#third he can’t read russian

[scientia-rex]

I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Other Shelby Girl

Platonic!Shelby Siblings x reader

Headcanon/Imagine for a second Shelby Sister. Explores dynamics with each sibling based on of the reader were their older or younger sibling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, violence, period-typical sexism, over-protective sibling drama.

Arthur

Older Sister:

You are the third most respected woman in Arthur’s life, which is greater than it sounds. First was Mum, then Polly. To be succeeded only by Polly in Arthur Shelby’s eyes is precious. He’s always looked up to you, but didn’t always show it. After the war, Arthur would come to rely on you heavily for emotional support. There were nights he would come to your home and no be able to speak. Where he would seem to turn back into a little boy, crying into your shoulder as he begs you not to speak of this to the others. When Arthur met Linda, you were one of the few to be supportive. You are Arthur’s greatest advocate, but his pride and Tommy’s influence make it hard to help him. When you have a family of your own, it’ll only make things harder. You often feel like you have to take sides. Still, you do what you think is best.

Younger Sister:

Depending on just how young you are, Arthur might try to put on like he’s your Dad. Arthur doesn’t always know how to talk to you. You’re just a young woman, he doesn’t feel like he can talk to you the way he does with John or Tommy. He wants to tease you and pick on you as he would with Finn, but he can’t. The moment you hit out your bottom lip and look like your feelings got hurt, Arthur is a flustered mess of a guilty brother. You might resist his attempts at being fatherly, or welcome them. Regardless, you can see that Arthur just wants you to know he’s a safe space for you. Maybe if you ask him nice enough, he’ll teach you how to draw horses like he used to. No matter how old you get, Arthur is the brother that still sees you as a little girl.

Thomas

Older Sister:

Before the war, Tommy only saw you as someone who nagged at him. The meddling older sister warning him away from throwing curses at people and fighting with the cops. After the war, you became something far more delicate than that. You became something like his conscience. That pleading voice that begged for peace and forgiveness that grows fainter every year. As adults, you swear sometimes he hates you. The way he disregards you and keeps you at arm’s length. In actuality, he’s only trying to avoid the shame your hopeful gaze gives him. It was you who tried to get the brothers to hide from the draft. It was you who told him getting involved in London affairs would be dangerous. You who told him not to accept anything from the Russians. You were always right. Always good. He also feels he must protect you because you know him when he was soft and weak. Aside from Polly, you’re the last person who ever heard him laugh.

Younger Sister:

He lumps you in with Ada without really meaning to. You and Ada are both younger, and are both girls. As such, you both have similar problems that have his head aching and his trigger finger itching. Two pretty girls tend to attract a lot of scummy men. You’re both so stubborn about not needing anything from him, which is bloody absurd. Of course you need his help. Whatever money you’re making doing legitimate work isn’t going to be enough to keep you safe. You have never gone on a single date without someone Peaky Blinder watching you. Arthur tries to give advice like he’s your dad, and Tommy drops rules on you like he’s your dad. He has absolutely said the phrase, “And where are you going dressed like that?” Tommy will kill your ex-boyfriends if asked, he already knows why you want them dead and he agrees. The only thing he likes more than you accepting his help is hearing you admit he was right.

John

Older Sister:

He is the little brother who reads your diary and eats your food after being told not to. As a kid, John was Hell on legs. As an adult, John is still Hell on legs but with children. Growing up, you spent a lot of time picking John up from police stations and headmaster offices. John stresses you out like he’s being bloody paid for it. But, he loves you dearly and you forgive him more often than you should. John has called you “Mum,” as a joke many times but it’s not quite a lie. As an adult, he is far more respectful towards you. He is one to bow his head when you lecture him about fatherhood and how his drinking is going to harm his children. John respects you enough to take his cap off when he enters your home. However, he’ll still gobble down any treats you’ve left out in the kitchen and have the audacity to say, “What?!” When you shout at him for it.

Younger Sister:

John will not only read your diary and eat your snacks, but he will loudly announce your crush the moment he finds out. Any reluctance Arthur has about picking on you is nonexistent in John. He is a fully grown man who is unafraid to tease you with schoolyard chants in public spaces. Has walked into your room while you were reading just to slap something off of your desk and run. John has spent so long as the younger brother, he has to get his kicks where he can. That said, nobody better say anything rude to you. Ever. One time, a mate of his simply repeated a mean name he had called you and John slugged him for it. Nobody is allowed to annoy you but him. John is obnoxious in an almost biblical sense, but he is the one to see you cry and ask: “Who did that to you.”

Ada

Older Sister:

Yet another sibling to boss her around. Excellent! Ada is one who would resist you trying to take care of her. She doesn’t want to hear your advice! She doesn’t need it! Until her first heartbreak and then she’s sobbing on your bed waiting for you to come home. Ada hates to feel dependent on others, but she does trust you. There’s something special about having a sister. You understand each other in a way your brothers never will. The fear that builds as a man walks a few yards behind you out in the streets at night. How every romance has that bitter taste as you think about all that you’ll lose if you were to get married. Ada gets her best advice from you, but you’re also her security. You were probably the one to start taking her to the movie theater. It’s likely that Ada imitates you subconsciously. When you got your hair bobbed, so did Ada. When you started wearing heels, so did Ada. She denies it, but it’s obvious that she follows your lead.

Younger Sister:

Might be a sad thing to say, but Ada didn’t think much of you until she had Karl. You were just this clinging little sister that everyone thought she was supposed to take care of. All you did was follow her about town and put your nose where it didn’t belong. Tommy probably found out about her and Freddie through you. You don’t mean to be annoying, you’re just lonely. Ada couldn’t see that until she had a child and a home away from Small Heath. The dynamic flips hard when Ada comes back to Small Heath. Ada is all about leading you in “the right direction,” and is very serious about your education. She essentially begs Tommy to set aside money for you to go to university when you express interest. You want to be in with the Peaky Blinders, though. Oh, God. You’re in your rebellious phase and Ada wants to shake you till you forget all about jazz and pretty boys with guns. You both adore each other, but you butt heads over where your life is going and who should have a say in what direction it goes.

Finn

Older Sister:

Between you, Polly and Ada, he’s almost got a mother. As a young boy, Finn has actually called for you as his mother by accident. It makes sense. You were often left in charge of him. To Finn, you are all that he knows. It’s often left to you to make sure he goes to school and stays out of trouble. You’ve spent many afternoons arguing with his teachers to give him a second chance. Finn needs that, someone to stick up for him. That doesn’t mean he always likes it though. Finn wants to be a gangster, like his older brothers. You want him to do literally anything but that. When Tommy, Arthur, and John, pick on him too much you are the one to back Finn up. He used to like it… until he was roughly twelve. What used to be you coming to his rescue has become you inadvertently humiliating him. You try to back off, but Finn makes poor choices for himself which require you to come save him. Therefore, the cycle continues.

Younger Sister:

You are the only one beneath him in the Shelby Family Pecking Order, and he lives for it. When Finn has a bad day, he takes it out on you. Why not? It isn’t like he had anyone else he can push around and be the boss of. So, he’ll cut your dolls’ hair, call you names, and make fun of the things you like. But only if there’s other boys who can see him do it. When he goes too far and you cry, he has to answer to all of your siblings and Polly. Finn picks on you to soothe his own ego. When it’s just you and Finn, he’s very quiet. You two can spend hours not talking but be perfectly happy. Finn likes to turn on the radio and just sit, listening to music or the results of a boxing match. Sometimes, he vents to you about how Tommy wouldn’t let him do this or do that. You always listen to him. Finn usually takes these quiet times to apologize for past pranks or insults. You always forgive him. It’s odd to you how your accepting of his apology seldom puts him in a better mood. Truth is, he’s very jealous of you.

[keysorsomething]

Everyone Has a Reason To Stay (Primireniye)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Hello everyone, I know it's been just over a month since I posted the last part, but I'm back with this one!

Cross-posted on Ao3

Velikan didn't have to think too hard about what to do. How to keep Nikto in check.

He didn't know much about the Russian man - he was always so distant. But he was there, on that mission in Africa with the Jackals.

It had taken a lot of bribery and over a week of following the Russian, but now he has his ace. He shushes the fluffy beast as it fights to be put down. He grumbles at it, telling it to calm down, but it doesn't listen. It probably doesn't even understand him.

Still, with all of the struggle, he manages to get the wild animal to the door. He places the beast down, straightening up to knock on the door before the thought that it will run off spoils it. He swings his leg over it, like how you get on a horse, using his knees to keep it from scrambling.

He grumbles - standing like this is not comfortable at all - before knocking at the door.

He hears the grumbles of Russian cursing, and the door swings open with a defined “Иди на хуй!” before the man stops. It’s a disturbing sight, watching him go from a full swing of movement to as still as a statue. “Oh, Velikan,” he mumbles, “We thought-” Velikan cuts him off with a grumble and pushes a small envelope into his hands, before shifting his legs to let the hyena held by them go.

The beast rushes forward, nearly toppling the Russian man as it begs for his attention. Velikan nods to him and is nodded to in return. The door shuts, and Velikan slips back to his own room.

He just hopes Dimtry was right with this plan.

Nikto is bewildered, reading over the pretty, collected Cyrillic writing on the letter. It tells him to be good - to not get in too much trouble. Sloppier handwriting tells him to save the nose-breaking for the field, encouraging him to show off some time and lamenting the writer won’t be there to see it. A third writer taunts him, telling him to keep the hyena fed and clean as it’s the only body that will keep his bed warm now - before telling him not to watch a film without them.

There’s a fourth paragraph, the shortest one, that talks about their time in the Allegiance. It tells Nikto how proud the author was. “There was a reason I picked you. You were a good soldier,” the writing is the most swirly - traditional Russian cursive burning the blue eyes that scan it. Nikto’s head is jumbled, it had been far too long since he had read anything in his language. He blinks in confusion at the names signed at the bottom of the page:

Дмитрий

МИНОТАВР

Нико

Коля)

Nikto is surprised at the dull ache in his chest. The creeping feeling of nostalgia at the edges of his mind. The smell of the dog shampoo Rodion used on Sputnik creeps up into his nostrils, seeping into the mask at a suffocating rate. His hands shake.

…Do they?

Is that blood in his mouth? Is he biting his lip? He can’t tell. Nor can he tell if that is the paper crinkling in his hands. Everything is silent. Or muted, like he had been hit with a stun. His brain is fuzzy, oh so fuzzy.

His brain is always fuzzy.

He can not tell what time it is in his room. There are no clocks, no natural light. He does not mean to keep it that way. Still, it feels late at night - 2am, or perhaps 4. Or maybe it feels like the afternoon, on a slow day. A day after a long mission, when he lays dully in his bed, eyes barely open. He can not remember when he’d done this - if he’d done this, but the thought is there.

He kneels down, placing the paper on the floor and letting fur meet him. The hyena laughs, standing on his knees. Its body twitches, sides pulling in and pushing out as it sniffs at his face. It is fluffy, the thick fur coat from its winters in the outskirts of Moscow yet to thin out. What season was it? Would he begin to shed, or was he just building it?

Where were they? Would he need such a thick coat?

Sound returns to Nikto as he thinks about the hyena. His other senses do, too. He blinks slowly, looking around. The hyena is heavy on him, and there’s pressure on his face, his mask pushing into him. His hands come up to the beast’s fluffy side, feeling the fullness of the being.

“Спутник,” Nikto whispers, turning to meet the snout pushing into his face. He lets out a sigh. “You are back with me,” He blinks, taking a moment as he studies the image of the animal in front of him. It squeals, tail whipping through the air enough to cause the sound of breaking air, the one you hear at the drop of a rollercoaster, or the sound of rushing wind past your ears, through your hair, as you ride through the streets with the windows of the car down.

Nikodim always used to do that. Nikto could remember, just enough. Just enough to make that ache more present in his heart. He does not remember it enough to see it, or does he? Can he see the image of the young man, much younger than the rest of the soldiers in the Allegiance, short hair whipping across his face and over the seat back, all four windows down as he drives far too fast with that awful American trash pop blasting out into the crisp air? Was that an image he had ever seen?

Nikto could not remember. He could not tell if the image he was seeing was one of his own creation, of his brain’s creation. He did not know if there was more than those vile blotches, empty spots in his head, hid.

He wanted it back. He wanted all of it back.

Well…. maybe not all.

Nikto swallows thickly, “I will not leave you behind again,” He announces to the beast. “We will be together. “всегда́,” He mumbles, pressing his face into the hyena’s. “We will get you ужин, Да?” The hyena pants as he stands, obeying the soft order of “Сидеть,” while the shadow of his owner slips into the darkness of the hall, once more melting into nothing.

The shape strikes again.

Luckily, the only casualty this time is a hunk of brisket Graves was set to cook.

Something the rest of the site is very thankful for.

(Translations:

Primireniye (примирение): Russian; reconciliation

Дмитрий: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Dimtry

МИНОТАВР: Russian; MINOTAUR

Нико: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Niko

Коля: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Koyla (common diminutive of Nikolai)

Спутник: Russian; Cyrillic spelling of Sputnik

всегда́: Russian; forever

ужин: Russian, dinner/evening meal

Да: Russian; yes

Сидеть: Russian; stay)

(An hour or so before)

Velikan stands outside, eyes flicking around the dark corners every now and again. Oh, Graves was going to jump his ass tomorrow. But, you were so sad when you came to him. And Velikan was only so trusted to catch Nikto’s hands.

He was nothing like the men he had contacted. Nowhere near as important - not that that upset him. He could handle being underneath the men. Though he was very careful not to mention too much about you, he was sure that would just crush the little heart of the young man he was there to meet tonight.

Speaking of which, a nice car pulls into the dark lot. It was pretty much abandoned - no one goes to Arby’s this late. Well, do they ever? That doesn’t matter, right now. Velikan’s back straightens as he stands, stepping away from the truck he was leaning on. The car stops, the loud bass through it shutting off quickly.

“Блять, Niko!” The hiss of a familiar voice enters the air. “Ти мало не влаштував мені серцевий напад!” He scolds.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Nikodim’s reply came back, desperate.

“You drive like a maniac,” Yegor responds, stepping out of the car. His eyes settle on Velikan fast, approaching him calmly. Rodion stays behind, coaxing the hyena out of the car. Yegor watches, arms crossing. “До біса цей російський, making me babysit,” He mumbles to Velikan, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that was Nikolai’s favorite thing to do,” Velikan responds, nodding his head.

Yegor turns to him, brows furrowed, “Що?” He asks. Velikan lets out a loud grunt and nods more obviously to show that he is agreeing. Yegor nods too, before sighing. “But Rodion is not a bad kid, he is just…” He gestures toward the man, and Velikan nods.

“Godspeed,” He grunts out, patting Yegor’s shoulder. Rodion approaches, hyena on a leash. Oh, God, what was Velikan doing? This motherfucker was going to get him put on Fatal Attractions. He is compelled to agree with Yegor. Goddamn Nikolai for putting him in this position. For hiring him, so he had to meet Nikto, so he had to be the one you went to to keep him in check, so he had to talk to Dmitry, so he had to get a hyena from Rodion. This was too much. Why did he agree, again?

That doesn’t matter as he opens the back door of the truck to help Rodion load Sputnik into the back seat. The whole time, Rodion is fussing about making sure the hyena is happy.

“He takes his orders in Russian, he doesn’t know English,” The young man explains, going on to list things like sit and heel, before he turns to Velikan. The masked man was busy adjusting the blanket he had set down on the seats before he had his shoulders grabbed and he was whipped around. “And tell him Молодец when he follows an order, okay?” He speaks, eyes low. “Okay? He has to know he’s done a good job. He’s a good boy,” Velikan nods, grunting lowly.

“Rodion get in the car,” Yegor orders, causing the youngest man to flinch.

“Молодец!” He re-affirms to Velikan, before slipping away and taking his seat back in the sports car.

Yegor huffs, rolling his eyes, before approaching Velikan with a white envelope, “A letter, for Nikto. I… did not participate, we didn’t speak much. But everyone in the Spetsnaz wrote something. I even got Nikolai to write a little.”

Velikan grips the paper, “Krueger?”

Yegor looks down, letting the paper go, “немає,” he shakes his head. Velikan looks down at the paper. He uses his other hand to move the mask, slipping the bottom off. As much as he likes his mask, he needs this question answered.

“Is he dead?” He asks, hidden eyes flickering over Yegor’s face. The Ukrainian man shakes his head.

“Not as far as I know,” He responds, “Just… MIA.”

“Ah,” Velikan nods, “Good luck with the kid,” He mumbles, pushing his mask back into place. Yegor chuckles.

“Good luck with the beast,” Yegor responds.

Velikan chuckles, “The hyena or Nikto?”

They laugh together for a moment before they turn separate ways and enter their respective cars.

Now all there was between him and his good night's sleep is a good old military man-pet reunion.

(Блять: Russian/Ukrainian; Vulgar exclamation (akin to fuck! or shit!)

Ти мало не влаштував мені серцевий напад!: Ukranian; You almost gave me a heart attack!

До біса цей російський: Ukranian; To hell with that Russian

Що: Ukrainian; What?

Молодец: Russian; Well done

немає: Ukrainian; No)

[sintowinemily]

You're Somebody Else

Flashback: 20 February 1998

Summary: It's Katie's 18th birthday, but Spencer gets a present too.

Warnings: smut, virgin!Spencer, dirty talk, cursing, slight angst at the beginning, mutual pining, third person, abrupt ending.

Word Count: 3.2k

Find parts 1 & 2 here!

taglist: @honey-on-my-lips

Click here to be added to my taglist!

Katie paced back and forth across her apartment. Today was her eighteenth birthday, which was meant to be a special day. And it would have been, if her mother hadn’t passed away just before Christmas, and if her best friend would answer the phone. She sighed and dialled Spencer’s number again. It went to voicemail, again.

“Hey, it’s me. Just wondering where you are, for the third time this evening. Call me back.”

She waited fifteen minutes and didn’t receive a call back, or an email. She tried again.

“Spencer – if you didn’t want to hang out, that’s fine. But at least call me and let me know. It’s the polite thing to do. Even your mom called me. Even your mom remembered it was my birthday. Jackson is at a stupid frat thing tonight and I really don’t want to be alone on my birthday. Call me.” Her voice was getting agitated. She was seldom annoyed with Spencer, their personalities moulded so perfectly together that there was rarely an opportunity for arguments. 

“Hello!” She heard a familiar voice bellow as her apartment door swung open, she spun around immediately. Now blissfully aware of the tears rolling down her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Where have you been Spencer?”

“I was at the store,” he held up two gift bags. “These are for you.”

“You’re an hour late.” 

