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spiderking-of-queens · 2 years

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Chapter Twenty-Three: Just Friends

Summary: You and Eddie go on a “definitely not a date” date and learn a little bit more about each other, including how you both actually feel for one another. (Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, 13k words)

Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse and violence, eating (Eddie puts peanut butter on his burger bc he’s weird), reader loves Stevie Nicks? This is just pure flirtation, gentle Eddie fluff, and some more angst at the end of course sorry I love drama lol.

A/N: This one’s a DOOZY lol sorry I did not mean for this to be so long. Got a little carried away! Also, once again, I have an album for you! Look up the lyrics to Leather and Lace and think about Eddie or The Highwayman and think about Steve if you wanna cry 🙃

Tags: @princesseddie @dessxoxsworld @blackbirddaredevil23

Series Masterlist

September 20th, 1985

As soon as you got home from your little adventure at the Hideout the week prior, your parents were waiting up for you, ready to scream at you for being out so late. As long as you were still stuck under their roof, you would still have to live by their rules. Their cold-shoulder silent treatment from your decision not to go to college was officially over. You had reawakened the sleeping dragon. Now the little freedom you had gained from their passive-aggressive distance was gone, and there was no way they would let you anywhere near their car again. But that Friday night you had made a promise to see Eddie again and return his jacket to him, and you at least owed him that after the mess you made the week before. So you decided to rebel one last time, and drove to the school to meet him after Hellfire.

You would have joined in, but you felt like you owed him some space, too. So you sat on the floor in the hallway instead and read your book to try to slow your thoughts as you prepared to face him.

Eventually, you heard chatter and laughter as the door opened. You looked up as the boys filed out of the room. Eddie was teasing Dustin, pushing his baseball cap over his eyes. Then he saw you, and his smile dropped.

“Hey, Y/N. I didn’t think you were gonna show up,” Dustin said. “Are you good to drive us home?”

“Yeah. Sorry, just felt like reading today,” You replied, holding up your book. It was kind of true, just not the whole truth.

“The Hobbit,” Eddie mumbled. “Is this your first time reading it?”

“Oh, no. I’ve read it a billion times, I just… like to reread it when I need a good escape.”

He nodded solemnly and you lowered your eyes in embarrassment. The other boys looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable from the obvious tension in the air.

“Okay… well, we’ll be in the car, then…” Lucas grumbled and started to walk away. When Dustin and Mike didn’t get the hint, he walked back towards them and pulled them away by the collar of their shirts. Gareth, Jeff, and Freak mumbled their goodbyes to Eddie and awkwardly shuffled away as well.

The two of you stared at each other in uncomfortable silence before you cleared your throat and stood up from the floor, tugging on your shirt anxiously. Then you remembered his jacket. You bent down to pick it up off of the floor and brushed it off, feeling bad that it looked like you weren’t taking proper care of it.

“I, uh, brought you your jacket,” You said wiping it once more for good measure. “Sorry.”

He chuckled.

“No problem. Thanks for bringing it back.”

He put it on and melodramatically fluffed his hair out.

“How’s it look?”

“Great. As always.”

You smiled shyly at each other, then both tried to speak at the same time.

“You go ahead,” You offered.

“I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry about last weekend,” He said earnestly. You couldn’t stop yourself from snorting at him.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry! I was such a mess. I can’t believe I got drunk. And puked. Oh god, I’m so humiliated. I completely ruined your night.”

You covered your face with your book in shame as the events of the night came back to you. Eddie took a step forward and pushed it down so he could look at you.

“It’s really okay. You didn’t. I’ve just been worried about you, that’s all.”

“That’s really sweet, but despite the embarrassment, I’m fine. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He could definitely tell that you were lying, but he didn’t press you.

“Okay. Well… I’ll see you next week then?”

“About that…” You winced, clenching your teeth. “My parents weren’t exactly thrilled that I left their car at a bar all night. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to drive the boys anymore. Or… anywhere, ever again, for that matter. I had to sneak out just to drive here tonight. So… no more Hellfire. At least for a while, until I can get them to forget that I exist again.”

His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his hands to play with his rings.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about that.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. It’s my fault. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“But… you wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for me.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I wanted to go. And I chose to get drunk. Listen, even though I was a complete disaster, I still would have chosen to go - exactly as it played out - over staying home. It was fun watching you guys play. I’m glad I went. Really.”

“I’m glad you went, too. I wish it would have gone better.”

“Me too,” You sighed.

You stared at each other for a moment before you took a step away from him towards the school’s exit.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll see you around?” You said tentatively.

“Sure. See you around.”

You nodded, giving him a sad smile before you walked away. You made it halfway to the door before he called your name, making you spin back around.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated, punching the palm of his other hand anxiously before he walked towards you, avoiding your gaze.

“Alright, fuck it,” He eventually said with a nervous laugh, forcing himself to look at you. “Lemme just ask you before I lose my nerve again. What are you doing tonight?”

Your eyes widened at him and you looked around like you were being pranked, then you turned your head back to him. His gaze was unwavering.

“Nothing?”

“Good. I mean… okay. Would you wanna… can I take you out to get something to eat? Just to hang out. Nothing weird, I swear. Just a redo.”

You stared at him, stunned. Was this actually happening? He still wanted to spend time with you, even after everything that went down the week before?

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head when you stayed silent for a little too long.

“Again, you can always tell me to fuck off at any time,” He said with a small laugh and smile that immediately disappeared when he realized there was a chance you might actually take him up on that. But you didn’t.

“Okay,” You said simply instead, unable to fight off a little smirk. He grinned back at you.

“Cool.”

“Cool,” You agreed.

He nodded, then stopped suddenly, his smile fading once again.

“Sorry, that was a solid yes, right? Just wanna make sure I’m not an asshole who can’t take a hint.”

You grinned at him.

“Yes. It was a yes.”

“Good.”

He inched ever so slightly closer to you and you felt a sudden pang of panic. Was this a date? You took a step back, brushing your hair behind your ear anxiously.

“Wait, we are just hanging out, right? As… friends?”

He snorted, subtly leaning away from you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Uh, of course. Yeah. Absolutely. That is what I said. Right.”

He was trying a little too hard to prove to you that this was obvious information.

“Okay…” You paused, narrowing your eyes at him skeptically, then relaxed when he didn’t budge. “I’m paying, by the way. I owe you for last week.”

“You know I’m not gonna let you do that, right?”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“We’ll see about that. So, would you mind picking me up at my place? I can write down the address for you.”

“Of course. No problem."

You rummaged in your bag for a marker, then when you found one and pulled it out, Eddie stuck out his hand before you could rip a piece of paper out of your sketchbook. You eyed him quizzically, and he laughed when he recognized your confusion.

“Just write it on my hand. I won’t lose it that way.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t fight him on it. You bit the marker cap off and held it between your teeth, then took his hand and wrote your address on the back of it. When you dropped it and returned the marker to your bag, he brought his hand up to his face so he could read it. His eyes widened.

“Shit. Nice neighborhood.”

“Yeah… For all intents and purposes, I suppose it is,” You snorted.

“Might get a few disgruntled neighbors. My van can be kinda loud.”

“Good. There’s quite a few people I wouldn’t mind pissing off.”

You hated every single person that lived on your street. It was mostly stuck-up old couples that pretended to be nice to your face but complained about the stupidest little things, or families like yours that hated each other behind closed doors. Families just like the Hagans, and the Perkinses, and the Harringtons.

You were teasing, but Eddie actually seemed kind of nervous about it.

“It’ll be fine,” You reassured him. “I won’t make you wait. I promise. But if you’re really worried, I can totally meet you somewhere. I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no. It’s cool. I’m not worried if you’re not.”

“Alright. Thanks. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. So… I’ll pick you up in an hour? Or is that too soon?”

“No, that’s perfect. The sooner the better.”

He smirked at you, and you scratched your eyebrow with uneasiness, letting out an anxious chuckle. That sounded a little too eager.

“I meant, because I probably shouldn’t stay out super late after last weekend,” You added, trying to take him down a peg.

“Right. That’s what I thought you meant,” He nodded, but that stupid smirk was still on his face, making you blush.

“Alright, Munson,” You teased, stepping away from him. “I know you’re always fashionably late, but try your best not to keep me waiting.”

“I won’t. Promise,” He called after you, waving the hand you had written your address on.

“And don’t wash that off!” You added with a giggle, opening the door with your back before turning to walk off to your car.

You tried your best not to wait too eagerly after you got home and changed your clothes, but you couldn’t help pacing around your room, checking your watch. On top of being nervous as hell, you were slightly concerned that your parents would have something to say about a noisy van parked in front of their house. You had a plan to get them off of your back, and you wanted to be ready to go as soon as he pulled up, just as you had promised.

Then at ten on the dot, you heard the sound of Eddie’s van’s engine coming down the road. You were pleasantly surprised that he actually was on time.

You immediately put your plan into motion, opening your window and climbing down carefully onto your porch awning, sliding smoothly to the ground. Then you ran over to Eddie’s van and hopped in, trying to hide the fact that you were out of breath.

“Hi,” You said as you panted. He just stared at you.

“Uh… what was that?” He asked with a chuckle.

“What?”

“The acrobatics?”

“Oh. Uh… I thought I’d try something new. My parents can’t get pissed at me if they don’t notice I’m gone, right?”

“Mhm. Right,” He said with a smirk, and pulled away from the curb. He kept looking you up and down out of the corner of his eyes. You clicked your tongue at him.

“What?” You asked again more impatiently.

“You changed,” He pointed out with a smirk, nodding at your fresh top.

“Yeah… so?” You mumbled, looking down at it. “I was in my work shirt when I saw you at the school.”

“Okay. Just saying. It’s a pretty nice top to wear for hanging out with a friend.”

“Well… I didn’t know where you were planning on taking me. Figured I’d dress to be ready for anything.”

“It won’t be anywhere fancy,” He snorted. “Hope that’s okay.”

“Where are we going?”

He squirmed in his seat nervously, leaning forward over the steering wheel.

“Okay, so I have this place in mind, but it’s outside of town a little bit. Is that okay? I kinda want it to be a surprise, but I just don’t want you to think that I’m, like, about to drive you out into a field to murder you or something.”

“Well… I wasn’t thinking that before. But now I’m slightly concerned.”

“I promise I will not murder you,” He laughed. “I sort of like you too much.”

“That’s… good to hear? I guess?”

He paused to look at you before turning back to the road.

“That’s where you’re supposed to say that you like me, too. You know, or whatever.” “Okay… Eddie, I like you too much to murder you, too.”

“Aw,” He cooed, putting a hand on his heart. “You’re sweet.”

Eventually, he pulled off of the road several miles outside of Hawkins into the parking lot of a retro diner.

“Is this the place?” You asked him with a grin.

“Yep. This is it. What do you think?”

“I think… I’m dying for a strawberry milkshake right about now.”

“Then let’s get you a strawberry milkshake,” He said with a nod, unbuckling his seatbelt. You followed suit, and before you could get out of his van, Eddie had already raced around to extend a hand to help you out. You raised an eyebrow at him but took it anyways as you hopped down. He shrugged, picking up on what you were thinking.

“I’m always chivalrous. Doesn’t mean anything,” He argued, dropping your hand.

“Mhm. Right.”

If he could tease you about changing before seeing him, you could tease him about getting the door for you. It was fun pushing each other’s buttons like this, flirting innocently. When you got to the front door of the diner, you made it a point to hold it open for him, which amused him immensely.

