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theminecraftbee · 3 months

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okay so. hear me out. but. au concept--

joel is one of many people affected by a Vanishing. its a phenomenon sweeping the country--people simply not showing up for work, school, life one day, as though they've vanished from the face of the earth. it's almost possible to mistake for normal missing persons cases, if it weren't for the way a few of the higher-profile Vanishings have happened to people who shouldn't have been able to vanish at all, let alone in a way that wouldn't be noticed until too late. look at joel's hometown. the people monitoring the dam were supposed to be redundant, and yet--

anyway. not like he cares or anything, except for the fact this stupid disaster or whatever has left him without anywhere to live or anyone to live with, and he still has a year of high school left, so he can't just do whatever he wants. luckily there's this school in a town called new hermiton that agreed to give him a scholarship to finish his education in the name of recovery and solidarity or whatever, and it's kind of a shwankier school than he'd normally go for, but it's free and, more importantly, they're willing to pay for his lodging, and he can't really turn that down. and it's not like he has a choice but to upend his entire life now. so packing what few of his belongings survived into a bag and getting on a train and moving across the country to a new school it is, he guesses.

(he's been having nightmares that inexplicably feature swarms of blue butterflies. last time he checked, lakes don't have butterflies in them. although maybe it's a metaphor or something, on account of the butterflies saying stupid stuff about how people who are remembered can't disappear, and even a false world cannot be erased if it's watched over, and how fate depends on him holding people in his heart. thanks for saying the same stupid shitty platitudes his social worker told him, just more cryptically, butterflies. real cool.)

new hermiton, it turns out, is a small city. while new hermiton academy is a newer school, much of the city is older. he's moved into a nice enough flat in an older apartment building. he has another cryptic butterfly dream. he thinks he remembers someone trying to urgently warn him of something, but it's all... shaky. that morning, he goes to the school for the first time. he's greeted by a fellow transfer student, skizzleman, although apparently he already knows some of the other folks in town, and transferred here so he could stay with them. but it's at least someone else in a similar enough situation to joel, especially since joel can just tell by the way people are looking at him that skizz didn't have much of a choice but to be here, either, and best friends with impulse or not, he's on his own too.

so. a friend. maybe this school won't be that bad, even if joel keeps having nightmares, and even if the weather here is weirdly cold for july, and even if his new homeroom professor keeps on looking at him really weirdly. (aren't professors supposed to be better about stupid rumors anyway? what's that mr. hills's deal?)

and then, two days later, he waves skizz off at the end of the school day, and gets skizz's friend, impulse, at his door, desperate to hear that skizz had just come to stay the night in joel's shitty lonely apartment, because otherwise it looks like--come on man. joel's already having a shit time. the universe deciding to go after his one existing friend too? he promises impulse to help investigate that night, in the vain hope that Skizz isn't one of the Vanished. joel gets a splitting migraine trying to follow their path back, though, and they have to stop for the night.

skizz is reported missing the next morning. joel resigns himself to cutting himself off from the people around him, as per usual. then, strangely, mr. hills corners him as he goes home.

"you'll need this," he says, and shoves what feels like a cheap butterfly knife into joel's hands. "uh, remember, trust your heart! you'll know how to use it."

"what," joel says. "hold on. you're supposed to be a teacher. why are you giving me this. i know for a fact my file says i have like, ptsd or whatever, which is stupid, but you definitely aren't supposed to be giving me a knife, you weirdo?"

"you'll know how to use it," joe hills says again. "goodbye! believe in yourself!"

mr. hills sprints behind a building before he has to explain anything else. joel is left standing on the sidewalk holding a knife, staring after him.

so. that's weird as hell. joel shivers in the cold and continues on his way home. the butterfly knife feels heavy in his pockets. he should probably report that guy to his social worker or something, but actually talking to his social worker feels like conceding defeat. joel can take care of himself. he can prove he can take care of himself. just watch him. step one: go out to get ramen because he forgot to buy any food for his apartment.

he sees impulse putting up signs as he eats. impulse looks miserable. joel thinks about how skizz, just in the short time he'd known him, had sort of unintentionally given away that he felt isolated after his mother Vanished. that impulse was a great friend, but impulse didn't understand what it was like. he never really SAID as much, but--

it's not fair to impulse, for that to be the last thing impulse remembered of what was apparently a friend since childhood. and joel doesn't care about any of these guys, but he can still pay his check and go out and help impulse go looking. he's no good at comforting people and doesn't know this guy, but joel had been alone too, sitting on the roof and crying, when the helicopters came.

except when they go back to the path by the school, joel's head starts to hurt again.

he looks up and there's a butterfly.

"hey, impulse, are butterflies common here?" he asks, a little desperately.

"i mean, not really, why?" impulse says.

"uh," joel says, and gestures. the two of them stare as the strange yellow butterfly circles in place.

"okay, so that is kind of weird," impulse admits.

"right?" joel says. "the only way it would be weirder is if it were blue." impulse gives him a look. joel does not explain.

it starts to fly away.

"we should follow it," impulse says, his voice getting a little dull. "yeah. we should follow it."

"what? no! no we should not follow the haunted butterfly, are you nuts?" joel says, but it's a bit too late. (maybe this is what the knife is for: stabbing impulse. it would be an effective method of stopping him!) he chases impulse down, down to the river, where yellow butterflies are swarming. impulse, as though possessed, simply steps into the swarm and falls through them to the water.

joel's, uh, freaking out more than a little bit? he'll admit he's freaking out. he dives forward to try to grab him, only to realize that he doesn't see impulse anywhere.

a single blue butterfly lands on joel's shoulder. "do you hold his heart next to yours?"

