#she somehow has even more cat moments

[jtranageder1]

i don’t think any catgirl has ever embodied a cat like Izutsumi has. she just is a fucjing cat

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[vrisrezis]

Love triangle?? With atsv characters

Basically a love triangle between them, their spider alter ego and you … ?

Gwen has been longtime best friends with you and Peter for what feels like forever. Even after peters passing, you and Gwen remained close. Throughout the years, it was only natural for gwen to fall for you, her best friend. Peter had often encouraged her to try and go for it, but she never gave in to the temptation. Not when she has been lying to you for so long about who she really was. While her dad did often speak his mind on the mysterious spiderwoman and his doubts, you always seemed excited talking about her. It didn’t take long for her to find out you were not only a huge fan, but definitely had a bit of a crush.

This was amusing to her, obviously. But it also made her wonder if you felt nothing for the real her, and you just liked some alter ego of hers because she was cool and saved the day or whatever.

How you and spiderwoman met, was not under the best of circumstances. As you can imagine.

Growing up, you were always pretty tough. Fighting for and defending Peter against bullies, it was what drawn gwen to you right away. You always stood up for others, and perhaps in the real world it’d get you in more trouble, trying to help a defenses old man against some mugger, you nearly got real hurt in the process. Thankfully, your celebrity crush was there to web him up.

She remembers the look you gave her, you were so.. awestruck.

You never looked at her like that. Not the real her, anyway.

“Thank you spiderwoman!” you say with glee, a word she would almost never use to describe you.

She clears her throat, seeming off guard by the way you greeted her. Or perhaps she was caught off guard by how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. Is it hot outside or is it just her suit?

“Uh… uh…” she hesitates for a moment, before displaying faux confidence. She nods in understanding, “anytime, hopefully next time I’ll see you under better circumstances, cutie.” she says with a wink, before swinging away.

There’s practically hearts in your eyes, did spider woman… just flirt with you?!

Meanwhile, gwen is freaking the hell out over the fact she just said that. It’s certainly easier to flirt under the mask, she supposes.

You didn’t shut up about spiderwoman for the next week.

Miles was one of your best friends, had been for over a year now. Although this friendship, to many seemed newly found, to you both it felt like you knew eachother forever. You often ignored how Ganke never failed to mention that’s something people in love say about eachother.

Ganke was a close friend to the both of you. He was also very much aware of how miles was keeping this huge secret from you, and he often relayed to miles how he should just tell you already. Miles said no, everytime. So ganke had to resort to desperate measures, on one of your many hangouts with the two males.

“Hey, I’m curious.” Ganke starts, “what do you think of Spiderman?”

Miles nearly chokes, he looks wide eyed at ganke, as if ganke just killed a cat. Honestly, ganke is surprised miles hadn’t brought up Spiderman to you himself before, but honestly miles was terrified of what you actually thought, to the point he didn’t want it mentioned at all in front of you.

But your immediate grin makes miles almost audibly sigh.

“I think he’s awesome! Way cooler than the other one to be honest like wow have you seen that suit? Nice color.” Miles couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up in excitement. How come he hasn’t heard you talk about spiderman before if you liked him so much?

“Hey, miles?”

“Huh?!” he yells, his voice becoming so high pitched it sounded like he was just hitting puberty, making you laugh.

“I- I mean.. yeah… what’s up?”

“Do you think he’s … cute?” you ask, rather curious what miles thinks of spiderman.

Ganke almost laughs at how wide miles eyes are, somehow even wider than before.

You would eventually have the chance to meet spiderman, which was not something miles would be happy about. A fight with a particularly … tough villain had caused much damage to the city. Miles swears, today he had to pull up at least 3 buses by his webs.

However, the bus you were in, as plain as day. He couldn’t see anyone but you, the other people in the bus being a blur to him.

He was scared, so so so scared. The moment you’re out and safe, he wants to hug you. He almost does, but he’s able to restrain himself once he feels gwen tug his arm, warning him of how weird that’d be.

He sighs, but he sees you smile at him, grateful. He’s blissfully unaware of how hot your cheeks are, seeing him in the flesh, in person.

You wonder if he’d be okay with signing an autograph.

Hobie was never the type for being subtle. He was blunt, but because of his casualness about it people do not take what he says seriously. He didn’t plan on making a strong effort to hide being spiderman from you. Because he trusts you, with his life in fact.

You two have fought together on many different occasions, way before he became spiderman. People didn’t like either of you, when you were young at least. Strong and unafraid, and like him, you often spoke your mind about things. Granted, you were a lot nicer about it but still. It’s something he definitely likes about you. To him, falling for you just felt natural. Like it was meant to happen. Like falling for you was second nature.

But over his time of becoming spiderman, he had … well… found out you had a major crush on his alter ego. You did not shut up about how “babygirl” he was. And while this was amusing at first, it annoyed him a little. Did that mean you weren’t interested in him, as hobie, romantically? And if you did find out who he really was, would you still like spiderman? Or would it ruin the imagination for you? And if you did, would it only be because he’s spiderman?

A lot of questions circle his mind, a lot of worry and it isn’t like him. He really hates it. Only you can manage to do that to him.

Eventually, the two of you do end up meeting.

You were known for being a fighter, laws or not, you didn’t care, maybe a bit headstrong in your beliefs. Maybe you got too caught up in things, as you often did. Difference was, hobie was not there to back you up. As he often was.

Not this time though, as apparently Hobie had some unfinished business to deal with. You had no idea what that meant, but you trusted hobie enough that he wouldn’t go off doing something stupid without you.

You were not hobie however, and did something stupid without him.

While yes, the guy had harassed you first and you had every right to be angry with him, you probably shouldn’t have provoked such a big and muscular looking guy. There’s no way you could take him in a fight, but you could always try.

Before you even had the gall to fight this guy, before he can even pull the first punch, webs are shot his way. You gasp in surprise, turning behind you to see the one and only.

His movements are quick, and honestly, spiderman struggles for a little.

If even he struggled during that fight, you didn’t stand a chance. But you’re too busy absolutely fangirl/boy/theythem’ing to even care.

Once everything was said and done, Spiderman turned around to take a look at you. He was relieved you weren’t banged up or anything, though you couldn’t tell. “You aight?” he asked, and typically he was so cool and collected, but around you he had no idea how he should be acting. Thoughts from before still clouding his mind:

He lets them go for a moment upon your excited squeal and has to hold himself back from laughing.

Pavitr mentioned spiderman quite a bit, and very early on when he first became the masked vigilante. He was quick to gauge your opinions, because in his mind you’re thoughts and feelings matter the most to him.

He would quickly learn you loved the guy, so he proudly continued doing the whole superhero thing. However, as time went by he had seen your admiration for Spiderman develop into a crush. Only upon your first meeting with him, though. He couldn’t blame you, he supposed that in your eyes this guy saved your life from imminent peril. In his eyes, he was just doing something that was common sense. Saving you while you were trapped in that bus was not something he needed to think twice about.

And he certainly didn’t think twice about hugging you, either. Despite you two not really being acquainted with one another. He was quick to come to his senses, about to pull away, but you held on. And he realized you needed this hug as much as he did. He combs his fingers through your hair, as if second nature. Just like he normally did, and he was the only one that ever did that. You didn’t seem to catch on in that state, but little did he know how grateful you were towards him. He could only imagine, but it was a fraction to how you truly felt.

“Thank you, spiderman.” You say with such softness in your voice, he’s never heard it from you before.

And from that point on, he did not stop hearing you gush about the arachnid. While he often laughed this off, he wondered if that meant things would be weird between you two if he told you the truth.

[ellecdc]

This is my first ever time requesting and i feel a tad nervous about it. Since i don’t know how the whole thing works.

Okay so i've seen in your previous posts that you said you don't write for barty jr as a central character but imma request anyways and maybe just maybe i'm lucky and you do end up writing this request (no pressure tho sweetie)

Basically a Ravenclaw reader x reg x barty. Reader is a total sweetheart but also very witty, playful and sassy in a sweet way. and marauders are also involved in the fic. (Maybe reader is neighbors with James or maybe she's beasties with rem. I don't mind. you decide that.)

Your moonwater x reader one shot was so cute and i’m just craving more of your writing.

Anyways thank you and also if you don’t want to write for barty just replace him with another character or just ignore this whole request. 💗

🤨🤨🤨🤨 I wanted to say no on account of I really don't know that I want to write for Barty BUT....you're just too cute and I love you too much and I didn't want to say no to you on your first request [which: thanks so much for bestowing me with such an honour]. 🤨🤨🤨🤨 cheeky little minx, I bet you did that on purpose 😉

So I present to you, for possibly the only time ever on ellecdc.... poly!bartylus x Ravenclaw!reader

CW: Barty jokes (?) about wanting to kill people - very on brand for him

“Reggiiieeeee.” Barty whined as he walked into their shared dorm room where Regulus had been reading due to the fact that Barty had taken up residence in the Slytherin common room, making reading nearly impossible.

Regulus stifled a sigh and offered a begrudging “yes, my love?” as Barty belly-flopped onto the bed and muttered something (unintelligible) miserably into the velvet quilts.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Regulus asked, deciding to bookmark his place and give his boyfriend his undivided attention (anything less could end up being detrimental to both Regulus and Barty’s safety).

Barty lifted his head with a pout on his lips to look at Regulus. “How mad do you think Y/N would be if I killed Potter and his friends?”

Point proven. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Regulus deadpanned, causing Barty to groan and roll onto his side.

“It’s just she’s always spending so much time with them and they’re all so annoying. And I don’t want to tell her to not hang out with them” (that was a lie; Regulus has heard Barty tell you that the Marauders were 'no good company to keep' well over hundreds of times) “so, I thought it’d just be better if they...disappeared, you know?”

“What have you done?” Regulus groaned darkly, causing Barty to chuckle.

“Nothing! Nothing...” yet. 

“You do realize that your hit list includes my brother, right?” Regulus asked.

Barty looked at him like he was sort of stupid. “Uhm...duh, it’s called hitting two bludgers with one beater-bat. Do keep up.”

“Barty, you are going to scare her away...” Regulus pressed. “...you’re kind of scaring me away.”

Barty’s groan nearly turned into a shriek as he threw himself back down onto the bed in defeat.

“Fine. But when we’re trying to enjoy a nice moment with Y/N and Potter and his cronies interrupt, it will be all your fault.” 

And with that Barty got up and stormed out of the dorm room. Regulus sighed in relief and pulled his book back out.

So, when the three of you were wandering around Hogsmeade (i.e., you and Regulus were walking hand-in-hand whilst Barty followed, balancing precariously on the stone walls of bridges as well as some fences lining various properties (much to the shop clerks and homeowners’ chagrin), pausing to pet every cat he could find and seeing how many times he could skip stones in the pond [the answer was none, he kept throwing them too hard]), Regulus got proven wrong (somehow), and (even more importantly) Barty got proven right when Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus showed up.

“Hey guys!” You called cheerily, and Regulus was almost ashamed to admit that your sweet smile and kind voice cancelled out any chagrin that the appearance of his brother caused him.

“Hello gorgeous! Baby bro.” Sirius called with a wink, causing Regulus to roll his eyes.

“Can I help you four!?” Barty nearly screeched as he showed up seemingly out of nowhere, all but standing directly in front of you like he was trying to shield you from the sight a particularly horrifying broom crash.

“Barty...” You chided jovially, gently nudging him aside. “They’re just saying hello.”

Sirius looked rather chuffed that you had defended them. Regulus didn’t like that one bit.

“Okay, well hello. You can leave now.” Barty shouted.

“Oh, lighten up, Junior.” Remus called with a smirk. “We’re all friends here.” 

Barty scoffed. “I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than be friends with Gryffindor’s.”

“Ew.” Everyone else said in response.

“Come on, my sweet, beautiful, angelic, lovely, smart, wonderful girl. I don’t want you or our beautiful day to be tainted by such scoundrels.” He cooed at you like you were some toddler on the verge of tears from having dropped your ice cream on the ground.

You groaned a little bit but acquiesced, allowing Barty to turn your body in the opposite direction.

“Sorry guys. I’ll see you tomorrow for our study date!” You called over your shoulder, to which Barty quickly counteracted with a “no you won’t!”

“You know, love,” Regulus murmured into your ear, “you’d probably save him a little bit of grief if you at least didn’t call it a date.” 

“Perhaps. But look at him now.” You whispered back conspiratorially. “He’s holding my hand and talking a mile a minute about how much of his dad’s money he wants to spend on us at Tomes & Scroll’s.”

Regulus couldn’t help but smirk at that. 

A Ravenclaw may have been smart enough to come up with a plan like this, but only the influence of your two Slytherin boyfriends would have made you cunning enough to pull it off. 

AN: I don't know how I feel about this one bit

[thefreakandthehair]

The thing about drinking at 31 years old is that it's different from drinking at 18 years old– or 21 years old, or even 25 years old. Each shot, each drink, is one sip away from a terrible night’s sleep and an equally terrible morning.

Eddie Munson’s figured this out. Steve Harrington though? Steve Harrington has not. 

That’s how Eddie finds himself corralling his husband onto the couch after stumbling into the house, the front door slamming loud enough to jolt their cat out of her otherwise peaceful slumber. She glares for a moment before stretching her paws and curling back into a neat little ball. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve repeats, an immediate tell that he’s definitely not making it any further than the couch anyways. “I’m good, I’m fine, this– this is a nice couch.” He punctuates his thought by slapping the cushion and laughing. 

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Yep, it sure is. You picked it out, remember?” 

Steve gasps and laughs some more, falling back into the corner of the sectional. “I don’t but it’s comfy so if I did, I did a good fucking job.”

He watches with fond comfortability as Steve squirms around on the couch and lays back, arms over his head and dopey laugh still on his lips. It takes a lot of willpower and frankly, respect, not to climb on top of this giggly, flushed, disheveled man he loves so goddamn much and kiss him until he’s flushed for other reasons, but he digs deep and focuses on doing the next best thing: taking care of him. Eddie’s a little worse for the wear in his own right but a sliver of his iron constitution remains from his wild youth and he hangs on by a thread. 

Eddie gets Steve situated into a comfortable position, his back against one side of the cushions and his head propped up on a few pillows to make sure he doesn’t end up with his face smushed into the corner somehow. 

“I’m good, I’m fine– hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve slurs and Eddie looks up from his position at the end of the couch, his fingers moving quickly as he unties Steve’s sneakers. 

“Taking your shoes off? You can’t sleep in your jeans, Stevie. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” 

Steve hums from somewhere high in his throat but doesn’t say anything else Eddie moves to unhook his belt. 

“Stop–stop it, hey, I’m married!” Steve smacks Eddie’s hand and Eddie barely suppresses a cackle. “You’re hot and all but I’m married and my husband’s hotter than you anyways.” 

With that, Eddie can’t stop himself. Warmth spreads through his chest as he laughs, from his heart all the way down to the tingling in his toes. Even drunk, even with his eyes closed, Steve would still choose him without a thought and sure, after all these years, it shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does. Because Steve is Steve, and Eddie is Eddie, and Eddie still hasn’t figured out what huge karmic debt he must’ve paid for them to have become SteveAndEddie.

He stares at Steve who’s nearly asleep but feebly muttering words like “hot,” and “perfect,” and “lucky.” 

“Hey, hey, Stevie, open your eyes for a second?” Eddie brushes the hair back from his forehead, gently shifting it away from his bloodshot, glossy eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this, what the fuck?

“Oh,” Steve’s eyebrow unfurrow and the right side of his mouth turns up into a small grin. “It’s you. Hi, Ed.” 

“Hi, Steve.” Eddie chuckles and kisses his forehead. “Gonna get your jeans off so you can sleep, okay?” 

“Mhm, yeah, that’s– thanks.” 

Eddie coaxes them off, tossing them onto a chair where they’ll remain until the next morning, and sets a glass of water down on the coffee table for when Steve inevitably wakes up with cottonmouth. One more soft kiss and an even softer blanket later, Steve is out and Eddie tip toes up the stairs to bed. 

The next morning, Eddie wakes to see Steve next to him. At some point, he must’ve woken up and gotten himself to bed which gives Eddie the opportunity to stare uninterrupted in the silence of their bedroom. It stands in stark contrast to the boisterous night before– the loud music and jumping bodies and Chrissy popping a bottle of champagne in celebration of Robin saying yes, as if there’d ever been a doubt. 

Steve’s on his back, the sun just starting to intrude on their tranquility. He takes in Steve’s features, the same ones he’s memorized time and time again but that never fail to stun him just the same. The moles, the freckles, the scars that make him ache and feel thankful simultaneously. The strong line of his jaw, the eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps, that one tendril of hair that insists on curling until Steve forces it into place. Eddie’s seen a lot of the world now, having traveled a bit with his band, and there’s nothing that compares to the man sleeping next to him. 

Even if he’s snoring. 

When Steve does eventually wake up, trudging downstairs with one eye open and asking why Long Island Iced Tea’s even exist, Eddie’s ready with the necessities– a black iced coffee, two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches delivered to their doorstep, and a Gatorade for himself. 

“You’re the fucking best, you know that?” Steve smiles through the pounding headache as he sips his coffee and tears into the sandwich. 

“Eh, I try,” Eddie grins with a mouthful of egg and leans over to bump their shoulders together. 

Comfortable quiet drapes over them like the blanket from last night still over the back of the couch, and like the jeans hanging off the recliner– little reminders of the night before and of the domesticity of the life they’ve built together. 

Once Steve finishes his sandwich, their cat, Florence, hops up on the table and starts batting at the rolled up wrappers. 

“Think she wants to play,” Steve grumbles, sliding off the couch and laying on the carpet. “Listen, Florence, you know I love you but kid, I cannot play right now. I’m barely alive.” 

Eddie doubles over and nearly spits Gatorade all over the coffee table. Even their terrible, hungover, washed up mornings aren't all that bad.

[bas-writes]

nonsexual acts of intimacy ↬ sharing a bed

❧ fushiguro megumi x gn!reader | cw: aged up character, vague mentions of sex ❧

Fushiguro has been preparing himself for this moment for a whole day, if not straight up from the moment you decided to stay at his place for a weekend, and yet, just a single glance over the situation confronts him with the fact he's not quite ready.

Seeing you in his bed, cozy and reading a book mids his very private territory, clenches his chest in a way weirdly similar to anxiety—but at the same time as far removed from it as possible. He fears to move, to breathe even, and at the same time happiness tears him apart. A smile presses on his face, it's almost painful to force it down, under his indifferent, cool mask. His eyes probably betray him, he feels, and averts them as soon as you catch him staring and give him an encouraging smile of your own.