As soon as he walked in, an older woman smiled at him from behind the front counter.

“Well if it isn’t little Eddie Munson,” She called, stopping him in his tracks. You froze beside him and looked between the two of them in confusion.

“Hey, Deb. How have you been?” He asked her.

“Same ol’, same ol'. How are you? How’s Wayne? Still at the plant?”

“Yes ma’am, he is. We’re both great, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it. Your usual booth is open if you wanna make your way over, I’ll be there in just a second.”

Eddie nodded and instinctively put his hand over the small of your back to guide you towards the back of the diner, but corrected himself quickly by shoving it into his jeans pocket instead. When you both slid into your seats across from each other, Deb met you over by the table and smiled down at you before glancing back at Eddie.

“Well, who’s this? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She said kindly, and reached out her hand to shake yours. “How do you know our Eddie?”

“I’m Y/N,” You answered shyly as you shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I, uh… went to school with him.”

You fought back the urge to ask her how the hell she knew Eddie.

“Well, any friend of his is a friend of mine,” She said, patting his shoulder before turning back to you. “So, what can I get you?”

“Could I please get a hamburger and fries…”

“And a strawberry milkshake,” Eddie interrupted with a smirk.

“Yes, thank you, Eddie. And a strawberry milkshake, please.”

“Of course,” Deb said, writing on her notepad. Then she looked up and pointed her pen at Eddie. “The usual for you, dear?”

He tilted his head at her with a wide smile.

“You know me so well, Deb.”

“Well, I suppose I should after all these years of you ordering the same thing,” She teased him, smacking him gently on the shoulder with her notepad. Of course, Eddie couldn’t resist melodramatically pretending that it had wounded him. “I’ll be right back with your food. You kids have fun."

“Thank you,” Eddie turned to call after her, and then smiled back at you.

“Come here often?” You asked him with a smirk.

“Yeah,” He chuckled bashfully. “My uncle’s been bringing me here ever since I moved in with him as a kid, and Deb’s worked here for forever.”

“And what’s this mysterious order you’ve been getting for the past, what, ten years?”

“A Dr. Pepper and a hamburger, well-done. Extra pickles. With a side of… peanut butter.”

“I’m sorry… did you say peanut butter? For what?”

His eyebrows raised so high in surprise that they disappeared behind his bangs.

“You don’t know about peanut butter burgers?”

“Peanut butter what?”

“Peanut butter on hamburgers. It’s amazing.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” You grimaced.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. You’ve heard of peanut butter and pickles, right? It’s pretty much the same thing. It’s an acquired taste.”

“I’m not sure if my tastebuds are… sophisticated enough for that yet.”

“Oh, you’re gonna try it.”

“I will not.”

“You will,” He shrugged.

“Eddie.”

“Y/N.”

He was grinning at the horrified look on your face. You could tell he wasn’t going to let it go.

“One bite,” You finally said after he successfully stared you down.

“Deal,” He agreed, sticking out his hand to shake on it. You shook your head at him, but stuck your hand out to grip his anyways. He held onto it for a little too long afterwards, looking you straight in the eye before you tried to turn your face away to hide your blush. You pulled your hand back and immediately turned your attention to the little jukebox that was sitting on the booth tabletop.

“This is cute. I’ve never seen one of these before. How does it work?”

“Yeah. That’s half of the appeal of this place. You can pick a song from any table, and eventually it’ll play over the speakers. My little ten-year-old brain almost exploded with excitement the first time my uncle gave me a nickel to pick out a song. Now every time we come here, we always have to pick something.”

You could picture Eddie as a little kid clear as day, easily excitable, and it made you smile.

“Your uncle, his name is Wayne, right?” You asked.

“Yup. Good ol’ Wayne Munson.”

“So you guys are pretty close, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s more my dad than my actual dad, so.”

“He seems like a really good man.”

“He is.”

Eddie became uncharacteristically quiet then, seemingly humbled by this vulnerable admission. You tilted your head at him curiously, but he avoided your gaze and began to fish for change in his pocket, then reached out to try to hand it to you.

“Here. Pick something out. It’s too quiet in here.”

“No, you should do it. It’s your tradition.”

“Well, now it can be yours, too,” He objected, reaching out with his other hand to peel yours off of the table, then pressed the coin into it and closed your fingers around it. “Pick a good one.”

Your face flushed as he released you and you opened your fist to look down at the coin in your hand.

“No pressure,” You mumbled to yourself with a laugh.

“What, do you think I’m a music snob or something?”

“Oh, I know you are,” You teased. “In fact, maybe I’ll try my best to pick something you’ll absolutely hate.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” He scoffed. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Nothing. I’m just not ready to show you my hand yet. I’ve gotta figure out what your limits are first.”

“My limits? Jesus, what kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing weird! Just… definitely not what you’re used to.”

He cocked his head at you and raised an eyebrow.

“I think you’re underestimating me.”

“Well, guess we’ll find out then, won’t we?”

You smirked at him deviously as you made your selection, and he sat back and crossed his arms in waiting, equally amused by your game. When it began to play, you sat back, too, staring him down, willing him to react. It took a minute for him to recognize the song, but when he did, he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a chuckle, then opened one of them to look at you.

“Girls Just Want to Have Fun? Seriously? That cannot be one of your all-time favorite songs.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not. That was a test, and you failed,” You laughed.

“Oh, come on. That’s so not fair. How else was I supposed to react to that?!”

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll choose a better one for the next song. On my nickel, don’t even try to give me any more change. Got it?”

He put his hands up in defeat.

“Got it. You’re making the rules now.”

“Damn straight.”

He bit his lip, then leaned forward towards you with his hands clasped over the table as if he was prepared to make you some kind of dubious offer.

“I have a game for you, too, though.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I challenge you… to draw me.”

“What?”

“Draw me,” He shrugged. “What? You don’t think I could be a good model?”

He daintily pushed his hair over his shoulder and fluttered his eyelashes at you to showcase his beauty, making you laugh.

“I’m sure you’d be a great model. I just don’t think I’m a good enough artist to capture…” You paused to wave a hand at him in a circular motion. “All that.”

He laughed back at your teasing.

“Are you forgetting that I’ve seen your art? I know what you’re capable of.”

“You seriously want me to draw you? For what?”

“So I can hang it on my wall to remind myself how pretty I am, obviously.”

“Right. Obviously,” You snorted. He stared you down, tapping his finger on the table.

“I am serious, though. Draw me.”

“I… with what? I don’t even have a pencil.”

He smirked at you and turned to flag down Deb, then asked her for a pencil. She took one she had been keeping behind her ear and handed it to him, and he thanked her before holding it out to you. You took it from him reluctantly, glancing between the two of them anxiously. Eddie noticed and looked back at Deb, then explained, “She’s an artist. She’s gonna draw me,” With a pleased grin.

Deb smiled back at him, eyeing you knowingly before shaking her head fondly and walking off. You raised an eyebrow at Eddie as he stared at you expectantly.

“Alright,” You sighed, “I have a better idea. I’ll draw you somebody in this restaurant right now - anybody you choose - and if you like it, then I promise I will draw you.”

He tilted his head at you impatiently, but nodded.

“Fine. You’ve got yourself another deal. You do make the rules, after all.”

“That’s correct. So who do you pick? Choose wisely.”

He draped an arm over the back of the booth and turned his body around to look at the other people in the room, not even bothering to be covert about it. There weren’t too many to choose from. He eventually turned back around and leaned over the table to whisper to you.

“See the guy at the counter? Ten o’clock?”

You leaned a little to the left so you could look over his shoulder.

“The one in head-to-toe camouflage?”

“That’s the one. I pick him.”

“Okay. Challenge accepted. Easy.”

He smiled at your confidence, then grabbed a napkin from the holder beside him to pass it off to you. You snorted and took it from him. It wasn’t the ideal material to draw on, but it would have to do.

“So, what music do you usually pick out when you come here?” You asked as you began your drawing. “The selections aren’t very… metal.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Uh… well, see, that’s an interesting story. It’s actually kind of part of the tradition for me to pick a Woody Guthrie song.”

“What? Like, the guy who wrote This Land Is Your Land?”

“That’s the one,” He admitted with pursed lips and a shrug.

“Very interesting. Where did that come from?”

“Wayne introduced me to him as a kid, and I thought he was a cool dude. I had a little bit of an obsession. Read all these books about him. He’s actually the one that made me wanna play guitar.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I know. It’s shocking, right? I started with acoustic, and then when I discovered AC/DC, that was the end of that story. Wayne saved up for a year to get me my first electric guitar, and, hence, my first foray into the world of rock and roll began.”

“Ah. See, now that makes more sense to me.”

“Right. But they were just a stepping stone, obviously. The music I like now is a little more…”

“Loud?” You interrupted him with a smirk, still focused on your drawing.

“Yes, exactly. Heavier.”

“So who do you listen to now then? Anybody I would know?”

“I don’t know. Iron Maiden? W.A.S.P.? Dio? Metallica? Black Sabbath?”

“Oh, sure. Ozzy Osbourne. The guy that decapitated a bat live on stage. Love that guy,” You teased sarcastically, glancing up at his face to see his reaction. He was smiling sheepishly at you, and it was so cute that it made you want to cry. “I’m teasing. I don’t really know any of those bands, but I’m willing to be educated. You did promise me you would lend me some tapes, remember?”

His face lit up again, and his smile became wider.

“Oh, trust me. I remember.”

“Good.”

You smiled back at him, then returned to your masterpiece before Eddie cleared his throat and tapped a finger against the mini jukebox selector.

“Did you forget something? I shared my favorites, now it’s your turn. Pick something out that you actually like.”

You sighed and set down the napkin you were sketching on in your lap.

“For the record, I do actually like Cyndi Lauper. She’s just not in my top ten.”

“Well, of course you do. It’s criminal not to at least like her a little bit. I’m not a total freak.”

You rolled your eyes at him and crossed your arms discontentedly.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not,” He raised his voice indignantly. “I’m serious. Her shit is catchy.”

“Stop it. Do you want me to finish this drawing or not?”

You set the napkin back on the table and continued, trying your best to ignore Eddie as he leaned forward towards you. Then when he realized he couldn’t get to you, he slumped back into his seat like a pouting child. Just when you thought you had won, he began to hum, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing up at him. Then he began to sing quietly when he realized that he had finally caught your attention.

“I come home… in the mornin’ light… my MOther says, ‘Whatcha gonna do with your life?’”

“What are you doing?” You tried to ask him, but he ignored you and began to sing louder, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Oh momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones. And girls, they wanna have FU-un!”

You shushed him, eyeing the people around you, but it only spurred him on more.

“THAT’S ALL THEY REALLY WAAAANT,” He sang as loudly and passionately as possible, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face. You straightened up in your seat in shock, then reached out to clamp a hand over his mouth without thinking.

“Stop!” You hissed, fighting back a grin so he wouldn’t be tempted to keep it up.

“I’m not gonna stop until you agree to pick out another song,” He mumbled into your hand, tickling your palm. Then he pulled away from it and screeched, “SOME FUUUUUN!” to prove his point.

“Okay, okay!” You yelled, waving your hands at him emphatically to get him to stop before reaching into your bag for change. When you found a nickel, you held it up to him in desperation to prove that you were willing to comply, then kept your eyes locked on his as you put it into the jukebox. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” He said with a shit-eating grin. You rolled your eyes at him, then couldn’t resist looking around at the other people in the diner who were still staring at the two of you.