"i'm going insane," joel says.

"no heart is meant to be completely alone. do you hold his next to yours?"

"this isn't happening," joel says. "this is like a stupid manga or something. it's not happening."

"there is still time to save them; you must hold your heart strong, or the consequences will be dire. i believe in you."

the butterfly vanishes.

"fuck it," joel says. "if i drown then it's nothing people haven't expected of me anyway."

he steps through the swarm of butterflies.

that night, he drags both impulse and skizz out of the river. they're all freezing cold. shadows and strange, yellowy liquid still cling to all of their skin. also, joel stabbed himself, which like, glad to know that's what the knife was for, apparently, and the scar is warm and comforting. he can feel his--persona, and don't ask him how he knows that--shifting under his skin, under the mark on his hand. it said its name is pygmalion; it says it is a piece of joel's soul.

this is all patently insane. but skizz and impulse are alive and NOT eaten by shadow monsters, so even if they're both a little unconscious, joel takes that as a win.

they lie on the ground outside the river. someone stumbles across them. "well give me some teeth and call me an alligator. you got out on your own," breathes a fellow student clutching a dagger. joel thinks he's in the class across the hall. also--

"what are you talking about," joel wheezes.

"you found it on your own. you can find them?" the student says. his eyes are wide. something in joel's soul recognizes something in the student's. something in joel's BRAIN puts two and two together and realizes why mr. hills gave him a knife.

"no. no, go away, i don't want to be involved in this," joel says.

"well, don't you think it's too late for that?" the student says, and joel passes out. he's pretty sure the butterflies have to be laughing at him. in fact, as though to mock him further, after passing out, he doesn't even get to avoid it forever, because he wakes up in a glowing blue boat. there is a man with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blue outfit leaning over him, poking him.

joel takes no responsibility for punching him. he'd do it again, too, as the long-nosed man sitting next to the unmanned steering wheel welcomes him to the velvet room.

(this, joel realizes later, all rather sets the tone for what the next year of his life is about to become.)

#hermitcraft #joel smallishbeans #smallishsona au #THAT'S RIGHT BABY ITS THE PERSONA AU I WAS WAFFLING ABOUT #because i'm playing p3re right now this is pretty p3 inspired but also expect elements of p4 (my fav) and p5 #i. do not know enough about p1 and p2 to be using all these butterflies but FUCK IT WE BALL.#a bee fic #KIND OF I GUESS I'LL PUT THIS THERE.#anyway the idea is that this au is half a crack au and half DEEPLY SINCERE #because the JOKE is that joel hates every minute of being a persona protagonist #but the OTHER bit is that joel is genuinely an extremely loyal guy who would do VERY WELL as a persona protagonist #you just have to drag him there kicking and screaming #(sort of in a very. p3-esque way)

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desceros · 19 days

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tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that.

It’s late. You can’t sleep.

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded.

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now.

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened.

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t.

“…Please?” you try again.

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.”

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.”

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room.

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night.

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin.

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more.

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face.

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh.

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep?

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear.

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily.

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.”

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

#me slurring with a voice thick with sleep: two best friends that are in love but too close to tell and so they dance like leaves in the wind #forever brushing close. darting about like little butterflies. gossamer wings catching the light and enchanting one another w each breath #but too close. too close. you can't see the scope of a painting when it's the single strokes that catch your eye.#.....................it's almost four in the morning. im sure there are errors but i shan't be fixing them now. have it as it comes #tmnt #rise #donatello/reader #my fic #rating: t

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waddei · 10 months

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Theseus from butterfly reign by @tuesday-teyz

less cropped version cus you bet I rendered his full head of hair for no reason

#wadds art #fanfic fanart #fic fanart #tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanart #br!tommy #butterfly reign #br!theseus

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butterfly-winx · 1 year

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Hi!!! I'm another anon also working in my self insert for you au!!! Could you give me more info for the witch/er classes; Bloodwitch*er (is this the healer one?), Potionmaster, Conjurer, Summoner, Spellcrafter, Cursebreaker (??), Medium (undead magic could be here or in bloodwitcher, maybe Darkar??), Mindwalker/Dreamwalker, Artisan (like Artificer in D&D?). What about transmutation or nature (or that is covered by other fields)???

Hi, I'm sorry this took literal ages to respond to and hope you are still having fun crafting self inserts >.<

Witch*ers can be categorised in two ways: either by the price they predominantly use to fuel their magic, or by historical profession. Some of these categories overlap, let me get into some details below.

Price based categories

I have mentioned many times that witchcraft is a pay-as-you-use style of magic and each spell has an established price for which the Flow will actually execute it.

Most written witchcraft spells have a set price, a pre-defined method of payment that guarantees best result - or so many generations a witch has found it and why it has been immortalisied in a spellbook.

These are general spells that anyone with talent in magic can perform, even people who haven’t intensively studies magic. There are also high level spells with fixed prices written in spellbooks held by covens and passed on to their descendants. For these you need to be proficient in witchcraft (and be close enough to that coven to be entrusted with the tome).

Then the other class is the aspect innate magic that the witch*er makes up for themselves. Usually these are specific spells, trades that the witchcraft user negotiated with the Flow themselves. Here the witchcraft users preferred method of payment comes to shine and often defines the strength of their spells. The same outcome can be evoked by five medium level payment spells as one large one, but tell me which one is going to look more impressive?