“Yeah, I-uh, couldn’t get a cab.” She didn’t entirely believe him but didn’t want to argue. “I’m sorry I’m late, I just wanted to make your birthday special.” And just like that, she couldn’t help but return the wide smile he gave her.

“Don’t listen to your voicemails.” She warned as they sat together on the couch.

“Oh dear, you’re that annoyed with me, huh?”

“I was. You’re here now.”

“Where’s Jackson?”

“I don’t know.”

“What a great boyfriend.” He almost spits the last word out.

Katie can’t give a good reason for dating Jackson, he’s a sophomore majoring in communications at USC, and was a quarterback in High School. He’s the exact opposite of the type of guy she would see as her type – he looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model, and he probably has never read a book unless he got class credits for it. But he told her that it's sexy how smart she is, and he held her hand when her mom died. And his frat brothers bring her booze when she hangs out at their place. A bottle of which, she stole for her evening with Spencer. 

“I know you don’t like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You can’t even give me a reason why.”

“I don’t think I need to.” He shrugs and notices her confused look. “You can’t give me a good reason not to hate him.” He isn’t wrong, “enough about him, open your present.”

She opens the giftbags, and as suspected they are filled with books and VHS tapes of old Russian movies the pair had been planning to watch, but for some reason are rarely shown in Californian theatres, and a silver bracelet with a heart charm, which looks expensive. She gives him a look, she doesn’t need to say thank you for the gifts, they don’t need words this pair. He smiles and shakes his hand, as if to tell her not to worry about it. She immediately puts it on. 

At the bottom of the bag is a card, which she rips open, as a card hoarder this is always her favourite gift to receive. Like her father, Spencer takes birthday cards very seriously. The front is a joke-card about the redistribution of wealth, he likes to joke that deep down, she’s a communist. She isn’t. But it’s what is written inside that makes her heart drop.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

Happy Birthday,

Love, Spencer. 

“Spencer.” She tries to say something, but she isn’t sure what to say. The poem is E.E. Cummings. She wonders if the verse he’s chosen is a message he hopes to get across, but she doesn’t get her hopes up. She has a boyfriend.

“I can give you a reason.”

“What?”

“I can give you a reason not to be with Jackson.” Spencer can barely get the words out, and when he does they only muster a whisper. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He contemplates stating the obvious, that Jackson is awful, but he’s reminded of something. Something Mr Miller told him before he died. To be bold. To always be bold, and not to be afraid of a bad outcome, if the possible good outcome could be the best thing that could ever happen to you. Katie is the best thing to ever happen to Spencer, and he knows it. He also believes he isn’t good enough for her, and he knows there’s no way she’ll say it back. Jackson looks like a jacked-up football player, who doesn’t know his ass from his feet. Jackson is a jacked-up football player who doesn’t know his ass from his feet, but maybe that’s what Katie wants. Maybe that’s what Katie is attracted to. Not a skinny kid, who at eighteen hasn’t even had his first kiss. 

Katie had dragged him to a party the summer before, and Spencer knows he probably could have made out with a drunk sophomore. But he didn’t. Katie questioned him the whole way home why he didn’t make a move, he didn’t have the guts to tell her she was the reason why. 

“Go on.” She presses.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, Spencer, I know. I love you too.” This is something they say all the time, whenever they hang up the phone, or leave each other’s apartments. 

“No.” Be bold Spencer. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years, I just didn’t know that’s what it was. I’ve been so infatuated with you since we were kids. And I know that you’re my best friend, and I know you love Jackson. I don’t care if you don’t love me back, I just had to tell you. I had to be bold for once in my life because I never say how I feel or ask for what I want. I never do. But I am now. I am so irrevocably in love with you that it makes me feel sick. Your dad told me to be bold, so I’m being bold. I am in love with you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” He feels like the oxygen has all but been taken from his lungs, he’s winded and out of breath and his cheeks have never felt this warm.

A long silence passes, and he’s sure he’s fucked up. She’ll probably never speak to him again.

“My dad?” Is all she replies.

“Yeah, your dad. He knew. He always knew I think.”

“I don’t love Jackson.” She sighs, an unrelated response, but one that makes Spencer hopeful.

“You don’t?”

“I only started dating him, because I thought it would make my feelings for you go away.”

“Your-your feelings for m-me?” Spencer stutters and raises an eyebrow, this seemed too good to be true. Katie shuffles closer to him on the couch, their thighs grazing one another. Spencer is desperately trying not to make it obvious that he’s holding his breath. She nods in response to his question, confirming what they now both knew to be true. Her hand moves to his thigh and feels the wind get knocked back out of his again, the reaction is a long sigh, a struggled, whimpering sound accompanies it. He’s immediately embarrassed but Katie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do you know what I want for my birthday?”

“What?” His breathing is shaky, and he’s started to sweat – great. 

“I want you to kiss me, Spencer.”

“I’ve never-“

“I know,” she cuts him off. “But, I want to be the first girl you kiss.”

“I want you to be the last girl I kiss.” She giggles at how quickly he shoots back, his unwavering need for his affection to be known.

“Then do it.” She’s hesitant as well, if they do this, they’ll never be friends as they had been. This is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, but she really hopes he’ll cross it with her. She was going to break up with Jackson tomorrow anyway.

Spencer doesn’t move and she’s worried that this is a sign of rejection, that he isn’t ready for this, that now the option is in front of him, he won’t take it. But when she meets his eyes, she can tell he’s nervous, he doesn’t want to get this wrong. Her heart swells.

Instead, she leans forward, cupping his jaw in her hands and brushes her lips lightly over his, to give him room to back away if he changes his mind. The opposite happens, and the boy she’s known for six years, her best friend, lunges forward pushing his lips harshly against hers. She moans at the pressure, she’s kissed a few boys – but has never felt this. This desire for more passion. They continue like this for a few moments, before she runs her tongue over his bottom lip, begging for entrance, he obliges, and the passion increases. 

Spencer’s brain is in overload, he’s not quite sure how he got there, but he is acutely aware of how fantastic Mr Miller’s advice was. Be bold. So, Spencer moves his hands from where they were hovering lightly on Katie’s waist, grabs her thighs and pulls her onto his lap. She breaks the kiss away, and looks at him in shock, he isn’t quite sure why until he resurfaces from his heightened state and realises, his forming erection is pushing into her. 

“I’m sorry.” He tries to apologise, even though he’s just confessed how embarrassingly he is in love with her, he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Please don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about.” He blushes, her pretend ignorance will only make this worse. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t.” He is shocked by her reply and looks up to meet her eyes. What he sees shocks him, the darkness in her eyes and the smirk across her face. This is a side to Katie he has never seen before. “Spencer?”

“Katie?”

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

“Ye-yes.” He stutters. What is happening.

“Have you ever thought of me?” She begins to lightly pull at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, he lets out a whimper which makes all the blood in her body run to her heat. “Be honest.”

“Yes.”

“What did you think about?” She smiles when he doesn’t reply, he gives her a knowing look. “Do you want to know what I’ve thought about?”

At this point, Spencer is sure he’s being pranked. There’s no way Katie, who’s had one boyfriend or another for the last two years, has thought about him like this at all. “You’ve thought about it?”

“Specifically? I’ve thought about your hands.”

“My hands?” This is odd, this isn’t in any textbook Spencer had read. Katie leans down and presses a light kiss next to Spencer’s ear.

“Yes, your hands. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you turn pages of a book, or skim over pages with your fingers? Do you know how many times I’ve watched you play chess, or shuffled cards? Do you know how much that’s turned me on?” She whispers, in a voice he has never heard her use. The tent in his pants is getting almost unbearable, he’s throbbing at this point, and she hasn’t even touched him yet. His hands tighten their grip on her thighs, if he was conscious of this, he would have been worried about hurting her. He doesn’t reply. “Do you want to know what I have thought about your hands doing to me?”

He nods.

“I’ve thought about your hands running through my hair, holding my hips down and begging me to let you fuck me. I’ve thought about your hands inside of me, inside of me, inside my mouth.” She’s still whispering in his ear, so she can’t see how bites down on his lip to prevent the groan from escaping his lips. What he doesn’t know, is that his hips are about to buck upwards involuntarily. 

“Would you like that baby?”

Spencer has no idea who is on his lap right now, but she looks like Katie, and she sounds like Katie, and he has never been so turned on in his life. This is everything he’s thought about alone at night, but better. 

“Yes.” He nods and she pulls away to look at him. “Please.”

She smiles for a second before it drops from her face, and he worries he’s done something wrong. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She only now fully takes stock of the fact that Spencer is a virgin, and she worries that she’s said too much.

“God, more than anything.”

She smashes her lips back against his, no longer suppressing their desire, they both begin to devour one another. His hands have moved from her thighs to her ass, gaining confidence from the noises she makes as he roughly grabs her ass, he’s sure he’ll leave marks from his fingernails, but he doesn’t suppose she’ll mind. His cock is pushed into her hard now, she can feel the throbbing through her yoga pants, desperate for some friction she begins to rock her hips into him. The whimper that escapes Spencer’s lips is the only noise she could hear for the rest of his life; she’s so turned on that by now she doesn’t care about crossing any lines. She must have him. 

He pulls away from the kiss, and Katie’s worried that this was too much. Maybe he doesn’t want to go that far tonight.

“Can I take your clothes off?” Be bold Spencer, be bold.

“Thought you’d never ask.” She smiles and he gingerly begins to take the hem of her top in his fingers, playing with it a little before pulling it over her head. Spencer is a teenage boy, he’s seen porn – it wasn’t like he was getting much action elsewhere. But now, God, now he’s so grateful for his eidetic memory as he takes in her breasts which are bare and free. Her nipples are hard, and he so desperately wants to take them in his mouth. Spencer looks to the girl on his lap for approval and she gives a small nod, reaching down to palm his clothed erection. 

Spencer moans into her skin, his tongue swilling over her pebbled nipples, leaving little kisses over the peaks. His hands have moved up to her back, and she can feel the strap of his watch against her skin as he stretches out his hand over the base of her back. He’s pushing her closer towards him, nuzzling his face into her breasts, satisfied by the moans, and panting he can hear which tells him this feels good for her as well. 

Katie moves face down to his neck, leaving small kisses from his ear to his Adam’s apple, with each one she can hear his breathing quicken and the strain in his pants get worse.

“Spencer.”

“Uh-huh?” He eyes show his disappointment at being pulled away from her breasts, he had been suckling on her nipples intently for what seemed like forever and given the choice, he would never have stopped.

“Do you want me to help with that?”

“God, please.” He gasps in relief; she laughs at his response. The awkwardness had begun to dissipate, and after all their worrying this felt like truly the most natural thing in the world, the giggles and all.

“Okay, I’m gonna take your pants off. Alright?”

“Only if you take yours off too.” He smirks, cocky bastard.

She stands and they shimmy the rest of their clothes off, left in only their underwear. Spencer lies back down on the couch, stretched out and propping his head up on a pillow. He really hopes she resumes her place on top of him, and grins when she does. 

“What do you want?”

“I get to choose?”

“Anything for you.” She says, and begins to kiss down his chest, stopping when she can feel his breathing get faster when she reaches his naval.

“Fuck me, please.” He groans, “if you carry on like that I’ll finish too quickly.”

“Sure you’re okay with that? Not exactly the most romantic setting?” She looks up to glance around at her shitty apartment.

“As long as it’s you I really could not give a fuck.” This makes Katie laugh, Spencer never curses.

“Okay baby, okay.” She removes her underwear and Spencer can’t help but stare, he’s never seen a girl naked in person before. She removes his boxers and watches his cock spring free, now that was not something she had expected Spencer to be carrying around. He notices her staring, and his boldness withers, he becomes self-conscious again.

“Sorry, I know you’re probably used to better.”

“Spencer, you are more than fine. Trust me, much more.” She assures him, and he believes her. She wouldn’t lie to him, this gives him the boost of confidence to pull her body down, closer to him so their chests are aching against one another. She lines his head up her slit, letting her arousal coat him. Spencer has never felt anything like it, his groans cannot be muffled, and his hips are out of control, he needs her more than anything. She’s whispering in his ear praises that only make matters worse, he is putty in her hands, and he’s elated. 

She stops teasing him and lowers herself down onto him, both of them gasp as he enters her. Katie is slow, trying to adjust to him – Jackson is definitely nowhere near as big as Spencer. Spencer, well, he’s trying not to cum immediately. He knew sex was good, there was no way people made such a big deal about it if it wasn’t, but he didn’t know it could be like this. And she hadn’t even moved yet.

“Katie,” he whimpers, barely forming the word. “I need you to move.”

“Or what?” She teases, she’s ready to start but was waiting for a sign of approval from her best friend that this was definitely okay. 

“Katie, I will come right now if you don’t move. Please.” He begs, his whimpering, the begging. She’s never had to take control during sex before, and she likes it. She likes it because it’s Spencer and this isn’t pretend, he is this innocent and honest. She knows now just how far his worship of her goes, beyond friendship and academia, put the fact he is hers. Completely. 

She rocks her hips back and forth, quickening the pace and slamming her hips down onto his. With every move, Spencer is vocal – in fact, he’s loud. His whimpers are the most gorgeous sound she’s ever heard, and she refuses to shut her eyes even for a moment in case she misses a second of how his face moves and contorts with each motion. One hand is grasping at the cushion behind his head, the other is pulling her into him by her back. Wanting every piece of her. 

[dmercer91]

nhlers as ultra specific things

this is basically a list of nd lore as nhler hcs

cause it makes them feel more human and i feel like that’s a good thing

pls add on or feel free to challenge my choice of player <3

michael bunting bites his nails

matthew tkachuk messes with his eyebrows and eyelashes

luke hughes picks at scabs and acne

dawson mercer pokes his tongue out when he’s focused

nico hischier picks at his nails

trevor zegras plays with a rubber band when he’s unsure

mitch marner tells stories and forgets the point

mark estapa chews on his hoodie strings

rutger mcgroarty zones out so hard he doesn’t catch what people say to him

freddie andersen cracks his knuckles when he’s uncomfortable

william nylander picks at / messes with the cuffs on his long sleeve shirts

john gibson doesn’t like eye contact but makes a point of doing it in case he seems rude 

seamus casey says ‘huh?’ only to properly answer a question without it being repeated

jamie drysdale doesn’t like it when his food touches

elias pettersson shuts down when he’s overwhelmed

jack hughes scrolls on his phone with his mouth over the caps of his water bottles

andrei svechnikov jumbles english and russian when he’s flustered

pyotr kochetkov gets migraines

auston matthews hates his laugh

john marino thinks he’s the king of sarcasm but misses most sarcastic comments

cole caufield has a hard time reading when it’s his turn to speak and often cuts people off or misses his window

tage thompson responds to compliments with an extremely awkward grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up

owen power pushes up his glasses only to find out they’re not even on his face

ryan graves has a good singing voice but his voice will absolutely never see the light of day

sidney crosby smiles and nods when he could not have less of a clue what’s going on

rasmus sandin consistently trips over his own feet

dougie hamilton often says ‘thanks, you too’ when a non hockey player tells him he played well

ethan edwards wanders off mid conversation if he hasn’t spoken in a while without even realizing

arber xhekaj complains consistently about one thing and when he’s given a completely reasonable solution he refuses the advice

kent johnson draws on his arms

gavin brindley has a really niche/uncommon skill and is completely baffled when others are impressed

alex turcotte struggles doing groceries cause he’ll only buy what he’s currently craving

timothy liljegren has a good memory but only because he can associate things he needs to remember to the absolute most random third party aspect ever

connor mcdavid will enter a room with a task to complete and stand in the doorway buffering cause he can’t remember what it was

leon draisaitls hands are always cold

logan cooleys room is really messy but he can remember that he has a pack of gum in his black sweatpants that are on the far left corner of his floor under the red shirt. if the gum is moved to an appropriate place for gum it will never be touched again

connor bedard laughs at really bad jokes out of pity (or cause he doesn’t get it and he feels like he should)

quinn hughes has no social battery unless he’s with his person - in which case he is on crack

[addictedtoking]

Snippet of something. Steve and El both came from the lab, season 3 canon divergence thing, kinda angsty. Idk. I tried.

———

“We wrote to each other.”

Billy looks over at El from the third rewind of Grease, waiting for her to continue. “When we were learning, we would write to each other. As practice. He would tell me to have a good day. Or what he was doing.”

She paused, sniffled. Billy offered no comfort; he didn’t know how and she wouldn’t want it. “And I would tell him what was on my mind-“ this time she swallowed and when she spoke again it was wet “and when we were apart we would write letters to read when we got back together and-“ the sob was nasally and so so heart wrenching that Billy wanted her to stop. But she needed to get this out. “And I know he can’t read them but I need to… I need to” she finally looked at him and Billy felt his own eyes turn moist. “I need to tell someone how I feel.”

Billy, yet in the face of such emotion, didn’t let the tears fall down his cheeks. “You could-“ he took a breath “-you could write to me.”

El swallowed and wiped her tears. “You can write to me too.” She looked at the tv again. “It’s good to get it out. That’s what he said.”

Billy nodded, even tho she couldn’t see it. Wiping cheeks from absent tears, he said, “I’ll add that to the list.”

…

It was rough, in the beginning. He was angry and this town was shitty and dad was shitty and Max-

Anyways. The plate. The fight. The drugs. When he woke up the next morning groggy and with Neil yelling down the hall, he had no regrets. Max was home and in fine condition. His face hurt a little, but that’s fine. It’s all fine. Except for when Neil took whatever was bothering him out on him. But that’s fine. It’s not max- the little shit head who doesn’t listen.

He spent the rest of the weekend working out and drinking. By Monday, he was somewhat prepared for high school again. So he sprayed his cologne, gathered the shitbird, and sped off to school.

He had no regrets when he walked into first period. Nor when he skipped second to smoke behind the bleachers. Nor third period. Lunch. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Seven-

There, he saw the fallen king, sporting a bruised face and cuts bandaged by pink bandaids with butterflies. The coach was telling him to take the period off. Obviously he had a recovering concussion and needed the break. After all, there’s a black ring around his left eye and his cheek is purple and his lips are split but no less plump-

Billy scored four fouls.

He refused to regret it.

Billy refused to regret a lot of things.

Billy will think he should have regretted more to prepare him for this.

It was bad in the beginning. Now it might be worse.

…

Billy wasn’t all there. He remembered going to work. He remembered driving around in his car. He remembered the warehouse.

Then it’s blurry. There are images. And the beach. And a girl. And Steve-

And then he wakes up in a hospital bed. Max is at his side. Her face is all blotchy and an ugly red from crying, but they’re not close enough for it to be over him.

“Who was it?” He croaks. He wants water.