This is exactly what Robin meant when she said that Eddie would be good at getting you out of your shell. Everybody was looking at you, which normally would have made you shut down, but you couldn’t help smiling. It didn’t feel so threatening when Eddie’s goofiness was the cause of it. It was actually kind of fun.

“You’re a child, you know that?” You grumbled playfully as you turned your attention back to the jukebox to pick out a song.

“I know,” He agreed, resting back into his seat triumphantly. You shook your head at him again.

“I can’t believe you actually know the words to Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

“I told you,” He shrugged. “Catchy.”

Your eyes flicked up at him briefly as you were making your song selection, catching his gaze. You knew exactly what he was doing by playing these games with you. He was softening you up so you would open up to him. Worming his way into your brain, trying to figure you out. Trying to get you to share your favorite things with him. You would have been mad, but recognizing the twinkle in his eyes made it impossible. All he wanted was to get to know you better. How could you be angry about that?

You decided to play nicely and actually picked one of your favorite songs despite the fear that he would judge you for it. After selecting it, you quickly went back to drawing, doing your best to appear nonchalant even though your heart was racing. When the song started playing and you heard a contented sigh from Eddie, you looked up at him again in shock.

“Landslide. Heavy. And not in the way I’m used to,” He joked. “Sad, heavy. But it’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Fleetwood Mac was actually… one of my mom’s favorites."

You stopped drawing suddenly and stared up at him, unsure how to react to that bit of information. Judging by the serious look on his face, he wasn’t sure either. But this only lasted for a second before he had his typical, beaming, Eddie smile back, and he quickly cleared his throat and tried to move the topic away from his mom again.

“Stevie Nicks is a total badass. Although, she wasn’t always in the band, right? It’s hard to keep all that straight. They went through a lot of personnel changes over the years, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” You smiled kindly, trying to ignore the pregnant pause in your conversation. “Although, I really don’t have any interest in them pre-Stevie Nicks. She’s definitely a top ten artist. Top five, even.”

“Understandable. Edge of Seventeen? Great song.”

“Are you kidding?” You scoffed ecstatically. “When that album came out, I listened to it on repeat so much that my record was completely scratched by the end of the summer. I was absolutely obsessed. I probably wouldn’t have survived the start of my freshman year without it.”

He nodded, grinning at you, basking in your joy. He’d gotten you truly excited about something for the first time that night, and he knew it. He was successfully figuring you out. Your cheeks burned red from his gaze. You shook your head and looked back down at your work, trying to pretend that it hadn’t happened.

“You know… you can keep telling me things like that,” He said as gently as possible. “Personal things. I’m not gonna, like, use them against you, or anything. Or make fun of you. Right?”

You weren’t expecting him to say this, and it flustered you.

“I… I know,” You stammered. “I mean… I’m trying.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to. I just want to make sure you know that. You always seem…embarrassed. I don’t want you to be.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s not you. That’s just… my own shit.”

“I get it. Trust me.”

It hadn’t really occurred to you that he would understand. He was so good at pretending like he didn’t care about anything, at being his carefree, happy self, that you almost forgot he had dealt with his fair share of bullshit in his life.

“You can always tell me things, too. I hope you know that,” You added, just in case he didn’t.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of…” You were about to ask him more about his mom, but Deb came over and set your plates down in front of you, interrupting you before you could. Maybe it was for the best. You didn’t want to pry too soon. You both said your polite thank you’s to her, and after she walked away, Eddie looked down at the little bowl of peanut butter on his plate, then back up at you. You groaned.

“You’re really gonna make me try that monstrosity?”

“Monstrosity? How dare you. More like masterpiece.”

“Alright, whatever. Let’s just get it over with,” You grumbled, setting your drawing aside to pick up a knife and spread a tiny amount of it onto your burger. You picked it up and stared at it, then glanced up at Eddie for a moment to see him leaning in eagerly, his chin resting on top of his intertwined hands. There was no backing out. You took a hesitant bite and put your hand over your mouth as you chewed, analyzing its bizarre taste profile. After a few moments, you let yourself swallow it and your eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Surprisingly not horrible,” You admitted.

“You love it.”

“Let’s not get too carried away. It’s… it’s good. Okay?”

He clapped his hands together excitedly, rocking back in his seat.

“I knew it! I knew you’d like it!” He exclaimed loudly and pointed a finger at you, once again drawing attention to himself.

You laughed and shushed him.

“Okay, okay. You were right. Are you happy?”

“You have no idea,” He grinned.

You watched him take the top bun off of his burger and dump the entire bowl of peanut butter on the patty as you took a sip of your milkshake. The boy was weird, and you were enjoying every moment of watching him be himself.

He took a large bite of the burger after reassembling it and then tried to talk to you with his mouth full without thinking.

“What was that?” You chuckled, then took a bite of one of your fries.

He covered his mouth with his fist and swallowed, then smiled at you sheepishly.

“Sorry. I said, are you done with that drawing yet?”

“Oh!” You brushed your hands together to wipe off the crumbs and took the drawing off of the seat beside you to study it. Then you held up a finger and picked up your pencil again. “Just a second, it needs one last touch.”

You scribbled one last detail then held it up, eyeing Eddie as he sat in waiting behind it.

“Okay. I think it’s done.”

He sat up straight in his seat and wiped off his hands with his napkin, then held them out to you in preparation to receive it. You waved it at him then snatched it away playfully, and he reached out and grabbed it from you with a laugh before you could take it away again. It took him a brief moment to analyze it before his face lit up in pure delight.

It was a drawing of the lonely camouflaged man, as requested, but slightly more caricatured with the addition of a little caption that read, “Sometimes I feel like everybody looks right through me.”

“Holy shit,” He said with a boisterous laugh. “That’s fucking amazing.”

He held it up to you to show it off as if you hadn’t just finished drawing it right in front of him less than a minute before. You chuckled at his show of pride in you.

“Why, thank you. Glad you like it.”

“Like it? I’m framing this shit.”

“Alright. Calm down, Munson. It’s just a stupid little joke drawing.”

“No, it’s my stupid little joke drawing and I will cherish it forever,” He argued, clutching it fondly to his chest. “Thank you. I can’t believe you cranked that out so fast. This really is your thing, isn’t it?”

You remembered your conversation at The Hideout about each of your respective talents. His music, your art. Your heart dropped. Seeing the joy your drawing had brought him helped a little, but you still felt like you had all but completely lost that side of yourself.

“Well, about that… I’m not so sure that’s true,” You admitted. “I don’t really know what my thing is anymore.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Because I haven’t really been able to make anything new since I graduated. It’s like I’m all dried up. Barely nineteen and I’m already having a mid-life crisis.”

“Dried up?” He scoffed. “Look at what you just did. And what about leaving Hawkins? What happened to your plans?”

He seemed genuinely concerned by your change of heart, and you didn’t really know what to say to him to make him understand what caused it.

“I… don’t know. I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me anymore, you know? Reality kind of whacked me over the head a little bit.”

That was an understatement. And also pretty literal, considering the bruises you received from the battle at Starcourt.

“Maybe it’ll still happen someday, but just… not anytime soon,” You added to ease his worry, even though you didn’t really believe it. He nodded and seemed to relax slightly.

“Well, if you really are going to be sticking around for a while, we could always use your help designing band posters and stuff. Maybe even some new shirts for the Hellfire Club?”

You blinked at him, surprised by this kind offer. He tapped his rings against the table to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“If you’re up for it, I mean. No pressure. We probably couldn’t pay you much, but…”

“I’d love to,” You interrupted him. “Free of charge. Anytime.”

“No, you’ve gotta let me pay you something.”

“Okay, you can take me out to eat again.”

Now it was his turn to be stunned speechless. For some reason, it was a surprise to him that you considered spending time with him valuable.

“That’s all you’ll accept?”

“Yup,” You nodded matter-of-factly.

“Sounds like that’s a bigger payoff for me, but alright.”

You smirked at him, shaking your head. That wasn’t even remotely true.

“I believe you also owe me a portrait of yours truly,” He added. “Don’t forget.”

“Okay, fine. But it’ll cost you an extra meal.”

“I think I can live with that.”

You tried to hide your giddy smile by taking another bite of your burger, and he eyed you over the rim of his soda as he took a sip. Then he set it down quickly and swallowed as he recalled something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. What were you gonna say before our food got here? Something personal, or whatever?”

Shit. He had heard you. You tried to think of something else you could ask him that would be much lighter than the topic of his absent parents.

“Oh… um… I do have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you, actually. Speaking of leaving Hawkins… I’m curious to know what’s in the cards for you when you finish school. Do you have any plans? Or… dreams?”

He raised his eyebrows at you, then reached over to steal a fry from your plate. You glared at him playfully, but didn’t say anything.

“Do I have any plans? Uh… maybe the first two times I was supposed to graduate. But the third? Nah. The plan is just to get the hell out of that school.”

“Okay… Then can I ask you something else?”

He wiped his hands with his napkin again and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“You’re…smart…”

When you paused to think about how best to continue your question, he snorted.

“Is that your question?”

“No, I’m trying to say… you’re really smart, and certainly smart enough to graduate. So how have you been held back so many times?”

He sighed loudly, and blew a puff of air out of his lips.

“Takes a certain special talent, I guess. It was actually sort of hard to do. No, actually, the answer depends on who you ask. If you ask my teachers, they would say it’s because I have an inability to focus in class. If you ask principal Higgins, he would say that I’m a degenerate who cares more about getting into trouble than succeeding in anything. And if you ask the guidance counselor, she would tell you that my unwillingness to move forward in life is due to a ‘fear of the unknown,’ and a direct result of my ‘rocky upbringing.’”

“And if I were to ask you?” You asked, cocking your head.

He took a pause to think about it, sipping his soda again. When the answer came to him, he traced a finger over the tabletop’s pattern absentmindedly.

“I would tell you that it’s because I can’t force myself to give a shit. About any of it.”

He looked sad as he continued to stare down at the table, and you wanted nothing more than to make him smile again.

“Would it be awful for me to say that I’m glad you flunked?” You teased, leaning forward to catch his attention. “Because we probably wouldn’t be here right now if you graduated when you were supposed to. Or last year, either, actually.”

He looked up at you, the first signs of a smile appearing on his face.

“What, do you think I would have actually gone anywhere if I had graduated?”

“Absolutely. Are you kidding?”

“I think the guidance counselor would disagree with you.”

“Well, the guidance counselor can kiss my ass. You are way too good for this town, Eddie Munson. And you are going to graduate this year. I know you will.”

You could tell he wanted to object, but the look on your face was warning him not to. He chuckled with a little shake of his head.

“Alright, how about we make one more deal then? I work hard and actually graduate, and you get the hell out of this town like you planned. Sound fair?”

“Fine. I guess that is fair,” You reluctantly agreed. “But only if you agree to get out of this town, too.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands that were resting flat on the table, then reached to twist the rings on his left hand nervously. You could tell there was something else on his mind.

“Okay. Now can I…ask you something now? Something personal?”

Uh oh.

“Sure?” You agreed tentatively.

“You said something at The Hideout last weekend… while you were…”

“Drunk?” You interrupted him, squeezing your eyes shut in humiliation.

“Yeah. So I don’t know if you really meant it or not, but… you said something about…how you’re a ‘ticking time bomb,’ I believe were the exact words you used? And that I…deserved somebody… ‘good, like me?’”