"Cat got your tongue?" You tease and scoot to the side, his usual side, leaving some place for him and his misery.

"Don't be ridiculous," Fushiguro scoffs and, still keeping eyes as away from you as humanly possible, slowly crawls on the mattress, almost tripping forwards when it dips further than he's expected. Ignoring your chuckle, he quickly slips under the cover, ready and sort of comfortable as soon as you turn the light off.

"Do you want to be a big spoon?" You ask but you're already rolling back to him, so he just mumbles a half-hearted 'whatever is fine' and casually—or he hopes so—throws arm over your middle. He scoots close but doesn't press tight to you, even if his arms are yearning for your presence.

In theory, it's a double bed, but now, in darkness, with your back gently nestled against his chest, it seems tighter than the very first bed, or rather a sofa, you two shared. You weren't even dating back then and maybe that's why it was easier, way easier than now at his place, in cozy darkness, alone and in dull silence mixed with your breaths and the wind howling behind the window. 

Fushiguro already knows the feel of your naked skin against his. He knows the taste of your lips and the touch of your fingers, and the way his name rolls on your tongue when you whisper pleadingly. He knows your weight in his lap and knows your breath tickling the back of his neck. He knows almost everything, but he's somehow missed the simplest and the most important, the most terrifying in its closeness. 

Tsumiki once told him that sleeping together is way more intimate than sex. He rolled his eyes back then, a stupid kid he was. It's embarrassingly late to admit she's been right, but he has to, at least in his thoughts while cursing himself for being so stubborn instead of listening.

"Megumi?" You look for his hand in darkness, intertwine your fingers with his as you cradle it close to your chest. "Why are you so tense? Come here, it's cold…"

He caves, full of reserves at first, but as soon as you press close into him, back flush into his torso, legs sneaking in between his, he melts around you. It's still awkward and pulse thuds dull in his ears, but he finally finds a way to embrace you, face nuzzled into the nape of your neck and eyes closed as he breathes in the most intimate, most loved scent of yours, already mingled with the scent of his bed. As if his bedding already marked you into his possession.

a/n: writing tsunderesque characters is not as easy as it sounds LMAO but intimacy starved megumi is the best megumi 👌

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[fernclans]

A time to start anew.

(tw for blood, violence, and implied death)

“Cliffpaw, grab the kits and run--!”

A small red tom woke with a start, fear and adrenaline filling his veins as the thick stench of blood filled his senses. The lone apprentice of ▇▇Clan doesn’t even take the time to stand properly, bolting immediately from his nest and sending its contents scattered behind him. He barely has a moment to parse the camp in front of him before whirling on his paws and angling left to the nursery; he couldn’t count how many cats had already fallen, but against such a massive enemy the tom knew instinctively they stood no chance either way.

Misfortune had followed a patrol home; a patrol of young wolves out for a hunt. The packs northward had been growing larger over the past seasons-- more pups meant more prey which needed to be killed. Though predators themselves, Cliffpaw knew it was foolish to believe cats weren’t also prey in their own right.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Let’s get going!” a kit nearly his own size shoved his way past ▇▇▇▇, a smaller she-kit following behind with what could only be a moon-old kit in her jaws.

“Head to the tunnels!” ▇▇▇▇ shouted over their shoulder, just barely audible against the snarling and barking of wolves.

Giving himself a firm nod, Cliffpaw overtakes the eldest kit and begins to pick up the pace. “Follow me-- I can lead us somewhere no wolf can find.” He hoped. He’d only been there once, two moons prior the beginning of his apprenticeship with Magpiestar; The Moonlit Caverns. A place where those blessed with the ability to do so commune with their ancestors, sacred and protected.

A small dip beneath a stone obscured by plants Cliffpaw never learned the name of marking an emergency tunnel into the system below -- it was narrow, and not well-maintained but it would have to do. A shriek sounds from behind him, shrill with terror. “AMBERKIT!” Cliffpaw hears the tomkit shout as his eyes meet the dark stare of a wolf whose jaws clamped around the tail of the white and grey tabby she-kit.

“Take the little one and through that hole and RUN-” Cliffpaw orders, hoping his few moons of training would be enough to save Amberkit and get out of there before the wolf could get a worse hold. Without hesitation, he lunges forward and latches to the large hounds face, teeth fighting for a grip against its massive forehead. 

He looks down at the wolf, eyes black and hollow, and then further down at Amberkit, tiny and helpless within its jaws. His paw begins to slip when an idea strikes him. Leaning into the weight, Cliffpaw scores his left-front paw down the wolf’s left eye and landing with a thud when it pulls itself back, a high-pitched whimper leaving its muzzle, releasing its hold on Amberkit’s tail.

His mind fights to take the moment to look across the camp while the wolf was still dazed -- were ▇▇▇▇ and ▇▇▇▇ still alive? Did they somehow escape as well? Precious seconds are wasted while Cliffpaw fights against himself, muscles tensing in indecision. A growl, deep and low is quick to make the decision for him. The red tabby surges forward, grabbing Amberkit by her scruff and forcing himself through the tunnels.

Whatever happened above, they would have to get through this together.

hiii welcome to my latest little clangen venture :3 this save, i selected a single apprentice and all the kits i could and decided to let it up to fate if they can rebuild from such a tragedy post style will probably change moon to moon while i figure out what kind of flow i like, but i hope you enjoy!

[fictionalslvr]

Part one. Part three.

SYNOPSIS:"Ghost" is your new neighbor in your apartment complex, everyone is afraid of him, but not you. You're the only one to be kind with him.

PAIRING: (Based of comic but that's not 100% canon) Simon Riley neighbor x F¡Reader

WORD COUNT:3.212k

WARNINGS: Fluffy, angst, mentions of blood, war, s.a (not directly) etc.

NOTES:There we go, back to the crying season. I literally cried while writing this one, so i really hope you guys like as much as i did. Remembering, this is the part two of this mini serie. And i HIGHLY recommend to listen to 'happier than ever' by Billie Eilish while reading this.

PREVIOUS PART

It’s been almost a month. Almost a month since Simon appeared at your door, he drinked some coffee with you, had a long talk that showed little things about him. And after he left your door to work, it’s been days since you don’t hear footsteps on the apartment above yours. You can’t help but worry, he said his work was hard, tiring and had big choices. You pace around your house, feeling a weird knot on your stomach, a strange sensation of anxiety consuming you, not seeing his eyes, hot hearing his chuckles, not smelling his unique scent…all of this makes you feel strange, he’s just a neighbor…right? So why are you feeling this way? He’s used to doing this, staying out, working and coming back, he’s fine that’s right. Then why couldn't your heart understand this?

The only thing keeping you calm is your little cat, her fluffy fur on your legs as she brushes herself against you, looking for some caress. You sit down on the couch and sigh, trying to think better and your cat jumps on your lap, purring while your fingers brush her fur gently. It’s almost like she can sense you’re not well at the moment, and tries her best to distract you.

—”You’re a smart kitten, no?” A sad smile flows out, and you can only breathe deep for a moment. You don't know why you’re feeling like this, he’s only your neighbor who’s a bit mysterious, you shouldn’t be worried about him. And yet, your last talk with him made you think all those days about him. He seems like someone who suffered a lot, even if he didn’t tell you what exactly. You can see it, his baggy eyes carrying a sad sparkle on it, like he saw so many things you can’t even imagine. Somehow, you appreciate his bravery, without even telling, you supposed that he suffered, only from his eyes.

He’s always using a balaclava, so there must be a reason for this. Maybe he’s insecure about his face, maybe he just wants to protect his identity for someone, or he just doesn't want people to read his emotions. If the last one is the answer, he’s terribly wrong, because only from his eyes, you could sense how this man carries a lot of weight on his shoulders.

Since when he moved in, you’re caught about his whole figure, everything about him was a mystery, like he can’t really trust anyone. You look around for a while, looking at the pictures on your home, you remember how Simon was staring at them non stop the last time you saw him, his eyes were painful to see, his eyes narrow to the frames as his eyebrows furrowed as your voice called his attention back. Something about family pictures made him perplexed.

It’s weird to say, but damn, you missed him. His raspy voice, his tall figure towering over yours, his short words, his eyes never leaving your face as you talk, he’s a great listener, you could say. Even without knowing much about him, you wanted to see him again, hear his voice, feel his scent, make eye contact, feel this weird human connection you two created quickly. You groan and roll your head back to the couch, staring at the ceiling while your mind don’t stop not even for a second, your mind filled with Simon and everything you noticed about him, like how calloused his hands are, how he seems to be a terrible sleeper, how he looks to hold himself back while he talks, scared he will expose more about his life, how he has a habit of shakes his legs every time, how his eyes don’t stop still, they’re always looking around, as if he’s making sure he’s safe. Every little detail that you could think of, you paid attention to him, like you never did before, you never was this detailed about someone, neither that interested about someone. He has something special, something that curls you up in his hands.

As for Simon? Being on a long mission wasn't that easy. Staying hours awake, the reason why he’s a terrible sleeper, sleeping in uncomfortable tents, thinking only about his objectives all day. It was awful, but, the only thing that reminded him he’s still human, is his friends, his teammates, the only ones he can say some dad jokes sometimes, the only ones who remind him he’s only doing his job, and nothing else, and somehow, that made him feel better. Knowing he’s not alone in this, that he’s not the only one making his hands dirty with blood, the only ones who made him feel less guilty for the blood dripping on his mask. Besides that, sometimes he caught himself thinking of his neighbor, the only one who had the courage to talk to him, that looked him in the eyes, that listened to his short talk, his voice and saw his miserable life. And yet, you don’t even know the whole story, if he did tell you…would you still smile at him? Would you still look him in the eyes? Would you still not be afraid of him? Would you still think he deserves to be loved? Because, he, himself, doesn't think he does. After all he did, all he passed through and lost, he didn't have a chance to be happy and live an ordinary life, he always had to remind how useless he was at protecting his family once, how he was a cowardly kid, how he suffered in dirty hands, how he felt used. Nothing more than a war machine, a big, strong and scary man that everyone frightens, that’s what he is, in his mind. As for you, such a gentle, kind and delicate woman…why would you listen to someone like him? He thinks he doesn’t deserve your kindness.

For now, there he is, stepping back to his apartment, his heavy boots making some noise as he's not even looking at the way he’s doing. It’s always like this when he’s back from a long mission, he felt like he was on automatic. His mask, a bit dirty like his gear, and he had some wounds too. He made his way on the halls, going to the elevator, it’s late, like 4AM.

And a soft voice calls for him before the elevator comes, the creaky wooden door behind him making noise.

—”Simon…?” —It’s your voice, he’s already used to that sweet melody. He doesn’t turn to face you, not wanting to scare you with his actual state.

—”Hello.” —Without noticing, you left a sigh of relief.

—”You’re back. I was worried.” —Your words make him disbelief, he turns to face you, and you can see a mask on his usual balaclava, his eyes widened as his pupils shake.

—”You shouldn’t.”

—”If I could control that. But I couldn't, and I'm happy you’re back." —His eyes fall to your figure, rubbing your eyes as you’re still sleepy, your pajamas from that day, and your voice sounds like honey.

—”What happened to you, Simon?”

—”I was working.”

—’Not this, these wounds…” — Realization crawls up to his mind, you shouldn’t be able to see him like this.

—”Shit.” — He mumbles under his breath and looks away. Your figure walks closer to him, it’s dark to see properly.

—”Please, come in. Let me take care of this for you.”

—”No need, I'm fine, thanks.” —How could he say no to your cute little eyes, looking up and down on his body, looking for every wound. Your fingers go to his arms, gently touching and pulling him inside your apartment. Without a word, he just follows, he could easily get rid of your hands on him, and he didn’t.

You close the door and make him sit on your couch, picking up a med kit in your kitchen, sitting beside him.

—”You’re not going to ask why I'm like this?”

—”Only if you want to say why.” — Your eyes meet him, looking for his approval before you lift up the sleeves of his gear, finding a very bad wound on it, how he wasn’t feeling the pain? He just nods, and you lift his sleeves gently. He loved how caring you are, always searching his approval for everything, even simple things like this. He loves how gentle you were towards a man like him.

—”Then…can we not?”

—”Of course, Simon.”

He always enjoyed how his name would sound in your tongue, in your voice. It made his heart skip a beat everytime. With caution, you clean up his wound, and he doesn't hisses, doesn't frown or groan, he just watches in silence, looking into your eyes all the time. Nothing matters now, not the pain, not the blood, no. Only you, and your kindness.

—”What were you doing awake?”

—”I wasn’t. I heard your footsteps.”

—”How did you know it was mine?”

—”I guessed. You’re the only one who would walk around at this time.” —His dark brown eyes were staring at your face, you looked so concentrated now, even while sleepy like this, you managed to do this. To take care of him.

—”Why are you doing this?”

—”Because I care about you, Simon.”

Those words, it’s been years since he heard it, seem unreal. Why would you care about him? What did he do to deserve such kindness? Is God finally hearing his prays he did when he was young? No, you’re only his neighbor, this is normal…right?

—”Why?”

—"Do i need a reason?" —He only looks away, his head nodding at your words. You were right, you don’t need reasons to do what you’re doing. Though, he really wanted you to have one. He needed you to have a reason to help a man like him.

A comfortable silence creeps in between both, it’s a silence that yells inside, so many questions on both sides, but no one wants to ask it. Simon looks on your window, the curtain flowing and showing the moon bright in the sky, giving him a feeling he never felt before…love, in its truest form, just pure love. Being taken care of like this, he doesn’t even know why he accepted this, normally he would ignore it and go to bed, sleeping only two hours or less. But you, have your gentle fingers wrapping his wound now, gently patching it with a gauze, you had some talent for this, he wondered…have you ever taken care of someone else? Because you seem to be used to this.

—”Well done.” —You mumbles under your breath, your eyelids blink slowly, you’re so sleepy…it’s adorable.

—”Thanks.” —Oh really? Is everything he can mumble after this help? He can’t express anything more than this. Honestly, he didn’t need to, his eyes locked with yours, your body painted with the moonlight and the dark blue sky, and you can see how he feels grateful for you. You smile gently.

—”No need to, I was just worried when I saw you like this.”

Simon sighs, taking off the skull mask on his covered face, leaving only his balaclava as you’re used to.

—”It’s normal for me to get back like this.”

—”With wounds?”

—”Not only on my body.”

—”You know you can’t live like this forever, right?”

—”I always did.”

—”And this will hurt you eventually, Simon. You can’t hide emotions and think everything is okay. They will overflow.”

—”You don’t know me well for this.” —Simon gets up from your couch, his voice getting rougher, and looks at your door. You felt a twist in your guts, he’s worried you might figure him out, because you’re already doing.

—”If you’re being kind only to know my past, forget it. I’m not a storyteller.”

—”Who told you I wanted this? I’m pretty sure it was yourself.” —Now it’s your time to get up and meet his eyes, his eyes can’t lie to you.

—”You’re tricking yourself with this, Simon.”

He hated this, how pretty you look while your skin sparkled with the moonlight, how your eyes made him nowhere to run, how you would read him like a book, even if you two don’t know for a long time.

—”You don’t know me enough to say that.”

—”Being cold won’t keep me away, if that's what you’re trying to do.”

The only thing Simon does is curse under the black silk on his face. He didn’t like to look so predictable, so vulnerable like this. But at the same time, he just wants to be taken care of by you, and only you, no one else. He stays silent for what seems like an eternity, there's nothing else to say. What would he do now? Being cold wasn't going to keep you away, and he knows he will only hurt you, and lose someone like you would be dumb. All of his thoughts were making him dizzy, it was too much, he didn’t feel like this in years, and now it just makes him confused, he doesn't know how to deal with this anymore.

—”Look, Simon, it’s okay. You don’t have to agree with what I say. I just want you to know that even if I don't know you too well, you’re already someone I care about.” —You whispered to him, this tone was enough to bring him back to reality. His heart skips a beat at your words, he didn’t deserve you. At least he doesn’t think so.

—”Do you even realize what you’re saying? I’m a stranger at your house. Aren’t you scared?”

—”Not of you.” —A cute smile spreads on your face, and poor Simon, he feels his legs weaker, his heart melt at the same second.

—”You’re crazy. I can’t understand you.”

He’s being genuine on this, he can’t understand how optimistic you are, how cute, pretty, kind you are. And damn, that hairs of yours, the smell makes him insane, he always tries his best to stay away.

—”And I can't understand you as well, we’re even now.” —Simon can’t help but chuckle in disbelief with your words. Oh God, why couldn’t he have a normal life…by your side if that’s possible?

—”Look, [name], I appreciate the help. I should go now, I already messed up your sleep too much.”

—”Wait…can’t you stay just until i sleep? I can’t go back to sleep alone now.”

—”Uhm…sure.” —He looks away, and you giggle. Quickly, you make your way to the couch again and make yourself comfortable there, laying your body and closing your eyes. He watched every movement, not really wanting to look like a perv or something, he wouldn’t ever want to make you embarrassed.

—”Goodnight, Simon.”

—”Night.” —Simon clears his throat, looking while you find a good position to sleep, you look so peaceful. Maybe having him around makes you feel this way. His eyes are glued to your face, so delicate and calm while you breath slowly, it was an adorable sight, he thought to himself. His thick accent was the last thing you heard before falling asleep, quicker than he thought you would. Simon looks around and sees a blanket on another couch, he takes it and gently puts it above your body, making you nuzzle into it as the cold breeze was a problem your sleeping figure didn’t know it needed help. “How stupid” he thinks to himself, he’s a war criminal, why the hell does he have a soft stop for a person he doesn’t even know the age? His strong arms could rip you apart, since you’re so fragile like this. Correcting himself, he could, but he couldn’t even think of doing it, you’re so delicate, he just wants to protect you, not the contrary. He sighs, and notices he’s been looking at your sleeping figure for a long while now. He walks to your door and holds the handle, but something curls on his legs before he can walk outside, it’s your kitten. That lazy female cat who decided to greet the man on his second visit here, her white and orange fur on his gear.

—”Bloody hell.” — Simon caught himself watching his tone for you, not wanting to wake you up. The little kitten meows while twirling around Simon’s legs, he sighs and rolls his eyes up, one hand holds his mask, the other rubs the cat’s chin with his gloves on, so rough, and yet, bent down to caress your cat.