Max startles, finally noticing him. She blinks like she doesn’t know what he said. He’ll need something to drink before he says it again.

Max gives him water from the cup, eye tearing up again while he sips. A single tear rolls down her cheek and she furiously wipes it away. He would normally sneer at her tears, wrinkled face and spotty flush, but he needs to know who, who died, who did he kill-

“Steve’s gone.”

…

Robin-before-the-Russians thought the worst day of her life was when Tammy Thompson blew her off to try snuggling up to Steve Harrington. Robin-after-the-Russians has had a far worse day.

It’s also Steve Harringtons fault, but not because he stole a girl. No. That would be a concern for Robin-before-the-Russians. This Robin, the one walking up to a bunch of kids, knows this will be the worst day ever. This day will surpass the day her parents discover she’s a lesbian and it will surpass the day she dies.

This terrible day is Steve harringtons fault. Because apparently he’s more than pretty hair and pompous clothing. Because he’s actually a badass that takes down evil monsters with his mind. Because he’s dead.

The kids see her coming towards them, and they look behind her where Steve would be. But he’s not there, so they look back at her. The curly haired one, Dustin, Steve’s best friend, Steve’s brother- sees it in her eyes first. His face crumples and he falls, a tiny “no” leaving his lips.

The red one follows after, going down on a knee beside dustin. One by one, Robin watches them realize. One by one, the shock and grief overtakes their innocent faces.

Robin doesn’t notice she’s not walking anymore when another girl runs past her towards to group. Seeing their distress, she turns back and faces Robin and oh-

Robin sees Steve in her brown eyes, in her clothing, in the blood dripping from her nose.

Maybe she can see the sadness on Robin like Steve, because look is all it takes. The girl let’s out the harshest, most gut-wrenching scream. She realizes he’s gone.

He’s gone.

The children grab her as she falls into them, a pile of misery if she’s ever seen one.

Robin takes another step before her legs give out. It might have been from the drugs, from the lack of food, from the torture. It doesn’t matter. The kids just lost their protector and nothing she can do will bring him back. Their image blurs as Robin succumbs to the tears as well.

Yes. It’s all Steve Harringtons fault. She just wishes he were here so she could tell him that.

…

The days after are bad, with the grief and the recovery. The town has lost so much in one night, so many lives stripped away in one single building.

The nights are worse. For those in the fire, it’s a long, dark time filled with torture devices, enclosed spaces, and monsters wearing people as masks.

Dustin doesn’t sleep much. Usually, after this happens, he has someone there to wake him up from nightmares. The first time, the party had slept in wills room and he could wake up and see his friend sleeping in his bed. The second time, he spent the night at Steve’s house, who hadn’t minded when he crawled into bed with him and El.

It was not the beginning of their friendship, already too far past that, but it was somewhere about midway. As the months passed, dustin will joined Steve’s and El’s little family in the backseat of a beemer, in the yellow kitchen, in the last dredges of milkshakes. He and Steve and el became Dustin-Steve-and-El then just Dustin-and-Steve as summer began and everyone flourishes out. He’d thought this summer would be the best with his science camp and new girlfriend and Steve and ice cream and secret Russian messages-

So. This time, afterward, there’s no one. Lucas and Erica are stuck at their parents, max at the hospital with Billy, Mike and will hidding in the formers basement, and El-

Dustin hesitates less than he should’ve before shakily getting out of bed. The walkie sits on his desk, where it has been just in case he needed Steve. But Steve’s not here, so it sits there uselessly.

But know he picks it up and dials into channel 4, “you there? Over.”

There is a long pause before another voice gives a quiet “yeah. Over.”

The device is quiet again while they wait for the other to say something. El relents first.

“I miss him. Over.”

Dustin backs up until his thighs touch his bed, then he kind of falls back onto his sheets. He stares at the ceiling as he replies “me too. Over.”

Silence again. El is probably looking at the ceiling too. He can picture her looking up. It’s not her ceiling, covered in posters and stars and paint splatters. Instead, it’s probably the Byers, the ceiling above wills bed: wood planks and dark swirls. She hasn’t gone back into their house since he-

“Do you want to have a sleepover? Over.”

He waits for her reply, clutching the walkie to his chest. For a minute, he thinks she’s not going to respond until she croaks “yeah” a pause, her voice is clearer “I’ll be there in 10. Over.”

“Copy. Over and out.”

Dustin sits up and unlocks his window.

…

Max helps Billy get from the hospital to the car, then from the car to the house. Then, later that night, she helps him to the bathroom.

She doesn’t talk to him. Doesn’t mention Neil’s silent neglect. Doesn’t mention Susan’s air headed absence. Doesn’t mention the mall. Doesn’t mention what he did.

Still.

It’s a little too much. He’s not weak. He doesn’t esnt need his 14 year old sister to take care of him. But every time Max is there to do something for him and he feels a rush of anger and it’s so big it might explode out of him and jab at her-

It just.

Goes away.

Steve - Seven - Harrington had mind powers. He’s heard the kids talk about it over the walkie talkie Max keeps locked in her room. He heard about the nudges and pulls and keeping it there.

Now he knows what Harrington did to Neil. The lack of care. Absence of anger or annoyance. Just a mellow man living his days in a mellow town. No wonder the abuse stopped.

Now he thinks Harrington did something to him.

He’s on bed rest for almost three weeks. He has a lot of time to think.

And every time Max brings him water without asking or adjusts his pillows, and the anger and annoyance rise up and release just as fast to leave him cooler and more rational-

He thinks he’s kinda ok with it.

…

Max doesn’t sleep.

Her eyes are dry and crusty. There’s bags upon bags under them, black and sunken. Her mind is slow and she can barely tell what anyone’s saying to her the first time. She’s so tired it’s all she thinks about.

The nightmares are worse than the tiredness.

Steve’s bleeding from his nose and mouth, and some’s coming from his ears too.

It’s okay, he says.

It’s gonna be okay, he tells her.

He kisses her forehead. It does not distract her from the lie.

Go with Billy, he said.

Billy will protect you, he told her.

Billy carried El and Mike from the mall, but in this dream he’s carrying her instead.

She watches Steve get smaller, and smaller, and smaller.

He does not go to her no matter how much she screams.

…

Billy doesn’t remember what happened.

But the kids do.

Robin’s the one to tell him though, bundled up in blankets and sitting in a room with all the lights on. It’s the end of August. She shivers despite the heat.

“You- it had found the kids - Mike, Max, and El - and Mike was down and Max almost was, and y- it was toting off El over your shoulder. Steve found you- it.”

He doesn’t get mad at her mistakes. His body carried a monster. (was the mind flayer the only monster though? Was it not just you? Billy- BILLY).

“What did I do?”

Robin blinked her eyes a few times. She looked into his, though his baby blues didn’t hold as many tears. “You hit him.”

He tries to hold in his confusion - a hit wouldn’t have taken him down - but she sees it anyways. She swallows and holds up a hand.

A moment.

Two.

“The Russians banged him up pretty bad. There were too many of them for him to use his mind powers - manipulation thing - good enough, so he just distracted them from me,” she swallows again and sips from the water she clutches like a life line, “But he was fine- not with the drugs of course - but he wasn’t keeling over yet-“

She sobs again. Billy’s eyes remain dry. It’s awkward.

“But he tried to stop it and it hit him again and again until he could get to you-“ another sob, “and when I found him again after he sent you off there was blood coming from his mouth and I had to help him walk to the elevator and he wouldn’t sit because I don’t think he could get back up if he did and it was too much on top of closing the gate and I couldn’t carry him-“

She’s full on sobbing now, and for a second he regrets sharing the pot. He didn’t want to deal with this. He was not the person to deal with their emotions. He did not belong in this family.

He shouldn’t after what happened. What he did.

Still, he pats her shoulder and lets her curl up next to him until she falls asleep. Then, he lays her down and wraps the blankets around her.

He is not a good caretaker. So he leaves after that. But he leaves the lights on for her so she doesn’t wake up in the dark.

…

Here’s what happened:

Russians opened gate under mall.

Mind flayer started possessing people.

Billy got possessed and then helped mind flayer possess other people.

Russians attack ice cream scoopers.

Mind flayer attacks children.

Adults kidnap and commit grand theft auto with a Russian man to help stop both of the above.

Russian man dies.

Children distract mind flayer from its prey.

Possessed Billy finds prey, takes it, and then is intercepted by prey’s brother.

Possessed Billy beats up Prey’s brother.

Brother has another nearly fatal concussion. He undoes possession on Billy, brainwashes him into taking and protecting kids, then escapes down to Russian base with his ice cream scooping friend. Superboy closes gate, liquifies his brain because he had too many traumatic brain injuries, and is near death as mall starts collapsing around him.

Ice cream scooping friend has to abandon him to make it out alive.

No-longer-possessed Billy protects kids until mind flayer is killed. Promptly passes out from previous injuries.

That’s all he could get out of Chief Hopper.

Chief Hopper was shitfaced and mourning his child.

Chief hopper still doesn’t blame Billy.

Billy wishes he did.

[strangerthingslover69]

Kept secrets

Dmitri + Female reader

18+ minors do not read!

Warnings ~ Drinking, swearing and smut

The Byers are throwing a party for your best friend Jim Hoppers birthday. Everyone you can think of is invited! Including their new Russian friend Dmitri. You have had a crush on him for a while now, even though he’s a fair amount older than you, you can’t help your feelings. With alcohol being thrown into the mix your night was about to become… interesting

The day is finally here, you’re on your way to the Byers house with your best friend Jim Hopper for his surprise party. People always found your friendship interesting considering you were in your late twenties and he was in his early forties but regardless he was your best friend always there for one another. Jim lights a cigarette ‘So kid, you gonna tell me where we are going?’ Hopper says taking a drag of his cigarette. Offering you some, you happily take it inhaling the the sweet nicotine. ‘I’ve told you. It’s a surprise! Now put on your blind fold!’ You say passing him back the cigarette. He rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. You pull up the Byers drive and see balloons out the front. You can’t help but feel excited. Hop doesn’t like celebrating birthdays much but this one was special. His first one since being back so when Joyce told you her plan you eagerly agreed! ‘Here’ you said stopping the car. ‘You stay there and I’ll help you out okay?’ You ask. ‘I may be a year older but I can get out by myself Y/N’ Hopper said with a laugh. But he did as was told and waited for you to open the door. You took his hand as he got out of the car. ‘Keep that on until I tell you to take it off okay?’ You say as you walk towards the door. ‘Okay kid’ Hopper answers you. You know he will always call you kid even though your in your twenties he will always call you. ‘Mind the step’ you say as you reach the door finally. You open the door and see so many people there you smile happily. ‘Okay’ - you take your hand off him and walk to the others. ‘Now you can take it off!’ Hopper takes off the blindfold as you all shout SURPRISE! Hopper shakes his head laughing and walks over to Joyce giving her the biggest hug. You smile happily as they embrace. You can’t help the pang of jealousy, not because you wanted Hopper but because of there happiness. Hell they deserved it don’t get me wrong but you just wanted something like that. You push away the negative thoughts and make your way to greet others that are here. Of course all the kids are here and the older ones too, the officers from the station, Murray and Dmitri. Ahh Dmitri. The man you’ve been crushing on since you first laid eyes on him. Sure he’s a lot more older than you but you didn’t care. As the party starts that’s when you decide to grab a drink from the kitchen, you see beers in the fridge and grab one. Perfect.

The kids are playing a board game even the older ones join in, Murray is talking to the officers in deep conversation, Dmitri has disappeared, Joyce and Hopper are sat cuddled up next to one another on the sofa and your standing in the corner on your third beer looking around the room. As you finish your drink you decide to go have a smoke break. You leave through the back door leading onto the garden. It’s a bit more cooler now as the wind picks up making you go goosebumpy. You take a cigarette from your pack placing between your lips and go to light it, ‘shit’ you mutter to yourself. ‘Need one?’ you heard a voice coming from the bench on the grass. ‘Shit. Didn’t realise anyone was out here.’ You say with your hand on your chest. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you’ Dmitri says making his way over to you. ‘No my own fault, don’t worry’ you mutter still with the cigarette between your lips. Dmitri points to it and holds up his light. You nod ready to take it out of your mouth but instead Dmitri moves in closer, he leans down and holds the lighter up to the cigarette. Lighting it for you. Such a small action but yet so intimate. ‘Thanks’ you say taking a drag. ‘No problem, are you having a good time?’ He asks you. You shrug. ‘It’s good yeah, Hops happy. So I’m happy’ you say with a smile. The wind picks up again making you shiver. ‘Are you cold?’ Dmitri asks. ‘A little bit. My own fault for not bringing a jacket’ you say rubbing your arms trying to keep warm. Dmitri takes off his zip up hoodie he’s wearing, ‘here.’ He says passing it to you. You shake your head, ‘oh no it’s fine honest.’ You protest but before you can say anything more he’s putting the hoodie on your shoulders. ‘It’s okay, it’s not that cold for me compared to Russia’ he says with a smile, ’thank you’ you say putting your arms in. It’s so cosy and you can feel he warmth from him wearing it. You zip it up and feel a lot more warmer now. ‘See you inside’ Dmitri says as he turns to leave. ‘See you’ you reply quietly already missing his presence. As you finish your cigarette you snuggle into Dmitri’s hoodie, you can smell him on it. It smells like cigarettes, his body wash and just a man. It’s intoxicating. You want that smell on your all the time. You head back inside just in time to say goodbye to the kids who are all staying at the Wheelers tonight, you all say goodbye to them, the older kids decided to call it a night too. The officers left first as they had to get back on duty. It left you, Hopper, Joyce, Murray and Dmitri.

‘Now the youngsters are gone we can get this party really started!’ Murray announces into the room walking through with not one, not two or even three but four bottles of vodka and some shot glasses. Hopper put one some music in the background and you all began to drink. A couple of hours later and three bottles already gone. After two bottles went Hopper and Joyce decided to call it a night leaving the three of you left. You were all very very drunk by now. You were even sure how your mouth was working. ‘So so Murray. T-tell me this. How do do you have such good karate skills? I I’ve always wanted to know’ you say taking a swig from the bottle. ‘Well Y/N let me tell you little miss. Actually actually. Let me show you!’ Murray jumped up quickly and began to show his karate kicks in the air. You and Dmitri were sat next to each other on the sofa leaning into one another laughing at Murray’s skills. To be fair to him he was good you think m. As Murray finished one last kick in the air and landed he turned to you both, ‘that was not a good idea!’ He ran off to the bathroom. A couple of seconds later you hear him puking.

You and Dmitri look to one another again and can’t help but laugh. You are so close to one another you don’t realise that his hand had rested on your bare thigh. You reach for the bottle of vodka but Dmitri’s hand soon takes its away. ‘No no little one. You’ve had enough’ ‘hey, I, I am fine thank you! I’m not the little one! Just one more!’ You say trying to reach the bottle from the hand but he moves further back, ‘nope no more Y/N’ he says as you still try to reach out for it. You’re so close to reaching it. You are climbing yourself across Dmitri’s body to get that bottle. Your legs crawling along his as your hand is so close to touching it. You slip and fall right on top of Dmitri’s body. You are directly on top of him. Chest to chest, legs on legs. You push your arms up by the side of his head. Now you are face to face. The bottle long forgotten about. You look at his eyes then down to his lips. You bite yours. Dmitri is watching your lip as you bite it. You look back into one another’s eyes. You don’t know who did it first but your lips end up on one another. A hot, heavy and needy kiss. Your tongues intertwine with one another. You can feel yourself getting wet already. You break the kiss and you sit up and un zipping Dmitri’s hoodie and shrugging it off your shoulder. You reach the bottom of you dress and pull it over your head. Leaving you in just your bra and panties. Dmitri’s grunts at the sight of you almost naked. You dive back to the kiss, more sloppy this time. Dmitri’s hand roaming your body trying to feel you all at once. You start grinding down on his dick you let of a small moan of the friction. You can feel his dick through his jeans. You go back in and begin to bite and suck down on his neck making him moan. You lick the places you've bitten over. You whisper in his ear, ‘I need you inside of me Dmitri.’ You feel his hips buck up into you causing a moan to fall off your lips. You move your hands down and undo his belt. Pulling down his jeans and boxers in one motion. ‘My oh my daddy. Aren’t you a big boy’ you say admiring his dick. You stand up and unclasp your bra trying not to fall with your slightly spinning head. You pull down your panties. Now fully bare in front of him. ‘Блядь’ (fuck) he mutters as he sits up more. He pulls you by the wrist on top of him. You straddle his lap putting a leg either side. His dick lining up to your pussy as you slide on to him. You both moan as you feel him going in and you clench around him. There’s no going slow. You need this. The man you’ve been thinking about for the last few months. The man you’ve wanted. You’ve finally got. You begin to ride him moving quickly back and forth finding your sensitive spot. His dick feels amazing. He holds your hips with his hands and helps move you back and forth taking him in more. He leans up kissing your neck. Latching his teeth on to it and biting down causing you to moan loudly. He leaves marks all over your neck as he makes his way down to your chest marking them up to. He takes your nipple into this mouth a starts to suck on it, your moving so quickly on Dmitri’s dick, back and forth the friction causing you to feel more pleasure on your clit. You are close as you clench around him. ‘Fuck Dmitri!’ You moan as your at breaking point. Your orgasm crashes around as you cum all over his dick. Dmitri is not far behind, ‘Блядь Y/N’ (fuck) he moans at his thick cum fills you up.

You sit there for a while just embracing one another catching your breaths. Your head starts to feel more dizzy as your alcohol catches up with you. Dmitri is the first to talk. ‘Well than was unexpected, but very fun’ he says looking into your eyes. You can’t help but smile shyly. ‘It was very fun’ you say pulling him in for another kiss. You feel him twitch inside of you making you gasp. ‘Wanna have some more fun?’ He asks. You don’t answer you just carry on kissing him and begin to move yourself again.

