboard flavored mess they served me as my daily meals. Finally, I would be left inside a cold room, isolated. According to the doctors this would help me out to calm down. 

Only a fool would bite up that tale. I was sure that they placed me there to desperately break off my spirits until I complied and behaved accordingly to how they wished for me to behave. I learned to become a better liar and an actress. A good manipulator, in fact. I learned to adapt my behavior to become pleasant towards the doctors to force their defenses up. I became excellent at becoming mindless and swallowing down my rage every time I was referred to as a murderess. 

It was not an easy task to learn. My arms were swollen with bruises, and my wrists were purple due to the straight jacket, and the daily pushes from the doctors. I was rarely allowed to shower, and if so it would be in a humiliating manner that I refuse to address; but you can let your mind wander off at how monstrous I look. I was the embodiment of a mad woman, but I was stable as ever…

My parents memories were the main thing that kept me pretty much sane from my tortuous mornings. A reminder that I was not to be called mad. 

“She has become much tamer than once she initially arrived, Dr. Gubberson.” I remember how the doctors used to practice their speeches. Those fools, they were thinking they could fix what wasn’t even broken to begin it. Hearing them gloat was an utterly entertaining way to keep me in check. Knowing that I was sane was something I strive to maintain, just to imagine the faces of those idiots once they realized they wasted their time.

“She has regained some weight and no longer hisses at us!” The fools gloated. 

“I am sure the Captain would thank me for helping the wretched Ruckus girl to get her height straight!” I could simply smirk. Savoring my victory once I was able to prove my innocence. Getting please and starting to like the idea of a subtle revenge.

Oh yes, acting up as a little virus in their pathetic system. Getting at their weakest point and strike, but that was simply the seed of vengeance starting to slowly grow. It wouldn’t flourish until much later. 

This was my routine for the next two months, until summer came. I was starting to bore the doctors with my good behavior. I wasn’t exactly doing or exhibiting any sign of improvement besides my usual behavior. So, I was started to be left longer at that empty isolated room. Alone with my own thoughts as the doctors were trying to figure out what to do next. I suppose that they eventually realized I was merely adapting to their hostile behavior or that I haven't broken completely. Either way, their attempts to break me were fruitless, as they only grew little by little my desire to get my vengeance. 

Eventually, they decided to “attempt” to make me talk about a crime I did not commit just a week after the Captain that supported Dr. Gubberson, became a Commander. I did not care about this change, as it would be eventually shorted lived and I would perhaps have an involvement in.

A bloody involvement…one that lasted d around 7 nights of seeing the Captain rest.

“So, the damozel refused to say a word?” I remember hearing the captain speak from afar the day of his first visit. I believe he was speaking with Dr. Gubberson or one of his doctors. I could not tell as the other voice was almost like a whisper. The captain continued after a long brief of silence, where the person he was talking to finished speaking. “Well, it is not surprising at all. The only thing she ever talk once we met was that she was not insane.”

There was a brief silence from the Captain. Probably the other gent speaking. 

“Very well. I’ll do my best to make her talk.” The captain said. “They won’t last long before they break. Late Commander Breadstone would tell ya.”

There was a moment of silence before some laughs ran from the room. The Captain's laugh was strong, so strong as it was the most recognizable one I could hear. So, that was the only information I knew so far, as when I was taken by the doctors to some interrogation room, only the captain was there. There was no other sign or hint he was talking to Dr. Gubberson, so that’s only my major speculation.

“Ah Riley Anne Ruckus.” The captain greeted me. I did not respond but stared. It was my way of defiance, showing that I was not afraid of the idiot. He proceeded to ignore my silence and remarked. “I am not sure whether you look better or worse than I first saw you at the Ruckus’ manor.”

I was silent as ever. Not taking slightly any attempt at being hilarious or crude as serious.

“I’ve heard that you have become tamer or so it seems.” The captain said. “God only knows what is going into your messed up ill-head. At least…you have become quieter, and less defensive.”

I simply stared at him expressionless. Staring right into his eyes, telling him he wasn’t worth my time. He simply tapped the table with his fingers, becoming slightly annoyed at my silence. 

“So…you want to pretend to be mute. How adorable.” The captain huffed. He leaned towards me before gripping my chin. His fingers pressed her almost as he intended to break it. “I am sure you can talk, Riley. Don’t force me to make you permanently mute…”

I knew he was only trying to threaten me. He knew my confession was worth it. I could tell he wanted me to submit to his threats and confess I was a murderer. I simply stared defiantly into his eyes, ignoring the blood dripping from my lips.

I remember the hand of the captain trembling. He was starting to hesitate. 

“Release her now, sir!” One of the doctors ordered. The old man stared at him unimpressed. His hand did not leave my chin, not for a second. The doctor continued, this tine his tone become darker. “Dr. Gubberson will not tolerate the use of violence against one of our patients. He will not allow you to return or speak with Miss Ruckus if you break any bone or cause any injury to her.”

With that warning, the captain released my chin. I refrained from smirking at my small victory. 

“Very well.” The captain hissed. He stared at me furiously. “I suppose that I must find alternate ways to make you talk, don’t you? 

This was how I eventually learned about what happened to my home. After the captain’s death, the other policemen continued with his example. None succeeded, but they fed the fury that kept me alive…

“The bank took your inheritance from your parents.” He muttered with a sly grin. I remained calmed as I could, and refuse to give in into his attempts at provoking my anger. “The bank donated the money to the police force to their investigation of your father’s murder. So, you are peniless, Miss Ruckus.”

This came out to be a lie. I would eventually learn that after the will was handed to me. Sadly, that was the only lie told…

“Money is not up your interest? Ummm, perhaps I should talk about what happened to your parent's belongings.”  It was then when I slightly trembled. He took this as a sign to continue. “Your father’s clothes were sold to some rich folks along with your mother’s dresses. Her wedding dress was sold the highest, probably shredded to pieces by some seamstress.”

The dress my mother promised that I would have when I got married…the one my father fondly kept in his room and stare ever since she died….

I only took my pain as nutrients for my growing seed of vengeance. The captain continued on. “We Also sold your father’s books. All of them in fact. We thought you wouldn’t need them.”

The books my father collected throughout his life, and the ones we used to read when I was a little girl sitting on his lap. The ones that decorated the beautiful library of his study…

“You no longer have your beloved manor…” That was the last attempt he made. I forced myself not to cry. There was no use into giving any sort of weak feeling or emotion that could give an advantage of the cruel captain. As much as it pained me to hear how my parent’s legacy was slowly destroyed, there was nothing I could do myself.

The manor was eventually destroyed after the police gathered as much as they could for their investigation. Majority of our stuff was sold, even majority of our family paintings, and my mother’s collection of taxidermy over the years. One painting did remain, thankfully, but this is something that does far into my tragic story.

That was a long day. A tiresome interrogatory I went through. It was the first one to come, but certainly not the last. The captain would eventually visit me every single day, mentioning details, showing family values that were sold or gifted to charity. He was becoming desperate to make me shed a tear or break. I could listen to his heart beating louder, and louder. 

Sometimes I felt it underneath the ground, but I was so very gentle and cautious not to show I was well aware of that.

Eventually the Doctors and nurses themselves became tired and irritated with the lack of progress. Word eventually reached Dr. Gubberson himself. He momentarily cut out the Captains visits into twice a week, and demanded my treatment to change. That was the end of my straight jacket and being locked, isolated in a cold room. I was allowed to look more presentable myself and start to interact more among with the other prisoners of this hell.

According to Dr. Gubberson, I was no longer a threat. I was still mad as ever as ill, but he believed I would feel more comfortable to speak if I started to have interactions. That was the beginning of how I met two important people into my particular bitter tale:

Nicholas Nathaniel Nack and Daisy Charlene Danger.

[sarcasticdolphin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria/Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth), Elisabeth von Österreich-Ungarn | Elisabeth of Bavaria/Franz Joseph I von Österreich Characters: Franz Joseph I von Österreich, Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria, Der Tod | Death (Elisabeth) Additional Tags: todolf is more implied, and background, more of a franz and rudolf as father and son fic, franz has period typical sexism, and he is the pov character, mentions of various horrible things that have happened in this series so far (the murders) Series: Part 9 of Mirrorverse Summary:

Franz worries for his son. For his precious, petulant son.

Franz's side of (part of) the story.

[meral-ace-art]

Chapters: 2/?

Series: Part 1 of The Scorpion And His Frog Summary:

It's 1932 and you're an ordinary citizen who lives in New Orleans, Louisiana. That is if murdering around four people is considered ordinary. Ah well, it's not like your friends and family need to know, right? Everything is going well for you, that is until a strange and charismatic man enters your life, causing everything to change. His name is Alastor, but he's secretly New Orleans most feared killer, The Radio Demon.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Human Alastor/Reader Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor's Mother (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor's Father (Hazbin Hotel), Reader, Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) Additional Tags: Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Reader is a killer, Alastor Is Not Okay (Hazbin Hotel), Human Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), Horny Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period Typical Attitudes, New Orleans, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Pre-Alastor's Death (Hazbin Hotel) 

[pennielanelisbon]

Blood and Sand 1922

[d3v0t3dv1rtualch33s3cak3]

Period typical homophobia

Gay slurs

Writer cannot claim slurs but is using them for writing purposes

Chapter 1

"Y'know he's a H O M O S E X U A L." Jackson always over pronounced that word.

"Yeah, I know."

"Then why the FUCK is that FAIRY your lab partner!"

The cafeteria was full of noise, shouting, and hollering, yet still, the tables around us heard.

"I don't think you said it loud enough."

I go back to eating my food as Tritian arrives with a different girl, different from yesterday.

"Don't be so pissed, Jackson. We couldn't choose."

Jackson grunts in anger, and leaves.

I look up at Tristian as he makes a fist.