—”Now…let me leave, lil’one.” — His strong accent keeps there, while he…whispers with your cat. He gets up and opens your wood creaky door with caution, giving a head nod to your cat and closing the door when he steps away.

It’s so hard to leave, to leave that warm, cozy, happy place. To meet his dark and cold home, he can only sigh with the thought. Why is it so hard to leave? Why is his heart throbbing? That’s stupid, he’s not a teenager anymore, he’s a grown ass man that can deal with his feelings, he thinks so. He’s only trying to fool himself into that idea, because he knows when he steps his foot inside his apartment, he will crave for the sound of your voice, your warmth and your damn smile, and mostly, your words. So well chosen like you know exactly what to say to make him fall. You’re clever enough for his rudeness. He knows you will be just below, living your life peacefully and he will get back to his miserable life, alone, with his bad thoughts. If only he was open to his own feelings, he would see how fucked up he is now. Already missing you and wanting to stay by your side. His delusional mind wanders to a life together, you would say him goodbye when he’s out for missions, calls him, send letters, and he would keep a photo of you on his pocket, only so when he’s not motivated, he looked at it and remembers why he’s there, to make you safe. He would come back to your arms and stay beside each other, you would see his face behind that balaclava and smile, knowing the real Simon, while he leaves Ghost on the job.

That’s when he comes back to earth, being on his balcony, his balaclava lifted up a little bit as he smokes, taking a puff of his cigarette and sending it back into the sky with a blow. The breeze makes him shiver even with his gear still on, and the thoughts consume himself.

—"I'm fucked up."— Simon realizes when his thoughts wanders too much. He tosses the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it as his raspy voice talks to himself. Going to bed at 6AM, and not even being able to sleep, because his heart decided to throb about someone he doesn’t even know well, his brain decides to play with his sanity once more. He can’t take this feeling growing inside of him, it’s weird. Simon stares at the ceiling, laying at bed, his hands caressing his chest as he feels pain inside, right on his heart. Not even his patched wound would hurt like this.

What is this feeling...is he...falling in love? You leave him in tatters. And even while he's thinking you're perfect, you still have your problems as well, he's not the only one broken, and he will discover this soon.

[axelsagewrites]

Hey there just m back again with a request where it’s cerisi and roberts daughter who’s married to Robb. Can it be it’s after the red wedding she survived and she spent her time hinting those who participated in the red wedding but she gets brutally killed and somehow like whoever did it brings her corpse to Cersi and her reaction and maybe Tyrion reacting to the news too as he was quite close to her

Robb Stark*Don't Die For Me

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon!F!Reader

Word count: 3638

Warnings: the red wedding, robb dying, cat dying, reader dying, description of war/injuries, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist Here

The gown was made from thick snow-white wool, trimmed with a soft grey wolf fur with streaks of black. Stag horns were embroidered along the cuffs, yellow gold fastenings holding it together. Lannister red hearts were hand stitched by Myrcella around the hem of the dress. It was warm and thick and span out like a dancer’s dress whenever you twirled.

People gasped when they saw you enter the gods wood, arms linked with your father as you approached your husband. Robb wore simpler clothes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders that he would soon drape over your frame.

Sansa watched the wedding doe eyed and Catelyn felt her eyes grow wet at the sight of her son, smiling down at his betrothed as they made their union promise. The king tried to look stoic, clearing his throat umpteen times to keep his tears back. Tyrion stood front row, much to your mother’s dismay and wearing the beaming smile you would have expected from a mother.

Your mother stood stoned face as she watched, smiling when looked at by anyone but you. she gave you a knowing look. “He will be your husband. Nothing more. He will share your bed, but you will have separate chambers. he will tell you how to act. You must listen when he is there. You must choose your battles and the most important ones will be what comes out between your legs,” her lessons rang in your ears when you had met Robb for the first time.

You knew she wanted to protect you the way she thought she needed to. To her Robb was a stranger, a threat, the captor of her daughter, the thief in the north, the unknown. What she did not know was the way Robb softly stroked his fingers over your cheeks when he held you or how he rubbed his hands over yours to warm them.

She didn’t notice how he would let you walk in front and was happy to follow behind. She didn’t notice how grey wind went to protect you when someone stepped out of line. She didn’t notice the lingering glances or the way his hands held yours a moment too long once the dance had stopped. She didn’t notice. She didn’t want to hope.

You however had noticed his affection for you. you noticed how his cheeks tinged pink when he helped you on your horse or how he laughed loudly at jokes he barely understood. You noticed he would reach for his sword when a stranger approached or how he smiled when you walked in the room. The same dopey smile he wore when he swore to protect you.

The ceremony had been beautiful, done in front of the heart tree as you pledged to the old gods and new. When you arrived at the feast it was already filled with excitement as the south and north began to mix. You danced first with Robb then each of his sisters then his brothers, including Jon who had been nervous to take the floor with you, but you had insisted.

You danced with your father who choked out a teary piece of advice. “Never forget you are my daughter. When you need me, you’ll have me,” he told you privately on the dance floor. While he trusted ned with all his heart you knew he would miss you.

You danced with your siblings, even convincing Joffrey to join you. Your mother stayed sat in her chair all night, but you made sure to talk to her even if you could see the nerves behind her eyes. Your uncle Jamie gave you a tight-lipped smile but not much more while your uncle Tyrion was only two drinks down and already very excited.

“My little niece has gotten married,” He proclaimed loudly as you approached his table and laughed at his state, “Oh how my heart breaks. Stolen away by some northern heathens,”

“Now, now uncle,” you said as you sat down at the table, stealing a glass of wine, “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You shall visit me,”

“Shall I?” he fakes pondered as he poured himself a fresh drink, “The north is too cold for me sweet niece,”

You hummed a laugh as you clinked your glasses, “I’m sure I will find you a warm enough room. After all I am your favourite,” you grinned making him laugh as you continued the festivities. You however had no idea the next time you saw your uncle it would be on such a sour note.

It was only the week after your wedding that Bran had fallen from the window however you knew he hadn’t fallen from the look on your mother’s face alone. As soon as the Queen had left you told Robb your suspicions, but they fell on deaf ears. You tried to ignore the growing pit in your stomach the day your father had left, Ned joining him in the south, but you just knew. You just knew.

The war came quick, and it came hard. The only reason Winterfell had so quickly rebuilt their supplies was at your instruction. Robbs men had suggested you stay behind to guard Winterfell, war was no place for a wife, but when you told Robb you wanted to come, he agreed with no hesitation. He’d seen the way you could shoot a bow and was even frightened when he saw how you swung a sword.

You had been trained by the hound after all amongst many other swords masters. Barristan Selmy had even given you a few tips. Your father had arranged the lessons, insisting no daughter of his would go down without a fight. Your mother had taught you other lessons. Poisons and daggers and knives disguised in rings. You knew how to survive. You knew how to fight.

Maybe you should have stayed behind. It was a thought that plagued your mind the moment you left and cursed you when you released what Theon had done. Robb assured you it was not your fault. Catelyn had said no one man could hold a castle by themselves. But what if you could have?

Walder Frey was your next big problem. He tried to convince Catelyn your marriage was just an inconvenience to a new alliance, but a Stark keeps their oath. Soon you had to break the bad news to Edmure Tully of his pending nuptials to a Frey girl.

Despite everything you had hope. Not once had you lost a battle. Not one. You charged in on horseback, Robb leading the front and you fighting with those at the back. Grey wind charged into battle first, but it did not take long for you to spot him on the battlefield. However, Robb had insisted on one thing.

Each time you joined him on battle you were dressed as a man with a helmet covering your face. He couldn’t risk Tywin knowing you were on the field. After all, if your siblings were bastards that made you the rightful queen of the seven, now six, kingdoms.

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” you told Robb as he helped lace you into your dress before Edmures wedding.

Robb sighed as he finished up the ties before turning you to face him, “You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he said, his fingers stroking over your cheek.

You kissed the palm of his hand, enjoying his touch for just a moment, “I know but I worry,”

“We can worry tomorrow,” Robb said, kissing your forehead as he held your face softly in his hands, “but for now we can take pause. Even a Frey would not defile guest rights,”

When grey wind refused to enter the Twins, you almost dragged Robb away right then and there. However, Cat and Robb insisted everything would be alright. You believed them. Well, you wanted to. You tried to believe them.

“My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift,” Walder began to say as you stood from your chair, a practised smile on your face as you moved to stand beside Robb. Before you could reach him, chairs scrapped against stone floors as Cateleyn slapped Roose Bolton.

“Robb,” she cried as Roose climbed from his chair. You tried to grab Robbs hand, to grab him and run, your hand already reaching for the dagger you had hidden. However, before you could grab its handle you felt a hand wrap about your wrist, yanking you back harshly.

Your fingers were just brushing Robbs hand when you were pulled back into the chest of Roose Bolton, his arm trapping you to his chest. Your nails sunk into his wrist, desperately trying to pull yourself out of his grip as Roose picked you up and began to drag you away to the side.

“Robb,” you cried out. You felt your heart racing, your eyes searching for where Robb was stood as arrows got set loose on the Stark men, your men. You tried to pry yourself free as your men were slaughtered by crossbows and daggers.

When the first arrow hit Robb you screamed, a guttural scream that pierced even your own ears as you felt your stomach lurch. You twisted in Rooses grip, turning your head to sink your teeth down onto his nose making him cry out in pain. he let you go out of instinct, and you quickly ran to where Robb lay as an arrow hit cat in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Run,” Robb said, his voice low almost a whisper as he tried to pull himself to his feet, “Don’t stop for me,” he said through gritted teeth, but your hand reached for his. “Go!” he almost yelled but you could see the pain in his eyes, “its too late for me,” he grunted, and your eyes fell to where he was looking.

You felt yourself grow sick at the sight of an arrow tip sticking out his stomach. It had gone through between his ribs, and you could see the thick blood dripping off its end onto the stone floor. “I can’t leave you,” you whispered as you stood, pulling him with you.

Your eyes scanned the room. There was no where to go. No bargain to offer no clear way to run. Your eyes fell to Catelyn who had crawled under a table nearby. You could see the fear in her eyes. Your own eyes turned to Robb who tried his best to stand. “Go,” he begged, “Don’t die for me,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face as he pushed your hand away, but you clung on tighter, “I love you too much to see you die,”

“I love you too,” you tried to say but it came out as broken whimpers, “Theres no way for me to run,”

“Lord Walder!” Cats voice was the only thing to drag your eyes from your husband as you watched his mother hold a knife to a girl of no more than twelves throat, “Let it end, please. he is my son,” she begged.

You could see Robbs skin start to sweat, the colour draining from his face. You felt a tear fall down your cheek when you realised, he was dying. Robb had realised it too as his clammy hands moved to softly hold your cheeks as you kneeled together on the ground. Your hands reached for his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“Take me for a hostage,” Catelyn cried, “Take her. she is the princess. Think of how much you could get!” she cried as Robb shuffled closer to you, his head moving to lean against yours. you ignored Catelyn’s pleas, ignored the way she tried to trade you for her son. You would have offered yourself too for Robb if not for the blood you could see at the corner of his mouth.

“Get up and walk out,” Catelyn begged Robb but he ignored her. you weren’t sure if he could even hear her. his face shuffled forwards, his lips softly brushing against yours. you tried to ignore the metallic taste as his blood tainted your final kiss. Tried to ignore Catelyn’s cries. Tried to ignore the feeling of Robbs skin growing cold beneath your fingertips.

You screamed when he was ripped from your arms. When your eyes looked up through the tears you saw Roose Bolton holding Robb, blood dripping still from where your teeth had sunk in. Robb looked to Cat, “Mother,” he mumbled making her let out a sob. His eyes turned to yours, looking down at your filled with regret, “Wife,” was the last word that left his lips before a gasp when Roose Boltons dagger sunk into his chest.

“The Lannister’s send their regards,” you heard him whisper and you lunged for him only to be pulled back by yet another one of the Frey men.

“Take her to the kennels for the night. Her mother wants to see her,” Walder Frey called out as one of his sons dragged you out the room.

You let your body go limp as you listened to Catelyn’s scream echo the once happy hall. You let yourself be dragged, acting as if you could not walk. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t have to pretend to let them flow.

However as soon as you were the only ones in the corridor your fingers felt for the hilt of your dagger, your fingers wrapping around the black leather. Your eyes glanced up to the distracted Frey man. You glanced forward, making sure the corridor was empty before slamming your head back into his mouth making him cry out and drop you.

This time you were ready though as you spun around, your dagger sinking through the side of his throat. When you pulled it back, he collapsed to his knees, blood squirting out his neck as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. You didn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes as it had Robbs.

Your hands reached for his belt, undoing it quickly before tightening it around your own waist. Next was his cloak. It was too long but would work for now you thought as you put up the hood before taking off down the corridor. Your hands squeezed the pouch on his belt as you ran, and you sighed of relief when you could feel coins through it. his sword was heavier than you’d like but you knew you could handle it. before anyone knew what had happened you were already at the forest edge on the back of a Frey horse.

The next couple of weeks were possibly the worst of your life. You wanted to mourn, to curl up in a ball and sob. You wanted to die. However, you couldn’t. you had to live. Robb wanted you to live. As you walked the forest you often felt your hand hover over your stomach.

Baby Robb you thought. Or Catelyn for a girl. Your bloods hadn’t arrived for little over three months. At first you thought it was the stress of war but as you stood on the forest edge, listening to the faint sounds of your men being slaughtered as you escaped you knew. You knew you were pregnant, and you wondered if Robb would’ve run if he had known.

If you had not come across the brother hood without banners you wondered if you would have survived much longer with such a large bounty on your head. Soon though your mission became less about surviving and more about getting revenge.

When you sunk an arrow into the chest of the first Frey you came upon you remembered your anger and soon it almost became like a sport. It wasn’t hard to find a Frey to kill and they rarely put up a fight. It was the Lannister’s that were harder. Though many knew you and thought they could convince you to return to your family’s side.

You made sure to stab they ones twice. You never stabbed to kill, however. You enjoyed watching them crawl away, desperate to find help, but knowing they’d bleed out before finding any. But revenge is not a survival tool you soon learned.

You had been washing your face down at the stream near where you and the brotherhood had chosen to set up camp. It was almost peaceful here. The birds were chirping, deer walked around with no care in the world. Feeling the sweat wash off your face as your splashed yourself with the cool water was the best feeling you had had since the wedding.

For a moment, a single moment, you tried to forget it all. You let yourself enjoy the stream, your fingers hovering in the water, enjoying how the water flowed around them. You looked up across the stream, smiling at the stag that stood across the water from you. Dad. The idea pained your chest. Everything was so much simpler before.

When the stag began to kick you squinted, moving to stand to help the creature when you felt a hand grab a chunk of your hair. You tried to scream, to reach for his hand, but the ice-cold water entering your mouth made it hard to even move. You tried to thrash but you did little but make the water splash. You could hear muffle voices from atop the water but with no clue who they belonged to.

Your eyes stung as you tried to look up. You managed to turn your head just enough to see the stag out the corner of your eye. You wondered if the wolf that had pawed its way up to stand by the stag was real. It almost looked as if it was smiling down at you. your hands slipped away from your attacker’s grip as your body grew stiller. Your eyes stayed on the stag and wolf. When you need me, you’ll have me. Your fathers’ words echoed in the water. I love you too much you could hear Robbs voice whisper before everything faded to black.

“Where is she?” Cerci demanded as her apparent cousins she’d never heard of stood before her throne. “You said you had my daughter,”

“Yes, my queen,” the man bowed before turning to signal for a crate to be brought forward, “We have her right here,”

“Are there air holes in that box?” Tyrion asked, walking down the stairs from the throne to the crate the mountain had sat down with less than grace.

“Why would we need airholes my lord?” the man’s words even made cerci stand from her throne as Tyrion began to pry the crate open with his dagger, “Your grace we were told she had committed treason. She murdered my father your grace, your cousin. She was dangerous I’m telling you my grace you have to believe me,” the man pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as Cersei approached the crate.

Tyrion slowly pried it open, his eyes peeking inside before gasping, slamming its lid shut as he backed away, “What is it brother?”

“Don’t look in there” Tyrion begged as cerci approached the crate, “Don’t look in there! Any of you,” he screeched.

Cercis eyes were cold as stone as she looked from the crate to the mountain then to her cousin. The mans eyes widened in terror as the mountain carried him out wordlessly, “Please your grace. I thought this is what you wanted,” he screamed.

“Get out,” Cersi muttered, “All of you out!” she screamed making everyone, but Tyrion flee out the room. Her eyes were locked on the crate, “Is she-?” she tried to ask as Tyrion stood from where he had keeled over on the floor.

His feet scraped the ground as he walked over to stand by his sister, “She’s dead,” he said, his voice cold but tears streaked down his cheeks, “They killed her,” Cersei’s hand reached to open to crate, but Tyrion shuddered as he turned around, “Do not make me look at her,” he begged.

“I have to know,” she murmured as she took the lid off the crate, her eyes wound shut till she heard the lid clatter to the ground. Cerci opened her eyes, expecting to see her daughter asleep in a box but she gasped when she saw the reality. “No,” she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped towards the crate.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Look at the girl you had killed!”

“I never- I didn’t mean- I didn’t want her to die,” cerci said as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair but when Tyrion saw out the corner of his eye, he slapped her hand away. “I- “

“You do not touch her!” he screeched, “She is dead because of you! all of this is because of you,” he yelled at his sister before noticing a new horror reach her eyes. Tyrion choked back his tears, trying to hold his stomach steady as he peered back into the box, “Oh my gods,” he whispered as he backed away from the box.

“I didn’t know,” Cersi whispered, her eyes unable to move.

“You killed your own grandchild,” Tyrion whispered, venom dripping off his tongue as he backed away from his sister, “Your own daughter! Your flesh and your blood!” he began to yell once more.

“I didn’t mean to- “Cersei tried to beg, tears falling from her eyes as she backed away from the crate.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion said coldly as he glared up at his older sister, “She is dead because of you. and I hope that haunts you till your last breath,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @nyotamalfoy

[david-talks-sw]

The series Ahsoka is coming out soon, and in light of the recent comments by Ashley Eckstein...

... I figured I'd also point out that people hated Ahsoka.

Every complaint you've heard about Rey? It had been hurled at Ahsoka about 7 years prior.

“Oh, she’s fighting Grievous and she’s only, like 13?! That’s so OP!”

“She feels like a Mary Sue written for a prequel based fan fiction.”

“Oh, she disobeyed an order from Yularen on Ryloth?! She’s so snippy!”