When you wake up it’s still dark and you feel you’ve got one hell of a hangover. You’ve a bit dazed and confused on your setting. As you rub your eyes to focus more on where you are you feel an arm around you stomach. What the fuck happened last night? You think to yourself. As your setting looks recognisable you realise your on laid on Joyce’s sofa. You feel the person move slightly behind you. You turn around and come face to face with Dmitri. He’s softly sleeping still. You have no idea what on earth happened. You try to think back but as your try to remember you feel a bit cold. You look down under a blanket draped across you both and see you are both complete naked. You can’t help but linger your eyes on Dmitri’s naked body next to you. His chest is toned and the only hair is leading down to his wowing size of a dick. You admire it for a minute before a voice takes your attention away. ‘Morning’ you turn and see Dmitri looking right at you with a smile. You feel yourself blush as you put the blanket back down. ‘Morning’ you say shyly. Just before Dmitri speaks you hear someone moving around in a bedroom. Shit shit shit. You both need to get clothes on. You shoot up which doesn’t help your head but you carry on you can’t have any of them finding you both like that! You throw Dmitri his boxers and jeans. You find your dress and bra and quickly pop them on. ‘Where’s my top?!’ Dmitri whisper shouts to you. You try to tidy up the sofa up a bit. A bedroom door opens and you both lay back down pretending to be asleep and almost fully clothed. It’s then you realise you don’t have your panties on. Whoever is awake doesn’t say anything just heads to the bathroom locking the door. ‘Dmitri where’s my pants?!’ ‘Probably somewhere with my top!’ He snaps at you. That takes your off guard and you pull a sad face. Dmitri feels bad for being short with you he didn’t mean to. He just doesn’t want everyone to see you both in a comprising position. He has no idea what Hopper would do to him if he found you both like that. ‘Sorry’ he whispers to you. ‘It’s okay’ you say as you get up slowly and walk to the kitchen grabbing two glasses and filling them with water. You search for some tablets for your head and find some paracetamol. You sit back on the sofa and offer a glass to Dmitri. He sits up and takes it. ‘Thanks’. You both gulp it down like your dying of thirst. You both sit there awkwardly for a minute not really knowing what to say.

‘Morning guys, how are you?’ Joyce comes out of the bathroom heading to the kitchen. ‘Good’ you both reply in union. ‘You okay?’ You ask back taking your paracetamol. ‘I’m good thanks sweetie. You two sounded like you had fun last night!’ She says grabbing the coffee pot. You both look at one another, ‘oh did we?’ You ask in a small voice. ‘Yeah, you woke me up!’ Joyce says laughing. ‘Shit. I’m so sorry Joyce, we didn’t mean to it’s jus-‘ you start but she cuts you off. ‘Don’t worry sweetheart. I just want to know what was so funny?’ She asks looking at you both. ‘Funny?’ Dmitri asks with a confused tone. ‘Yeah, I could hear you both laughing’ Joyce replies drinking her coffee. Phew that was close. ‘Oh that would have been me. Showing my amazing karate moves that clearly these two didn’t appreciate it!’ Murray says making his way to sit in between you and Dmitri. He looks at you then back and Dmitri smiling. ‘So what’s you two get up to after I greeted the toilet?’ Murray says with a sarcastic tone. ‘Oh nothing. We both passed out after you’d gone.’ You say avoiding all eye contact. ‘Right right. Dmitri, where is your top? You loose it in your sleep?’ Murray asks with a mischievous voice. ‘Oh- I got too hot. Took it off and threw it on the floor.’ Dmitri replies. Before Murray asks anymore questions Hopper enters the room. ‘Morning’ he says to the room. ‘You all sleep good?’ He asks getting a cup of coffee. ‘Your bathroom floor is surprising comfortable’ Murray says still looking at you and Dmitri with suspicion. ‘You sleep good kid?’ Hopper asks taking a seat next to you. You cringe even more at the nickname now ‘Yep. All good thanks’ you say quickly and quietly. Hopper turns to Dmitri and points to his bare chest, ‘hey erm where’s your top?’ ‘He got too hot so I took it off and couldn’t find it this morning’ you answer quickly you can feel everyone is looking at you or at least think it. ‘I’m going to take a shower if that’s okay?’ You ask when standing up. You head spinning a little. ‘Course honey, you wanna borrow some clothes?’ Joyce asks kindly. ‘Yeah that’s be great thanks’ you say as you walk to the bathroom. The others start a conversation about something, your not listening your trying to put the pieces of last night together.

You’re pretty sure you slept with Dmitri. As you take off your dress you look at yourself in the mirror, you gasp. You are covered in hickeys. They’re all over your breasts and some on your neck. Clearly visible you’re lucky no one said anything to you. This confirms you definitely did sleep together. You trace your hand over them, you can’t help but smile. You’re just about to step in the shower when there’s a knock at the door. You open it slightly poking your head out. ‘The others went for breakfast. Joyce asked me to give you these’ Dmitri says passing you a fresh towel and clothes. You take them trying to cover yourself a little. ‘Thanks, erm didn’t you wanna go get breakfast?’ You ask. ‘Not really hungry, besides I wanted a shower after you. Try to feel less shit’ he says with a shrug. As he talks you can’t help but stare at his lips, so plump, so kissable. You wonder down to his neck. Shit. There’s a lot of hickeys too. ‘Your neck’ you point to it. He looks confused, ‘what?’ You think fuck it and pull him into the bathroom pointing to the mirror. Yes you’re completely naked but you don’t care, seeing the marks you gave him has turned you on. He looks at his reflection at his neck, ‘shit. Y/N you marked me up really good, no?’ He says with a cheeky smile. He catches your reflection in the mirror stood there completely bare. His mouth slightly parts, you go into the shower turning it on and closing the curtain. You pop your head back out, ‘there’s room for you, I mean if you still wanted that shower?’ You say pulling the curtain back and stepping under the water.

Dmitri wasted no time getting his jeans and boxers off before pulling back the curtain and joining you. You stand there in front of each other completely bare, looking at one another body before Dmitri’s lips come crashing into your. This brings everything back from last night. You loved the way he touched you, the way his lips tasted, the way he moaned for you. You are both desperate to feel one another again so you waste no time. Dmitri picks you up and pushed you back into the cold wall. He lines his dick up to your wet pussy and slams it straight in causing you to moan. It hurts but also feels so good. He’s fucking you relentlessly, plowing in and out of your wet pussy. ‘Блядь (fuck) Y/N you feel so good’ he moans into your ear making you clench around him. ‘Fuck fuck Dmitri, I’m so close. Don’t stop!’ You say pulling his hair, this makes him go harder into you. *KNOCK KNOCK* OPEN UP OR I’M GONNA PUKE OUT HERE!’ You hear Murray shout from the other side. ‘I thought you said they went to breakfast?’ You whisper to Dmitri. ‘They said they were!’ He says whispering back. ‘You best be decent. I’m coming in!’ Murray says opening the door. Shit you didn’t lock it behind you but at least the curtains closed. You hear Murray puking into the toilet, what a mood killer. You and Dmitri are still and silent not daring to move. Once Murray had finished puking he started talking, ‘s-sorry Y/N, that vodka didn’t agree with me.’ You could hear him groaning into the toilet bowl. It didn’t appear he would be leaving anytime soon. ‘You okay Y/N?’ Murray asks wiping his mouth. Fuck sake. ‘I’m good yeah, I erm I thought you’d gone to breakfast?’ You ask completely normal as if Dmitri’s dick wasn’t throbbing in you. ‘I was gonna but then I started to feel terrible. That vodka must of been off.’ Murray says whilst puking again. You and Dmitri look at each other trying to keep a straight face. You let out a small giggle this makes your pussy clench around Dmitri and you feel Dmitri’s dick twitching in you. You bite your lip to hide the moan. ‘M-Murray, how long you gonna be buddy?’ You ask as you feel Dmitri slowly start to move in and out of you again. You look him in the eye with an expression of shock. He just winks and continues fucking you, picking up the pace more. ‘Just a few more minutes. Need to make sure it’s all out the system’ Murray replies taking his head out the toilet. ‘I-okay’ I’ll just wait in here.’ You say back but Murray doesn’t reply as once he’s puking. Your mind isn’t focusing on that though. It focusing on Dmitri and how he’s fucking you hard, he dick pulling in and out. You bite his shoulder not to let out a moan as your orgasm creeps back up. ‘дерьмо дерьмо‘ (shit shit) you hear Dmitri moan into your ear. He’s close too. You hear background movement and Murray flushes the toilet slowly getting up to wash his hands. As he washes his hands your orgasm hits you and you finally cum all over Dmitri’s dick. Biting down hard on his shoulder as you do. ‘Thanks Y/N. Sorry to of disturbed. Bye Dmitri’ Murray says exiting the bathroom. You both look at each other with shock as Dmitri cums inside of you. (Again) he’s breathless as he comes down.

You both do actually have a shower when you’re done. You can see your teeth individually on Dmitri’s shoulder from when you were biting down. After your shower you dry yourself and get changed into Joyce’s spare clothes. You hand Dmitri the towel and he hangs it around his waist. ‘So I guess Murray knows’ you say with your hand in his chest facing him. ‘I guess so. Let’s hope he can keep a secret.’ Dmitri says leaning in for a kiss. ‘I’m sure I can talk to him’ you say pulling away. ‘I like being your little secret’ ‘I like it to my маленький грязный секрет (dirty little secret) You hear Hopper announce they are back, you don’t want to leave Dmitri’s arms but have to. A quick peck on the cheek and you walk out of the bathroom heading towards the living room. ‘Hey guys, good breakfast?’ You ask making yourself some coffee. ‘It was great! Brought you guys some pancakes back if you want them?’ Joyce offers your them. ‘Yes please!’ You say happily plopping down ready to eat them. Dmitri comes out the bathroom in his jeans still no top but the towel around this shoulders to cover your marks ‘Man you need to cover up. Y/N doesn’t wanna see all that’ Hopper says jokingly. You stay silent eating your pancakes silently disagreeing with him. ‘Here it is!’ Dmitri says finally finding his top, it had slipping in between the sofa cushions. He pops it on and joins you for some pancakes. Murray comes out of a bedroom looking slightly under the weather. You and Dmitri both look up at his sheepishly. ‘Well hello love birds.’ Murray says. You visibly gulp. ‘How was breakfast?’ He turns asking Joyce and Hopper. Phew he wasn’t talking to you two. ‘Good thanks, feeling better?’ Hopper asks. ‘Lots thanks Jim’ Murray says sitting on the other side of you at the table. Joyce and Hopper sit down on the sofa and put on the TV. Murray taps your leg under the table. You look at him and he’s looking down. ‘I erm believe these are yours?’ In his hands are you lost panties. You blush instantly and snatch them away putting them into the shorts pocket. ‘Before you accuse me of anything Y/N I found them when I sat down this morning. Right next to where you and Mr Dream boat we’re sleeping?’ Murray says stealing some of your pancake. You look up at him sheepishly, ‘thank you. Sorry’ you whisper. ‘Not a problem. And don’t worry guys. I can keep a secret’ Murray says tapping his nose and leaving to join Hopper and Joyce. You and Dmitri look at one another and you just can’t help but smile. You both knew this was gonna stay a secret and Murray promised he wouldn’t tell either. But neither of you were prepared for how your secret was going to come out

[sisitrip]

Welp, I missed day 28 of A.U.gust 2023 (the one day I was excited to do), but life/drama/the humidity that made me enemies with my hair lol kept me from it. But, since ill editing and reading for a bit, my brain wouldn't let me do that until I posted this one. I want to thank @gallavichthings for hosting A.U.gust once again. I only got in two days, but I had fun nonetheless.

With that said, I'm offering "Will Do" with no expectations. (2,082k words)

Housekeeping:

Da: Yes (Russian)

Spasibo: Thank you (Russian)

TW: Mention of scare tactics used against a small child by our most hated sperm donor.

_______________________________

Ian pads into the dining room grappling with a helplessness he hates. 

Silent and distressed, Mickey is huddled on their bed recovering from yet another nightmare and there’s nothing he can do to stop them. Nothing. 

He paces, futility ushering him to do something, anything to erase the memory of Mickey crying in his arms, scared and curling his toes hard enough to turn them white. Desperate, he’d come out to heat some milk, the only thing he could think to do and it kills him that he can’t do more. 

He takes a few angry swings in the dark, hissing “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you” with each jab. He didn’t think his hate for Terry could grow.

“Bad dreams again?”

Ian jumps when Svet seems to materialize out of the shadows of the sparsely lit kitchen. He laughingly sags into a dining room chair, hand on his chest as orange sparks prickle his vision.

“Christ, Svet. You need a bell,” he says, unsteady. “Yeah, third nightmare this month. Night sleeping is still new for him.”

He blinks a few times and the sputtering orange lights finally fade. He needs sleep. He always sees dumb stuff when he’s this tired.

“You fixing Yevvy a bottle?” he asks.

“Da. He will shit again, but we must feed the bottomless pit.” 

Ian laughs softly. Yev’s appetite was legendary, a trait Mickey was proud of. 

“I’ll go get him. I just came to warm some milk for Mick,” he says, rising.  

“Wait!” 

He stills at Svet’s sharp tone. The delicate detente they’d reached was fresh and he’s always careful not to upset that balance. 

“Did … did I do something, Svet? I know this situation isn’t, I don’t know, ideal. But, we … me and Mickey, we could stay at my place if it makes you-”

“No, that part is okay. It’s just Yevgeny. He sleeps. I thought I would move before air raid alarm,” she jokes, sounding anything but amused as she waves him back into his seat. “I heat milk for the enfant terrible too.”

Ian smiles, relieved he hasn't clumsily ruined the truce he’s fought hard for and won. He takes a deep breath and wrinkles his nose against a warm electric smell he can’t quite place. Like burning metal maybe. 

“You were always sweet, Ian. Too sweet for this world you’d lived in with Mickey,” Svet says, rueful and quiet. A stove burner alights with a blue flame as she twists a knob. “But, it was that sweetness that let you accept Yev. What I didn’t know at the time was that you would come to love Yev like I did.”

Ian pauses in rubbing his sleepy eyes. Her past tense is throwing him off, making this moment weirdly surreal. Like an echo from a remembered conversation. 

He corrects her gently. “Like you do. Love Yevvy like you do. Here we say “do” for present and “did” for past.”

“What do you say for the future?” she asks. 

“Will do.”

“Spasibo.” Svet opens the refrigerator with her back to him. “You took good care of Yev. You were a better caretaker than either of us and I failed him when he’d needed me most. But, you never did. Even when you didn’t know yourself, you made sure he was safe. I’m betting that you'll do it again when he comes looking for you.”

There it is again. The odd use of the past tense. And did her accent just drop entirely?

Despite those disturbing anomalies, Ian’s too distracted by her clothing to focus on them. She’s not dressed in the robe and nightgown she usually favors. Instead she’s wearing some sort of reflective leggings that look metallic and uncomfortable. Her shape is different too. Softer, fuller. 

“Failed Yevvy how? And what do you mean when he comes looking for me?" he asks, watching her move slowly to the stove, like her limbs couldn’t respond fast enough. 

“Nevermind that.” She sets a milk filled pot on the flames then leans carefully against the refrigerator. “I have to tell you about my Yev. You need to be there for him.” 

The dark is doing something strange to her voice. It sounds otherworldly with a slight echo or reverb that gives it a tinny sound. Like a radio playing at night in a distant neighbor's yard. He doesn't know why, but it's freaking him out.

They both jump when a bedroom door opens and they hear Mickey’s footsteps approaching. Jesus, the whole house is spooking him tonight.

“Don’t tell him I’m awake. He’ll get embarrassed,” Svet whispers, slipping to the side of the refrigerator shrouded in darkness.

Mickey pads over, naked save his socks. 

His heart aches at the sight of those socks. Tonight is the first time Mickey’s told him why he always needs socks after a nightmare. Ian couldn’t imagine waking up from sleep as a four year old with your father gibbering like a monster under your bed and grabbing your naked toes in the dark. He finally understands why Mickey prefers sleeping during the day and it breaks his heart. 

“You comin’ back to bed?” Mickey steps between his legs, squeezing his shoulders. 

Ian’s about to warn him that Svet is up, but thinks better of it. She’s seen him naked before. 

“Just warming up some milk. You want cinnamon this time?”

He pulls Mickey close by the hips and kisses his sleep warm belly. 

“Yeah. But, I’ll make it.” 

Ian presses his face into Mickey’s stomach and runs his hands up and down the back of his thighs. He's not quite over Mickey screaming awake like he did. His protective caveman had surfaced with a vengeance.

“No, baby, I got it. Go back to bed. I’ll bring it in,” he mumbles, blowing warm puffs of air into Mickey’s navel, making him chuckle. 

“Baby.” Mickey’s soft snort is affectionate as he strokes the back of Ian’s neck. “You only call me that after a nightmare.”

“That’s the only time you’ll let me.” In the dim glow of the streetlight, Mickey’s face is still marked by his dream. Vulnerable and stricken. “I could call you that when we’re in the supermarket if you want.”

Mickey sucks his teeth and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. 

“Let’s try it around here first, alright?” Mickey kisses him. Sweet, precious. “Hurry up. Hate layin’ in there without you.”

Ian lets him go after giving his hips a squeeze. 

“I’m right behind you … baby.” 

Mickey huffs a soft laugh and kisses his forehead before padding off, leaving him smiling. Yeah. He's going to call him baby everyday. 

The clink of a pot against a mug brings him back down to reality. Svet’s pouring the heated milk and he flushes. He’d forgotten about her. Mickey, like always, eclipsed everything around him. 

“You teach him to love. That’s good. Needed,” she says, pulling the cinnamon from their meager rack of spices. “Yev will need both of you to know love.”

“He’s taught me a few things too,” he says through a yawn, wanting their Mickey scented bed now more than ever.

“Da. How to be a father without actually being a father. I will be grateful for that later.”

Svet sets the mug on the dining room table and he has a mild shock. She looks … tired. There are lines in her face and her hair must be catching the light weird because it looks silver in some places. And her pajamas. They’re definitely reflective and have panels in the chest and along the arms, almost like protective plating. Crazier still, they’re pulsing with a warm orange light. He blinks hard, leaning forward to get a better look, but she steps back into the gloom of the kitchen. 

“Svet, what the hell are you wear-”

“Oh fuck, no. It’s too soon. The cycle’s started. I was supposed to have more time,” she says fast, accent completely gone as she backs up. A warm copper scent begins to suffuse the room. “Listen. Yevvy’s going to come to you, Ian. When he’s 14, he’ll find you. Take him in. Even if Mickey doesn’t want to. Take him in.”

Ian’s heart begins to trip as tiny orange lights flicker around the kitchen. They fizzle to life between him and Svetlana, only to wink out as soon as they appear and are replaced by more. The hot copper smell is strong now, overpowering.

“Svet, what are you talking about? Holy shit, are we having an electrical fire?!” Ian stands and takes a step forward as more sparks of orange light swirls around her. Despite the violence of their appearance, they make no sound. 

“Stop! Stay there! The intake will kill you,” Svet warns, backing into a dark corner. “Just take Yev in. He will have no one but you and Mickey until I’m released. Promise me!”

There’s a horde of orange lights swirling along Svet’s body now, illuminating her. What he sees takes his breath away. 

Svet’s older. At least 60. Her face is wrinkled and her hair is gray. She’s aged 40 years since yesterday and that’s impossible. 