A witch*er can of course also choose to pay with their preferred method for a generic spell, but why bother doing the maths when you can just rely on what is set out before you? It can be practical though, if the general price object is not around.

Here is an incomplete list (bc I always come up with more):

Bloodwitch: blood

Kinaestesiochore: movements, before or during casting of spell

Psychoplast: memories/ knowledge

Bonesmith/Necromancer: cultural difference in name, some bonesmiths truly only use bone; in some cultures Necromancer means they do raise the dead and is not considered a payment type

Spirit witch: spirits of living things

Chronopractician: time, steal others time or simply use up time by preparing spell

Heartbender: emotions

Mineralwitch: minerals

Herbetic: herbs and plant matter

Energy witch: any form of energy eg heat

Decomposers/Vulture/Materialophage: cultural difference in naming, decaying matter

Nocipion: pain, emotional or physical

Dragon: anything in value emotional or physical, usually used by witch*ers in service of others

With that in mind, certain Price-Aspect connections just don't make sense. Griffin is the Bloodwitch of Seismology:she pays for all her spells with blood and innately can affect seismic movements. Shilly, who is the Witch of Blood in my AU however would never become a Bloodwitch (not just because Griffin wouldn't teach her). Her Aspect influences blood, how stupid would it be to use it up as a resource for her spell, when that is the exact object of her innate magic? No, she focuses on potionology, which is a different expression style,

As another example for non-spellcasters, Lucy is also focused on potion based magic, in which she prepares tinctures to deliver enchantments, blessings&curses 1, remedies&maladies. SHe uses them for most of her general spells, however when interacting with insects, as per her Aspect, she gets by with what most people with an animal Aspect do, called Law of Good Husbandry. It just means they respond to her because she is nice to them and gives them food.

[1 Footnote: "spells" are magic with short term effect, "enchantments" are magic performed to alter characteristics of an object; and "blessings&curses" are the same, magic with a long-term effect, divided whether the afflicted gains a benefit or suffers from the effects of it]

-----

The second option is to be defined by what trade the witch*er practices, which can be much more simples, since most people practice a combination of any of the above techniques.

Oracle: predict future

Medium: interact with ghosts and spirits

Psychonaut: interact with brain of person, really in-depth neurologist essentially

Artificer: creates objects with magical charge/effect

Medicine woman? (ok listen I have no idea what the medieval profession of "old woman sells me st johns wort is called in english, but basically that)

Freelancer: they roam the lands and you can contract them to conjure a calamity to morally educate your people

Fabricator: creates material

Spellcaster: make spell or uses mainly spell

Potionmaster/Chemist: potions, again cultural difference

Several of these classes aren't even exclusive to witchcraft: anyone with magic sensitivity can perform them (most Oracles aren't even formally trained for example), just many are usually performed by witchcraft users and as such associated with them.

---

And as my final magnum opus: what everyone's combo is within butterfly AU:

Icy: Kinaesthesiochore of Ice (it's always a combo of movement and time with her)

Stormy: Bonesmith of Storms (using bones is her way of honouring her heritage, but she also does a great deal of kinaesthesis)

Darcy: Dragon of "Darkness" (it is waterpane divination, but darkness sounds edgier; she also uses spirits, psychic prices and pain regularly)

Griffin: Bloodwitch of Seismology

Shilly: Chemist of Blood

Lucy: Potionmaster of Insects

Mirta: Mineralwitch of Emotional Illusions (before switching, she didn't officially adopt this, but was mostly using rocks and crystals)

Helia: Artificer of Fine Dexterity Arts

Bloom: Energy witch of Emotions

Valtor: Bloodwitcher of the Dragon's Last Ember

Belladona: ??? of ???

Lyssis: ??? of ???

Tharma: ??? of ???

Selena: Herbetic of History, tho she is a historian by profession as well so...

Duman: Psychoplast of Animal Transmodification

Anagan: Kinaesthesiochore of Speed (in his case the double thing works out, he moves to be fast makes sense right?)

Gantlos: Spellcaster of Decomposition

Ogron: Nocipion of Energy Manipulation (nasty sadist)

Luna: Energy witch of Reflected Cosmic Light

Bittersmoke: Potionmaster of Eidetic Memory

Ediltrude: Mineralwitch of Astrology

Zarahustra: Mineralwitch of Religion (not every, just a subset)

Krystal: Herbetic of Healing

#asks #winx club #butterfly fic #magic systems #witchcraft #sorry for the tome #encyclopedia magica #essentially

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not-rab · 11 months

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yes trans!regulus chose his first name to be a star, the heart of the lion, for sirius

but do u ever think that his second name, arcturus, guardian of the bear, wasn’t to do with pandora’s patronus being a bear?

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strangersteddierthings · 6 months

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No Regrets - Part Three

This one got longer than I expected, so it's only about Spring Break. We return to the apocalypse next part.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

"-eve?"

Waking up again is disorienting. His head aches like the beginning of a migraine. There was something he was thinking about but it's fading quickly. A conversation in a boathouse...? That's not right. The boathouse was empty. The police had beat them there.

"Steve?"

No. No conversation in a boathouse. But there was a phone call. He knows he remembers that. Joyce had called last night. Her and Murray sharing a phone between them as Steve- Oh! Right. Steve told them he knew about Hopper in Russia.

"You have to go, though. Hopper is alive and waiting. And there's a demogorgon. Demodogs, too. You have to kill them all. Any connection to the Upside Down left alive helps Vecna. It's like having a tether to here makes him stronger."