“Shit,” You muttered, reaching up to rub at your eyebrow. “Yeah, I remember. I wish I could lie and say I don’t, but I wasn’t that drunk. Unfortunately…”

“Right. So my question is… what the fuck was that about?” He paused to raise an eyebrow at you, then added pointedly, “Friend?”

It took everything in you not to slide down in the booth onto the floor and crawl outside, straight into traffic.

“Fuck… I’m so sorry. I was hoping you didn’t hear that part of my rambling…”

“Yeah, sorry,” He scoffed. “Not a chance.”

“I’m so embarrassed… Look, clearly, I… I was having some… confusing thoughts. About… well, I saw you with… with Jo. And I think it just made me feel kinda lonely.”

“Jo? Oh shit… I forgot you met her.”

He forgot? You spent all summer thinking about the two of them together, and he forgot?

“Well… I did,” You said a little too aggressively. “At the movies. In June. Your date with her?”

“No, yeah… I remember,” He said, fighting back a smile at your frustration with him. “But it wasn’t really… a date, date. I don’t think.”

“Oh? Really? Then what was all that then, at The Hideout?”

“What?” He laughed, unable to fight it back any longer. You snorted at him.

“‘Oh, Eddie,’” You mocked her, reaching out to grab his arm while pretending to fawn over him. “‘You looked so hot up there with your guitar. Marry me?’”

He laughed at you openly this time, clearly enjoying how worked up you had gotten. He’d never actually seen you act like this around him. You’d teased him before, but not like this. Not in a way that almost matched his own special brand of charisma.

“Was that supposed to be Jo or you?” He countered.

“Her, obviously!”

“So you didn’t think I was hot?”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t change the subject, Munson. What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Alright, alright. She came to see my band at the start of the summer, and she was nice and asked me to… hang out a… a couple times. Just casually. And I… I’m sorry, are these still friendly questions? Because I feel like I’m being interrogated a little bit.”

You didn’t like how he was anxiously dancing around the subject. Clearly, there was something about the two of them that he didn’t want you to know.

“I’m not interrogating you,” You argued. “I think I’m asking valid questions. You never mentioned her before.”

“Well, then, can I ask you about Steve?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed by his quick deflection.

“What about Steve?”

“Is that why you called him to come get you? Because seeing me with Jo made you feel…” He trailed off, then held up air quotes with his fingers. “‘Lonely?’”

“What? No. I… I called Steve, because nobody else would have been able to come get me. He was my only option.”

“Right. Besides… me,” He said indignantly, pointing a thumb to himself. “Who was already there, and completely ready and willing to drive you.”

“Please. That would have been… humiliating.”

“More humiliating than Steve “The Hair” Harrington threatening to kick my ass outside of a bar?”

You covered your eyes in shame. You had almost forgotten that part.

“Fuck… I am so sorry about that. If it helps at all, we fought over it.”

He eased up a bit when he saw how mortified you truly were over your decision to call Steve, relaxing back into his seat with a sigh.

“So what’s really going on there? Honestly?” He asked. “Because I’ve gotta say, the way he tried to defend your honor like that… didn’t seem very friend-like.”

You leaned forward, pushing your plate out of the way so you could cross your arms over the table, readying yourself for a vulnerable admission. It was the first time you would be speaking about what happened between you and Steve with somebody other than him, and it felt strange. It made it feel more real. Especially since it was Eddie.

“Okay…” You began, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what you were thinking last year with all of the rumors about us, but… I swear we were just friends. Things didn’t become more… complicated… until recently. Over the summer.”

“Oh. The summer. Right.”

You could tell what he was thinking. He knew something changed in you that summer, and he was making an assumption that Steve was the cause of it. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it was so much more than that, but you knew you couldn’t. You sighed, and decided to at least give him the full, honest truth about one thing.

“We… we kissed. Once. At the end of August. And it kind of messed everything up. That’s all. I don’t even know if we’re friends anymore because we haven’t really talked since…but that’s what happened.”

“So… you guys aren’t, like… seeing each other causally or anything like that?”

“Like you and Jo, you mean?” You scoffed.

By now, you had pieced together what he meant by “casual,” and it didn’t exactly align with what you considered it to be. It was obvious that he had more romantic experience than you.

“Yeah… I guess,” He shrugged.

“No. We are definitely not.”

He seemed to perk up slightly at this revelation, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded and went back to fidgeting with his hands. You sighed loudly.

“Are you still seeing Jo?” You asked, then added, “Casually?” With an eye roll.

“No. It was just a fun, summer thing. We both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. We’re just friends.”

“Are you sure she knows that? Because she seemed very into you last weekend.”

“She’s just… flirtatious like that. It didn’t mean anything.”

He tilted his head to study you as you nodded slowly with your lips pursed together and stirred your milkshake with your straw.

“Are you pissed at me?” He asked you, his voice pitching up slightly in confusion.

“No. Of course not. Why would I be pissed?”

“I don’t know. Why would you be?”

“Well, I don’t know. Because I’m not pissed.”

Your eyebrows were raised as you took a drink of your milkshake and stared at him the whole time, and he scoffed at you in frustration. You set your glass down and began ripping up your straw wrapper anxiously as an awkward silence filled the air around you, and you couldn’t resist prodding him further to ease the burden of it.

“How many… how many people… have you been with? Casually or… otherwise?”

“Is that a question friends ask each other?”

You glared up at him.

“…Yes. You don’t have to answer it. I was just curious.”

“Not many,” He shrugged. “Two. Three, actually, I guess.”

You sat quietly for a minute to let that sink in. It wasn’t outrageous, but not really what you wanted to hear.

“Can I ask you the same question?” He asked.

You felt your cheeks turn red. Did Steve count as one? Or was he asking about how many you’d slept with? Wait, was three his number for people he’d slept with, or just done… other stuff with? Your head was starting to hurt and you regretted asking him the question in the first place. You looked up at him pleadingly, and he shook his head.

“Never mind, I don’t want to know,” He said with a chuckle, and you sighed gratefully, going back to ripping up the wrapper until it was nothing more than little white paper flakes.

“So… have you ever brought her here?” You asked quietly, staring at the shredded remains of your wrapper. You hadn’t learned your lesson from your previous question. You were dying to know.

“Who, Jo? No. I’ve never been here with anybody before, besides Wayne. It’s kind of, like… my little secret.”

“Then why did you bring me?”

“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “I just thought… maybe you’d appreciate it.”

He’d never brought anybody else there before. Maybe he had been with other girls, but at least there were some things he hadn’t done with them before that he wanted to do with you. It made you feel special. Not that you had a right to feel that way, since it wasn’t a real date, after all.

“I do appreciate it,” You said, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me.”

You smiled softly at each other, then your eyes drifted to Eddie’s digital watch.

“Oh, shit!” You yelled and reached out to grab his wrist to make sure you were reading the time correctly. He jumped slightly, his eyes widening in shock at your sudden outburst. It was almost midnight. “Is that the time? I should probably go… just in case my secret agent plan didn’t work on my parents.”

He studied your face, tapping his fingers on the table, and let out a disappointed sigh.

“Alright,” He agreed, then paused to take one last bite of his burger. “Let’s get you home, then. Wouldn’t want you turning into a pumpkin or something."

After the two of you went back and forth on who would pay and eventually agreed on just paying for your own meals, Eddie drove you home. You asked him to park down the street just in case your parents really had realized you were gone.

“Thanks again. For driving me,” You said with a contented sigh after he switched off his ignition and turned to you.

“Anytime.”

You knew you should have gotten out and left then, but you didn’t want the night to end yet. Instead, you turned back to him and asked, “Do you have a long drive home?”

“Not too long. I live out at… Forest Hills,” He admitted reluctantly. “You know it?”

“No shit! That’s where I’m helping my friend Max move in next weekend.”

He was taken aback by your excitement, and chuckled a little bit.

“Oh, yeah. Sinclair’s girlfriend. I’ve heard all about her, trust me. She was also… Billy Hargrove’s sister, right?”

It sent a jolt through you, hearing his name. You’d almost forgotten about him for the first time in months that night.

“Stepsister. Yeah,” You corrected him, looking down at your lap. “His asshole dad just ran out on her mom, left them with nothing. Max doesn’t really talk to me about it, but I know she’s struggling.”

You fell silent and he seemed to pick up on your distress instantly.

“I can help keep an eye out for her if you want, if you’re worried about her,” He offered quickly.

You turned your head against the headrest of your seat to look at him. He had a kind, warm smile that made you feel like melting into your seat.

“That would be amazing. Thank you, Eddie.”

He nodded and then rested his head against the back of his seat, too, that smile still on his face as he watched you. He was so kind. So good. Your heart ached.

“Can I ask you something before I go?” You said quietly. He nodded again, his eyes still fixated on you.

“What’s inside of you that compels you to do that? To help people like that?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, his brows furrowed.

“You let the boys sit with you on their first day of school because they had nowhere else to sit. You’re offering to help Max, who you’ve never even met. And… you helped me. Last year. When Carol and Tommy were being assholes in the hallway. You almost got into a fight for me. What drives you to do those things?”

“I… I don’t know. Well, first of all, I helped you with Carol and Tommy because I owed you for the cigarettes, remember?” He chuckled. You weren’t amused.

“Eddie. We both know that’s bullshit. You just can’t help yourself, can you? No matter who it is, whether you know them or not, you just can’t help being the protector. Throwing yourself over the grenade. I need to know what it is that compels you to do that. I have to know where that comes from.”

He blinked at you in the dark blue midnight light, confused by your urgency, unsure how to respond. Then after a few moments, he took a deep breath and began to speak so uncharacteristically quietly that you had to lean in closer to hear.

“Maybe it’s just because… I know what it’s like. I’m sure it’s hard to imagine now, but I was a scared kid once, too. I got beaten up all the time before I met Jeff and the others. And after, too, a little bit, but not as bad. Then when I got to high school and we found Hellfire, it became a little easier to be my loud, obnoxious self once I found other people that liked the same weird shit as me. And I felt some power in that. But I also drew some negative attention from it, obviously.”

He trailed off and looked at you, and you nodded, willing him to say what he was holding back. He bit his lip anxiously, but took a deep breath and continued anyways.

“It did a pretty good job keeping me out of trouble for a while, but when I was 14, I kinda snapped and lost it on this kid who just would not let up. It was terrifying. It was like, I didn’t even have control over myself. I pretty much beat him within an inch of his life before my friends could pull me off of him.”

He stopped to look over at you, and seemed to clock the horror on your face that you were failing to conceal.

“Did you know about that?” He asked, grimacing.

You shook your head no.

“I thought maybe you did. I mean, everybody and their mother heard about it. That’s pretty much when I became the town pariah. The “Freak." I assumed that was why you tried to stay away from me for so long.”

“No. I… I had no idea.”

“Well, the cops got involved, but thanks to my uncle, they didn’t press charges. I don’t know what he did, but I know he saved me. And after, he sat me down, and he told me that I had to make a choice. I had to decide if I wanted to hold onto all the anger and implode like everybody else in my family had, or I could just… let it go. The idea of being anything like my old man really did the trick. So I let it go. I chose to start laughing at all the bullshit instead of getting mad over it. And it wasn’t easy at first, pretending not to care. But eventually I got used to it, and people stopped messing with me. Mostly because they were scared of me, but also because they realized they couldn’t get to me anymore. It just makes life a whole lot easier when you don’t take it seriously. A lot less painful. And after a while I started trying really hard to use that superpower for good, you know?” He paused, laughing at himself a little. “I figured, if people are gonna be scared of me, I may as well use that to help out people like me. Protect the people who need it. People who… who don’t have anybody to sit with at lunch. Like you and me. I don’t know. It’s the least I could do.”