“I agreed to do this only if I could change Yev’s trajectory and this is the moment that triggers you to remember later. We found that your hippocampal storage will retain this specific memory and I need you to hold onto it! Yev needs you to!”

The orange lights surge now, filling the kitchen with an unearthly glow and an odd warmth. Frozen, Ian watches Svetlana fight against an invisible current that seems to be pulling her inward. She speaks rapidly now, as if racing against some unknowable deadline.

“Take him in. His life changes for the better because you do. He won’t get radicalized. I will get to see him again if I survive this. Just help him Ian! Promise me you’ll do it! Say you will do-” 

She winks out into a cloud of orange sparks, leaving behind a strong smell of heated copper. 

In shock, he responds to her pleas while they still echo in this empty space.

“Will do.”

The air in the kitchen crackles in the silent aftermath and Ian can’t move, sure that what he just witnessed wasn’t real. He’s been under so much stress - living with Mickey and Svet, running out of money, dancing at the club. Add to that the coke he hadn’t told Mickey about, but had needed lately to keep moving. Maybe he needed to cut back like he told Fiona because no fucking way that happened.

“Ian.” 

Mickey’s standing in the dining room holding the steaming mug of milk. “What are you doing?” 

With a start, he turns away from the dark kitchen. It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen.

“I-I couldn’t remember if I turned off the stove,” he says, soft and uncertain. 

“Doesn’t look like it. Turn it off now, it smells a little burnt in here,” Mickey whispers. “C’mon. Let’s go back to bed before you wake Svet.”

Ian turns off the stove and follows him, slowing past Svet’s room. He peeks in and she’s sleeping on the bed holding Yevgeny. He lets out a shaky breath. He’d sleepwalked. It’s happened before. That’s all. Nothing more than that.  

“Ian, you better get in here before I finish this milk or you ain’t gettin’ any,” Mickey teases from their bedroom doorway. 

He hiccups a disjointed laugh and follows Mickey inside, shaking off the last of whatever that waking dream had been. 

In bed, he loses himself in Mickey’s body, emptying him twice, until he’s wet, gaping and emotional. Still unsettled by his waking dream, he seeks stability and an outlet for his need to fix. He finds both in every moan, gasp and soft cry Mickey gives him until he no longer feels adrift. Satiated, they curl around each other and Mickey presses his feet atop Ian’s, body relaxing with this anchor he seems to need. Ian holds him tight and falls asleep, allowing the dream of Svetlana to fade into memory.  

He won’t think about this night again. 

For exactly fourteen years, he doesn’t even have the vaguest memory of it. But, the day there’s a knock on their Westside apartment door and a blond teenager with Mickey’s eyes says his name is Yev, he instinctively lets him inside.

Later, after they decide Yev should stay, Mickey asks him to make up the couch. Ian smells warm copper before he speaks without thinking. 

“Will do.”

[lacinkaju]

My European Poem

by Julia Cimafiejeva

This poem should be written in English. This poem should be written in German. This poem should be written in French, In Swedish, in Spanish, in my adorable Norwegian, Maybe in Finnish, Danish and Dutch. Baltic languages should decide for themselves. No Belarusian version for the poem, No Russian version for the poem, No Ukrainian version for the poem. The rest are at your choice. This poem should be written in the languages Of human rights organizations, Of those multiple expressed concerns by European politicians.

So Shall I get used to the thought That I could be taken to prison By the men wearing black, By the men in plain clothes, By the men with four fat letters On their fat black backs? Otherwise, my country Won’t gain any freedom. And it could not work anyways, As usual.

Shall I take it calmly that I Could be beaten and ultimately Found guilty for that because (They would say) I cried anti-state slogans like “Freedom!” Or “Release all political prisoners!” Though I would not need to cry them out at all (Like my Facebook friends and thousands of Someone else’s friends) In order to be arrested or beaten.

I won’t have to cry anything, I won’t have to do anything, Just stand silently, just be. I know I have to get used to that thought Just in case, because it’s so likely to happen. (Oh, my! I haven’t saved those telephones yet Whom to contact in case of detention.)

I can’t say that in Belarusian, I can’t say that in Russian, I can’t say that in Ukrainian, Only in English: I am afraid, Only in German: Ich habe Angst, Only in Norwegian: Jeg er redd. That’s enough, for other variants, Please, use Google translate. The translations should be more Or less accurate. These are not Those strange East European languages With their funny Cyrillic letters.

I’m afraid Like you would be in my place, If you lived in a country that is not free Where they’ve had the same president For 27 years. Oh, my god! more than Two thirds of my life I’ve spent Under the power of a crazy person Whom I’ve never voted for! (I can’t say that in Belarusian.) But my parents did. All the time they voted for him, All six times, and I think They’ll do that for the seventh, I’m just afraid to ask. Once a young daring girl, I got a slap on the face from my mom for not being “patriotic” enough. And my dad used to be a local election commission member. I’m afraid to ask whether he was honest While counting the votes, I am not sure. Thank God, he is on pension Now, but the rules there Are still the same. I can’t say it in Belarusian, I can’t say it in Russian.

Sorry, it’s a long poem, Because it’s a long story, I spent more than two thirds of my life Under the power of the man I’ve never voted for, Who harassed and suppressed and killed (They say).

And when I come to the literary festivals abroad, And when I speak English I try to tell the complicated history of my country (When I am asked) As if I am another person, As if I am like all those European poets and writers, Who do not have to get used to the thought That they could be arrested and beaten For the sake of their country’s freedom. As if my ugly history is just a harsh story That I can easily put out from the Anthology of Modern European short stories because It’s too long, And too dull.

When I tell it in English, I want to pretend that I am you, That I don’t have that painful experience Of constant protesting and constant failing, That nasty feeling of frustration and dismay. I want to pretend that I have a hope, Because when I tell it in Belarusian I realize, we all realize, there is none We can look forward to.

So forgive me my nagging in a half-broken English, My Eastern European never-ending complaints, As having read the books you’ve read, I still want to have a hope, I still believe I have a right for a hope, That hope could build its nest On my roof and sing its songs In Belarusian (Not in Russian).

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 9

"Mistaken Identity"

“Fuck,” Connie huffed and glared at him angrily. “Can’t you just pretend to be a normal person and come with me to your son’s first baseball game?” 

Will glared back, pressed his lips together and huffed as well. 

“First, you know that I don’t like baseball and second, I have stuff to do,” he snapped. 

“What? What do you have to do? Sitting on the porch and smoking all day?” 

“It’s not…” he started but Connie interrupted him. 

“Fuck, Will! It’s Danny’s first game!” she snarled. “It’s not his fault the military retired you. Now get up, get your ass in the car and watch his game.” 

“Fuck you,” Will muttered when Connie was out of earshot but in the end he went nevertheless. 

“What’s wrong,” Connie asked when they were driving to Danny’s school. He looked in the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. 

“I’m not sure but I think someone’s following us,” he said. 

“Someone’s following us?” Connie blurted and wanted to turn around to look over her shoulder but Will’s hand stopped her. 

“No,” he hissed and looked in the rearview mirror again. 

“Who are they?” Connie asked, more than worried now. 

“I don’t know,” Will said. “Looks like a moving van.” 

“I’m pretty sure there’s more than just one…” Connie started but Will shook his head. 

“No, they are following us. I know when someone follows you, believe me!” 

Connie looked at him for a long moment but then she nodded. 

Will kept an eye on the moving van and the next chance he got he floored the car around the corner, sped up some more and drove around another corner. He looked in the rearview mirror again. The van was still behind them. Or better… there was another one now, too. 

“Fuck,” he cursed. 

“What? What’s happening, Will? Who are these people?” Connie asked, fear clearly audible in her voice. 

“I don't know,” he said. “We live in New York only for two weeks. We don't know anybody yet,” he pressed through his teeth while he shot around another corner, almost colliding with one of the billions of taxis. But the vans still followed him. Will just looked over his shoulder when he heard Connie scream. His head snapped around and he hit the brakes immediately. A third moving van was blocking the road and now he could read the logo on the side. “Trust A Bro”. He wanted to drive back but the other two vans were here now and they blocked the other side of the road.

“Fuck,” he cursed once more when guys in red tracksuits were getting out of the van, aiming their guns at him. They were gesturing for them to get out. For a moment Will wished he had his gun but Connie didn’t like it when Danny was around and so he had locked it in a safe. 

“What are we doing?” Connie asked and Will reached over, squeezed her hand for a moment. 

“I guess we will find out what they want,” he said and opened the door of the car. 

“Well, well, well,” one of the men in the tracksuits said with a thick Russian accent. “Hawkeye is back in town.” He grinned. 

Will furrowed his brows. 

“Who?” he asked and looked over at Connie. She shrugged, too. 

“Don’t play dumb, Hawkeye,” the man said and came closer. “I have not forgotten your face.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Will snapped. “We moved here two weeks ago and…” 

“Already forgot what happened last Christmas?” the man snarled, waving his gun around. “

For a moment Will actually forgot that several guns were aimed at him. He furrowed his brows and looked at Connie before he glared at the guy in front of him. 

“I have no idea who you think I am, but I spent last Christmas in Afghanistan,” he hissed. 

“You’re Hawkeye,” the man said, now cliearly as confused as Will. “The Avenger. Clint Barton. The one who…” 

“My name is William James and this is my wife Connie,” he said and pointed at Connie. “We’re on our way to our son’s school to watch his baseball game and I have no idea who this… Barton dude is. But it’s definitely not me!”

“No, no, no, this is…” the man said, raising his gun… and the next moment it was nailed to the van with an arrow. A real fucking arrow! 

“What the…” he blurted and took cover behind the car door, gesturing to Connie to go down, too. She did. The Russians shot at someone on a roof apparently but it took only moments until three more were nailed to vans and a young woman appeared in sight, a bow in her hand and an arrow trained at the guy who had talked to him, Will. 

“If you don’t want this arrow in your eyes you better tell your guys to get in their vans and fuck off,” she said, a smirk on her lips. The man cursed her in Russian but in the end he said something to his guys and they went into their vans and actually drove away before he removed the arrow out of the arm of his tracksuit, went into the remaining van and disappeared, too. 

“Are you okay?” Will blurted and hurried around the car. Connie was pale like a sheet but she nodded and he pulled her tight against his chest and hugged her. 

“You could’ve told me that you’re back in town,” the young woman said, climbing down the fire stairs. 

“Wha… who are you?” Will asked and the woman cocked her head. 

“Did you get a stroke, Clint?” she asked. 

“For crying out loud,” Will huffed. “I’m not this Clint dude! My name is William James and I have no idea who this Clint dude is!” 

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, scrutinizing him for a very long moment. 

“You’re not Clint?” she asked and Will threw his hands in the air. 

“No, fuck, no! I just moved here two weeks ago and I almost got shot because apparently I look like this guy,” he snapped. 

The woman reached in her pocket, pulled out a phone, dialed and put it against her ear. 

“Hey, Clint, it’s me, Kate. Yeah, fine… but I think you should come to New York asap. Here’s someone you want to meet. Believe me!” 

She quit the call and smiled at Will. 

“I’m Kate,” she said. “And welcome to New York.”

[ashes-writing]

the power of love pt five | stranger things ; s.harrington

A/N ; This chapter is brought to you by my undying need to insert even more sexual tension into a situation, a fuckload of cherry coke and just me, wanting to write some friendly flirting because I haven't really played with it a whole lot intentionally before. So if you pick up on those vibes when you're reading this, yay! I've done what I set out to do. For the next chapter, I am going to get Dustin in there with these two, I swear it. I just.. I need him to have time with Steve and his sister.

also, v.v bad idea to put 8675309 on your 80's / ST designated playlist because it's a brain worm and whew, does it ever invade...

Anyway, to everyone who takes the time to read this, leaves feedback in any form and esp the comments and tags I've gotten lately. You guys are seriously making my little heart so so so happy and you don't know how much it means / how much it all motivates me to keep at these. Thank you, thank you, thank you and I love you all.

-Ashes

Pairing ; Steve Harrington x Henderson!Fem reader

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ; Set in season 2 minus the upside down and it's unholy terrors and all the deaths / other assorted fuckery. If you like stories with heavy sexual tension and friends to lovers dynamic, that is this. This is more of a slice of life fic than the show it's based on bc no otherworldly stuffs. Anyway.. No deaths here. No russians / demothings / upside down.

Tag List ; @aries-arcade @allelitesmut @krys-orion @musichealsscars @hcloangcls @scoobiessnacks @heyaitsklaudia are the only people on my Stranger Things tag list. if you'd like to be added to my taglists for anything including Stranger Things, please let me know or add yourself -> here.

Warnings ; mentions of the devils lettuce, heaaavy sexual tension, lotsa touching, friendly flirting, a little mutual pining and one real awkward "sex bad don't do it" lecture in the gym before a big high school dance as per the time period.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || requests are open -> send me things. Pls. I beg. I'm doing headcanons and fluff or filth alphabet letters. No wrestling though.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

“There is not enough coffee in the world to make me stay awake through this.” your muffled statement has Steve glancing up at the back of your head. Since there was a big formal dance coming up, the school board apparently saw fit to cram all of the juniors and seniors together in the gymnasium  for a little impromptu sex ed course. Based solely on why they should abstain, of course.

Steve snickers to himself when your next grumbled remark is along the lines of, “How am I supposed to take any of this shit seriously when you can’t even say vagina or clit without flinching, though? Jesus.. We didn’t need this. This is just plain awkward. Literally no one asked for this."

You rub your temples for a third time and Steve leans forward to whisper against the shell of your ear in concern. “You okay?”

“I slept for shit last night, Harrington. Not to mention, I haven’t seen my reading glasses in weeks now because last time me n’ Val had a midnight smoke sesh, I put ‘em somewhere and now I can’t remember where.” you turn to face him, giving a sheepish little shrug.

Steve bit back a laugh while shaking his head. "You kind of need your glasses, woman, damn it... “Wait. You smoke too?” he asks as it sinks in what you've said about how you lost them in the first place.

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, on occasion. To relax.”

He can see the pain in your eyes when you start to rub your temples again. “Jesus. I wish I’d slowed down enough this morning to take something for this.”

He remembers the little massage you gave him. How they always seem to help him feel better.

And maybe he just wants to make you feel better. Deep down, he knows it’s a lot more than just wanting to make you feel better, but making you feel better is the more important reason he chooses to do what he does next.

“Okay, that’s not just a little migraine. Lay your head in my lap…” Steve coaxes, patting his thigh as he looks at you.

“Steve, no.” you're blushing a little, you can feel it when your cheeks burn hot. "I'll be fine. Just need to nap at some point or something."

“C’mon, the coach isn’t even looking back here, it’ll be fine. Look, “ he flashes you the megawatt grin that you used to swear had absolutely zero effect on you and that you now know that train of thought to be a lie and you sigh. Steve continues, “At least let me try, alright? You look like you’re really in pain.”

“Okay, fiiiine. We better not get in trouble, Harrington.” you mumble as you stretch yourself out on the wooden bleacher, your head resting against Steve Harrington’s thick jean clad thigh. His fingers are rough and clumsy and you wince when he puts entirely too much pressure on the most painful area, he apologizes immediately and you bite your lip, reassuring him you’re okay in a whisper.

He gazes down at you in concern but you coax him to keep going. “Seriously, my migraines are so bad that what I do for you when you get one while we’re studying doesn’t help.. But if you wanna try, by all means..” you settle back down against his leg.

Steve flexes his hands and cracks his knuckles. And just so the teacher and the coach giving this stupid pointless class don’t get suspicious and call attention to what’s going on, Steve does his best to look like he’s paying attention and really listening. You start to relax when Steve’s fingers start to rub gentle circles against your temples. More carefully, this time. As he does it, you can feel yourself starting to get sleepy a little bit and this probably has everything to do with the way Steve starts to alternate massaging your forehead with dragging thick fingers slowly through your hair and over your scalp.

“Mr. Harrington. Ms. Henderson. If what I’m seeing is anything to go by, maybe you two should pay attention.” the elderly English teacher looks absolutely scandalized when she glances in the back row to find your head on Steve’s thigh with Steve mindlessly rubbing your temples and playing with your hair.

And down in the middle section of the bleachers, Nancy happens to glance up and back to see what the teacher was talking about. And when she catches the way Steve is looking down at you while you have your eyes closed, she smiles to herself a little.

Maybe this time is different. Maybe he really will be okay. Maybe her original statement earlier in the week after hearing the rumor that you and Steve were hanging out a lot more lately, maybe it was wrong.. Maybe just because she didn’t see it working, maybe that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

Barb nudges her and laughs softly. “See? I told you there wasn’t any sense to stay together when you both wanted different things.” and Nancy nods. “I know, just… it was so hard to do it and I know I hurt him.”

“It’ll be okay.” Barb insists. “Just trust me.”

She faces the front again, both you and Steve completely unaware.

The teacher clears her throat impatiently. Your quiet snores have Steve snickering to himself. “Okay, alright. We’re listenin.”

When the teacher is satisfied that she’s scolded him -and he’s charmed her with that megawatt grin he’s known for to make her move on to other students, Steve leans down and mutters quietly, “You kinda fell asleep on me.”

You sit up and stretch, yawning.

Steve snickers quietly. “Have a good nap?”

“Bite me, Harrington. It’s that stupid essay the ball breaker wants us to have a rough draft of just two days after she assigned it.” you grumble, leaning against him just a little before you can stop yourself. The pain has eased up just a little and you giggle about that. “Huh.. the massage thing never works on my migraines.”

The bell to end the whole awkward attempt at a lecture on sexual safety finally rang and you stood up, yawning. 

“That was the single most awkward and unnecessary thing they’ve ever done.” you muse as the two of you are walking out of the gymnasium. Steve chuckles and nods in agreement. “Kinda worth it to watch the coach literally cringe every time he had to use the clinical name for basic human anatomy though.” he admits, laughing. You nod. “And that old hag, ugh… Just because you were giving me a temple massage, what the hell? I mean, yeah, my head was on your thigh but it’s not like…” you go quiet and you laugh at yourself, cheeks burning hot. Steve can tell you’re flustered and somehow, knowing what you were about to say doesn’t really help the situation he’s managed to create for himself by offering the massage in the first place. He’s just glad you didn’t feel it somehow.

“Yeah.” he laughs. “Exactly that.”

When you blurt out what you do next, you honestly want to crawl in a hole and die. And you instantly get the feeling that if he thought he was getting laid, he’ll be done now. Totally distant. Because he’ll move on to someone with any sort of actual experience.