"I can't just abandon El," Joyce sounds conflicted, and Steve gets it. He does.

"You aren't. You're going to be giving her back her dad. She's got Jonathan and Will and Mike. Argyle, too, if he wants to be there. Just. Just get them on the road and back here as soon as you can. If they don't leave soon than Brenner will-"

"Brenner? What do you mean Brenner? He's dead. Right? He's supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, well, he's not. He- I don't know the full details, just. I was just given an overview because, y'know, other shit was going down. But he makes El relive a lot of traumatic shit from her past and yeah, it gets her back her powers, but she's just a kid. She's just a kid."

"Her abilities, they aren't gone?" It's Murray who asks.

"No. She's just traumatized, in a different way. It was... it was Jonathan who said this, actually, to me. I mean, he hasn't said it yet, and if everything goes the way I want, he won't need to say it ever, but that's- sorry, that's not important. He said he thinks El blocked her abilities because she lost Hopper. An internal block, you know? 'Cause she couldn't save him with them, so what was the point of having them?"

"And you think bringing Hopper back will free her of that block?" Murray asks.

Steve can't help it. He laughs. "Hell no. I think years of therapy might, but having her dad will help. There's no way it hurts, right? Also, uh, you're the parent here, Joyce, so I'll let you decide what to tell her, but the big, awful thing that Brenner made her relive? It was a massacre. At the lab, when she was there. Another guy, another number, killed a bunch of the people there. It was El who saved the remainder. She stopped him from killing anyone else by opening the first gate to the Upside Down. She tossed him in and closed it. She's not a monster. Oh, that part you have to tell her. She's not a monster."

"Steve!"

There's more to the phone call, Steve knows he knows that but there's yelling and it's distracting.

"Steve!!"

"What?" Steve snaps, both with his shout and back into himself. He's sitting at the picnic in Forest Hills. Everyone is looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

"You okay?" Robin asks, "we've been trying to get your attention for a while now."

"What? Yeah, sorry," Steve says, distracted, standing up and looking around. Eddie's trailer is right there, and Wayne's truck is parked in front. He knows Wayne. Knew Wayne? He's in charge of the gardens at home base. A real green thumb, not that you can tell by looking at the trailer now. "You think that with Fred's death, they'll stop suspecting Eddie?"

"What? We don't know that they suspect Eddie," Dustin is quick to say, "I know he didn't do it, and so do you so-"

"Yeah, I know! I do know that, but Chrissy died in his home and then he ran. Of course, he's a suspect. But he was in jail last night. So. They can't suspect him still, right?"

Nancy purses her lips, giving Steve a look he knows isn't good. "Well, it will depend on when they apprehended Eddie, which we don't even know they did. How do you know he was in jail last night?"

"Good point. I don't, not for sure. But Wayne might," Steve says as he starts walking away. He can hear everyone at the picnic table shouting for him and scrambling to follow. Steve picks up speed, dashing up the steps and pounding on the door before anyone catches up.

"Steve, what are you doing," Max hisses, because she's the fastest and therefore the closest.

"I just gotta-"

"Can I help you?" Wayne Munson greets, voice even. Steve watches as his eyes sweep the group, pausing on Nancy before coming back to Steve.

"Hopefully. Uh, I'm a friend of- well, no that's a lie. I don't want to lie to you. I'm not Eddie's friend, but I want to be, and Dustin here is, so we just wanted to know if you could tell us if Eddie's okay?" Steve says. "You already talked to Nancy yesterday, but she didn't know that we, like, knew him. Have you heard from Eddie?"

Wayne eyes him with suspicion, which is fair, "I ain't heard from him."

"Please," Steve says, because he's got to try one more time. Either Wayne doesn't know for real, or he's lying because he doesn't trust Steve. He's not sure he'll be able to tell which is which, but he has to ask again, "I swear that we just want to help Eddie. Whatever happened to Chrissy wasn't his fault, I know that. I just need. I need to know he's not- not out there, alone and scared. Please."

Wayne stares him down and Steve refuses to look away. Wayne's eyes flick away from him to the single police cruiser still stationed nearby, then back. "Get in here."

He doesn't need told twice. Wayne retreats into the trailer and Steve follows. Immediately his eyes jump to where the gate will form. Currently it just looks like water damage on the ceiling, but Steve knows. No gate yet, but it'll be there tomorrow. Probably fully formed by the time Vecna tries to take Max.

Robin, the last one in, shuts the door behind her gently.

"I told her yesterday that Eddie didn't do this," Wayne nods his head towards Nancy but he never takes his eyes off Steve. "Didn't stop them from arresting him."

"Thank God," Steve breaths out, which is the wrong thing to say, given how quickly Wayne's face morphs to anger, so he quickly adds, "shit, I mean, that means, he was in police custody when they found another victim last night, right? That'll prove he's innocent."

Wayne doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes his time looking at each and every one of them, lingering on Nancy before settling on Max. "You live 'cross the way, don't ya?"

Max looks surprised to be recognized. "Yeah."

"Did you see anything?"

"I saw..." she trails off, brows furrowing as she thinks. She looks from Wayne to Steve. He doesn't know what she sees on his face, but he watches as she steels herself, a decidion made, before looking back to Wayne and saying, "What I saw is whatever I'll need to have seen to help Eddie."

"You'd lie to the police for Eddie?"