“Ugh, I hate her and her stupid voice!”

“She’s always pointing out stuff other characters have missed, like she’s so perfect! She's a Mary Sue with an annoying voice and personality.”

And honestly? I remember that period. People despised Ahsoka (and sometimes voiced anger towards Ashley Eckstein too), just like they hated Hayden Christensen, and most Prequel-related content.

But guess what? They weren't the target audience. Said Eckstein in her 2018 book It's Your Universe:

“Ahsoka’s arrival on the scene was met with mixed reactions. She had a big personality and was very snippy. [...] She talked back to Anakin, and some even called her bratty. Critics didn’t quite know what to think, but kids loved her. Finally, girls had another character besides Leia and Padmé to play on the playground — and now there was a lightsaber in their hands.”

They didn't "fix" Ahsoka, as you'll see on some click-baity YouTube thumbnails.

She had a fucking character arc. There was nothing to fix.

The whole point of her character is that she starts out as immature and petulant as Anakin is in Episode II. This forces Anakin himself to grow up, so he can better take care of her.

Eventually, they both mature together... and at some point, Ahsoka surpasses Anakin by learning and implementing the Jedi teachings, while Anakin remains stuck on that first part (no thanks to Palpatine).

Same thing goes for Reva. The character has a goddamn arc.

I'm all for putting a "save the cat" moment to make these characters more likeable (and even when they do, like they did with Rey, then somehow the problem becomes that they're too likeable), but at the same time, I think parts of the fandom should wait and see before prematurely hating on a character (who almost always "just happens" to be female, weird!) to see what story is being told.

[alwaysshallow]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a soap fluff where he never sees the reader sleep, he’s seen her up at such ungodly hours yet he doesn’t confront her because she scares him a bit, she’s quiet and only talks when spoken too, not too much like Simon though, she isn’t mean, just a little arrogant and snarky.

Soap has a little crush on her but he pushes it away most of the time, questioning himself for it but the girl never normally shows affection only little nods toward price, it’s obvious she looks up to him.

Anyway on one mission they get in the plane from Mexico and she sits down, soap sits next to her as he talks to Gaz, he feels a weight on his shoulder and she’s fast asleep, he doesn’t think much of it until she wraps her arms around his bicep, nuzzling her self into him and Gaz notices his stuttering mess and nervousness.

ignore me if you don’t wanna write soap!

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

He tries to get to know you more. (1,9k)

AO3 version

A/N: I could never say no to my beloved Johnny; AND it's first request, very thankful!! I had to turn it into oneshot, I just had to. I hope you will enjoy <3

It's probably the way you're unavailable for him. Out of reach, he can say, but he's working on getting to it, slowly.

It's probably the way you practically don't smile, the way you're quiet, the way you're devoted to your work, just like he is.

Johnny is the type of person to be friends with everyone in Task Force 141; might be his charming nature, might be his talkativeness, but all in all, he's just everyone's friend. He likes late night talks, going to bar with squad, pretty much everything suits him and his nature.

You're kind of different. Quiet, methodical, just like Simon, but also different – you seem like you're more open than him. It's the way you gave him a comment after his missed shot when you were on comms, asking if he really was one of the best shooters or he just pretended to.

Somehow, that didn't offend him at all. Normally, it would even cause a conversation and a bit of banter, but all he gave you was a laugh and a question if you're feeling cheeky, if you need some proof that he's the best. He almost heard your eyes rolling at that moment. It was another thing that interested him in you – for fuck's sake, he loved people talking back to him. If they were ladies, maybe even more. He knew you like working with him, though, despite your irritation sometimes. Most of the time, he irritated you to the core with asking questions, on purpose, just to get a rise out of you, just to get you to speak since you did it rarely. Soap was pretty convinced that you believed in speech is silver and silence is golden type of shit, but he liked silver better anyway.

It was Christmas when he got you a little gift – he did the same for everyone to not raise suspicion, but every pin was personalized. Skull for Ghost, helicopter for Gaz (obviously, he had to continue the joke), cigars for Price and for you... a cat.

No one knew that you had a cat – it was more of observation, when you had your civilian clothes, your shirt had some of white fur on it, Soap realized. He almost immediately though of asking you what was the race, if it was he or she, but he decided to drop it, so he could surprise you.

And it was worth it.

He knew you liked it, when you sent him a look, full of questions that he could answer if you'd only ask them. He could explain that he pays attention to detail, despite the public knowledge, their jokes about it.

Soap was so calm back then. Everyone liked their pins, everyone had them, so no one would question gift for you.

It was enough he was questioning himself all the time.

Like, how can he know so little about you, but yet, feel so giddy whenever you're around?

How can he not turn his head in your direction when you're walking next to him, so gracefully, focused on something, a gun strong in your hand, prepared for every occasion that would happen. You would die for your people, that much was clear, and so would he.

Johnny is almost ashamed at his feelings and hitting on you – you can't take it seriously, considering that he hits on everyone in your mind, but this type of hitting is different. You obviously don't know that, but he thinks twice before he says something to you.

He thinks twice before giving you a cheesy pick-up line that:

a) you usually ignore,

b) you roll your eyes at,

c) from time to time, you ask if he has something better, and he just grins like a kid that got candy, telling you another one.

What he doesn't know though? He doesn't know that you smile every time in your dorm at it, when you remember what he has said to you, it's a sweet secret that you're willing to keep.

As long as you can.

You're the first one who takes seat in the plane that is supposed to go back to your main base; you're grateful that you're going home. You like Mexico, obviously, as well as the adrenaline it brought, but you were tired as hell, fighting with yourself to not fall asleep after draining mission.

At least, you planned not to fall asleep until everyone will be here, and the plane will be in the air.

First ones to come after you, are Ghost and Price. They are talking about some machines that they "have" to buy. You're not interested, so you mainly observe your surroundings, or you just play with your hands to make the time go faster.

A little scolding goes to Soap and Gaz for being late; it's not serious obviously, but it's something that Price likes to tell them, praying that someday they wouldn't be late.

"Feelin' sleepy, ace?"

"Always, Gaz. Pretty tired" you reply, your eyes darting between him and Soap.

"We played those fuckers like kids. I do not believe that they gave up so easily" Gaz rolls his eyes with amusement, as he takes a seat nearby.

"Yeah, we got 'em. Motherfuckers thought they had a chance" Soap laughs, shaking his head. It's the first time he's so happy with the mission, despite being tired and a little beaten up; he takes the seat next to you, nodding in respectful manner. A greeting, you could say.

His head turns back to Kyle.

"Just like you in poker." Garrick responds, grinning. Soap can't help but roll his eyes at this statement, even if it's true – yeah, maybe poker wasn't really his best, but he was the best in other things.

Uno, for example. Or Monopoly, even if he got easily irritated by Simon taking his favorite places just to rile him up and pay the taxes or beg for buying it from him in exchange for something. Despite all that, he's pretty good at it. Poker is a different story, everyone cheats here, mostly Gaz and Price.

That's what Johnny thinks. Captain and his "son" cheating, ain't that surprising?

"Won't comment on that, Gaz" he manages to mumble; there's something else in his mind too, but he forgets it the moment your head rests on his shoulder.

His gaze goes to you immediately and with the rest of his willpower, he tries not to smile. It's pretty sure he lost count how many times in just one minute he told himself to not daydream over this little gesture. After all, it happened only because you are tired, right? It happens to everyone.

Soap's mind is filled of memory when he fell asleep on Price; the great surprise he had after that, tells him to not overthink. It's just probably because you feel safe around him. Your body is weak after such an intense mission, no doubt that you want just somewhere to lay your head on.

"Because you have nothin' in your defence, man." his friend laughs, pointing at him. "I'd play even now, if you want to. I think I have cards somewhere. Price, you want to play?" he raises his voice.

"Gaz, for fuck's sake, she's sleeping" Soap hisses, looking at Gaz with furrowed eyebrows.

"Jeez, calm down, man. She's sleeping like a damn rock here." he rolls his eyes and nudges Johnny. "What are you, her protector?

Scot sighs. "She did a pretty good job today. 'st want her to get a proper rest before we will hit our base, you know? It's..."

He trails off just in the moment you nuzzle into him – consciously or not. More to his bicep, considering that your arms wrap around it tightly, and your head claims it proudly as a pillow, but it's enough.

It's enough for Soap to lost the track of his thoughts, to lose his composure. You never did things like that, hell, you never even hugged, and there you are. Skin to skin, so close, sleeping, vulnerable for everything around. It's the way he feels sudden urge to protect you, even if nothing dangerous is around, just men who would give everything to protect their team.

He knows you can protect yourself on your own, you're perfectly capable of doing that. He saw it multiple times, how easily you could take down a guy twice your size, and he adored that. More than he would ever admit, considering that he keeps his feelings to himself. It's easier this way, less complicated, Soap needs to think how he will approach you.

Not an easy job, no. Especially that you're not the one to show affection, he has to have a better plan than pick-up lines. Or maybe the time will help?

Something shifts in the air, and he knows it. He's bad at hiding emotions like this, unexpected ones, so when his gaze drifts back to Gaz, already observing him with curiosity, he gulps.

"What you wanted to say? About..." he points with his chin at you, wrapped around his arm.

"What? Nothing." he replied immediately, biting his cheek from inside.

"No, you certainly wanted to–"

"–mm, can you be a little bit quieter, Gaz? Just a little bit." you murmur, sleepy; you don't even know what they are talking about, you're more than focused on sleeping and warmness that Soap gives you.

"Yeah, sorry, ace. Got some really good pillow over here, eh?" Garrick smiles widely, looking at Johnny, whose gaze is at you.

"Mhm."

Oh, if you'd only know. You don't even realize how this little gesture, how your blurred mhm affects him. Your close proximity, soft skin of your cheek on his bicep, it all makes him feel like crazy one because he thinks if it's something normal for you, or you just like-like him. He has a million questions.

Could it be it?

"Soap?" he hears Gaz.

Soap is not sure if he spoke something before calling for him. "Y-yeah?" For the first time, he fucking stutters, which is embarrasing enough when Kyle looks at him.

"You good, man? You seem... tensed up."

"What? No." he laughs quietly, nervous that his friend might be onto something. He wasn't dumb, but Johnny would hate for him to know. It's not like he will tell you, not at all, but he could make comments, and that... nah, not an option.

Gaz would try to and be a wingman, but Johnny needed to charm you on his own, without any help; he needed time to figure things out.

"Sure of that?"

"Gaz, really. Leave him be and shut up." you spoke up again; boys aren't sure if it's mumbling from your sleep or something, but what they know is that you mean it, so Kyle just rolls his eyes.

Yet, he gives Soap the biggest grin once again, and he knows that he will be insufferable, when he gets up from his seat and he takes the one near Price and Ghost.

MacTavish is more focused on you, though. He smiles under his nose, and with a little bit of hesitation, he rests his head against yours.

"Is it okay?" he whispers, trying to get an answer from you. It's risky, he doesn't even know if you're awake, but he would hate to overstep a boundary with you.

You don't give him verbal answer; instead, you just nuzzle into his arm more, and it's all he needs.

He decides that he will ask you out sometime – for something simple, maybe coffee, maybe he will find an excuse to go with you to the movies.

He will, he just needs to find a right moment, but he knows it's gonna happen.

[stevie-petey]

episode seven: the mind flayer

Steve, who is leaning next to Dustin and you, snaps his finger. “Like the Germans?” “Uh… The Nazis?” Your brother looks at you, silently urging you to shut the teen up, and you pinch your nose again and sigh. “Oh, buddy.” You loop your arm through his and pat Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s just listen, okay?”

Summary: jonathan is back and has a lot of questions and you have even more for him, the gang gets back together and ties will to a chair, you tell the kid a story to distract him from his demons, steve is a confused mess but at least youre with him, and someone makes a surprise appearance (her name rhymes with shell).

Rating: general, cursing

Warnings: use of y/n, fem!reader, talk of death and grief, violence and blood

Words: 12.1k

Before you swing in: long time no see ! lots has happened, and this chapter was a pain for so many reasons, but shes here and i love her and i so sincerely hope yall enjoy :)

-

Stumbling blindly through dark woods while holding your bloodied ribcage has never been your favorite activity. Neither is following after a bunch of Demodogs to probably once again sacrifice your life to save others, yet here you are.

Steve has a gentle hand resting on the small of your back as he helps you navigate the woods. Dustin is to your left, scanning for anything that could possibly trip you as the three of you walk in a line. Lucas and Max follow, both of whom watch you with weary eyes.

Sure, you probably don’t look too good, but honestly. You’ve been objectively worse.

“You’re positive that was Dart?” Lucas asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Dustin sighs next to you, kicking at a twig in your way. “He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.”

“Why do you have his butt memorized?” You mumble under your breath, which Steve chuckles at.

Max shakes her head. “But he was tiny two days ago.”

“Well, he’s molted three times already.” Dustin kicks at another twig, this time with more anger behind it. He’s on edge, and you know he’s worried that somehow Lucas will figure out that he kept Dart all this time.

You’d help the kid, but he dug his own grave.

“Malted?” Steve asks, looking over to you to see if you’re hearing what he’s hearing.

“No, buddy.” You shake your head at him, slightly endeared by the confusion on his face.

“Molted,” your brother clarifies. “Shed his skin to make room for growth, like hornworms.”

“I don’t think Steve knows what hornworms are, Dustin.”

The boy sighs, knowing you’re right, and continues to walk.

Max, however, won’t let the topic go. “When’s he gonna molt again?”

“It's gotta be soon.” Dustin responds, now looking around tiredly. He doesn’t have to tell you, but you saw how quickly Dart grew overnight; he’s grown at an alarming rate. “When he does he’ll be fully grown, or close to it.”

“And so will his friends,” you say grimly.

It’s quiet for a moment after that, your words unnerving the group. Everyone but Max had to deal with a fully grown Demogorgon last year, and none of you have forgotten how terrifying it had been. You all still have scars from it, both metaphorically and physically.

After a minute or so, Steve tries to lighten up the situation. “Well, at least there isn’t another cat for them to eat–”

“Steve–” But you’re too late, Lucas has already picked up on what the teen is saying.

The boy shoves past you and whips around to face Dustin, angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “Wait, a cat? Dart ate a cat?”

“No, what? No!” Your brother is a terrible liar.

“What are you talking about? He ate Mews–” Your elbow digs into Steve’s side, causing him to hunch over and wheeze. “Shit.”

You force Steve’s head up so that he looks at you while you forcefully whisper, “Stop. Talking.”

“Mews? Who’s Mews?”

You turn to Max. “It’s nothing–”

“It’s their cat,” Steve wheezes out, still not at all understanding the situation.

“Steve!” You and Dustin screech at the same time. God, maybe it does make sense that he’s barely graduating high school.

“I knew it! You kept him!” Lucas shouts at Dustin, before turning to you with hurt in his eyes. “And you let him hide it from the party?”

You wince. “I had a suspicion, but by the time I found out it had already been too late and–”

“He missed me. He wanted to come home… and Y/N just happened to not know about it for a while.” Dustin interrupts, trying to appease his friend, but it doesn’t work.

“Bullshit!”

“I didn’t know he was a Demogorgon, okay?”

“Oh, so now you admit it?”

You try to intervene, you’ve always hated when the boys fight. “Listen, what’s done is done and it’s too late to be angry now.”

Lucas scoffs. “I crawled into a dumpster to find Dart!”

“And that was a conscious decision that you made–”

“Guys!” Max steps in. “Who cares? We have to go.”

“I care!” Lucas faces Dustin again. “You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!”

“So did you!” You’ve never heard anger like this come out from Dustin. It isn’t an anger that spills over from a regular argument. Your eyes flicker to Max and you know that the anger is one that stems from hurt.

You remember how excited Dustin had been to tell you about his crush on the girl. Now, after she came here with Lucas, you fear you may have to have a code blue soon with your brother about young love and heartbreak. Unrequited crushes suck.

The kids all begin to scream at one another and you’re too tired to try and intervene again. Technically, they’re all right. Lucas shouldn’t have told Max everything, Dustin shouldn’t have hid Dart, and both boys shouldn’t continuously treat Max like some weird outsider.

As they argue, Steve rubs small circles in your back, sensing how exhausted you are. While your bleeding may have stopped, you still feel woozy from the blood loss and could really go for some water and food right now.

“They’ll figure it out,” he assures you, breath warm against your ear, and all you can do is sigh.

You’re about to tell Steve that maybe you should all walk back home, it’s late and the kids are all too mad at one another to be of any help, but then you hear screeching coming from the distance.

You both freeze.

Slowly, the two of you step away from the kids to follow after the sound. They’re too busy arguing to notice, but the screeching continues to grow louder and you share a look with Steve. This isn’t good.

“Hey guys?” Steve calls towards the kids, hand never leaving your back.

The kids continue to argue, ignoring him, and you bring your fingers to your lips and let out a high pitched whistle. “Idiots!” Lucas, Dustin, and Max all go quiet, looking over at you. More screeches fill the silence, and you tilt your head towards the sound. “Hear that? Shall we continue to fight or are we done here?”

Steve flashes his light towards the source of the sound and beckons for the kids to follow. You stay behind, both of you silently agreeing that he’ll lead and you’ll make sure everyone is safe. Lucas and Dustin immediately follow, but Max lingers.

“Hey, you comin’?” You ask, motioning towards where the boys have all gone.

“Why are we headed towards the sound?”

“Because it’s what we do,” you shrug. “Welcome to the party.”

Max blinks at you, in disbelief, and it breaks your heart that she has to come to terms with all of this. Taking the risk, you reach towards her hand, offering her time to pull away, but she doesn’t. She lets you grab her hand and you squeeze it, giving her a soft smile. “I’m right here.”

The girl exhales, still guarded, yet she finally nods at your words. She seems to believe you, which you’re thankful for, and together the two of you follow after the others. The five of you approach the overlook, all of Hawkins visible. There’s a layer of thick fog covering the town, the screeches ominous as the town is blanketed.

“I don’t see him,” Dustin mumbles next to you, though he slowly links his fingers through yours, quietly confessing to you that he’s scared.

You squeeze his hand. “Lucas, do you think your binoculars can see that far?”

The boy brings them up to his eyes, and within a few seconds he seems to have spotted the source. He swallows, lowers the binoculars, and says, “It’s the lab.”

“They’re going back home.” You whisper, feeling defeated more than anything else. It somehow always comes back to that fucking lab. Will’s episodes, Mike’s silence, Nancy and Jonathan taking the burden of bringing the entire lab down themselves.