“I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t know what to do with it if it smacked me right in the face. Kind of still a virgin.” you shrug it off. “Not like it’s a big deal or anything.” you insist as soon as you realize what you’ve just said and you regain the common sense enough to be properly flustered by it. Steve nearly chokes on air and takes a deep breath. Chuckling quietly. “You are, huh?”

“Mhm.” you’ve stopped at your locker and you’re switching out your books. Steve leans on the locker beside yours and all he can do is replay what you’ve just said over in his head a thousand times. And stare at you while you’re coating your lips with chapstick or something that smells like bananas.

You lock eyes in the reflection of your mirror and just to ease any tension your stupid little confession just a second ago might have created, you stick out your tongue at him and he does it back. “It’s not a bad thing, ya know…If you were like.. Ashamed when you admitted it.” Steve doesn’t want you to feel bad about it, he wants to reassure you that it’s okay. You turn around to face him just as he’s stepped closer and this puts you body to body. At which point, you place your hand against his chest and give a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’m well aware of that. And I’m not ashamed. I just.. Ya know… Never really slow down enough to consider… Doing that?” you twist hair around your finger as you gaze up at him thoughtfully. “Too busy nearly getting myself in over my head, let’s be honest.”

“I mean, you have almost died on me three times in a month.” Steve sticks out his tongue at you as he says it.

“I have not! I have not almost died!” you pout a little, laughing. 

“Woman, having you in any kind of crowd or out in traffic or a parking lot makes my anxiety level shoot through the roof.” Steve’s teasing, he’s laughing at you, but it’s done in care.

 When you realize you’ve stepped so close to him that there is no space left between you both, you gulp. And your brain goes into immediate shutdown mode, all over again because the contrast of muscle against your softness is enough to send you into overload.

And you want to kick yourself for it.

But you manage to somehow outdo yourself for the overwhelming urge to touch the guy even though you know you shouldn’t and before you know it, you have a hand on his bicep as you lick your lips and look up at him. “Yeah, this lipgloss shit is tasty. I remember why I stopped wearing it now.” you mumble, mostly to break up the tension. Steve clears his throat and tries to make his brain focus. “It is, huh?”

“Mhm. Tastes like bananas.” you mutter, trying not to watch as he licks his lips but failing miserably. And you hear your own words to Valerie way back at the beginning of the month coming back to you. 

Breathe. He’s literally just a normal guy.

“We’re still on for later, right?” Steve asks. You nod. “Yeah. You better have food in your house this time, Harrington. How the hell you sustain life on Spaghettio is totally astounding. Better yet, be ready when I come over, alright?”

Steve chuckles. “Bossy today, huh?”

“Please?” you give him this cute little pleading look and he nods. Clears his throat because apparently this little pleading look you’ve just pulled out of your hat to use on him is yet another thing about you that’s going to make his brain go brr.

And he’s telling himself not to, but he can’t help falling a little more.

“Where are we going, hm?” he asks quietly.

“I’m taking you to an actual grocery store, alright? With real food.”

He chuckles. “Oh you are, huh?” “Yes. Yes, I am. Because all that processed shit can’t be good for you, sir.” you do it again, reach up to fluff his hair before walking away down the hall to your class.

Steve leans heavily against the locker and lets his head fall back against it. “Fuck.” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“Flustered you again, huh?” Tommy’s laughing beside him. Wordlessly, he reaches out and gives Tommy Hagan the slightest friendly shove. “Shut up.”

“It’s true, though.. Right?”

“Maybe a little. If she had one tenth of a clue, man.”

“But maybe her not havin a clue is a good thing. If she was aware, man.. She’s an antagonist. She’d probably use it to drive you crazy, buddy.” Tommy shrugs.

“Ha fuck you ha.” Steve scowls at Tommy.

“I’m not rushing into anything. Besides… I still think you and Hargrove are fucking stupid and totally wrong. She’s not into me.”

“Why? Just because she’s not throwing her panties in your face like other girls always did?”

“Well, that’s one reason. Look, this is all throwing me for a loop. And there’s the shit with Nance, still getting my head together.”

“Yeah, yeah.. In other words, you’re being a little bitch.”

“Am not.”

“You are, man. You really are.” Tommy shrugs, ducking the lazy punch Steve sends to his bicep.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Thief of your Heart - Chapter Two.

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how thrilled I was, reading your lovely comments, some of you even leaving the writer’s dream of a full blown review. I am beyond touched, thank you so much! To express my gratitude, I have decided to give the next update a few days early. Do you want to meet Abi? You do? Good, here she is! 

I can’t wait to read what you think! 

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments, please reply below to be added/removed

Words - 3,924

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

She lifted her chin in defiance, her eyes, burning blue, never leaving the dark irises of the man who had foolishly dared to lowball her. “That wasn’t what we agreed, Yousef.” Her tone was biting, colder than a Siberian winter, steeped in all the quiet menace she handled herself with.  

“I grow sick of fucking IRA demanding more all of the time. More, more, more!”

She sniffed, her eyebrows fluttering. “More risk attracts a higher price. You know that, you’re fighting that. Our guns are what you’re using to hold that down, are they not? Two mil was our agreement. I am not leaving without my money.”  

He was resolute. “One point five.”

The disrespect for her status, and more so, her name, incensed her. Abi drew her gun from its holster, pointing it at Aftab, pulling the trigger, the young man screaming at having a hole blown in his foot. Immediately, all guns were drawn from the other side, her own men following suit. “Tell me, how much is it worth for me not to keep on blowing holes in your son? Because every time you refuse to comply, I pick another part of his anatomy to introduce a bullet to.”  

“You shoot him again and I will blow your head off, you fucking Irish bitch!”

She laughed, entertained. “Oh, come now, Yousef. We both know you’re too smart for that, not unless you want the full weight of the army to come and clout the bejesus out of you and your guys here! My death will incite a fuckin’ war, and you’ll lose your arms supply. Where else are you gonna buy from then, ay? The Russians? They’ll charge you a third more. The Americans? I wouldn’t even try. Saudi? Doubtful, their supply now runs through us too, so where does that leave you? It leaves you with your pants pulled down, about to let me slide my metaphorical dick straight up your arsehole, so it does.”  

She walked towards him, she and him gesturing for their men to lower their guns, Aftab still howling in pain on the floor. “I want my fucking money.” She stared unflinchingly, her eyes holding every last drop of identical menace that he remembered from her father. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree whatsoever. She was a Maguire through and through. He uttered the correct words her ears wished to hear, one of his men heading for their Jeep and unloading the bags full of cash. “Bren, count it.” she called over her shoulder, her eyes still locked on Yousef’s. 

“Aye, boss.” Brendan confirmed, taking the bags, he and the other three men quickly counting the piles of crisp notes. The necessary time passed in order to check that the full two million was there, Brendan confirming it. “Your shipment will port on the sixteenth. Until next time, gentleman.” Turning, she walked over to the Range Rover they’d arrived in, climbing in with a feeling of triumph. She always felt elated when people realised that she categorically was not to be trifled with. Sexism ran rampant in her world, though, and sometimes she did find men trying their luck, even though the very name Abi Maguire struck just as much terror into the hearts of the wise as her father's once had. Still, they tried. Always, they failed.  

She was glad of the air con hitting her, going a long way to cool the forty-degree heat currently stifling the population of Tripoli.  What made her even gladder was arriving back at her hotel, changing into more comfortable attire of denim cut off shorts and a grey vest, heading down to the bar to be furnished with a cold pint of beer, which she took outside to drink.  

Lighting a cigarette, she stretched her legs out, checking the messages on her burner phone first, and then her actual phone, which most of the time was switched off.  

‘Looking forward to seeing you when you arrive home, sweetheart. God bless x’  

Bridie, her mother. She hadn’t returned to Ireland for three months, brokering deals out in Saudi Arabia too while she was away, before making Libya her last stop on her way home. Usually, Abi was only gone for two weeks out of every month, but Jimmy had been putting her to further work in order to seal more connections, the IRA’s reach furthering once more thanks to her endeavours.  

She was just about to switch her personal mobile off when it began to ring, the number not one she recognised, but knew the country code of. 001. America.  

“Hello?”

“Abi, it’s me.”

Her heart jolted so hard at hearing that smooth, Scottish lilt, Abi felt like she was about to pass out. A million images flashed through her mind, them in the ruins of the church, laughing in front of the fires she’d lit in the name of freedom, swinging her around in his arms, love through a hail of gunfire, just them together in her old flat, in her bed, him in her, the forehead kisses he’d give. ‘I love you so much, CB.’

“Are you there?”  

His voice brought her back to the present, Abi gulping. “Aye, Fil. I’m here.” She paused, her heart thundering in her ears, her palms sweating, her mouth dryer than the Libyan terrain beneath her, insides blazing with light. “It’s been a long time, ay?”

He laughed softly through his nose. “It has, hen. How’ve you been?”

How had she been? Shit without him. That’s how she’d been, even almost fifteen years on. Filip Telford was the love of her life, after all. Even the mere memory of him eclipsed any other man she’d been with since. “Good, yeah. I've been good. And you?”

Swallowing back a mouthful of scotch, he fought the urge to tell her the truth, that living without her was, when he let himself contemplate it for too long, hell on earth. “Can’t complain. Listen, there’s something specific I’m calling you for.” He went on to detail all that had happened, Cameron’s kidnapping of Abel, Jimmy’s assurance that neither he or the child had arrived in Belfast, lamenting of course his distrust in Jimmy. “So, do you know of anything?”

Snatching babies, a son for a son. She supposed she couldn’t blame Cameron for it, wrongly thinking it had been Gemma to murder Edmond, but a baby? Abi’s morals swung upon a pendulum in whichever direction suited her favourably, but even she drew a line there, with a little infant who belonged with his family, not being used as whatever bargaining chip Cameron intended him for. “I haven’t seen Cammie for, god, six months or more now, and if Jimmy is secretly behind this then Christ knows, he wouldn’t tell me. He keeps me entrenched in our African and Middle Eastern dealings, I have nothing to do with any Irish-American ructions, unfortunately in this case. And you know I’d tell you, if I did know.”

He did. She'd never lied to him, and never would. He knew that deep down in his soul, no matter how long it had been since they’d seen one another. “Aye, pet. I know.” His voice softened, and it took her right back to when she was seventeen, the hardened arms dealer, the IRA soldier, the tenacious iron lady she was, crumbling as she felt tears prickle her eyes. God, she missed him. “Look, I’ve gotta go. You’ve got my number now, so if you do hear anything, keep me in the loop?”

“Aye, I will.” She almost couldn’t breathe. It was awkward, it wasn’t them, and they both knew it. They weren’t them any longer, though.  

“Alright. Bye, Abi.”

“See ya.”

She almost couldn’t put one foot in front of the other as she strode back inside to the bar, her breathing unsteady, pulse racing wildly. “Treble Jameson, straight up.” She needed hard liquor, to take the edge off of everything hearing his voice again had stirred within her. Once she was furnished with her required alcohol, she took it back outside, sitting down again and sinking it in one. Adjusting her bra, she grumbled when her nipple piercing got caught on the lace, discreetly unhooking the bead fastening on the same gold bar that had been put in the day they were both pierced.  

Piercings, Jameson whiskey and flickering candlelight. It took her back, Abi staring at the candle placed upon the table, illuminating the rapidly darkening space around her. Even certain songs could transport her back in time, closing her eyes, being able to hear Golgotha Tenement Blues by Machines of Loving Grace swirl through her head as she remembered, sitting on her bed with him, the light from many, many candles all around, sipping whiskey...

Belfast, 1994.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Chibs asked her, continuing to circle her nipple with the piece of ice that had previously been chilling his whiskey, Abi sipping hers with a nod.

“I am.”  

He tested her confirmation, moving the ice cube and biting onto her nipple, the action sending a little shiver through her. “Alright. Could you feel that?”

“Kind of, but not as much as I would have, without the ice.”  

He winked at her, circling the erect bud with his tongue, reaching for the needle and cork. “You ready?”

“Aye. I think.” Knocking her drink back, she nodded, setting the glass down. “Okay, do it.”

Making sure he had the needle straight, he lined up the cork and like lightning, punctured her nipple. Her entire body tensed, a small groan emanating her throat, followed by a hiss of pain, his fingers working quickly to slide the bar in and fasten it up. “Christ on a bike, that had to hurt! Sorry, CB. Here, lemme kiss it better.”

His lips pressed against it, a little drip of blood wetting his mouth, Abi softly exclaiming in pain. “Yeah, just a bit! Still, not as bad as getting shot, so it isn’t.”  

“You still want me to do the other, too?” he asked, moving to kiss her lips a few times, their tongues swirling. He had to admit, there was something very sexy about it, giving his lover such intimate piercings.  

“Yes, I have to match.”

He grinned, kissing her again. “Aye, cannae be lopsided.” Gesturing between her breasts, he made her giggle, kissing her neck softly. He then gave the ice treatment to her right nipple, moving his kisses back to her mouth as he did. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she hummed, Chibs frowning, shaking his head.

“Nae possible, lass.”  

“But it is.”

“Uh-uh, nah.” God, he was such a good kisser, her sex feeling prickled by arousal as they continued to devour one another at the mouth, the ice melting, a cold trickle dampening her breast. He took another cube from his glass, Abi reaching to top up each tumbler once more as her stiffened nipple began to numb, once again being tested with his teeth. A deep breath, a sip of whiskey for courage, and the needle went in. “Well, I have to give myself a pat on the back, there. I done good. They’re not wonky, at least.” He spoke after putting the bar in, sitting back to admire his handiwork.  

“They fucking throb, though,” she lamented, Chibs tutting, leaning to kiss her.  

“Want me to give you a distraction?”  

Her face was a picture of curiosity, sipping her drink, placing it back on the bedside table. “What did you have in mind?”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, grasping her underwear, pulling them off, hands stroking her thighs as he began to lay kisses descending from her knee, down her inner thigh, finally stopping on her...

“Ohhh.” The very first time they’d had sex, he hadn’t attended to her with his mouth, a regret that had led to him arriving at her flat two days later, ready to rectify. And when he had, lord, he’d made up for it. Having someone lick an orgasm from her was a sensation she had been in no rush to cease feeling, so much so, he’d done it twice more and then fucked her three times before finally leaving her sleeping and very satisfied.  

“Why do you like it so much, going down on me?” she asked, Chibs a little perplexed at her question, but answering all the same.

“Because your pussy tastes fucking amazing,” he began, dipping his tongue inside of her, looking up and winking as she watched him do it. “It’s pretty,” he continued, rubbing her folds with his fingers as he gazed upon her. “And I love how you react, the fuckin’ noises you make, when I do things like this.” Flattening his tongue against her, he swiped her folds with a long, firm drag, her clit sparking, her hips rising off the bed as she exclaimed the softest of cries. She’d had three boyfriends in the past who had attempted to get her off with their mouths, but they hadn’t really had much of a clue. That was because of what they were; boys. Now, in the capable hands, or rather mouth, of a man, she was kept extremely satisfied. He knew exactly how to please her.  

Her hands fisted his silky, dark hair, panting hard at the repetitive circles he drew over her clit with the tip of his tongue, pausing to suck on her every so often, Abi crying out as she shook against his mouth. Fire licked her veins, his tongue working her in a firm, hard beat, his dark brown eyes watching her, winking before closing, his middle finger sliding within the soaking velvet grip of her cunt, stroking her with the kind of precision that sent her stupefied with arousal.

“Fuck, you taste so beautiful.” He praised her, Abi wailing as he literally ate her alive. Tingles skittered through her at each firm lick, his finger joined by another, pressing her sweet spots, fucking her with them until she became utterly saturated, her silky wetness bathing his fingers and trickling over the back of his hand. Her thighs skimmed his face, her feet rested up on his shoulders, the suck of his lips around her clit sending her straight into bliss, shattering for him, Chibs sitting up, removing his last items of clothes. “I’d keep going, but I can’t. My cock’s getting envious of my mouth.”

She bit her lower lip, looking impossibly cute. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”  

“Oh, no.” He grabbed her at the ankles, holding her legs against his chest, her feet only just touching his shoulders, he was so much taller than her. She was, as he’d coined her in the past, a five-feet five pocket rocket, him towering over her at his six-feet two stature. She reached for his cock, guiding him to her dewy opening, gasping as he sank into her fully, stroking her legs, turning his head to kiss her ankle. Bottoming out, he dragged back again, his cock utterly slick with her, entranced by the sight of her split around him, being very careful as he leaned to kiss her, so he didn’t touch her fresh piercings.  

“Fuck, you feel so amazing,” she gasped, nails raking his chest, their kisses magmatic and messy.

“Yeah, is that what you needed, darlin’? A nice, big cock right up in ye?”

She purred against his tongue, stroking his neck. “I’ll never not need it. Especially the way you give it, fuck, you lay that pipe entirely too well, BDT.” BDT stood for big dick Telford, as she’d decided, wanting her own special abbreviated name for him just as he had one for her. He winked at her, pushing a little deeper, watching her abdomen bulge as he filled her. His thumb moved to stroke rhythmic, tight circles at her clit, Abi gasping, her eyes fluttering, moaning so softly and helplessly, the sound making his insides burn caustically.  

He had to concentrate hard in trying to both give her the kind of strokes she craved, but prevent himself from slipping out, she was so ridiculously wet, her aqueous little cunt clenching on him, but still, not quite managing it. “Shit! Fucking hell, it’s like trying to fuck a goddamned waterwall!” he cursed, pushing back in again, Abi giggling.  

“It’s your fault, you and your sexy face and your gorgeous body, and that big ole’ cock of yours. What’s a woman to do other than absolutely cream herself for you, huh?”

He shook his head, growling, grasping her neck and leaning to kiss her. “You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, CB.”  

She kissed him, hot and dirty, grasping his nipples and squeezing hard, making him grunt. “Just make me cum first, before you expire.” He laughed, loud and booming, continuing to fuck her hard until she came, howling, her hands held back to prevent her scratches marking him up in ways he definitely wouldn’t be able to explain to his wife.  

She’d believed him when spotting some on his chest, when he’d claimed Maureen Ashby’s cantankerous cat, Boots, had taken poorly to being picked up and petted, since she’d been on the receiving end herself in the past. However, Boots couldn’t be blamed for the state he knew Abi would leave his back in, should he actually let her.  

Afterwards, she lay against his chest, sipping whiskey and sharing a joint with him, content he didn’t have to go anywhere. She hated when he left her to go home to Fiona, but that night, he’d told his ole’ lady he had club business to attend to, Fiona not questioning it. He felt bad, all until he saw Abi smile at him upon answering her door. Any guilt faded as he sank into her arms, receiving her sweet kisses, her scent flooding his nose, hands stroking her soft, blonde hair. God, he was so in love with her, and she him.  