Max and Wayne have a silent conversation following the question, judging by their stare down and raising and following brow lines. When Max does speak, she says, "I've lied to police for worse people."

"Huh," is all Wayne says as he settles back against the counter behind him.

"Thank you," Steve says, even as his mind starts to calculate. They'll probably keep him the full 48 hours, since there isn't evidence enough to charge him. Right? There isn't really any evidence. Except, perhaps, what Eddie might have told them. Shit. Would Eddie say anything? "Can you let me know when they release him? Whatever happened, whatever he saw, probably freaked him out. I don't want him to feel alone. I mean, we don't."

Dustin is looking at him now like he's grown a second head but Wayne. Wayne is looking at him like he's made a realization. Drawn some unknown conclusion that he must approve of because he nods. "Sure, son."

"You got pen and paper? I'll write down my number."

The silence from his friends is deafening and does not bode well for Steve. He just knows they're going to bombard him as soon as they leave the trailer.

Which is exactly what happens. They wait until they're back by their cars before starting in, though.

"Steve, what the fuck was that?" Dustin says.

"How did you know he got arrested?" Max demands.

"Steve, you are acting so strange right now," Robin says, worry painted across her face.

"Explain," is all Nancy says, crossing her arms.

Should he? Does he even know what's happening? No. Not really. He's got memories of a future that's bleak and dark and terrible and he doesn't want it to come true. Are they even memories? Did those events even happen? He doesn't know for sure. All he does know if he wants to do everything in his power to prevent it from happening though. He doesn't want to have regrets about.... about something.

"We don't win," he says. "We don't win this one. Or, we didn't? We might now. Things are different this time."

"What?" Robin asks.

Steve ignores the question, giving instead more of the information he knows, "Hopper's alive. Joyce and Murray are on their way to Russia to save him."

"WHAT?" he's not sure who asked. Maybe all of them.

"And El is- I don't know. On her way, I hope. But she won't have her powers when she gets here. Or maybe she will? If she believes she's not a monster and really is the hero."

"Steve, you are not making any sense!"

"I know!" Steve shouts and drops into a squat. "I know! I'm not the- the figure it out guy, or the plans guy, or whatever. I'm just the guy who knows things he shouldn't, and I can't tell if it's because I actually lived it, or if I was just given knowledge about it somehow. I know the Upside Down has a red storm that never ends, more democreatures that just gorgons or dogs, and that Vecna slash Henry slash One is a goddamn monster who opens a giant hell gate and causes the apocalypse."

"Whoa, whoa," Dustin sooths, and when Steve looks up, Dustin's got both hands up and approaching like Steve's a wild animal. He kind of feels like one right now. "Slow down and explain."

There's a lot Steve could say. Should say. Steve is kind and soft, even in the face of the end of the world, but he's also learning that he's a little ruthless. Not heartless, but enough that he can see where they are, where they need to be, and how to get there in the easiest way possible. His eyes flick to Max. "Chrissy and Fred. They were both seeing the guidance counselor. You've seen them both there, right Max?"

"I- yeah. Yeah, I have."

"And Nancy, you've got a hunch, right? You need to go to the library to check it out?"

She narrows her eyes at him but nods.

"Okay. So, uh, let's use that as proof. You and Robin go check out your hunch, and I'll stick with Dustin and Max. Take Max to see Ms. Kelley and see if she'll tell Max anything that connects them?"

"You already know what we'll find, don't you?" Nancy asks, and Steve shrugs. "You're right. I won't believe you. Not without this proof. So, we'll go, Robin and me. And when we meet up, I expect you to tell me what we learned."

Max is completely silent the entire drive, an exact opposite of Dustin who shoots off so many questions in a row that Steve can barely remember the first by the time he's onto the next. Not that it would matter, because Dustin doesn't pause between any of his questions or comments to let Steve answer anyway.

Max launches herself from car almost as soon as Steve pulls up to the curb with a loudly groaned, "finally" before she slams the door and bounds across the street.

"Steve! Are you even listening to me!?" Dustin has finally lost steam or ran out of breath or something.

"Are you done yelling at me?" Steve retorts.

Dustin lets out a really big sigh then says, "For now. I just- Let's start with this. How do you know that Hopper's alive?"

"Joyce and Murray confirmed it when I talked to them on the phone. They're supposed to be getting El and crew heading back this way while they go to rescue him, but I don't really know how that's going."

Dustin squints at him. "I thought you could see the future now."

"No. I saw the future, so like, lived it or something. And it's like... You watch Back to the Future yet?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so like, the part where his family starts to vanish from the picture? Because he made his mom want to bang him-?"

"That is a disgusting oversimplification of the plotline, Steve."

"-it's like that. Except I want to change the events because we definitely end up in the bad timeline."

"Okay. Say I believe you. You said we don't win this time. Explain that."

Steve sighs. "Can that wait for like, everyone? Explain it all at once?"

"What made it so bad you have to alter the course of all of human existence?" Dustin demands.

"The Upside Down breaks through, man," Steve says, "Like, toxic air and no more sunlight or blue skies kinda bad. Full on, end of the world apocalypse type shit."

"Shit. We, like, lose lose," Dustin says in a small voice Steve doesn't think he's ever heard Dustin use before he huffs and falls out of view with a click and the sound of squeaking leather. Steve watches as Dustin reclines his seat back so he can stare up at the ceiling of the BMW.

"Yeah," Steve says before they fall into silence until Max sprints back, screaming for him to drive before she's even got the door closed behind her and certainly isn't wearing her seatbelt yet.