You now understand the immense anger Nancy felt that day during lunch, when you had all been at Jonathan’s car and she created her genius plan. How badly she wanted to make the assholes pay for what they did to Hawkins. To Will. To Barb. To sweet El.

“We have to follow.” You say, an edge to your voice. Your side sears with pain, your ankle sending phantom pains up your leg. Dustin clings onto your hand like his life depends on it. You’re sick of suffering the consequences that Hawkin’s Lab has brought upon itself.

You begin to walk down the overlook, steps slow and careful, and while the kids glance uncertainly at one another, Steve doesn’t hesitate to follow after you. –

As you approach the gate to the lab, you see a car with headlights parked in front of it. Two figures stand at the edge of the forest line, watching.

Other people are here.

You bring your knives out and flick the handle so that the blades extend. Steve stands next to you, his own bat raised after seeing your fear, and you nod at one another to slowly begin approaching.

“Hello?” One of the figures shouts, their voice oddly familiar.

You stop.

“Who’s there?” The voice shouts again, and this time you recognize it.

It’s Jonathan.

Immediately you start to run, damning the pain in your side, and when you break through the treeline and see Jonathan standing there with Nancy, both of them safe and sound, you start to run even faster.

When Jonathan sees that it’s you, he starts to run as well and within seconds the two of you are a tangle of arms and limbs. He hugs you fiercely, his cologne familiar and you hadn’t known how homesick you were until you felt his arms around you.

“Bug,” Jonathan exhales with relief, squeezing you even tighter. He brings a hand to your hair and cradles your head, his fingers sure and strong and familiar as always. You bury your face in his neck, feeling all the pain and exhaustion from today begin to dissipate.

Nancy walks over and lays a hand on your arm as you’re still wrapped around Jonathan. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you guys are okay,” you sniff, you’re not sure why you’re crying. “God, I’ve had the weirdest two days of my life–”

“Steve?” Jonathan and Nancy suddenly say at the same time.

You pull away from your friend and let out a chuckle. Steve and the kids have now joined, confusion on all of their faces. “Like I said, it’s been a weird few days.”

“Nancy?” Steve walks over, his eyes going back and forth between you and the girl. He feels an overwhelming mixture of emotions overtake him. He notices the way Jonathan’s arm is still wrapped around you as you stand close to his side, and he notices the way Nancy avoids his eyes. Something burns within his chest.

“Jonathan?” Dustin narrows his eyes at the boy, and you can’t help but laugh.

Jonathan and Nancy approach the others and you slowly follow, taking your time. Nancy reaches Steve first. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Steve retorts.

“We’re looking for Mike and Will.”

You grab Nancy’s jacket. “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“They’re not in there, are they?” Dustin motions towards the lab, fear in his voice.

Nancy lowers her voice. “We’re not sure.”

Jonathan senses there’s something else going on. “Why?”

Right on cue, the Demodogs begin to screech from the lab. Next to you, you feel Jonathan stiffen with fear. You know, without having to ask, that his family is stuck inside the lab. Suddenly the gash in your side stings in pain and you clutch at it and let out a wince. Hearing this, Jonathan finally realizes that you’re covered in blood.

“Oh my god,” his hands fall to your side as he scans for any other injuries. “You’re bleeding, oh my god.”

“I’m okay–”

“Fuck, bug. It looks bad–”

“Had a minor setback, we’re all good now though.”

Jonathan shakes his head at you, his eyes dripping with guilt; you know he’s already placed the blame upon himself long before he speaks. “I should’ve been there. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call, and then Nance and I came back to my home being wrecked and you weren’t at your place and I was worried sick and thought you were dead–”

You grab his hands, forcing him to slow down and breathe. “Hey, look at me.” Slowly, his eyes meet yours. “I’m okay, bee. I had to protect the kids, and I had Steve. I’m right here.”

Jonathan looks over at Steve, who is stuck in some argument between Nancy and the kids, and he lets out a tired laugh. He can’t believe that he’s here right now, tired and delirious from a long trip with Nancy as you hold his hands, your own blood covering them, while Steve spares you worried glances. “Friends with him again, then?”

“It was inevitable.” You sigh, knowing how heavy your words are. Truly, it was inevitable. He’s too much like you, your wounds a matching pair, and you never stood a chance against the inevitability. He’s an extension of you now, you can no longer deny this.

“Are you really okay, though?” Jonathan asks you, still concerned about how much blood is on you. He feels this tug within him, pulling at his chest to encase you within his arms and to never, ever let you out of his sight again.

There’s still a slight limp in your step that Jonathan sees when he thinks you aren’t looking, the scar on your upper arm is harsh against the smooth skin he’s come to memorize, disrupting the topography of your body. Now, you’ve once again gotten hurt because of him. Your favorite cardigan is ripped and bloodied and Jonathan knows it’s one more scar he’s inexplicably given you.

The scars may fade, but he knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself. It’s the same heavy weight you feel within yourself over Will’s disappearance.

You notice that Jonathan’s eyes have glazed over in despair and you kiss his knuckles, bringing him back to you. “I promise I am.”

He nods, though he still looks unsure, but he pulls you in again for another hug. For a moment, everything is still. It reminds you of when you had been in Jonathan’s car last Christmas as he drove you home, the memories between you had gone still. You close your eyes, like you had last year, and for a moment nothing has changed.

“The power’s back!” Nancy exclaims, effectively shutting everyone up about who has seen what when.

You pull away from Jonathan. The urgence in her voice reminds you that everything has changed. There’s a scar on your upper arm that now has a matching scar on your ribcage. Jonathan has bags underneath his eyes that seem like they'll never go away.

You look away from him and look over at the kids and see, in Dustin’s and Lucas’ faces, the familiar fear and acceptance that they’re inevitably in danger. Steve catches your eye and he nods, indicating that whatever happens next, he’s ready whenever you are.

The seven of you quickly make your way back towards the lab’s gate, and Jonathan is the first to get there with you following close behind. The two of you stand in the patrol panel, Jonathan aggressively hitting the button designated for opening the gate, but nothing seems to be happening.

Suddenly Dustin barges in, roughly shoving past Jonathan and mumbling a soft sorry to you.

“Let me try.” Jonathan doesn’t move, which only aggravates your brother further and he flings the teen back. “Let me try, Jonathan!”

Jonathan looks at you incredulously, still having no idea why Dustin seems to suddenly hate him, and you stifle a laugh as you watch the boy repeatedly hit the button while nothing happens.

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin groans, still trying and failing to open the gate.

“Move over,” you shoulder past the kid and start pressing the button yourself. “It probably just doesn’t like you guys.”

Dustin and Jonathan both scoff at you, but you ignore them as you continue to press the button. You were mostly doing it to distract yourself, give your anxious mind something to do, but after a simple few taps, the gates unlock.

You cheer, immensely happy with yourself. “I did it! You guys just really do just suck!”

Jonathan shakes his head at you but offers his hand for you to high five, which you gladly do. As for your brother, he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation. You ignore the kid and follow Jonathan outside to join the others.

Once the gates have fully opened, you, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve all begin speaking at once.

“I’ll go,” you all say in unison.

The kids all stare at one another, wondering how this will go. It didn’t escape their notice that Jonathan and Nancy were alone together, and that Steve’s worry over you has strings attached to unspoken truths.

They may be young, but they can sense the tension between you and the teens pretty easily.

“No, someone has to stay with the kids.” Nancy reasons, looking over at Jonathan to back her up, and his eyes draw to hers naturally.

You see this, and you wonder when they became such a cohesive team.

“Bug, what are you thinking?” He asks, knowing that ultimately it’s your call. When it comes to the kids, you’re the one to turn to.

You bite your lip, unsure. Max, Lucas, and Dustin all stare at you, and you know the two boys want you to stay with them. They’ve been through hell tonight, so have you, but then you think about whatever has happened in the lab to Will and Mike.

Sighing, you walk over to Jonathan. “Nance is right. I’ll stay behind with Steve while you and her drive to the lab. They’ll need all the help they can get, and I’m currently in no condition to fight.”

Jonathan’s eyes once again fall to your wrapped side, uncertain if you’ll be safe enough out here. “You sure?”

“I’m sure, bee.” You kiss his cheek, fucking terrified something will go wrong. The lab is crawling with Demodogs. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

“Always,” he cups your face and brings his forehead to yours. “I’ll come back.”

You relish in the warmth and let out a shaky exhale. “Go get Will.”

The moment between you two is intimate; everyone around you looks away. Nancy stares down at her feet while Steve clenches his jaw.

After a few more seconds, you finally release yourself from Jonathan’s hold and turn towards Nancy. “That goes for you as well, Wheeler. Stay safe.”

She nods at you, spares Steve one last glance, and then follows after Jonathan into the car. Within seconds, they speed off down the road, towards Hawkin’s Lab as more Demodogs screech in the distance.

“Well that was awkward.” Max breaks the silence. “Sensing there’s a lot of history there.”

You snort, admiring the girl’s wit, and tiredly lean against the gate’s post. “Still have a lot to catch up on, Max.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just gently leans next to you against his own post and flips his flashlight in his hand.

Dustin starts to pace while Lucas stares at the sky, as if willing away every problem from the day, which you want to do yourself. However, your best friend is currently very close to a death lab that Will and Mike are inexplicably trapped in.

You try to calm your breathing, knowing it’s no use getting yourself worked up, but you’re terrified. Steve sees your unease and does his best to comfort you. “Hey, they’ll be okay. Jonathan is a smart guy and Nancy is tough as hell.”

Hearing Nancy’s name coming out of his mouth makes you realize that you haven’t asked him how he’s feeling about all of this, which makes you feel even shittier. He confessed to you last night how he still loves her, and here you are, worried about your friend who the guy’s ex girlfriend showed up with.

“Are you okay?” You ask him softly, worried you’ll scare him away.

Steve doesn’t ask what you mean; he knows and lets out a dry laugh. “Not the most ideal situation.”

You’re about to say more, but something seems to catch Max’s attention. “Guys?”

You look towards where she’s pointing and you hear the faint sounds of tires squealing against concrete. The same sound Billy’s car had made in the school parking lot days ago. As you piece this together, headlights light up the gate and the honking starts.

Immediately you and Steve rush over to the kids and push them away, narrowly avoiding being hit. As soon as the road is cleared, Hopper’s familiar truck brakes in front of you.

“Let’s go,” the man gruffs out, and you’ve never been happier to see that obnoxious cop’s face.

Steve runs over to the passenger door and holds it open while you usher the kids to go inside. “Come on, let’s go! Go, go, go!”

One by one you get the kids seated in the truck, and once you and Steve make sure they’re in safely, he motions for you to go next before he climbs inside and slams the door shut. You end up squished up front, in between Hopper and Steve.

“Drive!” You scream, and Hopper doesn’t need to be told twice before he stomps on the gas and follows after Jonathan’s car.

It’s silent for a few minutes as everyone steadies their breathing, processing what’s just happened. You rub at your side, the rough movements from earlier having upset the wound. Hopper notices this and raises an eyebrow at you. “Lose a fight?”

“Mhm,” you see that he’s dressed in hospital scrubs and raise your own eyebrows. “Got checked into a psych ward?”

Hopper lets out a short laugh and you can see the exhaustion behind his eyes, but he plays along and you’re grateful for it. “Yeah, figured it was time.”

–

The Byers’ home is a disaster when you walk in. The walls are covered with pictures drawn by Will, a map that he somehow came to piece together, of an entire underground tunnel system that the Demodogs now reside in.

You sit on the ground next to Will, who has been placed on the couch while he’s still unconscious, and you hold his cold, limp hand as Jonathan kneels next to the boy and strokes his hair.

“I’m sorry, bud.” He whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”

You grab Jonathan’s own hand. “He wouldn’t blame you. You couldn’t have known.”

Nancy places a hand on his shoulder as she watches over him, a certain concern in her eyes that you’ve never quite seen before. She’s always been the most guarded out of the three of you, but now she’s rubbing comforting circles into Jonathan’s back; you’ve never seen her so open before, so affectionate with someone.

You noticed how much closer they seemed earlier at the lab, how the tension between them now appears to be gone. You know that something happened on their spy adventure, you know they’d been alone together, probably gotten a motel room, even. Your stomach twists at the thought, but Will’s cold hand is a reminder that none of that matters right now. Like last year, he comes first.

“We’ll figure it out, bee. We always do.” You kiss Jonathan’s cheek, not knowing how many more times you’ll be able to do so, and you try to memorize how his face feels pressed against yours, the way your nose buries into his skin and the way he leans into the kiss each and every time.

Jonathan sniffles and thanks you, pulling you into his side as he continues to stroke Will’s hair. Nancy remains standing, and when you look up to offer her to sit next to you, you finally notice Steve standing in the corner, watching.

He’s holding himself as he watches the three of you and, despite how he tries to hide it, you see Steve wipe at his nose and blink away tears; he’s never looked so small before, and your heart breaks for him as he walks out of the room.

You excuse yourself to follow after him, bypassing Hopper who is angrily trying to contact some government people to alert them about Hawkin’s Lab.

Steve walks into the kitchen and faces the drawings on the wall, his back turned away from everyone in a pathetic attempt to gain some privacy. Slowly, you approach him and stand to his left. You know he senses your presence, but he continues to stare straight ahead.

“You want to talk about it?” You ask, voice low so no one else in the kitchen can hear.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head, it’s all of a response he can give you right now. He’s worried that if he tries to speak, he’ll start crying. His worst fear has come true. He’s been replaced.

Tentatively, you grab his hand and bring your lips to his ear. “Can I?”

You feel Steve shiver, his breath is shaky, and though he isn’t quite sure what you’re asking him, he nods anyways.

He will always say yes to you.

The moment Steve nods, you tug at the hand you’re holding and bring his arms around you; he practically melts in your arms. Releasing another shaky breath, he buries his face in your hair and inhales your perfume as if gasping for air. He brings a hand to your hair as he cradles the back of your head, bringing you even closer together.

For the first time in Steve’s life, his mind goes quiet.

You’re aware of everyone else in the room, you know you’ll have to deal with the kids’ nosy questions later, but you don’t care. Steve needs you, and the way he’s clinging onto you as you hug tells you everything you need to know.

He’s barely holding it together, so you discretely shift so that the others can’t see as you attempt to piece him back together with your arms tightening around him and your fingers intertwining through his hair as well.

Your ribs scream in protest as you lean against the boy, but the pain reassures you that you are alive and sharing this pain with someone you’ve come to care deeply about.

“I’m here,” you whisper, feeling Steve’s body shake at the reassurance. “It’s just you and me right now, okay?”

He nods, still too scared to speak. The two of you remain interlocked in the kitchen you grew up in, surrounded by Will’s drawings and memories of early morning breakfasts with Jonathan, and Dustin watches from the kitchen table.

Lucas watches as well and shares a glance with your brother, who can only shake his head and sigh. He knows, sooner or later, that he’ll have to ask you about Steve, he’s never seen you like this before, not even with Jonathan, but for now he leaves you both alone.

When Hopper angrily hangs up the phone, Dustin uses it as an opportunity to distract himself. “They didn’t believe you, did they?”

“We’ll see,” Hopper sighs, tired.

“‘We’ll see’? We can’t just sit here while those things are loose!” Mike exclaims, his foot tapping nervously underneath the table.

The chief sighs again, now spotting you and Steve still holding each other in the corner. “Hey, Henderson and pretty boy, get a room. Mike, we stay here and we wait for help.”

Hearing your name, you finally break apart from Steve and send Hopper an embarrassed glare, clearing your throat. Steve clears his throat as well and takes several steps away from you. His cheeks flaming red.

“Did he call me pretty boy?” Steve whispers to you, but you shush him, instead walking over to Mike, who has now started to tap his foot even more aggressively.

Standing behind the boy, you rub his shoulder, unsure how to help the boy. You know he’s worried about Will and he’s always hated waiting almost as much as you do. At your touch, Mike turns his head to look up at you, and the fire that’s always been in his eyes has died.

You look around the table, it’s quiet. Max is playing with her fingernails, Lucas is staring at the table with tears in his eyes, and Dustin is watching as you try to comfort Mike. All the kids are in their own state of shock and grief. They’re too young for all of this.

Meanwhile, Steve hangs back by the corner, knowing that this is what you do best: you take care of people. He watches as you furrow your brows for a second, a slight quirk he’s picked up about you, and slowly he sees you piece together how to help the kids you love so dearly.

You start with leaning against the table, wedged between Dustin and Mike, and somehow–Steve has always wondered how you do this–you light up the cold room with warmth.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of this by yourself,” you stroke Mike’s hair, it’s rare that you get to do this, but he remains numb to your touch. “Had I known any of this would happen, I would’ve made you more fudge brownies.”

Though it’s small, almost imperceptible, Mike lets out a tiny huff, a placeholder of a laugh.

At least it’s a start.

You whisper more words to him as Dustin leans against your back, grounded by your presence, and Max watches this with interested yet envious eyes. She still has yet to grow used to your kindness, to the love you share with the boys: a sibling relationship she’s never had before.

As you’re comforting Mike, his eyes wander towards the living room and suddenly he gets up. You watch, curious as to what he’s doing, as he grabs a cube and delicately rolls it around in his hand.

“Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?”

At the mention of Bob’s name, you bring Dustin closer to you. With everything that’s happened tonight, the reminder of the man’s death fills you with raw, unfiltered grief. When you arrived at the Byers home and found a distraught Joyce, you knew.

Bob is dead, and he has taken all the kindness he shared with you. He was a sweet man, one who took you in without any question as soon as he started dating Joyce, a man who offered you rides to work and encouraged you to stop by his own job any time. The same man who brought the woman who is like a second mother to you, back to life.

Your heart breaks for Joyce, for Will and Jonathan and all the other kids.

Bob Newby truly was a superhero, everyone he ever interacted with came out a better person because of it. He never left anyone without a smile on their face, and now he’s gone.

Once you’ve managed to swallow down your grief, you voice from the kitchen, “I didn’t know that.”

Mike turns to you. “He petitioned the school to start it and everything, and then he had a fund-raiser for equipment. Mr. Clark learned everything from him.” There’s light in his voice as he approaches the table again, a spark as if the fire is trying to relight itself. “Pretty awesome, right?”

Dustin and Lucas nod, faint smiles on their own faces. “Yeah.”

Mike sets the cube down. “We can’t let him die in vain.”