Abi knew right from the start that she’d never love another man the way she loved Filip. They had the kind of connection she’d never found in a single over person. She knew that night, lying there feeling the buzz of whiskey and the heady cloudiness of good weed that she’d found her soulmate.  

“Aye, but you were wrong, little girl. If he was your soulmate, you’d still have him now.” She muttered to herself, sipping her beer and lighting a cigarette straight off the end of her current one, stubbing out the butt in the ashtray and sighing. All she wanted was to call him back and scream her love for him down the line, but knew such was pointless. They could never be.  

For all she knew, he had a woman, it wouldn’t surprise her if he did. He could have remarried, had kids, she wouldn’t know if Fiona had divorced him, such was the bitter nature of the former Mrs Telford’s hatred towards her. Jimmy certainly wouldn’t make her privy to such, and she didn’t ask any of the SAMBEL guys he was still in touch with about him. It was too painful.  

Fourteen years and nine months on, and her heart still ached for him. It’d never cease, either. Much like it never wouldn’t for the man who lay back on a couch in the SAMCRO clubhouse almost seven thousand miles away, too drunk to ride home, deciding to sleep where he lay. When his brain let him, that was. Until then, it replayed memories of his time with Abi, his beautiful little CB, Chibs lighting a cigarette and smiling thinly, remembering.

Hearing her voice again after so long, he’d felt sick for a minute, to hear what he’d yearned for at long last. His heart had palpitated in his chest, his body tingling all over, such was the effect she still had on him. He smiled as he thought of her, betting she had taken to her role as an arms dealer like a duck to water. “Aye, the African lads will have’nae seen anything like you before, princess.” He spoke, holding the battered photograph he kept in his wallet of them together, taken after a night of clashes in Belfast he’d never forget...

Franklin Street, Belfast, 1995.

Smoke and fire covered the street, loyalists up against the clout of the republicans, Chibs scanning through the crowd, guns primed, searching for her. Police wagons roared down the street, windows shattered by bricks, rifle fire peppering the sides, and then, a Molotov cocktail hurled straight through the windscreen, the vehicle exploding into flames.  

“Fuckin’ have some of that, you dirty, loyalist cunts!”

There she was.

Her opposition came for her, street fighters from the opposing side charging, Abi holding her ground, dodging the brick thrown at her, swinging her fist at the man’s face, breaking his nose, her hand tearing her knife from her belt to slash at her next opponent, round kicking a third, hitting a fourth with a spinning backfist and a stab wound to the gut before grasping her gun and taking aim. She blew holes in three, her face a picture of delight even beneath the bandana covering her face, her eyes smiling, relishing in it.  

Fighting or fucking; it was where Abi Maguire truly came alive. However, when she became that gripped by it, her usual quick-thinking brain slowed, the adrenaline taking over, putting herself in danger she needn’t face. Chibs gave her a few moments, watching her, his tiny little war machine thriving as he fought on himself, the heat of the fires roaring in front of them as the loyalists moved back, further IRA soldiers hurling explosives at the police barricade, shield wielding riot coppers running around the flames, tear gas deployed.  

“Fuckin’ fight me! Come on, you pricks, fight me!” Abi screamed, picking up a brick and hurling at a policeman once she was out of ammo, Chibs running and grasping her around the waist, lifting her up and continuing as he and the rest of the club all made a run for it, taking his feisty baby with him, Abi laughing against the backdrop of fire and carnage, sticking up her middle fingers.  

They ran through the back streets, Chibs eventually letting her run on her own two feet, weaving through alleyways back out to where the club had parked their bikes, Abi jumping onto Chibs’ Harley behind him, the engines roaring into life and spiriting them away before the police could even see which direction they’d absconded in. When they arrived back at the club house, it was celebration all round, hopped up on adrenaline, Chibs swinging Abi around in his arms, grasping her bum as they shared deep, lustful kisses.

By that point in their affair, his brother’s all knew their secret, that while Fiona was his ole’ lady, Abi was his girlfriend.  

“Right in the fuckin’ centre of the carnage, as I knew you would be,” he exclaimed with pride, passing her a whiskey, kissing her forehead. He thrived on the chaos he found within her, got off on her bloodlust. She was insane, but he adored it. He often thought she was born in the wrong era. Back when the troubles were really kicking off in Northern Ireland, she’d have flourished. That brand of carnage was her calling.  

“Aye. Thanks for coming to pick me up.” Her joke made him roar with laughter, Abi tucking her head under his chin, kissing his chest. “Love you, Filip.”

“Love you more, crazy baby.”  

And he always would.

[strawhatsoraya]

Leave x Stay | Ichigo x Reader

KUROSAKI ICHIGO  X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER WORD COUNT: 2.6k CW: alcohol consumption, that's it folks Part 1 of Strawberry Kisses are Forever // Next

A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: The one where Ichigo has a crush on Rukia but Rukia is dating Renji, Ichigo drinks too much sake, Y/N owes him coffee and is a pebble in his shoe, a stray dog likes Ichigo a little too much, and Y/N's credit score plummets

He was nothing short of pathetic. He was aware of it, a small shot glass in his hand as he grimaced, not for the first time that night. He thought the more you drank, the smoother it should taste. It appears that, also not for the first time that night–Ichigo thought wrong. He almost banged on the bar top at the realization but he had already done that a few minutes ago and managed to get scolded by the bartender.

He was an idiot; the biggest one he knew.

After years of fighting by Rukia’s side–in the cover of the night–he thought all he needed to do was wait. It was his mistake. Now Rukia was dating Renji and Ichigo had to find out from a third party. He was hurt–offended even, that they wouldn’t break the news to him first.

He forgot to stop himself from banging his fist again. He heard the bartender’s voice rise sharply, and hand him another warning. He apologized with rose tinted cheeks, one large hand flapping in the wind. The apology was taking all his concentration. It had to be the only explanation for him not feeling her walk into the bar.

Not only that, she had made her way to him, and taken a seat at the bar besides him.

“Ugh, please don’t,” he groans, looking at her from under his lashes. “Why are you here, shortie?”

You were offended. You had no idea why Kurosaki Ichigo didn’t like you. You had met, randomly, on the college campus in front of the vending machines. He had insisted that day that you were stealing his drink, that he had already inserted some coins into the machine and had merely stepped away to get some more. You had explained that he had no proof. How did you know the coins that were miraculously put in when you found the vending machine were his? How did you know if this wasn’t some amazing charity by your guardian angel ensuring you got your morning coffee even though you couldn’t afford it?

He still thought you owed him a coffee. You still refused to buy him one.

“Because I like to drink,” you explain with a flourish of your hand. “And this is…” You stop to gesture dramatically at the selection of the bottles behind the bartender. “A bar. Imagine that.” The bartender served you a warning look that read–please don’t make the end of my shift difficult. You throw a sheepish grin at him as an apology. It was the best you could do. You would have loved to promise you’d be in your best behavior but there was something about this strange orange colored hair boy that always brought out the worst of you.

“Couldn’t you have found another bar?” He asks you, covering his face with one large hand. He leaves it there, fingertips digging into his cheeks, eyes closed. He is aware he is being irrational. It wasn’t his bar and it wasn’t like you knew he was there, trying to drown his misery away, or did you?

“But I like this bar,” you tell him as the bartender brings your drink of choice: a white russian with a splash of horchata liquor. “And it’s close to the dorms.” You take a sip, enjoy the velvety taste wrapping around your tongue, and you watch him. He did look very upset today–not his usual grumpy by nature self. “You won’t tell me even if I ask but–” You had no idea why you were asking; why you always brought yourself to start a conversation. “Something wrong?”

He looks at you, and tries to scowl–or at least he thinks he has managed it. He can’t tell. His face is starting to feel numb. You shake your head, willing to accept defeat but he stammers through an initial response that you don’t catch. When he sees you staring wordlessly, he tries again.

“The person I like is with someone else,” he says, face turning crimson. Your brows fly high near your hairline, and your small mouth forms a silent vowel. Well, that’ll do it, you think with some empathy. It’s enough to ruin anyone’s night.

“That sucks,” you say in your most eloquent response and take a long sip from your drink. Perhaps you should have found another bar after all. You think he must have been comforted enough with those words because he doesn’t respond at first, and instead tries to order one more drink. The bartender looks at you, and you nod. If anything you could always call him a taxi. Then he would stop harassing you about the coffee you supposedly owed him. A taxi cab fare was definitely more than a coffee, you think with a wicked grin, taking tiny frequent sips of your drink. You hold it with both hands and hold back the need to chortle. 

By the end of this night, it looks like the tables would flip–Kurosaki Ichigo would be the one owing you.

So you pay for the next two drinks, not caring about your tight weekly budget at the moment. Ichigo is happy to just have someone to listen to him gripe and moan. You’re not sure who the people are involved. Rukia? Never heard of her. You try to picture the kind of woman he’s describing but can’t be bothered. For some reason, it is irritating. He keeps yelling about betrayal and your eyes meet the bartender and they linger for a few seconds. It was probably best to stop at this point. Ichigo’s eyes had started to become moist. You thought, in mild horror, he was preparing to cry at any moment.

Your hands go to his chest to steady him. “Easy big boy,” you state and try to ignore the way your fingers just squeezed his muscular chest. Would he  get mad? That was definitely inappropriate, but you were just so curious and a little drunk. You push him back so he is sitting up straight on the stool, for both of your sakes. “I need you to get over it okay? She’s gone!” You explain waving a hand in the air. “Gone like the wind, baby. Off to new horizons, with whoever this Renji guy is.”

Honestly, from the sound of it, it was all Kurosaki’s fault. Why the hell was he dragging his feet? He only had himself to blame.

And you could only blame yourself for his reaction. You are disgusted by the sight of his quivering chin, as he battled with his emotions. Your body reacts, and you find yourself pulling away from him. You try to think quickly, but you had had a few drinks yourself, and were feeling a little sluggish. In the moment it takes for you to think of a plan of action, Ichigo is covering his crying face with one large hand.

You feel the bartender’s glare burning your skin off and you turn slowly to look at him. He slaps the check on the table and points a thumb at the door. You were done here tonight.

You pay as Ichigo holds his face in his hands, elbows on the bar, annoyed that you had spent more than you intended. Did you even have any left for a cab? You put away your card, and tell him you need to go to the bathroom–to not move. When you come back, he’s asleep on the bar, head over his folded arms. 

You are at a crossroads. The bartender is glaring at you. Your guilt and alcohol is coursing through your veins, making you feel heavy. You heave a sigh, scratching your head. Kurosaki Ichigo was grumpy, and weird, and he was a very big man. 

“Come on, Kurosaki,” you say, thankful for your casual attire of jeans, crop top and high tops tonight. “Let’s get you home.” You throw one of his arms around your neck, hold him by the wrist and use your free arm to wrap around his torso as best as you can. You feel like you might pull a muscle when you get him to stand up. He leans on you, and you’re just thankful he can still carry his own weight partially.

“It’s not fair,” he mumbles somewhere next to your face. “I was gonna tell her. I really was.” You ignore his warmth breath and the smell of sake. You choose to focus on your steps instead, and you count the ones it takes to get him through the doors of the bar. When you reached the sidewalk, you had counted fourteen. How many more could you take? 

“Kurosaki, where is your house?” You ask him as you drag him further away from the club. You think you’re going in the right direction but you’re not sure. You had never bothered asking him if he stayed in the dorms or if he lived nearby. “Ku-ro-sa-ki.” He isn’t responding, so you try to glance sideways. You take in his long coppery lashes,  and his fleshy bottom lip. A groan takes over, and you roll your eyes to the night sky. Twinkling stars blink back at you, flashing cheeky grins.

You raise a hand and shakily show them a middle finger before continuing your trek to an unknown destination.

You figure, there’s no other choice. You have to bring him back to the dorms, but how exactly were you going to do that, when he was getting heavier and heavier. You plead with him, try to shake him as he topples over you. Your knees give out, and you toss him off of you to the sidewalk before you can be crushed by his weight. 

He doesn’t notice much, except for a low moan, that he’s lying twisted and wasted in public. You laugh quietly as you stand up straight, realizing that when and if he remembers this he’s going to hate you for the rest of your academic presence. It only bothers you slightly; just slightly.

In light of this, you think of leaving him behind. He was going to hate you regardless, he already did. If you just left him, chances are he wouldn’t even remember how he ended up there in the first place, and if he did then so what? It wasn’t like you were even friends. Right? Who cared if he got mugged or murdered because you left him behind? Right?

Right, you think, as you turn your heels and start walking away. You take a few steps and pass a stray dog. You blink and look over your shoulder as you walk–slower this time–and see the dog trot over to Ichigo. He pauses to sniff his shoe, the back of his knee as if assessing its value. He pauses, and you see it lift a leg.

“Hey!” You shout, waving your arms in the air but it doesn’t stop the stream of urine. It sprinkles over Ichigo’s bomber jacket, the warmth and noise enough to stir Ichigo awake slightly. He is mumbling.

“Who turned the sprinklers on?” he slurs, swatting at the air. You want to scream but you shoo the dog away instead. Your brown eyes widen at the urine on Ichigo’s clothes, gasp at seeing him swipe at it nonchalantly, run his fingers against his jacket.

Your hands run through your curly hair. You grab fistfuls of it, and tug as you scream quietly. Now more than ever you should leave him right where he is, drunk and covered in dog piss.

Then why were you flagging someone over to help you carry him?

Then why were you paying for a hotel room you couldn’t afford, on a credit card that you promised never to use?

Why?

You ask yourself this repeatedly as you look down at him on the bed where he was thrown after taking off the soiled jacket. You had thanked the man who seemed impressed that you carried him as far as you had. You didn’t have the time or energy to feel flattered. You also didn’t have the time and energy to be bothered by the fact that there was only one bed and two of you.

A sigh floats out of your mouth as you drop on the bed next to his feet, and start pulling his sneakers off. “Honestly,” you grunt, pulling one off and dropping it. “You are not worth this amount of trouble.” You drop the second shoe, and rub your face after, wishing the drowsiness away. 

You force yourself to perform one more small task for him–minor–which was also for your benefit. You wet a washcloth from the bathroom and wipe his hands thoroughly with some soap before tossing it somewhere. You couldn’t think further, and simply didn’t want to. You wanted to sleep, and so you did, picking the empty spot next to him in bed.

It isn’t long before you’ve drifted off to sleep, no longer caring about who owed a favor to who.

He wakes up with a start, head throbbing slightly. It was dark in the room mostly, only slivers of morning light peeking through the curtains. Ichigo groans, as he turns towards the warmth, and grips it. It is soft, pliable under his fingers. He squeezes again, and his eyes flutter open enough to take in the sight of her.

His heart lurches, and he wants to recoil but his body doesn’t respond. Fear and shock takes its toll and he watches your sleeping face, dark brown curls sprawled out on the white pillowcase like swirling ink on canvas. He swallows, and tells  himself not to look but takes in the sight of your straight lashes, dark and villainous on the top of your round cheeks. He inhales, and tells himself not to but he sizes up your bottom lip; wonders if it is as soft as it looks.

He wonders if you kissed him and he doesn’t remember. He wonders if that’s why he’s here, in bed with you, in an unfamiliar room. He lifts the blankets and notices his clothes are on and so are yours. A breath he didn’t know he was holding on to leaves his lungs. You’re still sleeping, and he is still contemplating his next move. Should he just slip out while you’re sleeping? He can’t bear to look at you when you wake. He can see that twisted smile, hear your tinkling voice in his ears; teasing him, mocking him.

It was best to avoid speaking to you entirely. He’d leave, and he would continue his life as if nothing ever happened. He was sure you’d do the same. Right? 

He looks back at you, getting ready to slip out of bed, and realizes in horror that you’re staring back at him with those haunting dark eyes; the ones that haunted him from across university hallways.

“Morning, lover boy,” you say with a grin. You try not to laugh at the sight of  his eyes growing wide, the way his complexion pales. He makes to get off the bed but you reach out and grasp his shirt between your fingers. “Uh uh. You can’t leave. You owe me. Big time.”

What kind of payment you wanted was still up for debate. All you knew is that you liked having him there in bed with you, squirming like a little boy.

He regretted having gone to the bar, and he regretted every drink you paid for. His large hand covers yours, where you grip his shirt. He squeezes it tightly. He hated owing people anything; money, a favor, a debt. All of it made him feel restless and irate.

“Hurry up and tell me what you want so I can leave.”

You smile like the cat who just swallowed a canary–a big orange one. 

“You. I want you.”

[watercoloredlie]

Eddie & Nancy’s Book of Dares(Edancy Week Day 7: Free Choice)

Summary: Nancy leaves a book with a handwritten challenge within it in the local bookstore. Eddie finds it and is intrigued enough to join the challenge.

Prompt: Free choice

Warnings: Fluff, a little angst

Notes: Premise loosely based on the book series Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares

Eddie was merely minding his business walking around the local bookstore checking out the inventory. He already had a small stack of books in his hand. A Tolkien, two DnD books, and a Stephen King. On particular shelf nestled between two larger books was a dark red hardcover journal. Eddie picked it up flipping through it not expecting to find anything only to be surprised when he saw handwriting in it.

Hi. If you’re not interested in a challenge or doing dares then put this back on the shelf where you found it.

Still here? Excellent. If you can’t solve this puzzle then please put this book back on the shelf. Still interested? Great. Your first clue is a Russian tragedy that is a classic and also shares the same initials as one of the US States. Don’t use the internet or ask for help. What’s the point of the challenge if you get the answers that easily?

His brows furrowed at the words, but he couldn’t help being curious. Deciding to try, he walked around the store again only to stop when he saw Dustin and Mike talking.

“Hey. You guys wouldn’t happen to know who this belongs to, would you?” He asked holding up the journal.

“Nope. You can put it in the lost and found if you want.” Mike shrugged despite knowing exactly who it belonged to.

Dustin shook his head. “I mean, we sell journals, but not that one in particular.”

“Yeah alright. Thanks guys.” Eddie turned and walked around the store again.

He missed the look that the two younger boys shared. The handsome metalhead stopped in front of a shelf of Russian literature and grabbed a particular copy of Anna Karenina. It’s initials were AK which were the same as Alaska. This copy of the book had a scrap of paper sticking out. He took it and placed the book back on the shelf.

Well done. Now it’s time to roll for initiative and find the next clue.

Eddie grinned to himself and made a beeline for the section of the store where the Dungeons and Dragons books were located. He searched the shelves only to find another scrap of paper in one of the player handbooks.

That’s a hit! Okay admittedly I know how to play, but I’m not that well versed in the game. Anyway for the third clue, look for the green light and you might find her.