I follow him into our handshake and he sits down, dismissing the girl who promptly leaves.

"So, are you excited for the end of the year, T?"

"'Course I am! Two months and I'm eighteen and I can fight those commie bastards!"

Tristran has thought out what he is going to do after high school. Sign up for the Veit war. Go to said war. Either die fighting, get a cool injury, or have stories to tell with a good education.

"What did you get for your math test, Aiden?"

"92%, how 'bout you?"

"94%. I beat you."

"It isn't a competition."

"In my eyes it is."

I scoff as the bell rings.

Next is science.

[At class]

I sit at my desk, well knowing everyone is staring at me. I have a weirdo lab partner. I have the freak. I have the fa–

"You okay?"

I look beside me to see my partner, Sid. He's average height, has brown hair and brown eyes. He is also a homosexual.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I'm human and unlike most of the others in this room, I have the ability to feel empathy.”

I roll my eyes and focus on the teacher who has started explaining our assignment.

[End of school]

I walk back home, like I always do.

The same way. Same time.

Yet this time something was different.

I started walking towards the park when I heard it.

"You like it don't you? Getting beat up? I mean, that must be why you walk the same way."

I ignored it at first, there are always fights around here.

Until I heard-

"I don't, really, but it seems to be turning you on!"

I stop in my tracks. That's Sid.

I start walking back towards them.

Once I get there, Sid is knocked to my feet.

I look down to see his face is bruised and blooded.

I look up to see two kids in my former class with blooded fists and smug looks on their faces.

"Aiden! You've come to join us?"

I help Sid up and push him behind me. I held his hand tightly, trying to tell him not to run.

"It's no longer school time right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"So I can do this."

I let go of Sid's hand and punched the kid's nose.

"What. The. Fuck!"

I turn around and grab Sid's bag and hand and storm out of the park.

After five minutes of walking, Sid pulls his hand out of mine.

"Look I'm happy about you helping me, but why? You obviously hate me."

"Like you said earlier, you're human. And if  no one else is, I want to show you I am."

He smiles at the corners of his mouth and butterflies begin to fill my stomach.

"This is my place."

"Right. Uhh tomorrow, you gonna be free after school?"

"Why?" 

"For the science project. What else do you think? A date?"

"No no. Sorry. Yeah I'm free."

"Good."

I walk off.

"See you tomorrow!"

"Bye."

[spacebubblehomebase]

Not art this time but...

Headcanon: Lucifer visits Earth every decade or so as a part of his job as the ruler of Hell. He does it to learn about new sins as "subtly" as he could.

Lucifer: What is ray-sings-sims? Raising-sims? Raisins? Rain-Race-sin? R-Racisms? YES! That! Is it the one where people hate on the opposite sex for absolutely no reason even though humans were all made of the same cosmic dust?

Black woman: (Looking amused at the most stereotypical rich white guy she's ever met asking about sexism and racism.)

Lucifer: Yeah. This cocaine thing is doing nothing for me. I don't really get it, but this is a sin too. So marking that off the list! Thanks for letting me have a go at this, uh, Mr. Dealer? That's your last name, right? Oh man. I'm really bad at remembering names, but have this as a token of my appreciation. (Gives him a thousand dollars which is basically worth even more at the time.)

Drug dealer: (Gobsmacked the guy was still able to keep walking after practically inhaling every drug in existence back then.)

Lucifer: So this, um, cult thing? How did it get assigned to our department again? It sounds just like what Heaven does to me. Huh. Ah well. I guess I'll just roll with it like everyone else here. (Shrugs.) Yay, cult! Sooo do I get to keep the robe? It's kinda comfy- Aw wait there's murder? One died a-and another... Oh... OH... Ooooh boy. Oof. Yikes... So this means I can DEFINITELY keep the robe, right?

Lucifer: Ah yes. Burning the witch. Time to list down all the sorry souls who threw their life into the flame by believing in the occult arts. (Lists down everyone in the crowd who burned said "witch.") And as for Ms. Agnes The Witch here... Hmm. Well, that's for Heaven to worry about! Toodles~! Or, uh, Tickety-Boo!

(Needless to say, dear Luci has been an accidental charmer back on Earth. ^v^ Specially to sinners and people who were just unjustly treated during those times. He just had to see what every sin was for himself and try them out from time to time, but he didn't know he's been perceived as acting with the manners and traditions he gathered from the LAST decade he was on Earth so to everyone who's long gone pass those times, he comes off as a polite old-school rich white man. Naive yet surprisingly non-judgemental.)

-Bubbly💙

[terror-slut]

11/10 will be patiently sitting and waiting for another chapter of “Change of Heart”. that man has me WHIPPED and the way you wrote him!? absolutely captivating. <33

Change of Heart

Chapter 02/?? click HERE for this fic’s masterlist!

Reader is a troubled pediatrician at Hawkins lab when she crosses paths with this lovely orderly. Nothing will stand between Peter and his revenge. Not even really pretty distractions.

Pairing: Peter Ballard x f!reader

Word count: 1403

Ratings & warnings: SPOILERS, period typical sexism, violence, blood, NSFW, swearing, no (Y/N). Ratings may change as chapters are being added.

A/N: bit of a backstory on the reader and more character building for these two <3 I also made a little playlist, check it out if you’d like. Also, I will be updating this fic bi-weekly!

Thick, visceral silence fills the hallway as they stare at one another. Him, all long limbs and easy going smiles, clad in the same uniform as always. Her, caught like a deer in headlights in nothing but a pastel nightgown.

“What? You’ve never seen a girl in a nightgown before?” Her tone is cold when she breaks the silence, but he can tell the pediatrician is nervous by the way she crosses her arms in front of her chest, and doesn’t dare to look the tall orderly straight in the eye.

“I have. Just not in here,” his reply has her roll her eyes in the back of her head, but Peter watches the slightest blush creep upon her cheeks. How amusing.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, doctor, but your shift ended hours ago.”

“Yes, it has,” she is purposefully being evasive, her walls are right back up and stronger than ever after Peter smothered her request earlier that day.

Certain that the door she opened for him prior remains ajar, he reminds himself that surrender is not something that comes to him naturally.

“And yet, you’re still here,” a soft smile graces his lips, signaling that there is no bad intent behind his questions, only curiosity. “Why?”

She sighs, taking in the lanky figure of the orderly in front of her. He towers over her, much taller than she herself is. His hands are folded neatly behind his back like always and despite her indecently dressed body and his fully dressed frame, he keeps a respectable distance between the two of them.

She’s never thought of him as anything but friendly, the way he greets her like clockwork despite her insistence on ignoring her coworkers. And although he shut down her request, she knows he cares for the kids at Hawkins lab. Peter Ballard might be the most trustworthy guy in the entire facility. Really, what’s the worst thing that could happen?

“If I tell you, can we get out of this hallway? There’s cameras everywhere and I don’t need my business discussed like it’s the morning news,” He nods, blond hair falling in sync with the incline of his head.

“I will follow your lead, doctor.”

And so, they arrive back at her office, though it looks more like a makeshift bedroom now. On the floor lies a sleeping pad meant for camping trips, and her uniform is neatly folded and placed on the chair where 015 was sitting earlier that day. On her desk stands an electric kettle and a few dishes, ready to be used.

Peter quietly watches as she puts a large cardigan on over her nightgown before facing him again. His arms are crossed in front of his chest now, and her desk supports his frame as he leans against it.

“Tea?” She’s stalling. He shakes his head.

“I’m more interested in you than I am in tea,” the corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile when she tries to hide her reddened cheeks for the second time that night. How easy she is to coax. “Don’t you have a loving husband to return home to? Why is it that you’re still here, when it’s nearly midnight?”

Eat. Sleep. Work. Reproduce. Die.

That comment seems to set her off, her face brewing up a storm.

“Please, don’t. That is the festering root of my all my problems,” she scoffs, walking over to the desk where Peter’s tall frame is leaning against.

“Your husband?”

A bitter laugh escapes her.

“I’m happily unmarried, Peter,” she explains, lifting herself up upon the desk. He scoots over to give her the space to sit without breaking eye contact.

“But ever since my mother passed, my father is hell bent on finding me a man,” now her guard is lowered, but her fingers are still anxiously tying themselves in knots, Peter notices.

“He wants me to marry a man who can provide for me. He was always against the whole med school thing, but my mother had my back. I graduated some time ago, and my mother passed away not long after,” she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying in front of him, afraid of what he might say or think of her.

“He’s old school. He believes women belong in the kitchen and going to university and having a job is just my rebellious phase until I settle down,” she scoffs.

“I would rather die, Peter,” the tone of her voice is so genuine that something deep inside his chest reacts to her words. His lungs seem to expand further against his ribcage and something warm and unfamiliar slashes aggressively, needy, at the base of his belly.

“I would rather die,” she repeats, “than live the life my mother lived. I’d prefer death over having my academic aspirations squashed because I’m busy cooking dinner for a husband who doesn’t see me as a person, raising kids I never wanted and cleaning up after them every single day. Even the idea makes me nauseous.”

“When I told him I wanted to specify in pediatrics, he laughed at me. He said my maternal instinct won after all. God, I was so angry I considered changing my mind.” the memory of it boils her blood all over again until Peter squeezes her clenched fist with his cool hand. He weaves his fingers through hers until her hand relaxes in his. Only then, he lets go.

“What happened today?” He asks.

“He arranged a date for me, tonight. Some desperate old fool who gets off on the thought of having a younger wife,” the tone of her voice is bitter, but he can detect something else in there.

Fear.

“I couldn’t go, Peter,” she says. He understands.

“My dad and I had a fight this morning, right before I left. He told me if I didn’t show up tonight, I shouldn’t bother coming home at all. Ever again,” a shakey sigh leaves her lips. “Dr. Brenner said it was okay for me to use the office, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll face my dad again. But right now, I just need some time to recharge.”