You agree with him, but how could you possibly accomplish something like that>

“What do you want to do, Mike?” Dustin lifts his head up, frustrated. “The Chief’s right on this. We can’t stop those Demodogs on our own.”

“Demodogs?” Max finally speaks up.

You sigh, tired of hearing your brother’s explanation of his made up name. “Please don’t ask–”

“Demogorgon, dog. Demodog.” Your brother explains, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Demodogs. It’s like a compound… It’s like a play on words–”

“Okay!” You and Max say at once, cutting off his spiel.

“I mean, when it was just Dart, maybe…”

You snort at Dustin. “Tell that to my ribcage.”

The boy glares at you and Lucas takes over, reigning you both back in. “But there’s an army now.”

“Precisely,” Dustin sighs in defeat.

Mike, who has been quiet the entire conversation, realizes something. “His army.”

Steve looks around, confused. “What do you mean?”

“His army!” Mike faces everyone, and the fire behind his eyes now fully alive, and you know he’s come up with some genius plan like his sister always does. “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army too.”

Dustin and Lucas share a glance and seem to be understanding what Mike is saying, but you look to Steve, equally as lost as he is, before Mike runs out the room while the others follow.

“Any idea what that kid is saying?” The teen asks you, but you shake your head.

“On a good day, I understand maybe a quarter of what Mike says. However, with significant blood loss and no real meals in me, I’m afraid I have no fucking idea what’s happening.��

“Cool,” Steve steps closer to you and motions for you to guide the way. “Let’s follow, then.”

You find the kids in Will’s room, all standing over a picture that the boy drew. In it is a looming figure with four long limbs, its figure thin and haunting as it stalks over the picture. Seeing the drawing, you get an uneasy feeling.

“The doctor said it was like a virus, it infected him.” Mike is explaining, speaking so fast you can barely keep up as you and Steve stand in the doorway.

“What virus?” You ask, now standing next to the kids.

Mike hands you the picture. “The shadow monster, it got Will that day at the field.”

“And this virus… It’s connecting him to the tunnels?” Max seems to be following along better than you are, which is quite depressing.

“The tunnels, monsters, the Upside Down, everything.”

Something within your stomach drops, the familiar weight of guilt follows it. “Will is still connected to the Upside Down?”

“Whoa, slow down,” Steve steps in now, sensing your panic, and tries to rectify the situation. “Let’s all just slow down.”

Mike groans. “The shadow monster is inside everything, and if the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will.”

Again, guilt throws itself against you with all its weight, and you feel each thud against your body like a hammer feels a nail.

Lucas nods. “And so does Dart.”

“Like what Mr. Clark taught us. The hive mind.” Mike follows.

You’re silent, staring at the picture still in your hands.

Steve crosses his arms. “Hive mind?”

“A collective consciousness, a super organism.” You hear Dustin clarify, but it’s all beginning to blur together for you.

All you can think is that you’re the reason Will has become entangled in all of this, in alternate dimensions, infected with a monster so powerful that it can create vast tunnels underneath your feet and monsters bred to kill.

Mike is on a roll now, it’s all clicking together. “And this is the thing that controls everything. It’s the brain–”

“Like the mind flayer,” Dustin realizes, which causes both Lucas and Mike to stop in their tracks.

It seems the boys have figured it all out, then.

And it seems to you that old scars will never fade, not in the way that they should.

Swallowing down your nausea and tears and guilt, you finally speak. “Explain everything to me.”

–

Dustin throws the DnD book onto the Byers’ kitchen table, beginning to explain everything as everyone gathers around.

You stand next to him, Steve to your right, and watch as your brother commands the room as if he was born to do so. As he explains, you look around and everyone. Jonathan stands next to Lucas, facing across from you, and Nancy finds herself standing to your left, worried.

“Oh my god, none of this is real,” Hopper is already over the entire situation, which annoys you. “This is a kid’s game.”

“I’m sorry, but those Demodogs that just attacked us are logical to you?” You snap at the cop, completely baffled that he for some reason decided to draw the line at a DnD reference rather than literal demons from another dimension.

Hopper narrows his eyes at you, but before he can say anything, Jonathan shrugs his shoulders. “Y/N has a point, you know.”

“Okay, before we all start fighting, I just want to point out that this,” Dustin points to the book on the table. “Is a manuel, and it’s not for kids. Unless you know something that we don’t, this is the best metaphor–”

“Analogy.” Lucas interrupts.

“Analogy, that’s what you’re worried about?” You grab at Dustin’s jacket to try and settle him down, but he’s angry and annoyed and you know it’s been a long day for everyone. “Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is!”

Nancy sees you struggling with the boy and tries to step in. “Okay, so this mind flamer thing–”

“Flayer,” you gently correct.

“What does it want?”

Dustin bites his lip. “To conquer us, basically. It believes it’s the master race.”

Steve, who is leaning next to Dustin and you, snaps his finger. “Like the Germans?”

“Uh… The Nazis?” Your brother looks at you, silently urging you to shut the teen up, and you pinch your nose again and sigh.

“Oh, buddy.” You loop your arm through his and pat Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s just listen, okay?”

Steve tries to say more but you hold your finger up, indicating that you won’t listen to whatever he’s about to say, and he rolls his eyes at you but rests his free hand against the one you have on his arm.

However, when Lucas announces that you could all be dealing with the end of the world, Steve lets out a dry laugh and tries to pull away from you, freaking out. “That’s great! That’s really great, jesus!”

You pull him back by the arm, forcing him to stand next to you and calm down, and he doesn’t try to fight it. Though he’s scared out of his fucking mind and in over his head, he listens to your silent command and comes back to you. Once he’s still, you unwrap your arm from his and bring that hand to the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs there to try and soothe him.

Steve leans into your touch, his shoulders start to relax, and you know he’s slowly calming down.

Jonathan sees this interaction and catches your eye, and when he has your attention, he flashes you a knowing smirk as he mouths, friendly, aren’t we?

You narrow your eyes and subtly point between him and Nancy, mouthing back, you’re one to talk, which effectively shuts Jonathan up and he diverts his eyes again, going back to focusing on what Dustin and the others are saying.

“No, no fireballs,” Dustin is explaining to Hopper. “Instead, you–uh. You summon an undead army and… Uh, because… Zombies, ya know? They don’t–uh, have brains and the–the mind flayer, it, uh, likes brains.”

When your brother sees you shaking your head in disappointment and Hopper’s barely controlled anger, he quickly finishes with, “It’s just a game.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You did well explaining, buddy.”

Dustin gives you a weak thumbs up as Hopper angrily throws the book down. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“I thought we were waiting for your military backup.” Dustin retorts, and you quickly raise your hand for a high five, which he gladly accepts.

Hopper sees this and rolls his eyes. “We are!”

“But even if they come, how are they gonna stop this? You can’t just shoot this with guns!” Mike quips, and you give him a high five as well.

“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything!” Hopper roars, and it takes everything within you not to flinch at his raised voice.

“We do know, actually.” You say, voice quiet but stern as you try to steady your heartbeat. You’ve never, ever been able to hear a man yelling at you without some form of panic clawing at your chest. “Ask Nancy about the guns. We fought a fully grown Demodog last year, you seem to conveniently forget that.”

Hopper clenches his jaw. “Every time I start to like you, you piss me off again.”

“It’s a skill.”

Everyone begins to argue again, Hopper with you while Dustin, Lucas, and Mike take your side to try and reason with the cop, before a frail, broken voice silences you all.

“They’re right.” Joyce stumbles from her room, her face still wet with tears as grief overtakes her.

“Mrs. Byers,” you breathe out, immediately walking over to the woman to stand by her side, but she gently pushes you away.

“We have to kill it.” Anger slowly spills into her voice. “I want to kill it.”

Hopper joins your side now, the two of you surrounding the woman. “Me too, Joyce. Okay? But how do we do that? We don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here.”

“We don’t know what could happen to Will,” you urge, understanding Joyce’s anger but terrified of how it may affect her son.

“If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it’s Will.” Mike begins to walk over to the boy, who is still knocked out cold on the couch. “He’s connected to it. He’ll know its weakness.”

Everyone stands in the living room now, and dread encases its hand around your throat. You don’t want to make Will any more involved in this than he needs to be, he’s been through too much.

Max cocks her head. “I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore. That he’s a spy for the mind flayer now.”

“We can always trust Will.” There’s an edge to your voice, and Jonathan has to grab your hand to steady you.

Mike nods, understanding what you’re trying to voice. “I know, Y/N. We can always trust him, and he can’t spy if he doesn’t know where he is.”

–

Somehow, Steve gets paired up with Nancy to cover the inside of the Byers’ shed with tarps.

One minute Steve had been standing behind you in the living room as Mike explained his plan, and the next minute he was being auctioned off to join his ex in a small shed while you got to happily team up with Jonathan and his mom.

It was unfair, really.

While he’s moping about his luck, Nancy hesitantly looks at Steve, clearly also as equally uncomfortable in the silence. She lingers as Steve begins to hang up another tarp and she tears a piece of tape for him, waiting.

She watches as Steve’s body stretches the length of the wall and realizes that this is the first time they’ve been alone together since their conversation at school, and that his languid movements are foreign to her.

Nancy hasn’t seen him so at ease in a long, long time.

She thinks about how you’d been with him these last few days while she had been with Jonathan, and she wonders what else may have possibly changed in such a short amount of time.

“Hey,” she finally says, the silence clawing at her. “What you did, um… Helping the kids, that was really cool.”

Steve still looks at Nancy with such sincerity and warmth, something that makes her stomach twist with guilt. He doesn’t know what she’s done just yet, and she doesn’t know if he has a right to even care at all.

“Yeah,” he exhales, breaking the eye contact first. “Those little shits are real trouble, ya know?”

Nancy finds herself laughing, grateful he seems open to talking to her. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s a miracle that Y/N survived so long on her own.” Steve says absentmindedly, returning to hanging up the tarp.

Hearing your name causes Nancy’s stomach to twist again. Steve may not have pieced everything together just yet, but she knows that you have. You’ve always been able to read people well, too well, even.

Jonathan wasn’t yours and she wasn’t Steve’s, yet Nancy feels an overwhelming sense of guilt for the two of you.

“It’s nice that you were there for her,” Nancy avoids looking at Steve again.

“Y/N has been there for everyone else, so I figured it was time that someone was finally there for her?” He shakes his head, unsure what he’s even saying. “I just… I wanted to help her.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything, she only nods and continues tearing off more pieces of tape.

You’re too good, everyone knows this, and sometimes Nancy finds herself resenting you for it, even though none of it is your fault.

–

Jonathan tears down another bedsheet from the clothing line and tosses it into the growing pile of sheets and bedding in your arms; he yanks them down, you catch, and then he cuts the lines with the knives you loaned him.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Jonathan asks his mom, who has joined the two of you to collect her own pile of sheets to cover the shed.

Joyce nods, the familiar frantic look in her eyes from last year is now back. “He knew who I was. He’s still in there. It’s gonna work, it has to.”

You peek from behind the pile of cloth you’re holding. “Who knows, maybe we can finally prove whether or not Freud’s theory of consciousness is correct.”

Jonathan doesn’t understand what you mean, but Joyce sends you a grateful smile, appreciative that you’re trying to remain optimistic despite the situation, and then leaves before her son can question the plan once more.

As soon as the two of you are alone, Jonathan puts your switchblade in his pocket and then faces you, not wasting a second to finally have you to himself. “Okay, tell me everything I missed while I was gone.”

His eager curiosity makes you smile. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but aren’t we on a time limit?”

“I think we can spare a few minutes, bug.”

“Fine, but at least grab some of these sheets so I can actually look at you while I talk.”

Jonathan laughs and does as he’s told, grabbing some of the cloth you’re holding and lessening the weight of it for you. Once he’s able to see your face, he smiles warmly at you. “Hi,”

“Hi, bee.” The greeting drips from your mouth like pure honey, and with two simple words, Jonathan can feel himself finally begin to relax.

“So,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Go on.”

You take a deep breath, knowing that what you’re about to tell Jonathan will remove the carefree smile on his face. He’ll only blame himself, and you hate the responsibility he seems to feel for you.

“The only major thing, well… Besides the Demodogs, is that I spilled milk all over Billy, the guy you punched at the Halloween party.”

Jonathan gapes at you. “What?”

“Yeah, it was kinda awesome, honestly. He was being a bitch, accusing me and Steve of getting together to piss you and Nance off, and he was just being an overall creep, so… I spilled milk on him to get him to shut up so that Steve wouldn’t end up knocking the guy out.”

“Wait, Steve was there?” He tries to keep his voice level, but even Jonathan can hear the underlying hurt within his voice.

He’s not sure why the hurt is there, or why the thought of Steve being the one now protecting you sends a punch to his throat.

“Yeah,” you frown at him, confused by his sudden shift in mood. “He was with me in the lunchroom, wanted to know where you and Nance had run off to.”

Jonathan swallows. “I’m glad he was there, bug.”

And he is, he knows he is, but he also knows that it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the shift that has come between the two of you. How it was only thirty minutes ago that you had wrapped your arm around Steve’s, not Jonathan’s.

He clears his throat. “So, about Steve…”

“What about him?” You feign ignorance, but Jonathan sees the blush that has started to spread across your face.

“You’re blushing, bug.” It hurts him to tease, but he knows he has to. Jonathan has to play the role he had been given when he was twelve and had met you that day on Nancy’s front porch.

The same girl he slept with last night, who he has come to love with such devotion that he still struggles to accept within himself.

They haven’t talked about it, at least not yet, but all the unsaid truths between you and Jonathan hang over him. He can feel the lines and threads and strings all closing in on you two, and he knows you can also sense it as well.

“It’s nothing, bee.” You start walking towards the shed, uncomfortable now. You don’t want Jonathan’s teasing, not when it comes to Steve; it’s too painful, you still haven’t quite come to terms with your newfound feelings for the boy.

Not when you haven’t laid your feelings for Jonathan to rest, yet.

It wouldn’t be fair to Steve.

Jonathan steps in front of you, blocking your path. He feels as if he’s about to lose you, and for the first time since he’s met you, he doesn’t know how to make you stay. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just… I know you.”

His words burn.

“Let’s just get back to the shed–”

“Bug,” he blocks your path again. He’s not ready to lose you just yet, but he knows he will soon. It’s inevitable. “I know you, and when you’re around Steve, you just… You’re different, a–a good different, and–”

“Jonathan, I really don’t want to talk about this,” you plead, but he hears the at least not with you that goes unsaid. “Why don’t you focus on your newly formed relationship with Nancy, okay?”

Jonathan stumbles over his feet. “You–you know?”

“I know you,” you echo his words from moments ago, with its melancholy and all.

He sighs, steps to the side, and lets you go.

It’s quiet after that.

–

In the shed, everyone busies themselves with their tasks.

You, Steve, and Lucas run around with nail guns and tape for those who need it. The rest of the kids work as a unit, helping one another with covering every inch of wall they can find. Meanwhile, Nancy wraps newspaper around the poles while Jonathan carries Will through the door.

Seeing Will, limp within Jonathan’s arms, only reminds you of the dead body that had been pulled from the quarry last year.

Only this time it really is Will.

Together, you and Jonathan gently place the boy in the chair and tie him. You ignore the way your heart clenches as you knot the cords together; you’re doing this to save him. Joyce prepares the medicine needed to knock Will out, in case anything happens, and as you watch, Lucas and Mike switch on the overhead lamps, blinding you.

“Christ,” you mumble, holding your hand up to shield your eyes from the light.

“It works,” Mike looks at you, hopeful. “It’s gonna work.”

Hopper steps forward, facing everyone. “If you aren’t related to the Byers family, get out.” While everyone begins to leave, you and Mike remain where you are. When Hopper sees this, he frowns. “What did I just say?”

Dustin and Steve linger in the doorway, both silently asking you what the plan is, and you give them a slight nod to indicate that it’s okay. You’ll join them later, right now Will needs you and you sure as hell aren’t leaving Mike and Jonathan alone to deal with this.

“Y/N is family, Hop.” Joyce stands next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You smile at her before facing the chief. “I’m staying.”

“Me, too.” Mike echos, standing his own ground against the man, and you refrain from giving him another high five for his bravery.

Better not to upset Hopper too much more.

The man in question groans, too tired to argue. “Fine, you two can stay, but only because I know that if I don’t let Henderson stay then Jonathan will probably have a panic attack or something.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Probably.”

Dustin rushes over to you and gives you a tight hug. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you kiss the top of his hat, catching Steve’s eye in the process. “Take care of him, please?”

Steve nods, without any hesitation to do as you’ve asked. “Of course.”

And with that, the door to the shed closes as the last of the group leaves.

It’s silent after that, and you take a second to admire the work everyone did. The shed is completely unrecognizable, and the lights will only further limit Will’s vision. A part of you truly believes that this plan could work, but you’ve long since stopped letting your hope get the better of you.

“Alright, you ready?” Hopper looks over at Joyce, holding the ammonia needed to wake Will up.

“Yeah,” the woman crosses her arms, and you want to reach out and hold her.

Everyone is quiet as Hopper crouches in front of Will and dabs some ammonia onto a cotton ball. Then, slowly, he brings it up to the boy’s face and waits for him to inhale. When he does, Will’s eyes snap open and he inhales so sharply that you’re worried he’s hurt himself.

You stand in between Mike and Jonathan, and seeing the pure fear on Will’s face brings tears to your eyes. He reminds you of a deer, small and frail, with eyes so full of fear that it makes you ache.

Will’s eyes dart around the room, and when he notices that he’s tied to the chair, he begins to tug at the cords. “What–what is this? Why am I tied up?”

“Will, we just wanna talk to you,” Joyce softly tells him, now eye level with the boy as she does her best to calm him down. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Where am I?” The fear that had once been in Will’s voice is gone, now replaced with an anger that seems so foreign to associate with the boy.

Hopper joins now, showing him the picture of the mind flayer that he drew. “You recognize this?”

Will shakes his head and looks over at you, now realizing that you’re there, and you force yourself to look away. He’s always been the sweetest boy, but he killed so many innocent people today, even if he hadn’t meant to.

You trust Will, you do, but you remind yourself that the boy in front of you isn’t really him.

“We wanna help you,” Joyce tries to reassure him again. “But to do that, we have to understand how to kill it.”

At the mention of killing, Will’s eyes widen as more anger seeps through him, now shouting at his mother, “Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up?”

He begins to thrash around, throwing his head back against the wall as he repeatedly screams and begs to be let go. The lights are now flickering and immediately you draw Mike into your chest, trying to mask your own tears as you comfort him.