They all converge at the school, and Steve tells them what Nancy and Robin learned at the library, then Max puts together the thread that connected Chrissy and Fred, and he has to watch, again, as she accepts she's going to die. She even looks to him, as if he'll confirm that with a shake of his head or a nod.

He just blinks back at her until she looks away.

They want answers he isn't ready to give. Not until tomorrow, after Vecna tries to take Max. Given how today has gone, tomorrow shouldn't be much of a change. Nancy and Robin will still go the Pennhurst, and Steve will take Max everywhere she wants to go, but this time he'll be ready. It's not too late, so the little music store down from Melvald's will still be open. Hopefully they have Kate Bush handy. He'll make sure Lucas has a backup cassette player and-

"Wait. Lucas should be told. He should be here. Why isn't he..." Steve trails off, trying to remember why Lucas would be here. He went to party with the basketball team and- and what? There's something he's missing. Something changed. His head hurts and the white noise is back, and it hits him so suddenly he sways and stumbles backwards until he hits a wall.

"Steve!" Robin gasps his name and rushes to hold him up. Dustin is at his other side just as quick.

"I'm ok," Steve says with eyes closed. He can't explain it, but he's changed something. He knows he has. Lucas is with them tomorrow, he remembers that, and there's this feeling that he should be here now. That he should have shown up at the school, but the reason eludes him. Slips from his grasp like he's trying to hold water. "It's- there was something that was supposed to happen. Something that made Lucas find us here at the school. I remember that. I- I almost hit him with a lamp. But he's not here. He didn't- something's changed. Whatever happened before didn't happen again."

"What, like, you changed the past?" Dustin asks.

The laugh Steve lets out is manic, even to his own ears. "I don't know! I can't remember! It's there, the why, but I can't reach it. It's faded, man, like the picture. It's faded."

"Okay, I think it's time we get some rest," Nancy says. "Dustin, you'll radio Lucas tonight and fill him in. Tell him Steve or I will pick him up tomorrow morning to join us. Let's go everyone, before someone does show up."

Nancy takes Dustin and Max, and Robin sticks with Steve. She doesn't even question his detour to the music store, just helps him find the Kate Bush tape. Doesn't even raise an eyebrow when he buys two cassette players, five blank tapes, and a tape recorder.

"Who is the mix tape for?" Robin asks him only once they're at Steve's house and settled in for the night in front of the fancy stereo in Steve's living room. Robin's called her parents already and told them she was staying with a friend, and they had leftovers for dinner from.

"Just in case. Now, shh," Steve says, and once Robin has properly quieted, he pressed record on the tape recorder and play on the stereo. He's already found the track he wants, so it's just a matter of waiting the song out, pausing the tape recorder quickly, then rewinding the tape. He goes too far back, so his finger just hovers over the record button until Running Up That Hill comes back on, and he repeats the process. Over and over again, until the hour long tape is filled with nothing but one song.

Robin watches him do it in complete silence. She doesn't move or shuffle until after he's paused the recording, stilling again once he hits record. He knows she doesn't understand why, but also that she doesn't need to understand. He knows that she knows he'll explain as soon as he's able.

He's just afraid to say too much right now. He can remember tomorrow; the Pennhurst plan, how it is supposed to go based on what remembers Nancy and Robin saying. Max will bully him into driving her around, and they'll end up at Billy's grave. He'll be ready this time, he already knows the answers they're seeking but he doesn't want to risk too much.

He has a plan. And it'll work. It has too.

Because he can't remember what happens after. Patrick dies, and there's... water? A lake? But why is Patrick at a lake in the dark? He isn't, is the thing. It's like there are two memories overlapping in Steve's mind and he doesn't know which is real. Or if either of them are.

There's a memory of... of Eddie? Eddie talking about Patrick floating but there's also a memory of hearing it on the news, Patrick found dead in his room, murdered the same way as Chrissy and Fred with no sign of forced entry in his house. Both memories feel real, but Steve doesn't know, can't tell, which is.

Robin and he falls sleep wrapped around each other that night.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @apomaro-mellow @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorrow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yearningagain @starlight-archer @chaosgremlinmunson @aol19 @goodolefashionedloverboi @gutterflower77 @moomkin77 @wonderland-girl143-blog @krazyperson @sevenmerrymagpies

#steddie #my fic #time travel au #apocalypse au #butterfly effect au #what was the conclusion wayne came to i hear you ask?#he can see how desperate steve is to help eddie and maybe thinks steves got a crush on his nephew #also where is lucas you might also be asking #Jason cant go on a dangerous manhunt if the man hes hunting is already caged so Lucas doesnt get roped into that #also i see yall questioning the steddie and trust me that it is. will be #just hes in yknow jail for now so steve can't exactly be climbing him like a tree yet. in the spring break parts.#next part however? well. youll see how the end of the world is going

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 2 months

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ouch 😅

#fic: like a parasite (kill my butterflies)#tomarry #my fic #i know it’s spam but the way it starts hits you right in the gut before you realise it’s spam 😭#there has to be a better way to stop this from happening? without making it so actual guests can’t comment

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whorediaries-09 · 10 months

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😰i get my inspo alr

smut and yandere themes under cut.

thinking about stepdad!sirius black when he finds out about your nsfw twitter account. his cock gets hard just by listening to your teary whimpers while you ride on the plastic dildo underneath your stretched cunt. he groans as he palms himself through his trousers.