Eat. Sleep. Work. Reproduce? Live.

She softly bumps his shoulder with her own when he stays silent like he has for most of her rant. Worry settles in her bones.

“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think badly of me, now. I don’t even think… I mean, I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” she carefully slides off the desk to create some space between herself and the orderly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said… anything.”

“You shouldn’t worry about what I think,” her shoulders loosen a bit when the words leave his mouth.

“Or what anyone else thinks. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re a magnificent young woman,” he, too, takes a step away from the desk and towards her, overcome with the sudden urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Instead, he digs the heels of his shoes in the solid tiles of her office floor in an attempt to ground himself.

“You shouldn’t have to conform to anyone else’s idea of who you are,” his voice is so soft and his words nearly addictive. She could hear him speak for hours upon hours.

“You don’t think it’s selfish?” she asks, frowning in disbelief at his opinion on the matter.

“It is never selfish to choose yourself, doctor,” he cocks his head to the side and sends her the same comforting smile he gave her earlier, and this time, she smiles back.

“Thank you,” she says, while taking a step closer to him. The cardigan she had put on earlier is starting to slip off her shoulder, and she’s so close now that he can feel her breathing on his face. She smells like pomegranate and lemongrass and he wants to touch her now, find out if her skin is really as soft as it looks, if every part of her is as pretty as he imagines it to be.

“No need to thank me,” he says instead. The fabric of her cardigan is soft against his touch when he slips it back up her shoulder, covering her from his wandering gaze.

“My point still stands,” she then says.

“And what point is that?” he asks.

“You are a good guy, Peter.”

Taglist: @sunweee @ancientbeing10 @njutul

Lmk if you want to be added/removed to the tag list!

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 ��𝘸𝘰 | 𝘕𝘰 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘜𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥

Summary: Our dear Ms. Blackwood finds herself in the office. She has a favor to ask of the old miser, Ebenezer Scrooge: have Christmas luncheon with her and her daughter.

Author's Note: Hi all,

Whew, two updates in a week! Since my semester has started off quite slow, I have been able to indulge my creative side a little more than usual. I couldn't help but write for this storyline and, as a result, have a 3000+ word chapter for you all!

I am also very grateful to announce that two of my very lovely, very academically proficient friends have offered to beta read the chapters for me. As a result, some minor changes have been made to Chp 1 (already published at this time). They do not alter any major plot points but are there to enhance the flow and immersion.

Word Count: 3288

Ao3 - Mature Rating

WARNINGS: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS PERIOD-TYPICAL SEXISM AND RIDICULE OF SINGLE-MOTHERHOOD.

The word whore is used once or twice to describe reader and her current situation.

Please let me know if you would like to be included in a tag list!

“I’ll say, Ms. Blackwood, this is certainly no way to run an establishment!” 

From some room in the very back, Scrooge hears a clattering sound and the rushing of footsteps. The creaking of the door is accompanied by a small murmur of pain. Well worn hands brace themselves against the doorframe and gentle eyes meet stern ones. In her eyes there is a hint of fear and he knows then that she will ask for another extension. 

‘Will I give it?’ He wonders.  

-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷

You brace yourself against the doorframe, heaving deeply from how quickly Mr. Scrooge’s voice had sent you scrambling and knocking over several miscellaneous items. One moment you were in the stock room arranging the fabric racks and tar-coal dyes, the next you were waking to the impatient call from your lender. Now he stands there across the room, in his fine pants and vest, more handsome in the firelight than frightful. It’s almost enough to knock the wind from you. Almost. His cruel, icy gaze squashes the feeling as quickly as it comes. 

You smooth out your dress to distract yourself, suddenly ashamed not to be wearing a crinoline or gloves. Gently raising a hand, you adjust any hair that may have come undone from pin and braid. “Sir, my sincerest apologies! I must not have heard the bell chime whilst arranging my stock.”

“Yes, well,” The miser began, walking further into the room and stopping at the till counter. His eyes scan your form, a look of distaste briefly crossing his features. “I am sure you have your excuses well thought out. Now, if I suspect correctly, you know why I have come to call on you.”

The cold hand of dread grasps your heart and it feels as though a rock has lodged itself in your throat. One hand rises to fiddle with the buttons of your opposing sleeve, tracing the thread that loops delicately through them. Yes, you had been expecting him to come. He was here to collect, as he always was. Mr. Scrooge never made social calls, being only about business and business alone. 

“W-why yes, sir.” You slowly stepped up to the counter, standing as close to the man as you dared. “I am 15 pounds overdue.”

“No, madam.” He grins cruelly, greed settling into his face. “You are overdue 15 pounds and we must add onto that this month's payments. The final payments. You understand then, that I am owed 23 pounds. ”

“But sir—“ 

He cuts you off by tapping his ledger against the wood. “Ah, I presume you are without the means to pay once more?” 

There is a dark twinkle in his eyes now. It’s not greed, but something else, something darker. He enjoys this. 

“I only have 10 pounds, sir. I— I am happy to pay it, but the rest I cannot provide you.” You swallow harshly, trying your best to keep eye contact. A dark flush of embarrassment has worked its way up your neck, to your cheeks, and your ears.

“What excuse have you this time, Ms. Blackwood? Hmm? Mother fell ill, did she ?” The miser keeps his voice even, but the words are cold and mocking.

“No, Mr. Scrooge,” You start, trying to keep your voice from wavering. Eventually, you can no longer uphold eye contact and instead find great interest in the till counter. 

“No?” He leans forward on his cane, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to catch your gaze. There is a moment of silence as you attempt to dignify him with a response. It clearly wears on his patience. 

“No, I suppose not.” He speaks harshly then, adding as much bite to his tone as appropriate.

Something within you cracks at being so boldly disrespected in public address; it did not matter that he was the only other person there, it would have been a shameful moment in the company of others. At the same time, however, it also strengthens a resolve in you. ‘ Mother fell ill’ , the words echo in your head. No, your mother had abandoned you long ago. That wouldn’t stop you from being a good mother, from protecting the welfare of your child this time around. Just as the man before you scoffs and attempts to open his ledger, you catch his gaze.

Ebenezer Scrooge is allowed only a moment of surprise, agog at the fire in your eyes, before you begin speaking. “No indeed, sir. As you well know, I am unwed, sir. I am left now with debts that are not my own, which I must repay, and a trade-skill that the textiles are rendering mute! No indeed, sir!”

“Why I—“ He begins, but you do not allow him to finish. 

“I am a seamstress, Mr. Scrooge! I work tirelessly for meager sums, laughable sums. These garments are all I have , sir. This is my only method of income. How, then, would you suggest I manage? I must pay for my health, for my meals, for the fabrics, and yet I am expected to give it all to you? You!? ” You take a deep breath, now red from your rising anger. “And what of my daughter, Mr. Scrooge, what of her? What should I do with her, hmm? Shall I leave her in a workhouse? Shall I turn her to the streets with the pauper boys, so that she may sell papers for all her days? So that she may make her own sums? She has just made her eighth year here, Mr. Scrooge!” 

For once, Ebenezer is stunned into silence. All malice has been wiped from his features and instead has been replaced with utter shock. His eyebrows, so arched and eyes so wide, would have been funny if the situation were not so dire. You had openly admitted to your lender that you had borne a child out of wedlock, thus divulging your family’s greatest scandal, and placing yourself in the path of ridicule. 

You swallow harshly, watching his expression turn from surprise to confusion, to horror. When you next speak the words are so quiet that the crackle of the fire almost swallows them, “I thought I would have already lost her, sir. To her early— early winters or… or consumption.”

Ebenezer snaps his ledger shut and stares at you like you’ve just grown another head. He revels in silent horror for a moment, like a perfectly stupefied statue. He opens his mouth and closes it several times over; a true fish out of water. You stare at one another for a long while. The man’s face grows redder by the second.

Eventually, he finds his words. They are soft, stuttering, and without any of its previous authority, “Y-yes. V-very well, Ms. Blackwood.”

“Pardon?” Surprise colors the word.

A soft clearing of his throat, “I said very well. You have until Boxing Day. Two extra days. ”

“Y—“ You clear your throat in return. “Boxing Day, sir?”

“That is what I said, is it not?” He opens his ledger again, places it on the counter facing you, and allows you to retrieve your own pen. 

You dip the tip into your inkwell and lift it back up to sign the page but his large, gloved hand catches your wrist. The touch is surprisingly gentle. Tired eyes meet cunning ones, and suddenly his old demeanor rears its head. The angry furrow of his brow, the deep seated frown, and his rigid posture return. He looks down at the page, at the name above the blank space under the pen, and sighs deeply. 50 pound — Jenkins. 

“There is a condition,” He adds. “I cannot afford the responsibilities of your personal welfare, nor may I show any form of favoritism among my clientele. As you may be aware, there is much burden in this life. Much of this burden falls upon me, as a contractor and lender, you see. So, I will do something for you; I will give you two extra days but you must come up with a new sum. Let us say… double? No, for a third extension let’s say— triple? Discount the ten pounds you are able to pay…”

You balk, stunned by his lack of compassion. Never had Ebenezer Scrooge seemed so unredeemable, so unfeeling, as he did now. You cry out, despair mingling with outrage. “59 pounds! Why, Mr. Scrooge, that is cruel!”

“You are right,” He nods once and pretends to contemplate the thought. “I should ask you for a round number. Much nicer, neater, don’t you agree?”

He lets go of your wrist and rests his hands on the ebony cane. He leans back slightly, puffs up, and watches you expectantly. “60 pounds. Yes, that’s a good round number. I should have asked it of Jenkins, really, but this will do.”