You found yourself suddenly struggling to hold back tears. You knew he hadn’t had an easy life, but hearing these details struck you deeply. He was absolutely remarkable, and much stronger than you could have ever imagined. For him to make it through that and still be the soft, gentle, goofy person he was? He had to be a real-life fucking superhero. He was incredible. And you didn’t even know his full story yet.

“But, how do you keep that up?” You asked, your voice cracking. “I mean, don’t you get tired of pretending not to care? Don’t you ever feeling like exploding?”

“Yeah. All the time. But, you know, I have my outlets. Weed helps. Weed helps a lot. And other… nondescript drugs.”

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“So am I. Drugs. And music. My band, my friends, my uncle, Hellfire. And… talking to you tonight. That helped… quite a bit.”

You looked away from him and sniffled, trying to pretend like it wasn’t taking everything in you to hold it together.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” You said, your voice raspy.

He didn’t respond. His glassy eyes just searched you in the dark.

“I really like hanging out with you,” He said instead.

“I do, too.”

“I mean, I really like hanging out with you.”

“Eddie…” You said pleadingly, still looking down at your hands.

“What?”

“We’re… we’re just friends. Remember?”

“Right. Yeah. Friends. Because friends get jealous about the people their friends have dated.”

You turned your head back to him to glare at him.

“What?”

“I didn’t like hearing about Harrington kissing you, Y/N. And I know you didn’t like seeing me with Jo last weekend.”

Your mouth fell open, and you scoffed at him reproachfully.

“I… Why would you even be interested in me Eddie?” You deflected, because you knew you couldn’t argue with the fact that you were jealous of Jo. “After everything? After all the shit I’ve put you through?”

“Are you serious? You mean besides the fact that we had a great night and you’re insanely pretty?”

“Eddie… don’t. I mean… why did tonight even happen? Why do you keep… trying? I really don’t know if I’m worth all of this.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. That’s not true.”

“It is true. I’m a fucking mess, Eddie. And you’re… you. I may have been drunk when I said what I said last weekend, but I still meant it. You’re good, and you deserve somebody good and easy that sees the world like you do…”

“You wanna know what I see in you? What I’ve always seen in you?” He interrupted you quickly. “I remember you from middle school. You know that?”

You blinked at him, your mouth hanging open.

“You do?”

“Yeah. You were… so cool. So tough. Even though you were younger than me, you used to scare the shit out of me, honestly. You had me shaking in my little Reeboks. But I was also completely entranced by you. You just had this… I don’t know what to call it. Light? Just absolutely fucking radiating from you all the time, blinding me. And I noticed when… when things changed in you. Like, something was fighting inside of you to snuff it out. When Harrington and the others dropped you and you started sitting alone at lunch. And I wanted to go sit by you so badly. Just to talk to you, just to see that light in you again. But for some reason, I kept talking myself out of it. I think I was just scared, you know? That you would tell me to fuck off, or you would hate me. And that honestly probably would have killed me. So I just stayed away. And then when you got to high school… I almost went up to you. I should have. But every time I tried to talk to you I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to or not. So I tried to give you your space. But I couldn’t stop wondering… if maybe that light was still there. And each time I talked to you again I kept getting little glimpses of it, and I wanted more. So I kept trying, year after year, rejection after rejection. And then tonight… fuck. Now I know it’s still there. It’s still fighting to get out, despite all the shit you’ve gone through. I just had to earn it. And I gotta say, it’s definitely worth all the effort. Because, I swear… you’re fucking magic, Y/N. There’s nobody like you.”

You couldn’t fight the tears back anymore. It was too much. He was too perfect, too kind. Nobody had ever, ever said anything remotely like that about you before. He had noticed you the whole time, before you even noticed him. He called you magic. Him.

You tried and failed to hide your emotions from him, and as soon as he noticed, he immediately turned his whole body towards you in preparation to comfort you.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to upset you? Did I freak you out?”

“No, it’s nothing,” You said quickly, waving a hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Obviously it’s not nothing. If I scared you away… I understand. I know I’m a lot, trust me.”

You shook your head as you tried to stop your tears.

“No, no. Definitely not. I just can’t believe… I think you’re just a really amazing person, Eddie. Maybe even the best I’ve ever met,” You admitted quietly. “And I wish I’d gotten to know you better so much sooner.”

His face changed from concern to shock, then to something that looked a whole lot like longing, all in one split second.

“Me too. The second you got to high school and you pierced me with those eyes of yours from across the cafeteria while I was acting like an idiot… I wish I’d walked over and asked you out right then and there. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“It’s my fault,” You sniffled, shaking your head. “I’m always running away. I wish I could stop running away.”

He reached out to wipe one of your tears away, and you shamelessly kept your eyes locked on him the entire time. He let his ring-clad fingers linger on your cheek, and your eyelids fluttered from the shock of the cool sensation of metal against your skin.

“I wanna kiss you,” He said plainly. You were taken aback by his honesty. Nobody had ever said that to you so plainly before.

“You do?”

He nodded, his thumb still brushing your cheek as his eyes darted around your face. If he could be honest, you could, too.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that,” You whispered.

He leaned forward towards you, and you stayed completely still as you watched and waited for him, wanting to take in every single moment. Then his lips were finally against yours, pulling you into a kiss so soft and gentle that it made you want to cry all over again.

The only comparison you had was your kiss with Steve, but you instantly knew that this was what it was really supposed to feel like. It wasn’t fumbling, or rushed, or too heavy. It was perfect. It felt like a thousand tiny little shockwaves being sent through your body.

You recognized the feeling immediately. Electricity. And not just that, but something else, too. Something purer. It was laced with complete adoration and trust. He had been nothing but gentle and honest with you the entire time he’d known you, from the very first time you spoke with him. But this also made you realize that you hadn’t been so truthful. There was a large part of your life that you had been keeping from him. You suddenly felt like a fraud. That you weren’t actually the person he thought you were.

And if you were honest with him, what would happen then? Would he believe you? Would he think you were insane? If he did believe you, would that mean that he would be in danger the next time something inevitably happened? What if something bad happened to him? The intrusive image of Max sobbing over Billy’s body reentered your brain, and you pulled away from him quickly, turning your head. He backed away slightly in surprise, but kept his hand on your cheek as concern reappeared on his face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked with furrowed brows, trying to get you to look at him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I can’t… we can’t… do this.”

When you said this, he immediately removed his hand from you and sat back in his seat, trying to hide the look of dejection on his face. You watched him as he turned his head away from you to look out the window, clamping a hand to his mouth. It pained you seeing him so shut down.

“Eddie… I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, then turned back to face out the windshield, still trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with you.

“I can’t figure you out, Y/N. You gotta help me out here. Because I’ve been bending over backwards trying to figure out what you want from me for far too long. I’m trying really hard to be patient, because I understand. I really do. And I know I’m not… the best option for you. So if you really want me to leave you alone, it’s fine, but you’ve gotta tell me now. Once and for all. Because I can’t keep doing this.”

“Eddie, it’s not that. I swear to you, it has nothing to do with you. You’re… perfect. I just have… a lot of shit I need to work out. Trust me, I’m the problem here. Can’t we just… can’t we just be friends? Like we agreed?”

He cocked his head at you impatiently.

“You know I don’t want that, right? You’ve gotta know that. I want more than that. I want to spend time with you exactly like this, exactly like tonight, but I want to be able to call it a date, and I want to be able to kiss you again. I don’t want to have to hold back with this. I want to be with you.”

It still shocked you how straightforward he was being, despite the fact that he’d never been anything other than that. It felt strange to have someone fight for you like this.

“I’m sorry. I want all that, too…”

“Then what is it? I don’t understand.”

You leaned forward in your seat to put your head in your hands. You didn’t even know where to begin. He waited for an answer as long as he could before he let out a deep breath.

“Is this about whatever’s keeping you stuck in this town?” He asked, then after another breath, he added more quietly, “Whoever keeps bruising up your face?”

“What?” You gasped in shock, straightening yourself up to look at him again.

“I went by the general store while you were working back in July, and I saw the bruises on your face. I would have walked in right then and there and tried to find out whoever did it, I wanted to more than anything, but I… didn’t think I had the right to. If that person is still in your life now, though, if you need help, I’ll do anything. I swear. I’ll kill them myself…”

“Eddie!” You interrupted him, gripping his arm tightly. “Slow down, it’s not… it’s not like that, I promise! I’m fine now. I’m okay. That person’s not…” you trailed off, thinking about Billy’s lifeless, blood-covered face on the floor of the mall once again, and removed your hand from him quickly. “That person can’t hurt me anymore,” You concluded weakly. Eddie could tell right away from your voice that there was more to the story, though.

“Look, I know you told me nothing is going on between you and Steve anymore, but if he was hurting you…”

“It really wasn’t Steve. Okay? I know he was an asshole once - and you probably still think that he is - but even back then, he never would have done that to me. Ever. Please believe me.”

“Then… please, can you just… can you just tell me what’s really going on?” He begged you wearily. You swallowed, trying to come to terms with some portion of the truth that you could share with him.

“In July… it was… I was there. At the mall, on The Fourth. During the…fire.” It physically pained you to lie to him like that, but that was as close to honest as you could get.

His face softened as he studied the tortured look on your face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“I know. It’s fine,” You said quickly, trying to brush it off. He fell quiet, and then after a moment, he couldn’t resist pressing you further.

“Is that what you’re trying to save me from? From whatever happened at the mall?”

“Eddie, please,” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut in exasperation.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I know there’s more to the story there. And if it’s something you know about, something I can help you with… I want to help.”

When he said this, your fear intensified. He was closer to figuring out the truth than you realized, and if he did figure it out, he would most likely do everything in his power to protect you. Even if it meant putting himself in harm’s way. He could never resist throwing himself on a grenade, after all.

Eddie was amazing. He said all the right things, and he made you laugh, and he made you feel safe and comfortable in your skin. It had been an amazing night. But it was selfish of you to bring him into your messy life. You had roped him in when he had no idea how high the stakes really were.

You couldn’t let him end up like Billy. Or Bob. Or Barbara. Or Hopper. Each person you had to watch your friends lose was a lesson, and it would be thoughtless to ignore it.

He could never really know about what you’d been through. You wouldn’t have it. You wouldn’t take his freedom away from him. His future. It wasn’t right. He’d been through so much already. You couldn’t let him get involved.

You knew instantly what you had to do. You had to push him away one last time.

“You’ve just been dying to save me from myself this whole time, haven’t you?” You snapped. “To rescue me, just like you try to rescue everybody else.”

“What? No. I want to help you, but it’s not like that. It’s… I don’t know. Maybe I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“That… you could save me, too. That we could save each other.”

When he said this, it felt like a punch in the gut. Little did he know that this was your chance to be selfless, like him. Pushing him away was saving him, even if it hurt him. Even though you wanted nothing more than to be the one he could always confide in.