Jonathan clings behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buries his face into your shoulder, and blindly you reach behind yourself so you can hold him as well. When you feel his tears spill against your skin, you wrap your arms tighter around Mike and cry.

Will continues to scream, becoming more and more violent, and something demonic seems to crawl into his vocal chords as he screams.

You hold Mike and Jonathan tighter against you, doing everything you can to be there for the boys. You knew this would be difficult, but as the lights continue to flicker and Will’s pale face quickly becomes paler with every plea, you feel weak.

With Jonathan behind you and Mike in front of you, both boys clinging onto you as sobs wrack your own body, it becomes unclear who is being held up and who is the one holding.

Hopper has his own arms wrapped around Will, and slowly, miraculously, his pleas begin to fade off. Exhaustion seems to overtake the boy, as he starts to mumble more than scream, and with every exhaled breath, the light’s flickering settles down.

Finally, silence.

The only sound in the shed is Will’s labored breaths, alongside your own.

Joyce sits in the chair placed in front of Will, takes a moment to find her words, and then asks the boy, “Do you know what March 22nd is?”

You do, it’s Will’s birthday, and you listen as Joyce talks about his eighth birthday and how she had gotten him a giant box of crayons and he had used all the colors to draw a rainbow ship. With every word, more despair and love fills the woman’s voice as she reflects on how proud she is of him, how much she loves him, and you have to turn away for a moment to wipe at your eyes.

After Joyce has finished her story, you all see something within Will. As if he’s coming back to himself, his eyes no longer holding the malic from earlier.

Jonathan detangles himself from you and wipes his eyes as well, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Do you remember the day dad left?”

You turn around, already knowing the story that he’s about to tell, and you press a soft kiss to Mike’s forehead before joining Jonathan at Will’s side. He can’t be alone when he retells this story, because he hadn’t been alone when it happened.

“We stayed up all night building Castle Byers,” Jonathan reflects, nudging you as you crouch down in front of Will as well. “It was Y/N’s idea to build it just the way you drew it.”

“You loved the idea,” your voice cracks, but you try to hide it so that you don’t scare the boy.

You remember how Will’s face lit up when you surprised him with the idea. He hadn’t left his room in hours, blaming himself for Lonnie leaving, and Jonathan had shown up at your window, in tears as he confessed that he didn’t know how to help Will.

After yanking the teen into your room and sitting him down on your bed, you had told him that Will simply needed someone there for him, to remind him that he was good and lovely and that everything that Lonnie had ever said was wrong.

Later that day, the two of you showed up to the hardware store; two young teens with only pocket change as currency, and you’d bought all the supplies needed for Castle Byers.

“And it took so long because you were so bad at hammering.” The fondness of the memory causes Jonathan to laugh, and you do so as well as you remember just how many times Will had accidentally hit his fingers rather than the nail. “You missed the nail every time.”

“I thought you’d lose a finger, honestly.” You add, which Joyce laughs at.

Jonathan continues. “And then it started raining, but we stayed out there anyway. All of us were sick for like a week after that… But we just had to finish it, didn’t we? We just had to.”

You squeeze the teen’s hand and lean in closer to Will, sensing that it’s now your turn to speak. “Do you know what my nickname is for you?”

Will slowly nods, his eyes going to Jonathan and then back to you, indicating that he understands he’s your little bee.

“Little bee, that’s right.” It isn’t difficult to reminisce on your favorite memory with the boy, it comes to you immediately. “After we all had gotten the cold, do you remember the awful flu that Jonathan and Dustin somehow got like a week afterwards?”

Jonathan snorts, remembering how annoyed he had been for being so sick for so long. He had missed two whole weeks of school, and you were the one who had to bring his assignments to him and help with his homework.

“That weekend, our moms decided that it made more sense to send Jonathan to my house so he and Dustin could quarantine together, so I stayed at your house and we spent the entire weekend alone. Just you and me.”

You smile softly, the memory fresh and warm like an early spring day. You love Jonathan and Dustin endlessly, but being alone with Will was special. A rare occasion that the two of you always relished in. “That weekend, we watched all your favorite movies and I taught you how to bake the cookies you love so much… You taught me how to draw, and together we were happy.”

Your voice breaks again, the warmth of the memory slightly stings as you gaze into Will’s sunken eyes. Two years ago you had all of Will, his happiness genuine and his heart kind, and now you’re terrified you’ll never have that version of him back ever again.

Jonathan notices your hesitancy and strokes your face gently. “Go on,”

You grab the hand on your face and kiss it, grateful for the strength he’s loaning you. “We–we were almost sad when Dustin and Jonathan got better, because we had enjoyed our little weekend getaway.”

Joyce lets out a shaky breath as she reaches for you as well, her hand landing against your shoulder, a place she has long since inhabited for herself whenever she wants to express her love for you. She knows how fiercely you love her sons, and she remembers all the laughter and joy she heard that weekend within her home, a home that had long since stopped being warm for her.

“That weekend…” You force down the sobs that threaten to spill over. You have to finish the story, to remind Will of who he is again. He has to come back to you. “That weekend, you became my little bee.”

As soon as you say Will’s nickname, you lean away from the boy and try to collect yourself. You’ve said all that you physically can for now, and you hope it was enough. You hope, more than anything, that it will be enough to bring Will home again.

Mike steps forward now, and Will turns his head to him. “Do you remember the first day that we met?”

You notice the tear that falls down the boy’s face, and you lean your head against Jonathan’s shoulder in exhaustion as you listen to his story. It’s one you’ve never heard before, and it’s rare to see Mike so vulnerable with his feelings.

“It was… It was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends, and–and I just felt so alone and so scared but–” More tears come. “I saw you on the swings and you were alone, too. You were just swinging by yourself.”

Jonathan’s hand finds your hair as you both listen, and you know he’s thinking the same as you. How finding your person in a world so vast and lonely can bring you to life.

“I just walked up to you and… I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend, and you said yes.” Mike swallows, now diverting his eyes away from everyone. “You said yes, and it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Mike finishes with more tears, and you walk over to him so that he can hide his face against you. You know he wants to be alone right now, that he hates how exposed his emotions are, and as soon as you’ve wrapped your arms around the boy he buries his face in your chest and softly cries.

You do your best to shield him from the world.

Meanwhile, Joyce tries again to reach Will. “Will, baby. If you’re in there, just please… Please talk to us. Please, honey, can you do that for me? I love you so much.”

Something seems to collapse within Will, he fights back tears as his breathing becomes labored again. For a moment, you think it’s worked, that he’ll finally come back and you’ll have your little bee again.

“Let me go.” Will demands again, and you feel everyone’s heart in the room drop.

It’s quiet for several moments, but there’s a faint tapping that you hear. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but you’re sure that it hadn’t been there moments ago. You look around the room and see Hopper doing the same.

When your eyes meet his, he tilts his head at you as if to ask if you hear it too. You nod, and Hopper looks around once more before he freezes.

“Out,” Hopper suddenly orders, leaving no time for anyone to argue as he flings the shed door open and marches towards the Byers home.

–

“What happened?” Dustin immediately asks as soon as you enter the house.

“We think we found something,” you inform him, pointing to Hopper, who has now sat down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper.

Everyone gathers around him as he starts to scribble a series of lines and dots. “I think he’s talking, just not with words.

“What is that?” Steve asks, lost as to how lines and dots are so important.

“Morse code,” all the boys answer in unison.

Steve leans over you and whispers, “Why do they always do that?”

“You get used to it. Now shush.”

Hopper spells out the letters he remembers Will tapping. “H-E-R-E.”

“Here.” Everyone says out loud.

“Will is still in there. He’s talking to us.” The chief says, looking at Joyce.

Your eyes meet Jonathan’s and an idea comes to you. “If the memories we’re telling him are working, then what about music?”

Hopper thinks for a moment, but Jonathan has already run to his room to grab his stereo and cassette tapes, understanding exactly what you’re thinking.

A plan forms from there.

You, Jonathan, Mike, and Joyce all take turns telling Will stories while his favorite song plays. Should I Stay or Should I Go? Plays within the shed as memories fill it with warmth and Hopper taps out on a walkie everything that Will taps.

Inside the house, the kids, Nancy, and Steve all listen to the walkie and write down the morse code to decipher what Will is saying.

Jonathan tells him about real music, Mike recounts the time Will saved the party during one of their campaigns, Joyce talks about a kind moment from his childhood, and you tell him about the wonderful drawing he made for your birthday. The one of you, Jonathan, and the party fighting a dragon.

“You drew me as a princess and Jonathan laughed when he saw it. Said it was very fitting.” You say, nervously watching as Will frantically taps against his chair. “When you gave me the picture, I think I almost squeezed you to death when I hugged you. It’s still the best birthday gift I’ve ever been given–”

The sound of a telephone ringing cuts you off, and Will snaps his head up, no longer paying any attention to you.

You freeze, now realizing that the music has shut off. Will has to have heard it, and you know he’ll figure out where you guys are. His eyes droop shut and you slowly back away into Jonathan, who grabs you and pulls you even further away. He’s tense, you both are.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Joyce tries to draw Will back in, but he’s starting to pant as his eyes flutter rapidly underneath his eyelids.

“It knows. It knows where we are.” Hopper says as Joyce reaches for the sedative.

With one fluid movement, she injects Will and immediately he knocks out. His head falls forward, his breathing now back to normal. You pull at Joyce so that she faces you. “Did we knock him out in time?”

She doesn’t say anything, and Hopper runs outside while Jonathan and Mike join. The two of you stand in the shed alone, silent, both filled with dread.

Jonathan comes running back in. “They’re coming!”

“Shit!” You scramble to help him untie Will and you and Hopper use your knives to speed up the process. Your hands are shaking, but there’s no time to steady them.

Once Will is untied, Jonathan throws him over his shoulder and runs to the house. Joyce and Hopper follow and you grab Mike’s hand to make sure you don’t lose him. As you run, you hear the familiar screeches of the Demodogs and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

They’re close.

Inside, you take the lead and shove everyone out of the kitchen. “Get to the living room. Now!”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve is at your side now, his voice soft with fear.

You’re about to reassure him that it’ll be okay, to lie through your teeth, but then you see the kids by the windows and groan. “Get away from the windows!”

They scurry away and Hopper steps in, holding a shotgun that he offers to Jonathan. “Do you know how to use this?”

Jonathan looks around as if Hopper has asked someone else. “What?”

“Can you use this?”

While Jonathan stumbles over his words, Nancy confidently walks over. “I can.”

Hopper nods and tosses her the gun before turning to you, “I saw the switchblade earlier. Use it.”

You flick your wrist and extend the blades, doing as you’re told.

Everyone gathers around, with an assortment of weapons, and you get the insane urge to laugh. Of course you’re back here a year later, standing in Jonathan’s living room as monsters from another dimension threaten your loved ones.

Jonathan stands in front of Joyce while you stand in front of Dustin, knives raised to your face. Steve stands in front of you, his back facing you as he wields his bat, ready to defend you and your brother.

You make sure to keep an eye on Lucas and Max, who are to your left, trusting that Nancy has Mike as she and Hopper raise their guns.

All eyes are on the windows, no one says anything as you all wait. With every passing second, the howls and screeches outside get louder. Then, a loud screech comes from your right, and everyone turns around.

“What are they doing?” Nancy asks no one in particular, her voice shaky but her aim firm and strong.

You see the bushes rustling through the windows, and another snarl comes from the other side that causes you all to scream. There’s commotion outside, a series of screeches and thuds, and your body tenses, preparing itself to fight.

Suddenly, the screeching stops, and through the window a giant body gets thrown.

You scream and Steve shoves you and Dustin further behind him, but your brother realizes before you do what’s happened. “Holy shit.”

The Demodog lays motionless on the floor, its body limp, and you realize with a relieved sigh that it’s dead.

“Is it dead?” Max asks, as you all begin to approach its corpse.

“It is,” you confirm, too scared to ask the question of what the fuck killed it.

As Hopper pokes at the Demodog with his shoe, the front door creaks open, and everyone turns in alarm with weapons at the ready. The lock turns, and you feel a familiar sense of static. It’s been a year since you’ve felt the sensation, a year since the girl who could control things with her mind disappeared and left her memory behind.

It’s El.

She walks in, and you drop your knife in shock when you see that it’s her.

She’s grown so much since you last saw her, her hair is longer and she’s gotten taller. Her clothes are all black, her eyes smudged with makeup. Mike steps forward, you see the way his eyes fill with adoration.

You let out a soft cry, all the guilt and grief you’ve felt over the girl finally lifts, and you can breathe again.

She’s back.

El is alive.

-

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[lunareiitic]

HSR 1.6 SPOILERS AHEAD BE WARNED

I saw a discussion on Reddit earlier where someone talked about how gracious Herta is to Ruan Mei and felt that the plot shows that Ruan Mei is taking advantage of her and I felt like... it's not a bad conclusion to draw from the text but. It feels not correct. Like yes, Herta essentially does let RM do whatever she wants, especially with regards to the space station, and RM doesn't seem to be very thankful for it. (Setting aside the fact that it isn't really Herta's space station. Asta's the one who bankrolls and manages it. It's just got Herta's name on it. Herta is just as uncaring to the researchers lmao) But to call RM a "passive manipulator" (yes, I saw this take too) of her and nothing more I think... overlooks both of their personalities? Taking into account that both of these characters are essentially confirmed autistic (go see the official post about the Genius Society, you can't make this up) their dynamic is a little tragic but very true-to-life.

Herta is loud, pushy, and bratty. She's like a cat- she doesn't take no for an answer and the moment you try to get her to do something she doesn't want to do she goes limp and useless. She admires Ruan Mei because she's nothing like her. And RM would never push Herta to do anything. RM doesn't push. She doesn't even really manipulate. The woman cannot lie to save her life. All she did was ask Herta if she could use part of the space station and Herta obliged, and it sounds like she'd been waiting for Ruan Mei to finally ask her for something. RM doesn't really have a malicious bone in her body. That's what makes her so terrifying. People are often just willing to do as she asks and she makes no pretenses or illusions about herself, her motives, or her life. The closest she gets to lying is just not answering when pressed. She is so socially inept she has to drug the trailblazer into silence so they'll help her. And I think this is... out of embarrassment? If it were me, an autistic bitch who cannot lie to save my life, I would want to do something similar. She knows she's gotten herself into a situation because she left the incubator on too long and then the space station got attacked, but admitting that to Herta would wound her pride and also cause friction between them. You can tell that she brought the Trailblazer into that Genius meeting because she was afraid Herta and Screwllum had caught on to her, and once she realizes that it's just them debating about (in her eyes) nothing, she lets the Trailblazer go. I've seen people call that "callous", as if she was dropping them as soon as they were not useful to her. But she says why she does it basically immediately- she thinks it would bore us and she has something else more important that she needs our help with.

I think the part of Ruan Mei's character that people are overlooking right now is that Ruan Mei does care. Look at the story bit for Genius' Repose, where she serves machine oil in a teacup for Screwllum and promises to send a box of homemade sweets to Herta's flesh-and-blood body. She's the kind of person who is actively thinking of her mother and her grandmother and their little home in the snow every time she eats something sweet. Her creations are literally desperate with love. Love, love, love, love. Love that feels alien to her, love that she can't put into words, love that her alexithymia won't let her ascertain and compartmentalize. Love that is as elusive and vexing and important as that spark of the divine soul she's been chasing all this time. She loves and she loves deeply, to the point of obsession. But she's in love with the past as much as Herta is- their signature light cones both have them reflecting on a past version of themselves that they know they cannot have back. She quite literally brought her mother back to life because she couldn't bear to break a promise to her late grandmother (who... somehow, is still waiting for her... somewhere). She's a deeply sentimental person. Haven't you ever looked at other people and felt, even for just a moment, that you are apart from them? That they have something you lack? What if you let that feeling consume you? Ruan Mei yearns for a world that she cannot touch because she's lost the trees in the greater forest of her mind. She feels the need to become god because she feels so utterly alienated from the world around her. But she can't escape herself, no matter how far she runs.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that Herta and Ruan Mei are friends, even if Ruan Mei doesn't feel that she's capable of it. It makes a lot of sense that they're both ice too, element ruled primarily by The Remembrance. I wonder how they both feel about that?

[felix-lupin]

In Coraline, there’s a recurring theme with names and identity, and I personally don't think it's talked about enough. 

(As a note, this is dealing largely with the book, not the movie, although there are some hints of this theme in the movie as well)

Coraline’s neighbors constantly get her name wrong, calling her “Caroline” and not “Coraline”, to which she persistently corrects them. Despite her attempts, they never get it right, until chapter 10, in which Mr Bobo (Mr Bobinsky) finally gets it right.

"It's Coraline, Mister Bobo," said Coraline. "Not Caroline. Coraline." "Coraline," said Mr Bobo, repeating her name to himself with wonderment and respect. "Very good, Coraline."

It should be noted that, until this chapter, Coraline did not know Mr Bobo’s name either. In fact, it had never even occurred to her that he had a name. Up until then, she had just been thinking of him as “the crazy old man upstairs”, not as a person with a name. This moment, with her learning his name and him getting her name right, is a moment of genuine understanding and connection between the two, humanizing them both to each other.

Coraline’s other neighbors get her name wrong, which is representative of them not listening when she says anything, really, such as her telling Miss Spink and Forcible that her parents are missing and them literally not even acknowledging it at all??

"How are your dear mother and father?" asked Miss Spink. "Missing," said Coraline. "I haven't seen either of them since yesterday. I'm on my own. I think I've probably become a single child family." "Tell your mother that we found the Glasgow Empire press clippings we were telling her about. She seemed very interested when Miriam mentioned them to her." "She's vanished under mysterious circumstances," said Coraline, "and I believe my father has as well." "I'm afraid we'll be out all day tomorrow, Caroline lovely," said Miss Forcible. "We'll be staying with April's niece in Royal Tunbridge Wells."

Mr Bobo gets her name right after being corrected (only after being corrected alongside her using his name, mind you, showcasing her making an effort to listen to and understand him as well), which is representative of him actually making an attempt to listen and understand her. This point is further illustrated by a conversation Coraline had with the Other Mr Bobo in chapter 10.

As Coraline entered he began to talk. "Nothing's changed, little girl," he said, his voice sounding like the noise dry leaves make as they rustle across a pavement. "And what if you do everything you swore you would? What then? Nothing's changed. You'll go home. You'll be bored. You'll be ignored. No one will listen to you, not really listen to you. You're too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don't even get your name right."