The pen trembles all the way from the inkwell to the page. You almost let it slip from your fingers, shaking violently and trying to suppress tears. The water behind your eyelids gathers quickly, blurs your view of the page, and makes it hard to sign for the transaction. Once the pen is tucked away again and the ink begins to dry, he holds out his palm. You reach for the till, unlock it, and grasp at the mishmash of gold sovereigns and shillings you’d earned the past weeks. You attempt to find a bag for it, still holding back tears, but he turns his palm to face you. 

“On the counter, please, Ms. Blackwood. I would like to count and authenticate it here.” He checks his pocket watch while you sort the coins into piles. 

“There, sir.” You step back, allowing the miser to lose himself in his monetary endeavor. Before you know it, your body decides that a quick lap about the room would do some good for your constitution. You begin to make your rounds for closing hour, decidedly done with people for the evening. The night would only get chillier and your daughter was like to be out with the urchins, busking the evening away. Not even the chime of the bell above the door distracts you when Ebenezer finishes his catalog and removes himself from the premise without so much as an evening farewell. You only notice the silence and rampant tears against your skin when your nightly tasks are complete. 

-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷

“But I’m owed fifteen,” Bob Cratchit glances down at his hand and thumbs the small pile of shillings. 

“Consider the other five your payment to me .” Scrooge sighs and sits back in his chair to look at his employee.

“For what, sir?”

“The ink you so carelessly spilled this evening, of course,” Another sigh. “And the day off you insist on taking tomorrow.” 

“Well,” Cratchit swallows, unsure of himself. “It is Christmas, sir.”

“Yes,” Ebenezer looks away and glares at the door to his office from which his nephew had disappeared. “As everyone is so fond of telling me.”

Bob fiddles with his top hat, scrunching the edge. “Sir, this isn’t enough.”

The graying gentleman turns his glare from the door to his employee. He makes a noncommittal hum at the back of his throat and waits as the redhead continues, “My family, you see, my children– My boy, in fact– my boy needs medicine.”

Now standing behind his desk, the miser looks at the man before him as though seeing him for the first time. One hand slowly puts away his daily ledger as he begins to speak, “You have children? Yes… Of course you do.”

One well-pressed jacket arm winds across the redhead’s shoulder as employer meets employee. “Cratchit,” The tone is pure velvet and malice. “Times are hard. And my financial burdens are considerable.”

He guides the man around, turns him toward the door, and gives his best smile. “Now, should I add to them by paying for the upkeep of your entire family? Does that sound fair to you?”

Neither man notice the crackling whisper, nor the tendrils of ice that crawl across one Jacob Marley’s portrait. ‘ Scrooge….’

“No, sir.” Cratchit’s voice comes out pitifully muted. 

“No, sir, indeed,” A small smile. “You’re the second person who’s pleaded such a case today. Must be the season. Now, let’s get you on your way, shall we?”

The two men step from the office into the main workroom of Marley & Scrooge, Private Bankers and Moneylenders. The aforementioned owner is about to herd the man closer to the door, to his jacket on the rack, when it swings open. A hefty basket swings through the opening first, followed by gloved hands, and a very familiar shawl. The shopkeeper of Louwermon’s bustles through Ebenezer’s door.

“Oh, Ms. Blackwood!” Bob Cratchit chirps happily from beside his employer, moving forward to take the basket from her.   Scrooge, on the other hand, cannot suppress the surprise that overtakes his face, nor the subsequent look of annoyance.

“Bob Cratchit!” You smile widely, genuinely. Ebenezer notes its beauty instantly; the way the edges of your mouth curl up, the way your lips pull back to reveal stunning teeth. It sets his cheeks aflame for a brief, shuddering moment. 

You break his reverence, “Just the man– men , I had hoped to catch!”

“Oh?” The moneylender cuts in. “To what do we owe this… pleasure?”

You ignore the snark in his words, instead greeting him properly with a delicate bow before turning back to your friend. “In here,” placing your hand on the basket, “are new clothes for your children. The winter months can be so cruel, so cruel. I have fashioned for Tim a new  coat, so that he may be unaffected while busking.”

Cratchit’s smile is contagious for soon their lady guest is returning it in full. Scrooge watches the exchange with great interest. ‘ Free clothing? For Cratchit’s children?’ The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. ‘ Such a despicable loss of profits.’

“Thank you!” Bob evokes your given name as he shakes your hand. In fact, he repeats it several times over, along with thanks, as you giggle.

The sound is, to Scrooge, like pure joy. It reminds him of his dearest sister, of her laughter and her warmth. And the sound of your name, previously unknown to him, sends an unusual chill up his spine. Their mirth goes uninterrupted, until at last he is forced to interject. Like her, he has had enough of people for one night. With one hand, he guides Cratchit to the door. 

“Good night, Mr. Cratchit, go home. ” 

The redhead complies nearly immediately, having spotted his children across the way. Scrooge watches as Bob takes the stairs two at a time, far more animated than a father his age should be. He doesn’t even bother with the door, assuming his remaining company would follow suit. Several seconds tick by before he realizes you will not be joining his employee. With a deep sigh, he closes the door and turns to face you.

“Very well, Ms. Blackwood. Follow me.” He turns on his heel and beckons you into his office. He sits once more in his chair and crosses his arms authoritatively.

“Mr. Scrooge,” You take a deep breath as if bracing herself. It piques his interest greatly. “Kitty– That is, my daughter, and I would love it if you could join us for Christmas lunch tomorrow. I understand that it is an uncouth ask, perhaps one borne of a selfish desire to reconcile today’s events with you. But she would very much like to meet you.”

Scrooge feels himself recoil before he can even comprehend all that you have said. His lips part into a nervous smile. “What?”

“Christmas luncheon. Oh, do say you’ll come, Mr. Scrooge!” You smile again, that pretty, pretty smile. 

‘If only she knew.’ His hatred for the wretched season ran deeper than the pits to hell. All the joy borne of a time that only showed him great sorrow. 

Not only that, but you were asking him to risk his reputation; as a gentleman, a lender, a banker. To discredit himself now, to be seen with a working woman without escort, with an illegitimate child, would throw away all his years of hard work. “No.”

“No?” you don’t seem shocked, just slightly disappointed. “Oh please sir, it would mean the world to us! I have oft been told that my Christmas lunches are the–”

“I said no, Ms. Blackwood. Does such a word count for nothing in today’s society? Nothing at all?” He feels growled words build up in his throat, feels them leave him, but he doesn’t care. 

“It’s just that my child, sir, has never had a Christmas with others.” 

“I fail to see how that is my problem, madam.” Scrooge stands from his seat. He watches as you take a step back. It pleases him to know he has the ability to elicit such a reaction. 

“It is very hard to keep a child from the world on Christmas, Mr. Scrooge! As you well know, today’s gentry would shun me for keeping her, for having her. I would never do such a thing as leave her, you see, but minding her alone is–”

“And that was product of your own incompetence!” The miser’s voice drips with discontent, even as it raises in volume. He watches you recoil at his loud vocalization but continues. He has had enough.

“How, pray tell, could a woman so fine allow herself to be so defiled? You are young, beautiful! Had you not been so foolish as to conceive, had you waited as any good woman should, as any good wife should, perhaps you would not be in such a position!”

“Sir, do n–” You try to interject, but he glares you into submission.

“No, you have done far too much talking as it is, Ms. Blackwood! So much damage you have inflicted upon my evening that I find it within my right to speak now. It is my turn and I am not quite finished with you.” He rounds the desk, looming over you:

“It is by your doing that you are here. That is, working while a child waits on you. Have you a servant? A governess? No? I thought not! Barely able to stay afloat, barely able to provide, and raising what shall no doubt be an uneducated woman. You are paying debts that need not be yours. Had you not squandered your life like a whore you would not have shamed your family. They would not have thrown you to the dogs, would not have stripped you of heritage or allowance.”

Tears begin to stream down your face. You try to hold them back with a hand to your mouth. He barely registers the broken sobs and is completely oblivious to the sudden chill that has overtaken the room. Something crackles around you both and the wind howls wretchedly outside, but the dam has burst, he will say his piece. Prudence, previously tucked in her bed, has come to your side. She is snarling at him, seemingly following the conversation, but no vocalizations escape her throat and she goes unnoticed. 

“Catherine– That is, Kitty, deserves far better than you will ever be able to offer her. She deserves a governess, a proper mother, and a father to provide her with comfort before her hand is exchanged. At this rate, she will be lucky to have any prospects! And you , Ms. Blackwood , have none. No decent man, no self preserving gentleman, will want to wed you. You will die a spinster. That is your truth.” The man stands there, chest heaving from such an impassioned speech, and has the gall to look self satisfied.

“So no , madam, I will not be joining you, nor anyone else, in any celebration of this wretched season.”

[nostalgia-tblr]

one good genre of Historical Woman is "she'd have been an absolutely fantastic king, but unfortunately her husband got the job instead"

[justaboot]

Tell me about Colorado!

early 1900's Scroldie Colorado gold rush fic! Their first time running into each other since Scrooge left the Klondike.

idk they're idiots. Also this ones fun I wrote them explicitly to be human bc I never really planned on publishing it, and not being ambiguous really changed how I let myself let them behave.

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Once upon a midnight dreary CH2

Tw: mentions of murder, violence, grief, insanity, and other dark subjects

Also this takes place around the 1800s, so be aware that some of the reactions are implied to be typical of the period. This does NOT reflect my perspective on mental health.

Previous chapter

Next Chapter:

Library

Chapter 2: Ill-fated

Morning came like a dead bird falling from a tree. My eyes were weary, and were decorated with dark circles. I sleep nothing the night of my father’s murder, and very well refused to not avail the following nights before his arrival. I was disheartened, and stressed. There was no word from the police, and my father’s study was locked for investigation. Only my father’s chambers and garden remained intact temporarily, but I was advise not to touch any of his belongings for possible clues. So, I became accustomed to sit and simply stare at the memories I had but could never touch. 