“Eddie… I can’t save you, and you can’t save me. This isn’t some… fantasy novel or D&D. This is real life shit, and it’s… look, if you don’t want to stay friends, then I think we need to move on. This is me officially asking you to leave me alone. Okay? Thank you for tonight. I’m… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t argue. He just frowned at you, his face screwed up tightly as if he was in physical pain. You’d never seen him look so sad or confused in your entire life. It took everything in you to turn away from him, to fight more tears back as you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of his van. You walked briskly away and didn’t stop until you made it up to your room and shut the door quietly, falling face down on your bed. After several minutes of a decent, self-pitying cry, you got the urge to pull out your Walkman and listen to something that might soothe you. When you shuffled through your tapes, you paused when you got to Bella Donna - the album you had talked to Eddie about at the diner - and decided to play it for old-time’s sake. You collapsed back onto your bed and shut your eyes, letting Stevie Nicks take you back to where it all started. You began to feel a little better until Leather and Lace started to play, and the lyrics were like a knife to the heart. You had listened to it a million times before, but now it suddenly felt like it was written for you and Eddie. You began to bawl all over again.

He was the strong, outgoing one who had the ability to bring you to life, and you wanted nothing more than to let him open up to you again the way he had before you’d gotten spooked.

Maybe now it was your involvement with the supernatural keeping the two of you apart, but this wasn’t a new feeling. There was something there already, all this time, keeping you from him. Something that Eddie had clearly noticed as well. Otherwise, you would have gone to see Corroded Coffin the very first time he asked when you were seventeen. You probably would have already been a couple. Maybe you wouldn’t have even wound up in that junkyard last November. But something had always been in the way, keeping him at a distance, and now it was too late.

The problem was that your heart had been broken long before you met him. You didn’t even realize it until then, but listening to the record again as it stirred up old emotions in you, it was apparent that it hadn’t actually ever healed. You remembered how you used to sob every time the final track of the album played. “The Highwayman.” You, in your infinite pre-teen wisdom, believed Steve to be your highwayman. The one who valued glory over your love for him when he suddenly stopped speaking to you and became the most popular boy in school.

“And still, they try again.”

Maybe that’s why you were so mad at Steve about your kiss. Maybe it brought up all of those repressed memories of betrayal the same way your record was now. Maybe you were actually still angry about what you thought had happened between the two of you in middle school, even though you believed you were past it after finding out the truth. You had never been fully honest with him about how much it had shattered you. You assumed it didn’t matter anymore, but if it really didn’t, then you probably would have told him about it. You were still clearly wounded, left with the lingering bitterness of unworthiness and shame. And you really only had yourself to blame.

Sure, Carol and Tommy had done their fair share of filling your head with insecurities, but it was you who believed them and held onto every word. You were still holding on. The lovelorn, anxiety-rattled thirteen-year-old in you was still there, still unsure of how to mend what had never actually been broken by somebody else. Because Steve had never really broken your heart. He never even knew how you felt about him. You broke it all on your own, and you had to figure out how to heal it on your own, too.

You just really, really had to get your shit together.

How was it even possible that in less than a year, you had discovered another dimension beneath Hawkins and kissed two different boys that you had only ever dreamed about getting close to? No wonder you were so messed up.

You started the tape over again and got under your covers with your clothes still on, eventually crying yourself to sleep.

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hawnks · 2 years

Note

if you have yime, could you recommend some romance novels to read? (you can answer this private or public, idc 💗)

snkdkxkckckc i read almost exclusively historical romance. every sub-genre has its like…. reason for existing and this one in particular is about repression of desire and struggling to fit into a really unforgiving society. YES they all have very funny names. Romance writers understand the inherent ridiculousness of their own tropes, and we all just have to live with that.

a note: romance series are organized in a way that you should be able to pick up from basically any point in the series without having too much trouble. Choose a premise and a heroine you like, and go from there.

my all time favorite is the Rescued from Ruin series by Elisa Braden (but DONT start with the first or second book, Braden gets better as she continues to write I SWEAR). it focuses on female leads who are distinct outcasts, anything from being fat to having ptsd.

Recommended starting point: The Devil Is A Marquess

A marriage of convenience between an impoverished Marquess and a wealthy but incredibly awkward heiress. He wants to be able to pay the bills. She wants her freedom. This is purely a business relationship — until it isn’t.

Personal fave: A Marriage Made In Scandal

A murder plot. A footman kissing heroine. A whole lot of horticulture. Social pariah Eugenia saves a family friend from being thrown in the slammer. The only catch? She told the cops they were sleeping together as an alibi, and now they have no choice but to tie the knot. While evading a cold blooded killer, no less.

Kerrigan Byrne’s Victorian Rebels gets dark, but the tension and pacing is wonderful. No pearl clutching here. The trade off is a lot of murder though. Check for triggers.

Recommended starting point: The Highwayman

Childhood friends reunited under less than pleasant circumstances. He wants her back. And now that he’s a crime lord he doesn’t really see any reason he can’t just… take her. That’s how good relationships are formed, right?

Personal favorite: The Duke With The Dragon Tattoo

Yeah yeah the title I know. This one is about a pirate and his first love but I can’t say anything about it without spoiling the big twist of the first novel :’)

Lisa Kleypas the Wallflower Series is what got me started on actually liking romance novels. It’ll always have a special place in my heart.

Recommended starting point: The Devil in Winter

Evie needs to get away from her abusive extended family before they kill her for her inheritance. Sebastian Lord St. Vincent…. also wants that inheritance, but at least he won’t try to off her. In fact, their arrangement seems almost perfect — neither of them cares about the other, so she’s free to look after her ailing father, and he’s able to go gamble or sleep around or whatever regency bad boys do. That is, until he catches feelings.

Personal favorite: Scandal In Spring

The last book in the series. Daisy is… eclectic. She’s a dreamer (and a reader), and always has her head in the clouds — to the dismay of her strict father. The one thing she could do to get in his good graces is tie the knot with the man of his choosing, his business protégé Mathew Swift. So of course he’s the one man Daisy will never ever ever marry. Unfortunately for all parties involved, Mathew has been wildly in love with Daisy for years. Doubly unfortunate? He can never actually get married (not that anyone bothered to ask).

More authors (your mileage may vary): Sarah McLean, Tessa Dare (if you’re looking for Bridgerton-esque start here), Eloisa James, Scarlet Pehkam (bdsm themes)

#none of these are like Bridgerton btw there’s a ton more attempted murder and a lot more s*x :/#mint talks #romance recs

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

Text

Frogs, Fevers, and Forehead Kisses

My titles are getting more unimaginative by the day.

----------

“Her Royal Highness requested that we test the specimen she found by Death Mountain.”

The princess’s knight attendant looked between the Sheikah scientists with growing confusion, the overly respectful distance only increased his worry. Robbie and Purah inched further away as if he were a grizzly bear still debating whether he wanted to eat them.

“I don’t understand,” his brow furrowed, “Is the princess okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Robbie waved him off. “Mere symptoms.”

His heart dropped, “Symptoms? Of what?”

“Link,” Impa said crisply from behind the two. He couldn’t see her face from behind Robbie, but that sternness was unmistakable. “In the frog, Purah found a strain of the flu that was thought to be extinct.”

“Is,” he tried to swallow the dread in his throat. “Is she in danger?” Hylia, it had to be the frog, didn’t it? After incessant pleads from Princess Zelda, he quickly learned he didn’t have the strength to deny her for long. That night they roasted it over a fire with as much seasoning as he could find, then they shared it and he was bombarded with her scientific analysis.

Did he feel any more energetic? No.

Could he see any better in the dark? No.

Was he ill or queasy? Not any more than one would be when they eat a charred amphibian.

And, if he were being honest, it wasn’t that bad. The spices definitely helped with the taste, though Link doubted he would do it again on his own volition.

“Historically, no,” Purah inserted, adjusting her glasses, “Unless you are a specific subrace of Hylian, the host will only experience common flu symptoms from seven to fourteen days – which is the apparent case with Zelda.”

An itch started in his sinuses and he tried to ignore it.

“And what would happen if that specific person were affected?”

“Oh, I can answer that!” Robbie pointed his chin up, airy in his demeanor. “The Sheikah would experience symptoms such as vomiting, pneumonia, and subsequent death.”

The itching came to a head and Link sneezed loudly into his elbow, leaving Impa to yelp and run down the hall. “Send him away! Goddesses, send the infested child away!”

Purah pursed her lips, “Ah, she means we have to isolate you and the princess.”

---

They had been in the same room for two days now, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Princess Zelda had been his charge for nearly a year. However, it had never been like this. Neither of them were allowed to leave the room nor interact with anyone that wasn’t already infected – and that was restricted to Link and Zelda.

The room was isolated in the west wing due to the lesser populated halls and, until their isolation, was meant exclusively for storage. A large bed had been moved in for the princess and a smaller cot for her knight. Other than that, the room was barren and the essentials were brought up and left by the door where he was only allowed to open it once the servant had left. It wasn’t long until the castle realized the top physicians were all Sheikah of origin who feared the possible levels of contagion.

Upon his arrival, it was obvious that Zelda had been taking the brunt of the illness. The princess was already burrowed within the quilts of her new bed with a heated fever. So, through the mahogany of the door, it was decided that Link would be her main caretaker and communicate her vitals every morning.

A knock at the door snapped Link out of his daydreaming haze and he approached it.

“Yes?”

The voice was muffled yet unquestionably regal, “How is she?”

Link gave a passing glance to the girl resting in her bed and lowered his voice, “She’s resting now, Your Majesty.”

King Rhoam sighed, “I suppose it is for the better. You’re a decent lad, Link. Look after her.”

“I’ll let the princess know you came by.”

Receding footsteps signified the king’s departure. Link turned to the sleeping form under the quilts. The princess had woken up a half hour ago, shuddering from a cold that wasn’t there. He found himself being drawn to her without needing to be. With the covers drawn to her chin, her hair formed a halo around her in tangled blonde strands. Audible breaths came from her slightly parted lips and her cheeks were flushed pink with fever. Link’s rather sleepy expression upturned.

Gently, he leaned down onto the mattress. With one hand, he smoothed down the short hairs that so often fell in her face and pressed his lips to her forehead.

It was a quick show of affection and as quickly as he had indulged, he moved away to rest his exhausted head on the cot.

After all, he was sick too.

---

Four days into isolation, the princess learned she couldn’t read for long in her condition. With a lantern wicking from her bedpost, her knight had taken up the task by sitting in a chair that looked older than his father. At her bedside, he read through a novel about a milk maid who decided she wanted to travel the world and fell in love with a highwayman. Now they were at the part where she was cornered by ruffians and this masked crusader rides in on his midnight stallion. With one raise of his sword-

“You have a nice voice,” Zelda interrupted him. He glanced up from the book to see her quietly watching him, her cheek flush with the pillow below her.

“It’s the fever talking,” he simply said, caught between the magnifying green of her eyes and the following words of the novel.

She made a small motion, “No, I mean it. I want to hear what’s going to happen next, but at the same time it’s like I’m being lulled to sleep.” Then, almost predictably, she fell into a heavy cough that haunted her when she spoke too much. Link knew it sounded worse than it really was, but it made him wince regardless, “I think that means we should get some sleep.”

A whine came from the bed, “It does not!”

“It’s already late and you need to build up your strength.”

“Link, please?” Zelda paused him as he stood. There was that look again. The look that got them in this mess in the first place. Just as he was going to deny her a final time, she hurriedly said, “I’ll fall asleep if you keep reading. And tomorrow we can read over where I fell asleep so I don’t miss anything.”

Link closed his eyes, relenting and falling back into the chair. “Fine.”

She smiled to herself and briefly he thought that if she stood in the middle of battlefield with that face, she could stop a war.

He read for an hour. The highwayman had revealed himself to the former milk maid and she gasped. It was the blacksmith’s son who she had been betrothed to since they were young. She hadn’t seen him in years and fearing her reaction, he ran from her. Link let his voice trail off.