those videos and pictures are even better than those he clicks when you are asleep, he chuckles to himself, wiping his sweaty brow. with a curse under his breath his hand shakes as he groans when he sees you falling apart on the plastic cock under you. your cum coats the dildo and he imagines how you'd taste on his tongue. he stares at your heaving chest as you gasp for breaths. there's a pink tinge of perhaps shame or lust on your cheeks as your lips spread while you massage your sensitive clit.

his nsfw twitter account just looked like a fan page for you now....

turn this into a series/fic? 😰

#sirius black #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #dark sirius black x reader #yandere sirius black #yandere #THE GODDAMN BUTTERFLIES I HAD WHILE WRITING THIS #AJNSHHIUNS #FIC??#step daddy? 💀

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wangxianficrecs · 3 months

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💙 Lay my body down by tawaen

💙 Lay my body down

by tawaen

M, 48k, Wangxian

Summary: One of the fragments of Wei Wuxian's soul, splintered during the first siege of the Burial Mounds, uses the energy released by the Yin Tiger Tally and flees backwards through time to another moment where Wei Wuxian was close to death – after the fall of Lotus Pier, at the hands of Jiang Wanyin. Knowing how his first life will end, Wei Wuxian decides to hide his survival, and leave the cultivation world behind. Kay's comments: This story left me absolutely speechless, it was just so perfect! As if someone magically knew all my favourite things and wrote them into a story. It's got genius inventor Wei Wuxian, who becomes a rogue cultivator of sorts and finds his family with the Wens! It's got actual consequences from grave injuries that aren't magically healed! It's got Wen Qing being a good leader and the best sister! It's got Lan Wangji suffering the pain of loss much sooner and therefore learning his lesson sooner and holding on tight to Wei Wuxian when they meet again! It's got the sects getting what they have coming! And it's also incredibly well-written and I literally couldn't stop myself from reading it in one sitting. Excerpt: Wei Ying is too exhausted and in too much pain to deal with the rage, fear and grief. He is already overwhelmed with those feelings from the fall of Lotus Pier. He cannot process the memory or any of his emotions now. Right now, he needs to focus on healing as much as he can. The Wen will come for them soon. His golden core opened his airways and protected them while he was unconscious. He focuses the remainder of his spiritual energy on his back; he needs to stop the bleeding. He can't stay here, but he needs to be sure he won't loose too much blood or get infected through the open, weeping gashes on his back. He meditates as Jiang Cheng's breathing evens out, having finally burned through his rage and cried himself to sleep beside the broken, bloody body of his childhood companion. Once he is sure all the bleeding stopped, he slowly rolls himself into the water of the river next to them. When Jiang Cheng wakes, it will look like Wei Wuxian moved in his sleep – drowned and carried away by the river.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, time travel, time travel fix-it, somebody lives/not everybody dies, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, butterfly effect, no golden core transfer, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, not jiang cheng friendly, cultivation sect politics, demonic cultivation, sunshot campaign, wen remnants live, eventual lan wangji/wei wuxian, time travelling wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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thornywords · 1 year

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Fanart inspired by the fanfic: "come back to me and forgive everything" by @howtobecomeadragon 💙💛

#will byers #stranger things fanart #mike wheeler #byler #byler fanart #Litterally go read this fic RN if you haven't OMG it gave me so many butterflies it's so freaking GOOD LIKE HOWWW????!!!! The talent??!!!#It's literally amazing #You won't regret it I promise #stranger things

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surftrips · 1 year

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butterflies — part one.

pairing: rafe cameron x female reader

summary: after returning home from college for the summer, y/n runs into rafe cameron and the two form an unlikely relationship.

word count: 1582

a/n: part one of my new series inspired by "butterflies" by kacey musgraves. friends to lovers trope! masterlist.

It had been a few months since your first college relationship ended.

It was summer now. You were back home, content with where you were, just coasting through life.

You spent your time with friends and family, at bonfire parties and backyard barbecues. You may have been single, but you certainly weren't lonely.

Besides, your ex was kinda... shitty, for lack of a better word. Instead of lifting you up, he was always holding you back. You felt as though you were suffocating towards the end, and finally you couldn't take it anymore so you broke up with him.

With all this newfound free time, you had taken to spending more time outdoors. Surfing, biking, or simply going for a walk, it felt nice to feel the fresh air and freedom on your skin.

One day you were going for a run in your neighborhood, when you felt someone else jogging up behind you.

"Hey! Wait up!" they said.

You turned around, ready to defend yourself, but to your surprise, it was none other than Rafe Cameron who had called you.

"Rafe?"

"Hey, uh...Y/N right?" he responded, looking unsure.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Come on, I know everyone on this side of the island."

It was true. His family was by far the most affluent on the island and had the most connections. You wouldn't be surprised if his parents knew yours through their work.

Still, you felt the need to push back. "Is that so? Where do I go to college then?"

"Oh, easy. Everyone knows you go to Duke."

Now, you were surprised. Was Rafe Cameron keeping tabs on you?

He must have noticed your shocked face because he said, "Okay, by 'everyone,' I mean me. I know you go to Duke because I applied and got waitlisted."

"Ah, now there's the Rafe Cameron I know. Only cares about stuff when it involves him."

Were you being a little harsh? Yes. But Rafe Cameron had been the most popular guy in high school, he could handle a little teasing from you.

"Okay, ouch. Do you even know where I go to college?" he responded.

"Easy," you mocked him. "UNC Chapel Hill."

"Y/N Y/L/N, I didn't take you as a Rafe Cameron fan," he feigned surprise.