“There she is once again…” I could hear one of the maid muttered. Kathy, I believe was her name. She was pleasant but wasn’t the type to chat. “All she does is sit there and stare at a rusty old shelf. She barely refuses to come out or eat something!”

“Now, now. You better give her patience, Katherine.” I remember the soothing voice of Olive said. She was the youngest of the maids. She seemingly understood me. It was a tragedy that tuberculosis took her young. “Mistress Ruckus lost her father a week ago. Not to mention we lost Mistress Dora in December as well, just two months ago. It is obvious that our remaining Mistress from the Ruckus family would wish to mourn!”

I pretended not to hear their voices, as the ringing of the bells faded as the days went by…

“Olive, you haven’t lived for decades attending the family or helping late Mistress Dora raise her daughter!” I could hear Kathy growl from the distance. Olive sighed. “I know that you like Mistress Ruckus, but I would not let that child starve herself to death! I could not-”

Her words came short. It was then when the police intruded into the manor. This time they were not alone. I did not move or made any sound. Eventually Kathy dragged me as I bounced as a petite drag doll. She was muttering all sort of things like:

“She refuses to sleep” 

or “She won’t go out for a walk or read her books”, 

and “She has barely eaten anything!”

The gentlemen, or if you could even call them gentle, tried to reassure her and the other maids that I would be alright; but the way the gripped me said otherwise…

“Nothin’ to fear, m’am! She’ll be in good hands” I remember the captain being the one who said that. He was an old white man, with hair that was slowly drifting out of his head. His presence disgusted me although he tried to be as polite, which was quite artificial as a matter of fact. 

I was not surprised that his patience was just as fake as his politeness when he forced me down the strapped bed….but…that is another part of the story. Order gives me the power to keep my emotions in check…

Anyways, I was taken to the dinner room by the captain whose last name I never bothered to remember. He was all the same as his army, a buffoon thinking greater of himself, believing himself as a fortunate man to be the place where he was. Not caring about the consequences of his vile actions, not that he would enable a small seed of vengeance upon me. 

However, I would be mixing the delicate timeline in my head, but do know that I would eventually want a cold revenge that the captain would be the first victim to taste…

“Katherine was not lying when she mentioned she was growing paler and thinner.” That was the first thing I heard when I entered the dinner room. There were three peculiar man dressed in robes. My heart began to pound widely, as I recognized them as doctors. Psychiatrists to be exact, just as the ones that my late mother used to work with. 

I remember I was avoidant of the men gazes. I had no fear, but I was rather discomforted by their presence, specially the oldest man staring right at me…

“Is she alright? She looks as if the cat ate her tongue.” One of the doctors asked. His voice was graved, I sadly can’t recall who it was…

“According to the maids and housekeepers, she has been quite reserved of herself lately.” It was the captain who explained on my behalf. Based on his tone, I was sure he was sneering…

“An avoidant gaze, just as I suspected it.” That was the first time I heard him talk. He was smallest one, and the oldest among the men on the table. His hair was black as coal with some strands of silver from aging, and his eyes were full of dark circles. The most notorious aspect of his appearance was the scars among his face, and his vulture eye that made his tiresome but yet cold stare so fierce. It was like a sharp knife cutting through my skin…

My blood boils and yet I quivered every time when I made memory of those cold eyes, and the way they penetrated against me almost like a pang to my chest. The feeling still remains every time I remember the vulturous stare of Dr. Gubberson….

 I remember vividly that there was a long pause from Dr. Gubberson after his first comment. He sat silently, as his cold eyes laid upon me, examining whatever thing this “genius man” would find. There was tension, as the men were waiting for his answer.

He eventually spoke, in his slow, raspy voice that looked as if he was whispering…

“Yes. Her health clearly has decline from the past few days, such a tragedy for such lovely damozel indeed.” He ever so gently spoke as he rose from his chair. He stood next to me as the gents in the room stared at us. My eyes were rested upon the man next to me. I was intrigued and quite annoyed at what “remarkable” comment he was ought to make. 

“As you can see, gents, her lips are breaking and turning into an unlikely shade of purple. Evident sign that she’s not drinking enough water.” There were some murmurs within the men in the room. I forced myself to stand still and huffed at the obvious remarks as the so-called “Doctor” followed. “Not to mention her defined and sharpen cheekbones are not part of her structure. She has been trying to starve herself for quite some time. Do tell me, Commander Breadstone, has any of the maids mentioned some strange behavior prior to Dr. Ruckus murder?”

“According to the chef, late Dr. Ruckus never left the table until Riley finished her plate.” The commander spoke. He was a man much older and less gentle-like the captain, yet he was the only reasonable man around. “According to her, Dr. Ruckus noticed his daughter lost her appetite since December….around the time they Nurse Ruckus...”

It was partially true. The sadness of my mother’s passing made it hard for me to eat, however my late father stayed because I didn’t wish to eat alone….It was a private request between us. I wanted to spend every time I could in the fear he would be taken soon. A fear that became a reality in a February…

“No wonder why she’s been trying to kill herself slowly!” Dr. Gubberson commented. “She has gone mad. Quite mad in fact to the point that she’s been starving herself!”

“I AM NOT MAD!” It was then when I lost my temper. All eyes were upon me as my chest raised and fell along the pace of my accelerated heart. A grave mistake of mine, that I eventually came to regret as it further Dr. Gubberson “points”

“Now she decides to speak. Clearly a sign to defend her stance that she was not insane. She’s simply trying to deceive us.” Dr. Gubberson commented. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to slap the grin off his ugly tiresome face…

“Perhaps you are upsetting just her, Dr.” It was the commander Breadstone who spoke with evident skepticism. Dr. Gubberson frowned at the older man. Nonetheless, the commander continued. “Can’t you see this young damozel has been greatly traumatized by her father’s murder?”

“A murder that SHE committed in a state of madness, may I have to remind you?” Dr. Gubberson remarked. My skin went white as I could fear my breath shortening. 

I was being accused of a murder I would rather die than committed. And that was simply the beginning of hell…

“We cannot be so sure about this!” Commander Breadstone intervened. “All we know it was that she was the poor wretched soul that found him dead, covered in his blood while she wailed in agony.”

“Precisely!” Dr. Gubberson slapped the tabled with immerse fury. The gents yelped in surprised while Commander Breadstone’s face furrowed into a deep scowl. “It was a wail of regret! A murder out of madness, solitude!”

“I…I couldn’t murder my father!” I remember crying. My voice broke as tears ran down my face. I was feeling drowsy. Possible signs of a vertigo. 

“Now…now my child…” I remember Dr. Gubberson trying to soothe me. His hands gripping my back and waist. My body tensed as I could feel nausea…Perhaps it was the disgustingly close the wicked man was, or was it the fact that I was not feeding myself properly. Either way, he continued ignoring my evident discomfort. “A lovely damozel, tormented by her own demons. A deep dark force that drives her insane every night. Torments her, frightens her, and fascinates her with spoken terrors. Nightmares, of her parents tragedies. A tragedy that she felt she was destined to follow. To perish just as her mother did…”

My ears winced in every word he whispered as the gents muttered among themselves. I was feeling weaker by the second, as the heinous raven spoke. I could only beg him  “Please…be quiet. I cannot hear it no more.”

“It would be alright soon. This tragedy will end” Dr. Gubberson spoken. He tried to gently almost as if he was a father, but that was my breaking point

“DON’T YOU EVER DARE TO TOUCH ME!” It was a cry of pain rather than frustration as I pushed the doctor as hard as my weak body would allow me. Everyone gasped in disgust.

“This is exactly what I mean! A lovely damozel, indeed, a remarkable resemblance to late mother, shame that she’s ill-tempered and…quite frankly with a savagery attitude.” Dr. Gubberson remarked with a hiss while he retrieved his hands. He brushed his coat to straighten it after my push. 

“She had a history of being quite defensive according to the maids.” One of the officers commented.

“Madness, I am afraid.” One of the doctors spoke.

“I am not mad!” I protested. This time my voice becoming raspier, almost like a growl.

“Silence!” The captain spoke. “ Commander Breadstone, we have seen enough. It is clear that she has lost her damn mind She’s mad, certainly mad. The creature must be institutionalized immediately before she could commit any more harm to herself or anyone in this manor!”

“Are you certain, Captain?” Commander Breadstone asked. “Don’t any of you realized that this could be a resemblance of provoking a wild creature to fight?”

“She’s not well, and it would be dangerous for anyone, even herself, if we let her go.” One of the doctors protested. Commander Breadstone became quiet. It appeared that he agree in that aspect…

“Very well…”Commander Breadstone sighed. “Riley Anne Ruckus shall be taken to Dr. Gubberson’s psychiatric center. However, I refuse to close the investigation until further prove that she was the culprit.”

“But, Commander-” Dr. Gubberson try to protest.

“As long as I live, Gubberson, I’ll keep the case open…” The Commander Breadstone hissed. He would eventually die of cardiac arrest two days after

Dr. Gubberson scowled while the captain and the other gents nodded. Only the commander truly believed my innocence. 

“Dismissed!” The Commander announced before retiring from the room.

 I could already hear the bells from the carriages, the last ones I heard after my father was taken from afar. Before I could even protest, Dr. Gubberson’s doctors took a hold of me and forced me into a straight jacket, bruising me in the process. The bells started to become louder as they dragged me to the carriage, silencing my screams and pleads that I was innocent. 

I could hear the bells.The bells, bells, bells that would be the cacophony of my sleep…

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 13

Chapter 13 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Jason keeps asking Chrissy out, who tells him she’s dating Steve to get him to stop. It leads to him coming out to her. In the evening Eddie comes by. Steve falls asleep and has a nightmare. Eddie tries to comfort him, but the person he needs is Robin, to which Eddie drives them as he gets to witness their friendship.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: period typical sexism, homophobia mention, nightmare, vomiting

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: The Rejected Date

It’s already the middle of October. School has been in for a while and Steve has been living on his own at the cabin for a few weeks already.