The princess didn’t budge. Her arm hung off the bed in slumber. Slowly, in case the chair decided to creak, Link rose and set the novel on the seat. He took her forearm gingerly and tucked it into the pile of covers. Although her smile was gone, the relaxed expression she wore affected him all the same. Impulsion took over and he brushed her hair aside and kissed above her brow.

Then, uneventfully, he blew the lantern out.

---

Six days of isolation passes by and now there is splashing water.

“Link, don’t look.”

“I’m not looking.”

“I know, but just… don’t look.”

“I’m not looking!”

The tub was in the center of the room and Link was buried under a blanket. He heard a loud slosh and then water dripping into the tub. Zelda sighed from the other side of the room, finally feeling clean after almost a week. It seemed as if they were on a scale. The healthier Zelda seemed to get; the more ill Link seemed to fall. Some of her blankets were transferred over to his small cot.

“Alright,” she finally said, “I’m dressed now.”

Groaning, he sat up. Link felt every bit as awful as he looked. His hair was in disarray and tissues covered his surroundings. “I don’t think I need to bathe.”

Zelda stared incredulously, “You must.”

“I don’t want to.”

She wore a simple day gown that was so soft that she could sleep in it if needed. “It’ll make you feel better.”

His eyes drooped in her direction, “Nothing can.” Then, he let himself fall to the cot.

The princess crossed the room, eyes rolling but concern glinting, “Don’t be dramatic.” From behind, she pulled him up to a seat and, gods, was he heavy. As she whispered small encouragements, he let her pull him to a wobbly stand and towards the tub. The water was bubbly and he looked at her with absent accusation.

And bashfully, she admitted it, “I prefer bubble baths.”

Link didn’t say anything and simply stared.

“What?” Zelda felt suddenly insecure.

Tiredly, he drew in a breath, “I have to undress, Princess.”

“Oh!” she spun on her heel, face aflame. “Right.”

Clothes were heard being discarded and she could make out his tired voice, “Zelda, don’t look.”

“Oh, shush.”

He laughed and the water moved as he got in. The water was still steaming when she got out and it no doubt felt nice on his skin. And, quite unfortunately, the thought practically returned the thick blush of a fever. Busying herself with the book about the milk maid, she looked through the parts she never got the chance to read herself. He had finished the book for her last night and as she skimmed the pages, she could hear his voice read the words.

“I liked this book,” she said with a passing breeze in her tone. He hummed, “I think I did too.”

A smile played on her lips, “What was your favorite part?”

Link thought for a moment, “When you would grip the covers whenever the highwayman was in danger.”

Afterward, Zelda listened as he dunked his head underwater.

“Zelda,” he sounded frustrated. “I… I can’t reach my head.”

“What?”

“Whenever I try to wash my hair, I feel like passing out. And I really don’t want to pass out in water.”

She blinked at the wall, “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

“You don’t have to. I just don’t want you to yell at me when you see that my hair is still greasy.”

“Can I wash your hair for you?”

A beat of silence went by and then, “… I suppose.”

Zelda took the back of the old chair at her bedside and dragged in over, careful to not look at the tub unless absolutely necessarily. At most, she glanced at the wood. Link sat with his back to her. Thankfully, the bubble bath was an ingenious invention because the only thing she could see was the midpoint of his torso and his knees jutting out of the water. Even if she stared, she probably couldn’t spy anything… not that she would, that is.

“Hand me the soap,” she gently commanded as she sat.

He did and she ran a hand experimentally through a portion of his hair. The locks were wet and free, partially stuck to his neck. She spilled a generous amount of shampoo on her hand and lathered it between her palms. Then she began to entangle her fingers in his scalp and brushed.

“You didn’t touch your soup last night or today,” she stated plainly, “That’s why the heat is getting to you.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” it sounded more like a weak complaint. The princess bit the inside of her cheek and tried unsuccessfully not to look down at the water running along his neck. Admittedly, he was very pretty to look at – from behind, at least. Zelda was a simple woman, she appreciated the male physique, and his back muscles were very appreciable.

Her fingers were tender and forgiving in hair that hadn’t been properly brushed in days. So much so, that he leaned into her touch. When they found a tangled knot, she worked at it without pulling until it came free. Far too soon, she pulled away.

“Okay,” Zelda pronounced. “Dunk into the water and I’ll shake the soap out.”

He nodded, sidling into the water until fully submerged. Tautly, she ran her hands through his hair and laughed as bubbles of soap and his breath came to the surface. Eventually he came back up, breathing in air.

“Thank you.”

She nodded without him seeing and went back to the book while he scrubbed up. Once he was dressed, he allowed her to know and she turned with a question on her lips, “Would you prefer the bed? I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the cot if it meant you were warmer.”

Even then, she watched him shiver out a tentative no.

“You need it more,” Link straightened out the blanket on the cot.

“That’s not true,” she moved to the edge of the bed. “I don’t have a fever anymore. You do.”

He shook his head and croaked out, “I’m fine.”

“We can share it. It’s big enough, Link.”

Of course, he hesitated. It was a large bed with comfortable pillows and a mass of quilts. Not to mention, an inviting princess looking at him with doe eyes. But…

Zelda sat with her legs tucked under her, “The door’s locked. No one would find out.”

He let go of the cot’s blanket and walked to the bed; she smiled and pulled back the covers on his side. Without words, they rearranged the pillows so she wouldn’t hoard them all and Zelda reached for the lantern.

“Goodnight, Link.”

“Goodnight, Zelda.”

For the first time in their isolation, Link didn’t dare continue his routine of sneaking forehead kisses once she was asleep. He was far too tired and the newfound comfort of a proper mattress with all too enticing. Although, as he floating into a dream, he could have sworn someone had cupped his cheek and warm lips kissed his forehead.

#i tried talking myself into making this a smut but i couldn't do it #bc as we all know im a coward #we been knew #ily anon #ashleyswrittenwords #zelink #zelda #link #loz #legend of zelda #loz fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #zelink oneshot

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kogo-dogo · 3 years

Note

i like your skyrim stuff and i wanna know more about the funky little dudes you posted in those “sentences” lol. instead of asking for more snips

You have made a mistake. Prepare for an essay.

But, joking aside, they’re Morrowind characters. I do like Skyrim, but Morrowind is my favorite game of all time and the entire reason I got into the TES fandom years ago. I don’t talk about it much on here because everyone is here for Half-Life and HRV, but... you know what? I’mma take this opportunity. To yell.

About The Guys(tm).

So, basically, in my Personal Canon, I don’t just have a Nerevarine (i.e. Protagonist) character. I have an entire crew of people who help him get through things because it just seems... more realistic for my Extremely Flawed and Terrible Nerevarine. Also, I just had a lot of characters conjured up as a teenager and it was fun to evolve it over time so they’re all friends.

They are, as follows:

- Jo’Karsa (a.k.a. “Karsaga”). Battlemage born under the Atronach. Afflicted with Wombburn. Also the Nerevarine. He’s an abnormally large Cathay-raht who has had an unusual upbringing. He was originally an orphan plucked off the streets in Corinthe and trafficked to Morrowind where he was sold as a slave. As fate would have it, a houseman under his owner took a shine to him and stole him away when they fled to Cyrodiil to avoid political assassination. Karsaga has been raised Telvanni in Imperial territory so, despite being a mighty brute of a Khajiit, he has an extreme affinity for magic and an equally extreme disconnect from his Khajiiti roots.

He speaks like a Dunmer, carries himself like a Dunmer, and has very Telvanni sensibilities. He also has an extensive criminal record from his time spent as a bandit outside of Cheydinhal, and that is eventually how he ends up on the prison boat that sends him to Morrowind. He has a bunch of aliases and an unhealthy penchant for drink and smoke. Not a fan of skooma, though. As gruff and sarcastic as he is, he has a very silver tongue and a way of winning people over and talking himself out of trouble.

Also, “youth born under a certain sign?” Nah, this bitch is 34. And smells like a wet dog.

- Dasrazel. Altmer Nightblade and Quarra vampire. He contracted his vampiric curse while trying to save his lover from the clutches of an undead menace during the Second Era, after a life working various quasilegal oddjobs that brought shame on his noble family. In life, he was a likeable but lowkey individual, and in undeath he’s still very lowkey... but perhaps not as likeable. He has to take a low dose of a calming potion to keep the inherent, violent bloodlust of his Quarra curse at bay, and it does a lot to deaden his emotions. Combine that with hundreds of years to learn how to not give a fuck, and you have a very blunt, stoic, matter-of-fact creature who only very occasionally makes quips and usually just wants to be left alone.

He is Karsaga’s closest ally, right hand man, and platonic soulmate. They met after Karsaga robbed him blind at a bar (thinking him to just be some weird, frail elf), and Dasrazel took pity on him after Karsaga ran him through with an iron saber and panicked when it... did nothing. Their bond is one of a mutual distaste for most people and Dasrazel’s desire to have companionship again.

They’re very much bros, even if Dasrazel spends most of his time not understanding why Karsaga is the way he is.

- Neira Brenur. Dunmer Witchhunter and low-ranking member of House Redoran. She’s the daughter of a Camonna Tong member and an Ashlander woman, though her mother is dead and she spends a lot of time trying to distance herself from her racist father. She joined Redoran in hopes of atoning for the crime of just being born into a bad family, but has a really difficult time fitting in. She’s very meek and empathetic and does better in controlled duels than actual combat. The idea of actually hurting an opponent makes her sick to her stomach.

She kind of just happened to Karsaga one day, courtesy of him running afoul of her not-so-popular friend, Vandrith (we’ll get to that trainwreck later). She mainly acts as a translator for Vandrith and tries to play mediator when Karsaga starts getting too aggressive with others. She’s in good with some odd folks in Redoran and a very aggressive supporter of the Tribunal Temple, which makes it hard for her to wrap her mind around Karsaga’s existence as the Nerevarine.

Also, the fact she’s an absolute pushover means she just accepts the less-than-savory people Karsaga pals around with. She’s got a big heart and feels actual pity for his blasphemous, undead, and criminal friends. They’re good people on the inside (probably).

- Vandrith Valen. Dunmer Ordinator and conglomeration of a lot of factors coming together in the worst way possible. He is naturally “blessed by Azura” and has some degree of prophetic power, though he’s choked it down after a life of being raised Indoril. He also came to the unfortunate realization after being stationed on Vvardenfell, that he is also a descendant of House Dagoth and is haunted by the Poison Song, a “song” sent out by Dagoth Ur that warps the minds of those who are of his blood and turns them into Sleepers and Dreamers.

These two traits do not mesh well and make Vandrith more than a little unstable.

Vandrith is... prone to erratic behavior and violent outbursts and is largely under the care of his paternal uncle, Tuls Valen, the head priest of the Ald’ruhn Temple. Vandrith is also a clever and tricky bastard who has been trying to figure out how to discern Dagoth Ur’s plans from the Poison Song in order to prevent bad things from happening. Usually, he can keep things under control, but extremely bad visions, close proximity to items/places corrupted by House Dagoth, and stress can cause him to be difficult.

Beyond this, though, he’s not what you’d expect from an Ordinator. He’s very witty with a somewhat bawdy sense of humor, a very devil-may-care attitude, and he’s a huge fan of causing mischief. He forced his way into Karsaga’s social circle due to his absolute certainty that Karsaga could bring down Dagoth Ur, and Neira is his closest (and for a long time only) friend, who has figured out what all of his weird ramblings mean.