"Oh please, I only know because it's where all the frat boys go."

"Alright, fair enough. But I'll have you know I am so much more than just a frat boy."

"Yeah? Prove it." You don't know what possessed you to be talking to him like this, but hey, it was summer. What did you have to lose?

"How do you want me to do that?"

Yeah, how did you want him to do that? you thought to yourself.

"You're smart. I'm free the whole summer, figure it out," you settled on saying.

He seemed to think about it for a second. Finally, he responded, "Why do you think I called you earlier?"

It dawned on you that you had no idea. Sure, you two went to high school together but you hung out in entirely different circles and up until a few minutes ago, you weren't even sure that he knew who you were.

"I don't know, why?" you asked, almost nervously.

"I heard about your breakup. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"That's bullshit. I've only told my best friends about that." You knew that word traveled fast on the island, so you made sure to only tell people you trusted. How the hell did Rafe Cameron of all people find out?

"Well, you may not know this but all the college kids in North Carolina are connected in one way or another. One of my frat brothers is actually friends with your ex..." he trailed off, not sure how you would react to this.

For once, you were speechless. It really was a small world.

"Tell your brother his friend is an asshole," you finally managed.

He chuckled, relieved that you weren't angry or anything. He didn't know the full details of the breakup, but it definitely wasn't amicable.

"Sure, I'll pass the word along. But, yeah, I seriously did want to check on you," he said.

After a while, he added, "I'm getting over a breakup myself, actually."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't know."

"It's alright," he said. And then, "Have some faith in me, I'm not a bad guy."

This was technically true. Even though he was the typical popular, rich guy in high school, he was definitely one of the better ones. He never bullied anyone and mostly kept to his circle of friends. However, you just couldn't wrap your head around the idea of someone who never acknowledged you during high school caring about you now. What had changed?

Guess you had the whole summer to find out.

—

After that day, Rafe somehow convinced you to hang out with him more. You weren't sure what his motives were, whether he had any aside from trying to prove to you he was "more than just a frat boy."

The first time he took you to a coffee shop, a local one in downtown Kildare.

"I didn't know you drank coffee like that," you remarked.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me," he had responded.

As he took a sip of his drink, you used this opportunity to get a better look at him. You were too shy to make direct eye contact with him, worried that his bright blue eyes would cause blood to involuntarily rush to your cheeks.

He had changed since high school. His shoulders had somehow gotten even broader, his hair was now buzzed down, had he gotten taller?

Suddenly, you wondered what his ex-girlfriend was like. Was she outgoing or shy? Did she go out every night or stay in her dorm? What did she study? In other words, was she like you or the total opposite?

You shook your head, what did it matter to you anyway? You never really liked him in high school, and he seemed all the same now.

(Just a little better looking, somehow.)

—

Weeks later, nothing and everything had changed. You two had been on...

morning runs (or walks, if you guys were hungover from the night before)

grocery store trips after deciding you would show Rafe how to make your pasta recipe

errands runs where you tagged along in Rafe's passenger seat

spontaneous surf trips at the local beach

and of course, late nights spent around a fire as you two reminisced about how different your high school experiences were

Your initial hesitation about spending time with Rafe had waned. You figured that as long as you were having fun, there was no harm being done.

You learned that a lot of Rafe's college friends lived out-of-state and he hadn't been with anyone since his own breakup so he was pretty lonely at home until you showed up.

"Y/N, if I had a girlfriend don't you think I would be with her right now?"

"I don't know! Maybe she lives halfway across the country or is being locked up in a tower somewhere and that's why you can't see her!"

"Can you even hear yourself right now? Who do you think I'm dating, Rapunzel??"

Okay, so he was single. And he was spending nearly everyday with you. As a friend, of course. He just needed someone to keep him company. These are all things you reminded yourself.

You didn't even let yourself consider the possibility that there could be more to your sudden friendship.

—

Your steadfast attitude about your friendship wavered when you were over at his house one day.

You had been there a few times already, but when you knocked on the door this time, his sister Sarah opened it.

Sarah was a few years younger than you two, and was still in high school. Like with her brother, your paths had never really crossed.

"Oh, hey Sarah. Sorry, I was expecting Rafe," you said.

She smiled at you, "No worries, you must be Y/N?"

"Yeah, is he back there?"

Sarah moved out of the way you let you in. "Rafe! Your girlfriend's here!"

"Oh, no-" you started to correct her as Rafe appeared from the kitchen.

"Sarah, she's not my girlfriend," he said.

"Well, you certainly act like a couple," she responded before leaving you two alone.

"Sorry about that," Rafe said when she was out of the room.

"No, it's okay. I've been called worse," you joked.

"Yeah, whatever," he smiled. "The kitchen's all set for us to make lunch, you ready?"

Though you tried not to think about it, Sarah's words echoed in your mind for the rest of the day.

What were you two doing? Clearly, you were both using each other as a distraction, maybe not physically but definitely emotionally. You had both just gotten out of relationships and were looking to fill that void.

On the other hand, you had grown to genuinely like Rafe. It would not have been the worst thing in the world to be his girlfriend. In fact, later that night as you were lying in bed, you toyed with that idea.

"Hey, everyone. This is Y/N, my girlfriend," he would say, strong arms wrapped around your frame.

"Hi, I'm Y/n! Rafe's girlfriend," you would say while meeting his college friends.

Well, shit. You had fallen for Rafe Cameron and he had no idea.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x you #butterflies fic

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