He walked around the store searching the shelves unsure of what he was looking for. Then he saw it in the classic fiction section. There was a scrap of paper peeking out of a copy of the Great Gatsby.

Not bad. Congratulations you’ve completed the challenge. Now finish this sentence in the journal. All I want for Christmas is?

Eddie tucked the paper scraps into the journal then grabbed a pen from a display. He considered his answer before starting to write in the journal.

All I want for Christmas is for Christmas to be over. All of this fake cheer is obnoxious though I will admit it is fun to see my friends be excited over whatever they got for the holiday.

You mentioned dares earlier so here is one for you. Go to the coffee shop and order a loco hot cocoa. It’s nothing bad, I promise. With how cold it is outside, it will warm you right up.

He placed the book back where he had found it then went to the register to buy the four books he was going to buy initially. Later that day, Nancy Wheeler walked into the store and picked up her journal from the shelf. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the unfamiliar handwriting. Dustin and Mike shared a look as she left the store clutching the journal. Her smile faded when she read what was written. How could this person hate Christmas? She went to the coffee shop ordering the drink which earned her a knowing smile from the barista.

Okay you got me there with the loco hot cocoa. It was the spiciest hot cocoa I’ve ever drank, but it warmed me right up so thank you. I also had a brownie with it. I highly recommend.

Well now it’s your turn. Go to Family Video and rent the Christmas Movie that describes your attitude toward Christmas. You know the one.

Nancy left the book where he would find it in the coffee shop. They missed each other by mere minutes. He grinned when he found the book. It was a fun thing, but he was also cautious in case someone was messing with him.

“How the Grinch stole Christmas? Really? Wouldn’t Black Christmas be more your speed?” Steve asked with a chuckle as he rang him up.

“Yes. It’s a long story.” Eddie smirked playfully at him.

“Sure it is.” He slid the movie over to him.

Ha Ha. You’re real funny. Grinch is a good movie though. Listen, I don’t hate Christmas because I’m a grump. My mom died when I was a little boy and, well, I was never that well off wealth wise. So Christmas over the years was pretty bare. I, uh, don’t really know why I’m admitting that to you.

As for your dare, there’s a toy drive tomorrow at the library. They’re looking for volunteers, but you’ll have to dress the part.

Nancy slipped into family video finding the journal on the shelf behind a copy of the Grinch. Thankfully it was a solo shift for Keith and he was on break at that moment. She left the store and eagerly opened the journal once she was in her car. Her heart broke when she read his words. She then drove over to one of the stores in town buying some toys before bringing them to the library. Nancy donated the toys then signed up to volunteer for the toy drive. To her amusement, she discovered that she would have to wear a Santa’s elf costume, ears and all.

I’m sorry for your loss. It’s understandable why you don’t like Christmas then. In uplifting news, the toy drive was a success. Very funny with the elf costume by the way.

Go tell Santa Hopper what you want for Christmas and you just might get a special gift in return.

He walked out of the library with the journal in hand. Of course he had read her note as soon as he could. Eddie sighed as he got into his van driving over to the Starcourt Mall. He met his bandmates there and explained the situation to them.

Gareth grinned playfully at him. “So the only thing standing in your way of getting your dream girl is Hopper’s lap.”

“Shut up! Look, it’s clearly the jocks messing with me. I go up there, make an ass of myself, and they all get a big laugh.” Eddie scoffed.

“What if you’re wrong and it’s legit?” Jeff pointed out.

He grumbled unsure of what to do. Glancing around, he didn’t really see any of the jocks waiting for him to show up. Eddie sighed giving in and walked over to where Hopper was sitting as Santa. He was last in line and Santa Hopper glared at him. A quiet whispered threat was passed from the Santa to Eddie.

“All I want for Christmas… is to know if this girl is for real or if someone is messing with me.” Eddie admitted quietly.

“She’s real.” It was all Hopper said in return.

Eddie was handed a little gift bag by Joyce as he walked away. Confused, he sat down on a bench and looked in the bag. There was a Tupperware filled with Christmas cookies and a little Santa hat. On one side of the hat, the white felt was embroidered with sparkly gold thread spelling out Nancy. A soft smile appeared on his face.

I’m glad it was a success. Hey, elf girls are cute although that might just be the Tolkien fan in me talking. 

That was humiliating, but thanks for the cookies, Nancy. Attached is a mixtape. I dare you to listen to the whole thing.

On the mixtape written in his scrawl was Nancy’s Special Mix. It made her smile. Nancy listened to the mixtape and was surprised to find that she was enjoying it. There was something familiar about the singer’s voice, but she wasn’t sure what it was that she was recognizing. After listening to it, she grabbed a pen and started to write in the book.

Thank you for the mixtape. I really enjoyed it. The singer is really good. Okay full disclosure, my brother and his friend were the ones who came up with this whole thing. They thought it would help me get a boyfriend. Silly huh?

Even though I don’t know who you are, this has actually been pretty fun so thank you for taking part in it.

Eagerly, Eddie flipped open the book and read the now familiar handwriting. His heart sank when there was no dare. Was this Nancy’s way of ending their fun? An idea then struck him and his tongue stuck out a little in concentration as he wrote in the book again.

I’m glad that you’re enjoying it. I hear he’s singing tonight with his band over at the Hideout. I dare you to go. Maybe I’ll see you there.

Hey I don’t mind. I don’t think it’s silly. I’ve actually had fun too. It’s made the holiday season more bearable, at the very least.

Nancy was unsure, but she went to the Hideout anyway that night. There weren’t that many people there so she stuck out like a sore thumb. It made her a little nervous. At ten on the dot, Corroded Coffin took the stage. Of course she recognized the lead singer. It was Eddie Munson. How could she not recognize him? When the band started to play, it was mostly metal until the last song of the set.

“This one’s for you, Nancy.” Eddie spoke in the mic and then started to sing.

Her blue eyes widened as she recognized the song. It was from her mixtape. Had she really been writing with Eddie this whole time? When the song finished, she clapped for the band. Eddie took a long drink of water after setting his guitar down then hopped off the stage. They met each other halfway. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Nancy.” Eddie gave her a playful grin.

She blushed as she looked at him. “Did you know this whole time?”

“No. Of course not. I didn’t know until I saw you in the crowd.” He admitted with a chuckle.

Nancy smiled softly at him. “Well I’m glad that it was you.”

“I’m glad that it was you too. Wait that means Mike and Dustin knew this whole time. Those little shits.” His big brown eyes widened in realization.

She laughed and surprised them both by leaning up to kiss him. Eddie smiled and kissed her back. It was better than both of them had expected. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

[strangerthingslover69]

Your Russian prison guard ~ Part 3

Warnings ~ Swearing, assault and threat ~

The doctor examined your leg and said it was healing well. Hopefully just a few more weeks and you’d be out of the cast. You were happy to hear but at the same time when the cast was off what would that mean for you? What would you do for work there? You knew the men worked hard labour and there’s no way you could do that. You were the only woman here. Had any other women been here before you? If so what did they do? You mind wonders whether or not to ask Dmitri next time you see him. After he helped you walk back from your check up with the doctors he told you that today he would be working outside at the labour camp. You were saddened knowing you weren’t going to see him today. You were also terrified who was going to see you. You preyed it wouldn’t be that asshole who tried to touch you many times. You lay on your ‘bed’ waiting for your breakfast. Today was the first day you actually felt some form of hunger. You heard your door being unlocked. You sat up and waited for it be open. The door opened and it was a man you didn’t know. He approached you with the tray of cold lumpy porridge and the tablets you’d been taking. He placed it on the floor then left locking the door behind him. Not much of a talker clearly but you didn’t mind better than being a perv. You hobbled over to retrieve your breakfast. You examined it first, it looked normal? You grabbed the tray taking it back to your bed. Taking the bowl off and holding in your hand you felt something stuck to the bottom of it. You lifted it up above you to see a small piece of folded paper stuck to it. You take it off and open it.

Y/N. I am seeing your American friend today. I will try see you later this evening to update you on how he is. This was risky as hell writing this note but I had to let you know. See you later, Dmitri x

You re-read the note just to make sure you’ve read it correctly. You can’t help but smile and for the first time feel a little bit hopeful. As you read it for the third time you notice how he signed it, ‘Dmitri x.’ He signed his name with a x before deciding to cross it out. You don’t know why but it makes your heart beat a little bit faster. You smile at the note as you try the porridge. You’re surprised how edible it actually is. You take the tablets too. You hear the door starting to unlock again. You quickly stuff the note in your bra. Yours had been washed so you could not feel as naked. ‘Hello my little firecracker’ the man says entering his way to you. It’s the creep who’s tried to touch you. You don’t reply. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of you, his lowers himself so his face is inches apart from yours. ‘You’re needed for work. Doctor says your legs getting better so you can start’ he says with a smile. His breath smells like bitter coffee and his teeth are an off white more of a yellow. You gulp. ‘What is my job?’ You ask in my small voice. ‘Well I thought it would be fun for you to entertain the guards. Show us that beautiful body again.’ He says stroking the side of your face. Your heart races. You do not want to do anything for those pigs. This can’t be so. He sighs grabbing your chin making you look at him, ‘However thanks to your friend he suggested you work in the kitchens. Said the food needed a woman’s touch. бля Antonov. (Fucking)’ he said with anger. Your ears and face perked up at heating Dmitri’s name. It didn’t go unnoticed. ‘Why should he get to have all his fun with you? Hmm American?’ He asks bringing his finger to your lip pulling it down. You move your head back but he grabs your chin pulling you forward. ‘Maybe I can enjoy you before he comes back? I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you, I bet you are a dirty girl.’ He says licking his lips looking at you like your a piece of meat. Before you have chance to say anything he leans down and kisses your lips. You move away from his lips and spit in his face. His nostrils flare with anger. ‘глупая сука’ (stupid bitch) he says through gritted teeth. His hand flys up to your neck. He wraps it around tightly, you can’t breathe. You try fight him off but his other hand comes up and chokes you more. Everything is becoming a blur. Your ears start to ring. You can’t focus on anything properly. Gasping for air that can not be found. Just as everything turns black the man’s hands are off your throat. You fall to your bed coughing and spluttering as the air fills your lungs again. You do not process what is happening as everything is still hazy. You try to sit up but you can not. You feel someone by your side talking to you. You can not work out who it is or what they are saying. Soon everything becomes black

———————————————

Dmitri lights a cigarette in the cold air. He inhales it and it helps him relax. He feels a little on edge today. Knowing he will not being seeing you, wondering if you are safe. Leaving the note was risky but he had to communicate with you somehow. He looks around at all the men working on the tracks. Noticing the American straight away, even though all men are dressed the same he sticks out. Dmitri takes one more drag of his cigarette before making his way over. Hopper is busy working up a sweat in the cold weather, sure is a contrast of feeling. Sweating so much but in minus temperatures. He takes his hat off to wipe his head. ‘Did I say you could stop American?’ Dmitri says making his way over. Hopper ignores him putting his hat back on getting back to work. ‘Hey. I asked you a question?’ Dmitri says getting in Hoppers face. Hopper purses his lips, ‘I’m working now aren’t I?’ He says feeling pissed off. ‘You rude American bastard!’ He says dragging Hopper away out of sight from the others. Once Dmitri is sure they are out of sight he lets him go. ‘Sorry American. Had to make it look real for those nosey bastards.’ Dmitri says taking a step back. Hopper looks at him confused. ‘I am here for you American friend. Y/N’ Dmitri says lighting another cigarette. He knows chain smoking is bad but the stress he’s under it helps him calm. ‘Y/N? She’s, she’s alive?’ Hopper says in shock. ‘She was badly hurt. Leg in a cast but getting better. We are giving her medicine to make her better. She was worried about you.’ He says taking a long drag. Hopper slumps back, ‘I I can’t believe it. She’s alive.’ He says with tears in his eyes. He turns to Dmitri, ‘wait why are you telling me this?’ He asks suspiciously. Dmitri shrugs his shoulders before replying, ‘I, I felt bad for her. She looked scared, she was worried for you.’ Hopper raises his eyebrows, ‘you? A Russian guard felt sorry for her?’ He smiles and clicks his fingers. ‘You like her don’t you?’ Dmitri scoffs. ‘No. Like I said she was scared and worried for you.’ ‘Mmhm, I’ll buy that. For now’ he says eyeing Dmitri up and down. Before Dmitri can reply another guard calls him yelling frantically, ‘Antonov! игорь он потерял сюжет. он сказал, что убьет ее после того, как трахнет ее. Иван сказал, что ей нужно жить. Игорь в глубоком дерьме!’ (Igor. He's lost the plot. He said he's going to kill her, after he's fucked her. Ivan said she needs to live. Igor is in some deep shit) Dmitri leaves Hopper and runs as fast as he can to you. What he sees is unpleasant. Igor has got you by the throat with both his hands, your trying to fight him off but can not. Your face is turning blue. Dmitri has never seen the look in Igor’s eyes before. He runs and tackles him the the floor. You fall back to your bed. ‘что за ебать!’ (What the fuck!) Igor shouts at Dmitri. Those are the last words he says before Dmitri starts punching him in the face. Punch after punch. He does not stop. Igor is a big guy so as Dmitri goes to throw another punch Igor head buts him causing Dmitri to fall. Igor sees red and start kicking Dmitri in the ribs, face, anywhere he can until the guards come in and pull him away. Dmitri lays there barely conscious as he tried to sit up. The doctor comes in to examine him. Dmitri brushes him off, ‘нет. ее первый’ (no her first) he says gesturing to you. The doctors does as he’s asked. He checks for a pulse. ‘нам нужно отвести ее в медпункт’ (we need to get her to an infirmary) the doctors states to Dmitri. Dmitri pushes himself up with great struggle but he does it. He goes to your side and begins to lift you, he’s sore and probably got broken bones but you needed to be seen to first. ‘собираешься стоять там или ты собираешься помочь мне!’ (Are you going to stand there or are you going to help me!) Dmitri snaps at the doctor. The doctors quickly comes and helps Dmitri carry you to the infirmary.

—————————————

Your head thumps as you’re in a familiar setting. The bright lights hurt your eyes. You adjust more quickly to them today though. You look around and see the doctor examining someone on another bed next to you. ‘What, what happened?’ You speak but find it difficult. Then it comes flooding back to you. He kissed you. He wanted to do more. He got you by your throat. He wanted you dead. Why weren’t you? You sit up as the doctors turns around, you look to see who he was examining. ‘Dmitri?’ You say loudly. The doctors looks at your both suspiciously. ‘она слышала это от игоря релакс’ (she heard it from Igor, relax) Dmitri says getting up. You notice him winching as he moves to your bed side. His face is black, blue and bloody. ‘What happened?’ You and sitting up, you want to reach for him but decide it’s not the best or appropriate thing to do. ‘This? It’s nothing. Just a few cuts and bruises. Are you okay?’ He asks in hushed tones wary of the way the doctor was looking at you both. ‘I’m okay, a bit sore’ you reply with a shrug. ‘Don’t worry about the man who did this to you. He’s gone. Mentally unstable to work here due to the events of this morning, I’ve seen men lose it but never like that. Ivan, my boss had a meeting with the other superiors and decided it’s best for you to move to somewhere safer. See we’re not all that bad’ he says with a smile. ‘Safer? What does that mean exactly?’ You ask feeling nervous. ‘The guards have a private section for those who stay here. You have been granted permission to stay there also. However there is one catch’ he says scratching the back of his neck. You nod for him to continue. ‘Well there are no spare rooms. So you will have to live with someone there.’ He says. You didn’t want to live with some random Russian man. You gulp as he continues. ‘So I hope you don’t mind that you will be my guest?’ He says awkwardly. You are too stunned to speak. Your heart races at the thought of being there with Dmitri. After you realise you haven’t replied for a minute you blurt out something stupid. ‘I’d love to. I mean thank you’ you say with a small smile. Dmitri can’t help but return the smile. The doctor watches your exchange carefully between one another. He clears his throat as he talks, ‘просто нужно запустить тесты я буду десять минут’ (just got to run some tests, I will be 10 minutes) Dmitri nods as the doctor walks off. Once out the doors he goes straight to Ivan. He knocks and enters. ‘Я думаю, у нас есть проблема. американец, дмитрий, они близки. слишком близко, если вы спросите меня’ (I think we have a problem. the American, Dmitri, they are close. Too close if you ask me) Ivan looks up from his paperwork, ‘не волнуйтесь доктор. я уже на них’ (Don’t worry doctor I’m already onto them) he says with a smile

[dragonthusiast]

Nightstar’s magic system

So one of the reasons I’m so excited about this series is some of the concepts that you can do with light and shadow powers in particular if you really think about them.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I took inspiration from the Grishaverse with this for those who are familiar with the series. After reading those books my immediate thought was trying to write something similar, but without the flaws that bothered me. And I’m not even talking about the butchering of the Russian language there, as much as I like to meme on it.

So anyway the thing about controlling light is that theoretically you could make yourself invisible. That does happen in the third book in the Grisha trilogy, but that’s hardly the limitation. In this, Ainreth is going to be able to sear people, burn them to death if he wants, blind them, etc. And also he’s going to be able to create images from light, hence the name lightweaver, which is less exciting, but important for a later paragraph.

I felt like the light powers in the Grisha trilogy weren’t utilized that badly, but I still think it would have benefited greatly from some sun scorching. (I actually can’t remember how Alina even uses her powers anymore aside from destroying the shadow fold thing, but anyway). What I found much more offensive is how little Sasha’s shadow powers were utilized.

So here’s how they’re gonna work in this series. Everything has a shadow, and that shadow corresponds to the form that’s casting it, correct? But that has to work both ways. So, if Fennrin decided to modify or move someone’s shadow, they would have to move the way he’s moving them. And if he moved their shadow’s head in a way that would snap their neck, well.... (And like how cool would it have been if Sasha went around killing people with his mind like that. He just uses that the Cut nonsense. In the show, I think he suffocated a guy with shadow, and while that is very cool, it also makes no sense to me.)

Aside from that he’s also going to be able to become a shadow, and be able to slink into other people’s shadows, and hurt or kill them that way while being basically invulnerable because you can’t kill a shadow.

And now here’s how these two powers come together. As I mentioned earlier, Ain can create images of things. And aside from modifying, Fennrin can also create shadows. And if he gives an image Ainreth has made a perfect shadow, that thing will become real. I’m still figuring out how this is gonna work because there have to be limitations to it or this whole concept is going to destroy the stakes, but I’m also so excited about it. Both for the coolness factor and the symbolism, cause it’s like shadow and light coming together to create reality.

Taglist under cut, if anyone wants to be added/removed lemme know:

 @missdrarrydawn @morganwriteblr @drarrywords​ @midore-fuse903