Living on his own has been both fun and hard. He misses Robin, but she stays over at least one night a week and he is at the Buckley’s for dinner and to sleep over once a week as well. They usually end up sleeping together three nights, one of them, because they woke up from a nightmare and had to check the other was okay.

When it’s Robin, Steve will get called awake and drive over to find Robin waiting on her porch in her pajamas, freezing. She’ll fall into his arms and he’ll carry her to her room, wrapping both of them into the blanket as she shoves her ice cube toes between his calves.

If it’s him, he’ll show up still sweaty and shivering from the nightmare. He knows where they keep the spare key and he’ll let himself in, crawling into Robin’s bed. She’s used to it and wraps her arms around him, sleepily lecturing him about safety on the road.

The set up isn’t perfect, but it works for them. He and Robin are bound for life, he cannot imagine not knowing her. If sneaking into her bed is to be part of his life, then he’ll do so with the gratefulness that he gets to know her.

Beyond his sleepovers with Robin, he calls Lisa from time to time and hangs out with Chrissy on Wednesdays. There isn’t cheer practice, but Chrissy told her mom there is. They hang out together, just talking or stunting, depending on the mood.

Steve loves spending time together with Chrissy. He might be half conjoined with Robin and she is his person, who gets him on so many levels, but he connects with Chrissy about bad parents and a love for sports in a way that Robin won’t get. And he doesn’t begrudge her that. Robin has amazing parents and he is thankful for that, besides he doesn’t get her obsession with weird books, movies and music either.

Chrissy loves the cabin and is always excited to hang around there. She loves the quiet sounds of nature and how there is no one to watch or judge her. Steve gets the feeling, though he isn’t the biggest forest fan after the Upside Down.

On Saturdays he hangs out with Max and Lucas. He brings dinner and plays basketball with Lucas at the trailer park, both ignoring how Susan is never home and how this is the most decent meal Max eats in the week.

Lucas is improving his skill and is going onto the varsity team, which is huge as a freshman. It makes Steve so proud of him, despite his own bad experiences with the basketball team during the last part of his time at high school.

When playing with Lucas, Steve also doesn’t think of Eddie, whose trailer is right across from Max’s, who has been sworn to secrecy and let in on the prank. He sees her eyes glittering whenever Lucas complains about giving the guy a chance as they eat dinner.

But it’s okay, he sees Eddie at other times.

He drives the kids home from Hellfire club on Fridays. Usually he and Eddie exchange a few words in the parking lot. When he recounts them to Robin she calls it flirting, but Steve tries not to believe her, tries not to get his hopes up.

Just like he tries not to get his hopes up whenever he and Eddie hang out. Steve doesn’t have the best sleep schedule and it seems that neither does Eddie, because he’ll often show up at an hour that is too late to be socially acceptable and stays until deep in the night.

Eddie makes it very hard to not get hopes up, or at least to get over the crush. He’ll always press close, easily stepping into Steve’s space and handing out casual touches like it’s nothing. He’ll grin showing those cute dimples and creating crinkles around those kind and beautiful eyes. It makes Steve want to do something stupid.

However, Steve knows better. He has seen enough of Eddie to know that the affection is just baked into his being. Steve isn’t special. Eddie is just nice and he shouldn’t look for things that aren’t there.

It’s not special when they sit on the porch and look at the stars, sharing things they wouldn’t say in the light of day. It’s not special when Eddie uses his joint to light Steve’s cigarette. It’s not special when Eddie rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. And it’s not special when the night drags on and a drawl creeps into Eddie’s voice, when man gets replaced with sweetheart and Eddie gazes at Steve like he’s something precious.

Steve just has to keep reminding himself of that.

Robin tells him he’s being an idiot, but Robin doesn’t get to say shit. It’s not like she’s telling that Vickie girl from band that she likes her. So, he ignores her arguments about why he should risk the friendship he’s only just starting to build and lingers in the moments where he has Eddie, before he reminds himself it isn’t special.

Yesterday was such an evening again, but Robin can’t say anything, because she is working and he is not. He’s going to hang out with Chrissy at the cabin and just try to forget and work it out by throwing Chrissy into the air for a bit.

He goes to pick her up after school. She looks a little nervous, glancing around as she quickly gets into his car. She looks like she wants to say something, but can’t. Her nerves are making Steve anxious as he wonders what could have happened. He asks: “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I did something and I need you to go along with it and not be mad,” Chrissy tells him, worrying her lip between her teeth.

The words do nothing to soothe Steve’s nerves and if he weren’t focused on driving, he would have more space to panic. “What did you do?”

“I told Jason we’re dating when he asked me out,” Chrissy rushes out, then rambles on: “He just keeps asking and I said no multiple times, but he won’t stop. So, when he asked why I won’t give him a chance I said that I have a boyfriend. He didn’t believe that, so I just said your name, because I don’t really want to date right now, so I needed someone who wouldn’t be secretly in love with me.”

“Of course I’ll back your story,” Steve promises, not seeing an issue with it. Chrissy is too young for him, but it’s not real. She knows he won’t be in love-

Wait, Steve’s brain screeches to a halt as the latter part of Chrissy’s ramble registers. He stops at the intersection, looks at Chrissy and asks: “Who says I’m not secretly madly in love with you?”

Chrissy looks surprised at the question and taken aback she says: “You are?”

“I mean, no, but I could have been, right?” Steve says, finding an edge of desperation in his voice as the walls of the car start to close in on him. He does not like where this conversation is going. He does not know if he can do this.

Meanwhile, Chrissy’s face turns sympathetic and she starts: “Steve…” trailing off with nothing to say, which is horrible for Steve’s frame of mind.

“Right?” he repeats, knowing that the crack in his voice does nothing to help his case.

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t- you don’t have to pretend with me,” she tells him softly, compassion and gentleness filling her voice.

She knows he’s gay.

Steve got the inkling, but those words confirm it. She knows. She has known. She knows and still she hangs out with Steve, lets him be near her, touch her, be close with her. All his fears about her rejection due to her religious house were for naught, because she doesn’t seem to mind.

Chrissy doesn’t mind he’s gay.

He feels tears start to try and get out, so he pushes them down and takes a shuddering breath. He can’t deal with all these emotions right now. Instead he checks if anyone is coming at the intersection and starts driving again.

The tension in the car is palpable. Chrissy is fidgeting next to him and Steve is just staring at the road, trying not to feel. He doesn’t know what to say. What if he misunderstood and Chrissy is talking about something else? What if he says it and then she hates him?

So they drive in tense silence, something they haven’t done in all the time they’ve known each other. Not really, not like this.

It’s only when they pull up at the cabin that Chrissy speaks up, her voice very timid. “Are you okay?” she asks. “If I said something wrong you can say it. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was something I shouldn’t say.”

“How long have you known?” Steve asks, still not meeting her eyes. He has to know. He has only just gotten his respectability back. What if it’s obvious?

“Since the summer,” Chrissy answers.

“How?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure at first,” Chrissy begins to explain, sounding unsure. “I mean, you know what whispers went around about you, but I don’t like rumors. So, I ignored them. You seemed nice and we became friends. I liked that you treated us like people, not just dumb cheerleaders. Then I noticed you never talked about Nancy. Never. Barely mentioned her.”

“What does Nancy have to do with it?” Steve asks, confused as to why Chrissy is bringing her up.

“For someone not enough over the heartbreak to date again, you never talked about her,” Chrissy shrugs and smiles. “I thought that was odd. But that’s all maybe’s. Robin confirmed it for me.”

“Robin?” Steve frowns.

“Yeah, you were very adamant about nothing being there,” Chrissy says. “I almost convinced myself you had to be lying about it, but I know you too well. So, I assumed. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t. Sorry. Should I not have done that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, looking Chrissy in the eye. “I honestly don’t know, Chris. I’m terrified of people knowing. Robin knows, but beyond that…”

“That sucks,” Chrissy tells him in that sweet genuine way only she can. She bumps her shoulder against his and smiles: “I’ll never judge you, Stevie. You’re my best friend.”

Words escape Steve. He never thought he would have people who would accept him, but here he has not only Robin and Eddie, but Chrissy as well. His Chrissy. His favorite cheerleader. He pulls her into a hug and practically crushes her.

Chrissy doesn’t seem to mind, just clings to him equally tight and doesn’t let go. They sit there in the front seat of Steve’s car, until Steve is willing to let go.

“You’re my best friend too,” Steve tells her. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“Never,” Chrissy says and it sounds like a promise.

They finally get out of the car and Chrissy seems to know that he doesn’t want to get into it now, but just put it out of his mind. So, she drops her stuff off inside and immediately comes back out to warm up. The October chill is coming in, but neither of them care.

The two of the run around to warm up. Chrissy can now comfortably to a handstand on Steve’s hands, so they’re just working on flipping. It’s not the smartest thing to do without anyone to catch her, but they don’t care. Stunting makes them feel alive in a way nothing else does.

So they stunt until they’re both sweaty and both take a shower, their hair a mess as it air dries and grins on their faces.

Steve doesn’t have a TV, so they put on some music while they crawl onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. The heating in the cabin isn’t the best, but Steve has amassed a collection of blankets that they burrow under.

The cabin itself is very homey. Steve finally has a bed frame that he stumbled upon in the second hand shop, a lucky find. The living room is painted an orange-y red, giving it a warm feel. Though he painted the beams the same yellow as the cabinets, which he loves.