He equates those in the real world not getting Coraline’s name right with them not listening to her, and fundamentally not understanding who she is. So, somebody getting her name right, then, shows them actually listening to her, and being willing to understand who she is.

The mice in the real world know more than they should be able to know, and they also get Coraline’s name right.

"The message is this. Don't go through the door." He paused. "Does that mean anything to you?" "No," said Coraline. The old man shrugged. "They are funny, the mice. They get things wrong. They got your name wrong, you know. They kept saying Coraline. Not Caroline. Not Caroline at all."

They seem to know about the other world, somehow, on some level, and the dangers it presents. Them getting her name right represents them knowing more than they should know, more than they are told. Animals in general seem to have this type of quality in Coraline, actually.

The cat does not have a name. It says so in chapter 4, that cats do not need names. It says that this is because cats know who they are. But humans need names, because they do not.

"Please. What's your name?" Coraline asked the cat. "Look, I'm Coraline. OK?" The cat yawned softly, carefully, revealing a mouth and tongue of astounding pinkness. "Cats don't have names," it said. "No?" said Coraline. "No," said the cat. "Now, you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names."

The cat shook its head. "No," it said. "I'm not the other anything. I'm me." It tipped its head on one side; green eyes glinted. "You people are spread all over the place. Cats, on the other hand, keep ourselves together. If you see what I mean."

This shows that, in humans, names are connected to our identities and who we are. Names are used to individualize and distinguish ourselves from each other. But cats do not need names to recognize each other, or be recognized.

"Oh. It's you," she said to the black cat. "See?" said the cat. "It wasn't so hard recognising me, was it? Even without names."

With or without names, it is still the same cat.

During the Other Miss Spink and Forcible’s performance, in chapter 4, they begin quoting Shakespeare. The specific quotes that they use are interesting to me when looked at under this lens of the importance of names, especially Miss Forcible’s.

"What's in a name?" asked Miss Forcible. "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"I know not how to tell thee who I am," said Miss Spink to Miss Forcible.

Now, of course, this is just them quoting Shakespeare. But. Why these quotes specifically? They’re at the very least notable when discussing Coraline’s recurring theme of names. Especially the quote about the rose. It makes me think of what the cat said earlier, about how cats are sure of who they are so they don’t need names, about how Coraline didn’t need the cat’s name to be able to recognize it for who/what it was.

But, of course, this does not apply for humans. We need our names to be able to know ourselves, to be able to tell others who they are.

In chapter 6, Coraline wakes up and is disoriented. This disorientation is compared to the feeling one might experience upon being suddenly pulled out of a daydream. In this comparison, forgetting one’s name is equated with forgetting who one is and where one is.

Sometimes Coraline would forget who she was while she was daydreaming that she was exploring the Arctic, or the Amazon rainforest, or darkest Africa, and it was not until someone tapped her on the shoulder or said her name that Coraline would come back from a million miles away with a start, and all in the fraction of a second have to remember who she was, and what her name was, and that she was even there at all. Now there was the sun on her face, and she was Coraline Jones. Yes.

The ghost children have also forgotten their names, and with it most of who they were. In chapter 7, when Coraline is locked behind the mirror in the Other World, one of the ghost children says that names are the first things that one forgets after death.

"Who are you?" whispered Coraline. "Names, names, names," said another voice, all faraway and lost. "The names are the first thing to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names. I still keep pictures in my mind of my governess on some May morning, carrying my hoop and stick, and the morning sun behind her, and all the tulips bobbing in the breeze. But I have forgotten the name of my governess, and of the tulips too." "I don't think tulips have names," said Coraline. "They're just tulips." "Perhaps," said the voice sadly. "But I have always thought that these tulips must have had names. They were red, and orange-and-red, and red-and-orange-and-yellow, like the embers in the nursery fire of a winter's evening. I remember them."

The ghost children may have their memories, but they have largely forgotten who they were. They may remember their tulips, and certain strong memories, but there is very, very little left of them, and they have forgotten who they once were, they have forgotten their names.

"That is why we could not leave here, when we died. She kept us, and she fed on us, until now we're nothing left of ourselves, only snakeskins and spider-husks. Find our secret hearts, young mistress."

"She will take your life and all you are and all you care'st for, and she will leave you with nothing but mist and fog. She'll take your joy. And one day you'll awake and your heart and soul will have gone. A husk you'll be, a wisp you'll be, and a thing no more than a dream on waking, or a memory of something forgotten."

The Other Mother stole their hearts and their souls and their selves. She stole who they were away from them, their identities and names and the names of those they loved, leaving nothing in her wake.

The same ghost that talked about the tulips and the names of the tulips struggles to answer when Coraline asks their gender, as well, and when they do eventually give an answer they seem somewhat unsure of it, as shown by the word choice of “perhaps” and “I believe”

"A boy, perhaps, then," continued the one whose hand she was holding. "I believe I was once a boy." And it glowed a little more brightly in the darkness of the room behind the mirror.

(I personally take this quote, specifically it "glow[ing] a little more brightly" after coming to this conclusion, to mean either that the ghost is happy at realizing that he was once a boy, or even to mean that he has become somewhat more tangible upon this realization; upon remembering something about his self, and his identity.)

As an aside, it's noteworthy to me that we never learn the Other Mother’s true name. She is simply “The Other Mother” and “The Beldam.” Never is an actual name applied to her, only titles. We do not truly know who, or what, she is. Beings without names are shrouded in mystery (or should i say mist-ery). The ghost children are benevolent mysterious beings, the cat is an ambivalent-leaning-helpful mysterious being, and the other mother is a distinctly malevolent mysterious being.

"Who are you?" asked Coraline. "I'm your other mother," said the woman.

"She?" "The one who says she's your other mother," said the cat. "What is she?" asked Coraline. The cat did not answer, just padded through the pale mist beside Coraline.

But in conclusion, names in Coraline are extremely important. I’m sure there’s probably more that I'm missing, and feel free to add onto this, but basically—

People need names to know and remember who they are, and forgetting one’s name is the first step to losing the rest of who one is. Names humanize a person; with a name, they are less shrouded in mystery, more clear.

Knowing somebody's name helps one connect to and better understand that person; it is the first step in getting to know them and see them as a full person, the transition from “the crazy man upstairs” to “Mr Bobo”. Names, to people at least, are one of the fundamental building blocks of who we are.

[noroi1000]

Cat and Love

Summary: Gojo loved you for as long as he could remember. When he finally wanted to give up knowing that you didn't want him, but suddenly he turned into a cat. And knowing your kind heart for animals, he wanted to try to get closer to you again.

You have known each other for about 20 years. You've always been together somehow. As friends...

At first, you were just children from two friendly families. Two children of similar age whose family has known each other for a long time. Both clans, both Gojo and (l/n), hoped that once you knew each other, maybe something would spark between you someday. They hoped that maybe they could reunite your families and make your future very good. That you will be in a very strong position. Children from user Six Eyes and limitless And from your clan's descendant. It was the peak of their dreams.

However, your family did not want an arranged marriage for you and pairing you with him from birth.

That's why you failed at anything for the next 10 years.

You were friends. Not even close friends. You just knew each other and could hang out. Little did you know that your white-haired friend had always been more than enthusiastic to hang out with you.

You didn't know that he was very happy when you were with him.

Year after year, your paths diverged more and more. He was doing something else and so were you.

You spent less and less time together.

If it weren't for the fact that you both went to Jujutsu high in Tokyo at the age of 15, you wouldn't have seen each other at all.

Back then, you kept seeing his smile. He was still next to you.

People around you saw that he liked you two years ago. However, you didn't react to any of the signs.

And the fact that you were friends still gave him hope that your heart would notice him.

You saw him as a good friend. But you didn't react to him taking steps closer. To draw you closer than you are now.

This didn't change until your adulthood when you both became teachers at the school you attended.

It was costly for your families to make you husband and wife. You both were special grade sorcerers. And your children could be so powerful.

But they gave up. Because your families wanted you to be happy. And you couldn't be happy when you didn't love him even after all these years of knowing him.

These little gifts you get from him are just gifts from a friend.

You never noticed it as gifts and courtship.

And he was afraid that it would all be for nothing...

He went out of his way to show you close-ups of him. He has been doing everything for years to make you notice that he is trying to be romantic with you. He wanted to be closer to you.

But you only treated him as a friend.

And his heart ached when she didn't respond the way he wanted to his invitation to go on a date. He came to you with flowers and chocolates. At first he thought it was trivial. But he did it. You went to dinner with him.

Still treating him like a friend.

He was nervous about confessing his love to you. He did everything to get closer to you.

And you saw him as a friend. There was no moment of intimacy between you.

You just thought he was your jokingly flirting friend.

You didn't even know how much it hurt him.

Until finally, the flowers in his heart slowly began to wither. And he grew tired of you ignoring his footsteps into your heart.

This was the moment for Him to finally give up and understand that he cannot look to you for love for him.

He had to come to terms with the fact that you didn't love him and wouldn't accept his love the way he wanted...

But there was still a chance...

When he stays with you for a long time, for example as your friend at home, maybe you will accept him?

He was sent on a mission to be with Shoko. There, many people were bitten by the curse. Nobody knew what this curse did. But it attacked people. Shoko was needed to help them. Gojo was supposed to protect her so that nothing would happen to her.

She was needed most in the world of Jujutsu. That's why she had to be safe. But moving dozens of people there would be a pain.

So when they got there, she started working. She treated people under the supervision of Gojo, who controlled the area.

Only for nothing to show up here.

Except for a small cute cat that radiated strange energy.

There were bites and scratches on people's bodies.

While Gojo was analyzing the appearance and behavior of the unknown cat, it approached him and bit his leg very hard.

As he saw his energy flowing into the cat that turned out to be a curse, he kicked it, causing it to die in its now very ugly form on the wall.

Little streaks of blood ran down his ankle and he healed the small wounds, knowing he shouldn't walk around this place with cat bite marks.

But before he could join Shoko who was treating the last human there, he became smaller. His clothes suddenly became too big. Which was hard to do since he was a big man. But it was like he was getting so much smaller and smaller.

"Sho-Meow!" He shouted, but before he finished her name, no words came out of his mouth.

The woman came out from behind the wall when she heard this loud sound. And when she looked around the empty corridor, she saw a pile of clothes with something moving underneath.

Quiet sounds muffled by the material.

"Gojo?" she called hesitantly, knowing he was supposed to be here.

She wasn't afraid. But she wasn't the one to deal with the strange business of moving clothes.

But when he didn't show up, she moved on to the clothes. Before she could lift anything, a white fluffy head came out from behind the collar of the sorcerer's jacket.

"Meow."

A large white cat with slightly messy but soft fur and blue eyes...

There was black material around the cat's neck.

"Meow." Another meow.

"Gojo you little shit..." she growled. When the white Cat went to her, he sat down and looked at her with pleading eyes.

She grabbed him and lifted his fluffy body up with a grunt.

"You're fucking heavy..." She said, holding him in one hand as she picked up all his clothes from the floor. "But unfortunately I have to take care of you since you are affected by a curse..."

She was supposed to take care of him. However, when the assistants were gathering people to take care of them until the end, the cat disappeared from the car as if it had vanished into thin air.

_____

"Meow."

You looked around as you were walking in the park with your dog.

Your dog also looked around and wagged his tail slightly when he heard the cat.

You stroked the golden fur on his head and moved on, knowing that maybe it was just another cat that had left the house.

"Meow."

You turned to see a white cat sitting on the sidewalk behind you. It didn't escape. It wasn't afraid.

Your dog didn't even bark. The golden retriever looked at the white ball of fur and wagged his tail in joy.

Your dog has always liked Gojo. But the amazing thing was that your dog recognized it in the cat?

Or maybe your dog just likes cats?

Gojo knew you liked animals. So when he discovered that his powers still worked, even in cat form, he was happy.

When Shoko left for a moment, he flew off towards your house to find you in the park.

You crouched down, extending your hand to the adorable creature.

You expected the cat to smell your hand to see what it was. But he immediately hugged me, purring.

"Hello. Are you lost?" you laughed at the cat's enthusiasm.

Well, people often buy white cats with long fur for their home. It's rare to see something like this on the street. Or maybe it got lost? Maybe it left home and can't come back?

Additionally... You don't know that much about cat breeds... But the appearance of this cat indicates that it is not an ordinary cat. Long fur, blue eyes. Such cats must be rare. Especially one with eyes like that.

It really must have gotten lost.

But there was no human around.

This cat liked people. And it was so clean too...

But you saw something strange on his hind leg. Like white fur in blood?

You picked up the cat, motioning for your dog to sit down for a moment.

Small scratches on the back paw...

"Poor thing... Come, let's get you healed and then we'll look for your owner."

The cat settled comfortably in your arms, cuddling up to your chest.

_____

What happened to this cat was strange, to say the least.

When your friend came up to you in the park (a friend from the park, because your dogs like to play together) it jumped out of your arms and when the guy got too close, he bit him on the ankle. And he didn't stop until he left.

Later at home he was so cute.

You realized that it was Him. It wasn't a female. Definitely...

He kept cuddling and purring against you. He was always next to you.

You posted an ad about a found cat.

Nobody came forward.

For the next two days it was just you, your dog and now this cat who never left your side.

You were surprised that Satoru didn't show up for work, so you had to take over his students. But you realized that maybe he went on a mission.

Shoko always tried to tell you something, but you two always couldn't meet to talk. And she didn't want to talk about it on the phone.

(What if the enemies wanted to take advantage of the moment when Gojo is a cat and attack?!)

You had to wait for some free time for the two of you to talk.

In the meantime, you spent time at home with your new cat, who acts as if he has been with you since birth.

You feel comfortable walking around the house in underwear when you are alone.

You are always alone and your dog is not a pervert...

This cat is also just a cat.

It's normal for it to have a happy smile on its face when you pet it or cuddle it. Even when you're in your underwear.

You didn't know his name. And you still weren't sure if it belonged to someone.

For now, you named him Fluffy.

That cat reminded you so much of someone. White fur and blue eyes... Just like your friend.

"Fluffy, Time for bed." he called out as you were in your bedroom. Your dog sleeping sweetly in his place next to your bed.

A soft dog bed.

You don't have one for your cat yet, so he sleeps wherever he wants. But he liked sleeping in bed with you.

Right behind your voice, a cat appeared next to your pillow, looking at you happily.

As you got under the covers, you snuggled against the cat's fur, feeling warm.

It's like this warmth is rising, giving you a nice cushion...

You fell asleep very quickly.

You couldn't feel the fur when you woke up. Your eyes were closed. Even though there was no fur, it was so nice.

Sleeping in just a T-shirt was supposed to keep you cool so you wouldn't feel hot. But you felt it.

You thought that maybe you accidentally turned on the heating in your house.

However, that wasn't it.

You heard soft breathing above your head.

You thought it was one of the animals.

However, there was something next to your face that had no fur.

Forcing your eyes to open, you looked at the bare skin next to your arms.

Due to oversleeping, you thought it was your thigh that you placed higher. You massaged your skin lightly and realized you didn't feel anything.

You opened your eyes wider and pulled away slightly to see that there was a completely naked man under the blanket next to you!

You don't remember inviting anyone to bed last night!

You looked at his face to see someone very familiar to you.

White hair fell on his forehead as he slept.

"Whaaaaat?!!!" you screamed, jumping up to sit upright on the edge, the blankets wrapped around you with your body heating up. You were only wearing a T-shirt and nothing else! Nothing underneath!

What about him?!

The man woke up quickly, also sitting up due to your screaming.

Your dog woke up and looked closely at what was happening in the house.

"What the fuck are you thinking?!" you kicked him in the chest, pushing him away from you a little. "Satoru?!"

"Uh?"

"Is that all you're going to say?! What the hell did you do to me??!"

"(y/n)... I didn't do anything to you! I swear I was just sleeping! I was a cat and-."

"Don't even joke! This is not possible! What you're saying is not possible!" You screamed, trying not to look at his entire naked body.

"The curse bit me and I became a cat! I'm your Fluffy!" he said placing a hand on his chest. "Listen... I came to you because I wanted to see if you would accept me as a cat... And now... I love you... I wanted to be close to you, at least for a moment, even as a cat...."

"Hah... A womanizer said that!" you huffed in annoyance. "How many women have you said that to? Waking up naked in someone else's bed."

"...I really love you..." he said again. "From-."

"I hate men like you." You growled, and his heart ached at your words. "You go from woman to woman telling them that you love them and all you care about is sex. You think you can fuck every woman in Tokyo and then go to the next one and tell her you love her? Don't joke around!"

He clenched his jaw at the way you were thinking about it. He looked down.

He knew what it would look like... You woke up next to him in bed while he was absolutely naked... He was sleeping in your house, in your bed. With you.

"I know you may think that about me... And I don't blame you... You have the right to say that about me... But you're wrong..." he whispered, sitting cross-legged with his hands between his legs to cover his penis. "...I've never even felt a woman's touch... Never the way I wanted... I've never been with a woman the way I wanted! Because no woman was you..."

You looked at him questioningly.

"Since we were little, I wanted you... I didn't want just some woman. I wanted you!"

"Satoru -."

"I was fucking like Ken! I was like a damn Ken to Barbie! You were Barbie! And Ken can only be with Barbie!

"Don't compare your life to a movie you watched to laugh..." you muttered.

"But it is true! Since I've known you, I only want you! I only want and can be with you! I only want to be with you! When I was a cat, I hoped you would understand that I want to be with you! I have wanted to be with you for so many years. I wanted to give up because you never wanted me... But I wanted to try one last time... I'm sorry..."

You saw his eyebrows furrow in sadness.

His heart was now completely shattered.

"I've been wanting to go on a romantic date with you for 10 years... But I can't show you that I love you. Every time I try, you still treat me like a friend... If that's what you want me to be, I'm sorry I tried..."

You felt like his voice was breaking.

Well, you liked Gojo Satoru. But you threw it all away to have him as a friend.

But now...

You took the covers and moved closer, throwing the material over him and hugging him.

His hands went to your waist very quickly as he unconsciously hugged you.

"Do you still want this?" you asked gently. "I'm sorry I called you a womanizer..."

He nodded into your shoulder.

"We can try." you said, feeling his hands pull you closer.

And suddenly you were lying underneath him as he hugged you, stopping himself from kissing you.

"You won't regret it, I promise." he whispered with a smile against your skin.

You can try. And you won't regret it either. Because you know that if you let him closer to you, you will fall in love with him.