He made it his little home and he is happy there. On some lonely nights however, he stares at the closed door where the last memory of Hopper remains. He’ll think of El living here. Hopper and her fixing it up. The countless days she’d been cooped up here. He wonders if she’d like what he has done with it, but he’s too scared to ask whenever he calls all the way to California.

It’s there, sitting on the couch that Chrissy brings it up again. She doesn’t start a serious conversation about it, instead curiously asking: “So, do you have a crush on anyone? A real one. I told you mine, now you can tell me yours.”

“Who says I have a crush,” Steve counters.

“Pleaseeeee, even if it’s just a celebrity,” Chrissy pleads. “I wanna gossip with you.”

“You’re being nosy, that’s different,” Steve points out, but he’s smiling too big for his judgment to be believable. He can’t believe Chrissy is being so casual about it, so accepting.

“Then let me be nosy,” Chrissy pouts. “I told you my embarrassing crushes, it’s only fair. I even told you when I liked that guy in my history class, despite the fact that he would always stick his chewing gum under the tables.”

“And he didn’t wash his hands after peeing,” Steve reminds her.

“I know, it was gross and why I stopped liking him,” Chrissy says. “What about you? Do you have any deal breakers in guys?”

“You’re persistent,” Steve laughs.

“Thank you,” Chrissy grins.

Steve is quiet for a second, then he blushes and softly admits: “I like dimples. And muscles. Like on the arms. Arm muscles are good.”

Chrissy squeals and gushes: “Oh my god, when a guy lifts something, right?”

“God, yes,” Steve groans sinking into the couch as he remembers Eddie lifting the heavy tools onto the roof of the very cabin he’s in. Next to him Chrissy giggles. He can’t help but laugh too, a giddy feeling spreading through his limbs. He always wanted to join when the cheerleaders gossiped about crushes and now he can. It feels like acceptance.

“What else? What else?” Chrissy demands, slapping his arm excitedly.

The only person Steve has ever talked about this is Robin and he is worried about it being too much for Chrissy and that she’ll be grossed out, so he keeps it a bit less explicit and skips over the fingers to say: “Stubble is nice.”

“Oeh, yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Chrissy squeals excitedly.

“Yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Steve agrees, because Harrison Ford is hot and he is not ashamed of thinking that.

They continue to talk about boys for a little while longer. Steve admits to thinking Micheal J. Fox and Judd Nelson are hot, which delights Chrissy. She doesn’t seemed grossed out all throughout the conversation and Steve is practically floating on air as he drives her home.

Even in his wildest dreams, he would not have thought Chrissy would be this cool about it all. Hell, he would never have thought he’d ever come out to her, yet here he is. She is the fourth person to know after Eddie, Robin and Will, that is four more than he’d thought. It feels like a middle finger to his parents to tell her. To not deny it. Steve feels great.

He contemplates calling Robin to tell her when he gets home, but his phone bill is already criminal and he’s driving her to school tomorrow morning. He can wait.

Steve makes himself dinner and eats. He doesn’t have many hobbies, but there are always little things to do in the cabin. However, before he can commit himself to any of them, there is a knock on the door. Steve isn’t expecting anyone, but there are multiple people who could randomly be standing on his doorstep.

Today it’s Eddie. He’s grinning and holding up a six pack as he asks: “Wanna drink and forget high school exists?”

“Sure, man,” Steve grins and steps aside to let him in as he asks: “What subject is kicking your ass this time?”

“All of them,” Eddie groans, shrugging off his jacket, six pack on the coffee table. He flops down on Steve’s couch and Steve’s heart does a flip at how comfortable Eddie is in his house. Eddie continues: “I don’t know why, but they all have it out for me. I don’t want to be doing all of this again either, you know?”

“High school just sucks, I think,” Steve offers, pushing Eddie’s feet of the couch so he can sit next to him.

“It does,” Eddie agrees, coming up from his flopped position to sit next to Steve, their thighs pressing together, which neither of them comment on. “But word is, you and Chrissy are dating, what’s that about?”

“Some guy wouldn’t stop hitting on her, so she said we were dating so he’d get of her back,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t really care if that gets around, if it means Chrissy gets left alone. Plus, it’ll be good for his reputation.

“And does she know the dating is fake?” Eddie asks.

“You mean, does she know I’m gay?” Steve counters. “Yes, actually. Told her today, but she kind of guessed already. It’s why she said me.”

“Damn, congrats man,” Eddie says as he pops open two beers with his rings, something Steve will always find attractive and offers one to Steve as he toast: “To you coming out to Chrissy.”

“Cheers,” Steve cheers, clinking his bottle against Eddie’s.

A comfortable silence falls over them as they both take a sip of their beer. Eddie has become a common guest at Steve’s. Not every week, but at least once every two weeks he’ll be on Steve’s doorstep and Steve always craves it like a dying man does water.

He knows that this is bad for the burning crush and Robin calls him pathetic, but he likes having Eddie to himself, hidden away from the world in the little cabin. So, he never says anything that could discourage Eddie from coming back again.

Steve is too anxious to go to Eddie’s place, so he just keeps welcoming Eddie whenever he comes to Steve’s.

“But enough about school,” Eddie grins. “How are you, Stevie-boy? Customer still as traumatic as ever?”

“Fuck, don’t even joke about it.” Now it’s Steve’s turn to groan. “Just yesterday this lady came in and she yelled at me for half an hour for renting her son an R-rated movie. Her son is sixteen and it was her husband that rented the movie. Like, why?”

“That’s the worsttt,” Eddie says. “I swear, you can shoot me if I ever try to get a job like that. I think I would get into a fight within a week.”

“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Steve snorts. “I fantasize about murdering some people in moments like that. To keep me sane.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Eddie grins, head lolling against the back of the couch as he does, neck on display.

Fuck, Steve wants to bite it.

He doesn’t though. These nights with Eddie are an exercise in self restraint. Instead, he grins back and says: “I promise to make it look like an accident,” before reclining on the couch as well.

“You can be terrifying, dude,” Eddie tells him, sounding both awed and delighted. Then he launches into a story about the campaign he’s running that it reminded him off. Steve has already heard about it from Dustin, but gladly listens to it again in Eddie’s warm voice.

They make their way through the six pack slowly and quickly take a smoke break. Eddie usually smokes a joint, but he is out of joints and smokes.

Steve is on his last cigarette, which they share. Every time Steve takes a drag he has to remind himself to not think about how the filter is still wet from where it had been in Eddie’s mouth earlier. Has to remind they’re only sharing because they’re both out. That it isn’t special.

After their smoke break they migrate back to the couch. Steve is feeling tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to go yet, so tries to keep blinking his eyes open for as long as he can.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his tired audience and keeps up rambles about whatever comes to his mind. It always amazes Steve how Eddie never seems to run out of topics to talk about. He just keeps talking, hands waving about, until they begin to fidget with the couch cushion, before moving to Steve’s hair.

Usually Steve is very protective of his hair, but Robin has no boundaries and he figured out how nice it is to have someone play with his hair. So, when Eddie’s hand touches his hair, twisting a bit around his finger, Steve leans into the contact before Eddie can stop.

There is a slight falter in Eddie’s sentence, but picks up right where he left of when Steve blinks at him, too exhausted to register what exactly is happening.

And when Eddie plays with his hair, Steve is playing a loosing game. He’s already tired, the nightmares cutting into his sleeping time, and the safety of someone watching over him combined with the soothing hands in his hair, means that Steve is dropping off before he can stop it.

While Steve isn’t the best sleeper, he normally sleeps better with other people there. However, it seems the universe has it out for him, because his brain comes up with a horror show that includes all the worst days of his life, until he’s gasping as he falls of the couch.

He scrambles up into a fighting position when someone moves, before the curls register. His brain says Nancy, which means there is at least back up. Then it registers a concerned: “Stevie, sweetheart, are you in there?” in something that is definitely is not Nancy’s voice.

Eddie, it pings, but before he can say anything, his stomach acts up and he stumbles to the bathroom, where he drops to his knees and sees the three beers and his dinner again.

As he’s retching into the bowl in a high mortifying and undignified manner, a warm hand rubs his back soothingly. Another hand gently pushes his bangs out of his face. He can hear Eddie gently murmur: “You’re okay, I got you, you’re alright, sweetheart.”

Tears well up in Steve’s eyes and stream down his face, mixing with the snot, spit and bile already gathering there. He probably looks fucking disgusting and pathetic and he hates that Eddie is seeing him like this, but he’s still shivering with fear and can’t bring himself to stop. Eddie’s words are helping too and he is unable to send Eddie away.

Steve dry heaves for a few seconds, before he coughs and spits the last bit into the bowl. He sniffles and reaches for the toilet roll, blowing his nose and throwing it into the toilet before flushing it with the rest of his dinner.

He knows he should face Eddie now, explain what happen and tell him that he’s okay and that Eddie shouldn’t worry. Instead, however, he sits on his knees next to the toilet with hunched shoulders, unable to look Eddie in the eyes as his cheeks burn. What an impression to make, he thinks bitterly.

There is a moment of quiet between them, throughout it Eddie keeps up the rubbing on Steve’s back that Steve wants to shrug off, but also uses like a lifeline.

“Are- are you okay?” Eddie asks cautiously when the silence drags on without Steve moving or saying anything.

Steve swallows thickly, the image of Robin’s corpse still in his fresh on mind, fake as it might have been. “Yeah,” he assures Eddie with shaky voice that does not sound believable in the slightest. “I- I am okay. I just- I need to see Robin.”

“Robin?” Eddie frowns.

“Fuck, I- I have to go check on her,” Steve says, stumbling to his feet. He’s more present, but still trembling with fear. He won’t be able to calm down until he has seen Robin. He hasn’t had a nightmare this bad in weeks.

He staggers into the living room, still not having faced Eddie. He already made a fool out of himself, might as well look like a full madman, if that means he can get to Robin right now. He gropes around for his car keys, letting out a victorious noise when he fishes them out of his jacket pocket.

The keys are immediately plucked out of his hands and he whirls around with a wounded noise as he pleads: “Give those back.”

“No,” Eddie says. He looks worried, but determined. “I don’t know what just happened, but you’re out of it. I’m not letting you drive like this. If you want to see Robin, I’ll drive you.”

Steve wants to protest. He doesn’t need to be babied, he doesn’t need concern and he definitely doesn’t need Eddie to see him break down again when he sees Robin. However, he can also see that he is not winning this argument right now. He looks a mess and isn’t in a state to have a fight, he’s more likely to start crying again.

So, he huffs: “Alright, fine,” and crosses his arms, before storming out of the cabin.

Eddie rushes behind him, snatching a coat for Steve and locking the door, before he rushes to his van, which is parked in a way that locks in Steve’s car. Both of them climb in, since that is easier and Eddie starts the van. Steve gets jump-scared by the music that Eddie quickly turns down with an apology.

They drive the first part in silence. Steve looks at the passing scenery with unseeing eyes, his leg jiggling anxiously. What if he gets there and the door is broken down? What if Robin as been dragged away by some creature from the Upside Down? What if she has been taken by Russians, who have tracked her down? What if she’s dead?

He is snapped out of his thoughts by Eddie, who softly asks: “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nightmare,” Steve answers, looking down. Apart from the argument about the driving, he hasn’t looked at Eddie, and that was fueled by desperation, which he feels guilty about. Eddie doesn’t deserve his bullshit. He wonders if Eddie’s mad at how he acted.

“Looked like a bad one,” Eddie prompts when Steve offers nothing more. He doesn’t sound mad, just confused and scared. More worried, actually.

Steve chances a glance his way. Eddie is tapping the steering wheel anxiously, focusing on the road, before he glances Steve’s way. A small, involuntary and relieved smile appears on his face when he sees that Steve is looking back.

There are dimples in that smile and Steve’s nerves are calmed by them. He says: “It was. I’ve been getting them about Robin ever since the mall burned down. Just need to make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Eddie nods. “I get you don’t want to talk about it, but you could, you know. If you want to of course. It must have been terrible.”

“It was,” Steve confirms, a shudder wracking his body as he remembers that cold Russian bunker ground. He pushes it out of his mind and says: “But I’m good. I don’t want to talk about it.” He isn’t allowed, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. Not really.

Eddie gives a shrug that seems to say ‘that’s fair’, before he smiles: “Course.”

They’re pulling into Robin’s street and Steve is already out of the van, before Eddie has fully stopped. Now that he’s so close, his anxiety is ramping up again and he fumbles with the key, before unlocking the door.

It’s still pretty early in the evening, so Robin is still awake. She must have heard him, because she’s already meeting him at the door. Seeing her there in her pajama clad glory sends a wave of relief through Steve and he stumbles into her arms, holding her close.

She clings right back, practically climbing him to hug him properly, in a way that grounds them both. She kisses his forehead and whispers: “I’m okay, dingus. We’re okay. We made it out of there.”

Behind them, Eddie clears his throat. Steve sets Robin down again as Robin looks surprised at the new visitor. To break the tension Steve laughs: “Good thing you know I’m gay or that would have been awkward to explain.”

That gets him wide-eyed looks from both of them and he says: “Oh yeah, both of you know. It’s fine, I’m not outing myself on accident here.”

“Eddie was the other person that knew?” Robin practically screeches.

Steve winces and covers his ear as he wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, he is. Who else did you think it was, I told you I told him I got kicked out.”

“Chrissy, dingus! Obviously, Chrissy. Why would I think Eddie when you and Chrissy are thick as thieves?” Robin exclaims. “Does she not know? I mean, I haven’t said anything about it to her, but I have a motor mouth, so I need to keep an eye on that, because I don’t-”

“Robs, she knows,” Steve cuts her off, before she can spiral. “I came out to her today. I was going to tell you on your way to school.”

“She’s cool?” Robin asks.

“She’s cool,” Steve grins.

“Congrats, dingus,” she grins back, punching his arm in a way that is a bit too hard.

“Ouch,” Steve yelps, massaging where she hit him. He glares: “You’re stocking shelves during our shift, I can’t. You’ve injured me.”

“I haven’t injured you, you drama queen,” Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re the one telling me I have noodle arms. It can’t have been that bad.”

Steve is about to counter, but is interrupted by Eddie before he can. “Okay, so while this is entertaining, I am also confused. Are you doing okay now, Stevie? Is this some weird ritual you two do? Is that what you needed? Should I go?”

Robin bursts out into a loud cackle at Eddie’s questions and confused face as he awkwardly hovers in the doorway.

“Ah, sorry,” Steve flushes bright red. He and Robin can get caught up their own world and he honestly hadn’t realized how odd their bickering must look to Eddie, who held his hair back as he threw up from his nightmare like half an hour ago.

“It’s okay,” Eddie smiles. “Just catch me up a bit.”

“I’m good now, thank you for driving me after I freaked out on you,” Steve says.

“Yes, thank you,” Robin adds. “This dingus always drives when he’s freaked out and I keep telling him he should be safe, but he always does it anyway.”

Bitchily Steve crosses his arms and says: “I have to or I’ll never calm down. Do you want me to run all this way? Is that what you would prefer?”

“You could call,” Robin bitches, crossing arms right back.

“I don’t want to call your parents awake,” Steve counters.

“My parents don’t care, if you do,” Robin says.

“Okay, as fun as this wonder-twin arguing act is,” Eddie interrupts again. “Is there anything I can do? Or should I leave.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes again. “I’m just all over the place,” he says, like he is not always like this when Robin is there. “I feel kind of bad about how tonight ended.”

“That reminds me, what were you doing at Steve’s when he was asleep?” Robin butts in, like Steve hasn’t told her about Eddie’s visits.

Steve elbows her, but she ignores him as Eddie blushes. He kicks the ground a bit, before shrugging: “I mean, we hang out sometimes. Steve fell asleep on me, he looked peaceful. I didn’t wanna wake him.”

The confession makes Steve’s heart do something interesting as Robin coos: “That’s actually really sweet. He needs his rest.”

“He is right here,” Steve says, before Robin can embarrass him more. He turns back to Eddie and gives him a smile – Steve does not realize how that smile makes Eddie melt – and says: “Thank you for that. Again I’m sorry how tonight ended.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie smiles and Steve already misses the sweetheart from when he was comforting him. “We all have our shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods with a lopsided smile.

“Well, if you’re in good hands,” Eddie says and Robin pipes up: “He is,” which makes Eddie, smile before he goes on: “Then I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Steve greets, feeling a bit silly.

They watch Eddie climb into his van, before pulling out of the driveway. They smile and wave at him, but as they watch him, Robin comments: “I take back my thanks about him driving you, he is a danger on the road.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, before cutting himself off and saying: “My car is still at the cabin. How am I going to drive you?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “Guess we’ll have to be really nice to my dad at breakfast tomorrow or I have to find my bike again.”

She closes the door and starts to turn off a few of the lights around the house as she puts on the kettle, Steve following behind her like a puppy. Her presence is soothing and he keeps a hold of the back of her shirt as they walk around.

When the tea is done, they take it to Robin’s room and press closely together on her bed as they sip their tea. It’s then that Robin asks: “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing new,” Steve shrugs. “You died. I couldn't save you.”

Robin makes a sympathetic noise and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hand creeps between them to squeeze his and the message is clear: You did save me, we made it out. We’re alive.

Steve squeezes back.

They sit like that, in a comfortable silence until their tea is gone, then Robin grins at him and says: “So, Eddie was a gentleman.”

“Shut up,” Steve blushes, as he pushes her grinning face away.

“Ahww, come on, give me something,” Robin whines. “He drove you here. He let you sleep on him, because you needed the rest.”

“He saw me throw up because my dreams scared me,” Steve deadpans. “It was the opposite of romantic. It was humiliating.”

Robin pouts: “You’re no fun, dingus. He didn’t look like he minded. He was worried about you, from where I was standing. He cares.”

“Of course he cares, we’re friends,” Steve defends himself.

“He knows you’re gay,” Robin points out.

“He does,” Steve says. “That doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Do you know if he is?” Robin asks. “Stop. No. I don’t want to ask that. No outing here, no, sir. I mean, if he is gay, then he is definitely into you.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve tells her, but inside he is bursting with feelings.

“Maybe not, but I have perfectly fine eyes, thank you,” Robin says.

“Shut up,” is all Steve replies and gets up to brush his teeth as Robin follows him, blessedly quiet about Eddie.

He wants to believe her, truly he does. He just knows he can’t. He isn’t ready to try and date anyone he actually likes. Another boy. And if he thinks too hard about it, he might do something stupid and it will blow up in his face. Being friends with Eddie is more than enough.

They don’t talk about it again and crawl into bed together. After his earlier nightmare, Steve sleeps uneasily, though soothed by Robin’s presence.

The next morning, neither Daisy nor Thomas are surprised that Steve is there. He and Robin are extra nice to Thomas, who can only drive Steve to his car so he doesn’t have to walk all the way out there, before work, while Robin has to bike to school.

Robin complains loudly about her father picking favorites, but it’s all in jest. The Buckleys always make Steve feel like a part of the family.

During the afternoon shift, he tells Robin all about coming out to Chrissy. She isn’t going to tell her about being a lesbian yet, but she is excited about how well she took it anyway.

The next day, Steve picks up the boys from Hellfire club and Eddie checks him over to see if he’s okay, before putting on their little act. The action makes Steve’s stomach flutter in a way he can’t fully suppress.

~~

A/N:

Ahwww, it’s going to well for Steve!!! ….Would be a shame if anything fucked that up….