- Bashinga. Sorceress and Aundae vampire. She is an old acquaintance of Dasrazel’s who has ties to Telvanni, the Mage’s Guild, and several circles of warlocks and witches. She’s very much a self-serving sort, more interested in the acquisition of power than the wellbeing of Morrowind, but she is fiercely protective of the people she deems worthy (and she has a soft spot for Neira she can’t really explain).

Once upon a time, she was a dancer and performer with a traveling circus, and her fall into undeath and wizardry was a happy accident after being taken as cattle by rogue Aundae. She’s got a good set of vocal cords and can move with grace and ease, but she speaks very bitterly a lot of the time and is difficult to get along with.

She’s one of those people who Karsaga immediately took a shine to because they both like to sit around and bitch about people. Dasrazel and Bashinga mostly get along by the time-honored tradition of “two very gay individuals being catty at each other as a sign of affection, though outsiders would think they hate one another.”

- Jai Swift-Fly. Cathay assassin and member of the Morag Tong. She was born and raised in Elsweyr in a more tribal environment, and is an old friend of Vandrith’s (odd, considering they met because she took a grey writ to knock him off and, instead, he knocked her out). She mostly comes into the fold because Karsaga needed somebody to break into the Ministry of Truth to free Mehra Milo, and she came highly recommended (by Vandrith; Vandrith recommended her).

She’s a married mother of two, is big and strong and very proud of being big and strong, and a crack shot with a bow. She’s also deaf as hell and communicates through a series of homebrew gestures. Her decision to stick around and help Karsaga after completing the job she was hired to do stems primarily from her extreme curiosity. She has no stake in the Nerevarine Prophecy or this group of losers, but by god does she want to see what it looks like when a god dies.

Fun fact: Jai is dead by the events of Skyrim, but two of her descendants remain. Shevah and J’Rakka. They’re a brother-and-sister duo. Shevah is as much of a curious, troublemaking adventurer as her so-many-greats grandmother. J’Rakka is a werewolf who mostly hunts bounties to make a living.

- Dravyn Telvayn (no picture of him, sorry D:). Dunmer assassin and member of the Morag Tong. Former highwayman and current Berne vampire. Husband of Jai and perpetually confused, mainly over the fact he has kids with Jai and... well, every book he’s read has indicated that that should be impossible for a variety of reasons. He lives in the sewers of the Arena canton in Vivec City and is allowed work in the Morag Tong due to his efficacy at eliminating very high risk targets, though he’s basically “on his own” if he ever gets caught. They’re sure as fuck not giving him writs of execution to present to guards when the Tong could end up fucked over if their relationship with a vampire gets out.

He’s mostly in the background and tags along due to his extreme dedication to Jai. He doesn’t get along with hardly anyone but her, though he is the one who coined the term “Council of Accidents” in relation to him, Dasrazel, and Bashinga. He feels a loose kinship with them in that they’re all members of different vampire clans, but all members whose sires want nothing to do with them, rendering them outcasts. Even after the events of Morrowind, he keeps in infrequent contact with the others.

After Jai’s death, he acts as a weird “ancestral guardian” to his own descendants. As of the time of Skyrim, he spends most of his time trying to keep Shevah from getting killed. He is very tired. She is a lot.

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western-writer · 4 years

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After the Fall: War Within Family

Fandom Far Cry 5/New Dawn

Warnings: mentions of abuse, drug addiction, and sex addiction, general angst, brief mention of suicide

A/N: this is long lol. Just warning you. I’m honestly really proud of this and hope anyway reading it loves this as much as I do. Like all my writing, this is my own idea and Braeden is my OC for Far Cry 5. This is unedited so there may be mistakes. Should I make a second part? Enjoy!

Summary: Braeden is riddled with guilt and remorse for her actions before the collapse. With the death of the Seeds, her friends, and coworkers on her mind, she retreats into herself for seventeen years, only to be brought out of it by Joseph himself. After finding out some alarming news, Braeden is left feeling betrayed by a person she thought you would never feel that from.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was going to save everyone, save the county. I was wrong. I was very, very wrong. Jacob tried to stop me, begged me to stay. That was the first and last time I had ever heard him beg.

Now I wish I had listened.

“You don’t need to do this, Braeden,” Jacob spoke softly to me. His face wore an expression I was unfamiliar with. “You have me. You have John and Faith. Isn't that enough? Joseph can only do so much without us.”

I spun around to actually look at him, instead of looking at him through the mirror. “Yes, I do, Jake. I tried to be reasonable. I tried to get him to stop of his own free will and he refused. It doesn’t matter if he can’t do much on his own. He can do enough and the county deserves to live in peace.”

I took a few steps toward him and cupped his face. He was beginning to worry me. “Please be careful...”

“I will. Go to your bunker. I made sure the Peggies cleared out so it should be safe. John and Faith are already preparing to leave in the safety of their bunkers. You should too.”

He pressed a kiss to my lips, soft and hesitant.

That was the last time I saw Jacob. I left to go face Joseph with the support of Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson. Joseph had taken my friends, the members of the Resistance, and it was a battle to get them back. Eventually, it was all of us against Joseph and he didn't stand a chance. As he made his final speech, crawling across the ground bloody and bruised, I checked my watch. I was supposed to meet the others in ten minutes. I was running behind schedule.

I watched as Whitehorse put Joseph under arrest and Joseph spoke a few words to me. I couldn’t really hear him over the howl of the wind and the sound of a bomb exploding in the distance.

That was the moment I knew I fucked up.

Whitehorse ushered us into the truck while Nick and the others took off in other directions.

I tried to get us to safety. I tried to get us to Dutch, but I crashed. I was knocked unconscious and when I came to the others were dead and Joseph was gone. Joseph ripped me out of the truck and I was in and out of consciousness until we reached Dutch’s bunker. There, when I came to fully, I saw that Dutch had been killed by Joseph.

Joseph became my family that day. My only family. I was sure that John, Jacob, and Faith were dead.

Joseph and I were stuck in that bunker together for over five years. Over the course of those years, I changed, Joseph changed me. He told me he forgave me for turning his family against him, but I never quite believed him. I still don't.

I haven’t said a word since right after the bombs destroyed the world, nor have I shown my face. I left myself behind when the door to that bunker sealed shut and I lost everyone I loved. After everything I did... I deserve this.

The Twins were quick to move into the valley and New Eden, Joseph’s new following, fought The Highwaymen until they extinguished the fire in Joseph’s statue that I had destroyed years ago. They lost faith in Joseph, despite still being completely loyal to him, even after he left us. They’re scared, and I don’t blame them. The Highwaymen aren’t like Eden’s Gate was all those years ago. They aren’t taking over for the greater good, or what they think is the greater good. Unlike Eden’s Gate, The Highwaymen are self-absorbed. They care about their survival and their survival only.

News of outsiders in the county traveled fast and word of some “Captain of Security” giving The Highwaymen hell circulated through the compound. Whoever she is, she reminded me of me when I caused trouble for Eden’s Gate. Sometimes I miss those days, but most days I don’t.

“I know you’ve heard of this Captain of Security,” Ethan muttered to me inside his living quarters. “She intrigues you, does she not?” He turned to look at me. I just stared at him. “My father has told me about you and him before the collapse.” I stiffened up at the mention. I never talk about that. Never. I never want anyone inside these walls to know who I used to be. I’m ashamed of it. “She’s a bit like you, isn’t she Deputy?”

The name hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard. It pulled memories out of the deep pit in my mind causing an acid taste to hit my mouth. I glared at him through my mask. If I could’ve, I would’ve yelled at him. Shouted that he doesn’t know anything, but not talking for nearly seventeen years does a number on your vocal cords. Instead, I clenched my fist and he got the message, brushing it off with a chuckle.

“I have received word that the Captian will be coming here to seek our assistance with The Highwaymen. You remember what to do when an outsider wishes to come inside these walls, correct?”

I nodded.

“Good. I doubt she will succeed, but I guess we will find out.”

Ethan walked away from me at that point. My glare followed him as he disappeared out of sight.

Not long after that, the Captain appeared at our door, but I turned her away just as I had been instructed to do. Everyone was surprised when she came back with the Book of Joseph and I had to let her in. Ethan instructed her to bring back proof that Joseph was dead. He wanted his father to be dead so badly so that he could take over for good, but that didn’t happen. Joseph was alive and well and Ethan was furious when New Eden rallied behind him once again.

After that, I began to accompany the Captain on her journey to take down the Twins. It had been a long time since I had done anything like that. It felt good to get away from New Eden and away from Ethan. It gave me a distraction. And God knows I needed it.

***

“You see that sniper up there?” Cap asks me, pointing to a tower on the other side of the Chop Shop. I nod to her. “Take it out.”

I break into action and sprint to the tower silently. I was a bit rusty when we first teamed up, but my old instincts have kicked in once again and I’m back to kicking ass just like I used to.

Maybe John was right. Maybe I am wrath.

My arrow lands in the neck of the Highwayman and he crumples to the ground, bleeding out silently. I look back to Cap and watch her takedown of the Highwaymen with a shield. She picks it up and throws it at another Highwaymen. I can hear the crack of her neck as it snaps from the force of the throw.

“You hear that Joseph Seed is back?” I hear one of the Highwaymen mention to another, blissfully unaware of their dead colleagues.

“Who hasn’t?” the other responds. “You hear about the sighting of what people are believing are the other Seeds?”

I nearly choke on air at that.

“What?”

“Yeah, people are seeing what they think are other three Seeds up north.”

“C’mon, you don’t really believe that, do ya? There’s no way they’re still alive.”

“Of course I don’t believe it. I just think those people drank a little too much ethanol.”

Being distracted, I didn’t even realize I was being snuck up on until I felt the buzz of a bullet fly past me and land in the head of a Highwaymen. I look back at Cap who motions for me to charge. She’s taken out the alarms.

I do as I’m told and jump a barricade. Within mere minutes we have taken back Fall’s End-I mean the Chop Shop.

I stand in front of what used to be the Spread Eagle, thinking about when I first met Mary May and Pastor Jerome. I had saved them from the peggies that had taken Fall’s End. Then I shared a drink with them right there in that bar.

I wonder how Jerome is doing. I know Mary May died, as did most of my friends when the bombs dropped. I haven’t seen any of the living ones since that final battle with Joseph. I refuse to enter Prosperity. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle seeing John’s Ranch.

I remember when I took John’s ranch from the cult. John was so upset with me. He threw every insult he could at me and got even angrier when I didn’t react. I wonder if he’s ever forgiven me for taking his home away from him.

I wouldn’t forgive me for that.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Cap questions me, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at her, then back to the ruins of the bar and shrug. “You don’t say much, do ya?” I shake my head. “Joseph told me you haven’t spoken since right after the bombs dropped. Is that true?”

I nod slightly in response.

“Why?”

I shake my head and look around what used to be Fall’s End while thinking, You wouldn’t understand.

She sighs, slinging her gun over her back. “I’m going back to Prosperity. You comin’?”

I shake my head again. She’s told me who’s there. I want to see everyone, but they wouldn’t recognize me. I’m not the Deputy anymore. I’m the Judge. I couldn’t stand to have them see me how I am now. I shell of what I once was. I couldn’t stand to see John’s ranch.

“You’re gonna have to go there eventually, Judge. What if the Twins attack it and we need your help?”

I shrug again and at this point, I can tell she’s irritated with me.

“Fine, do what you want. I’ll be at Prosperity getting a hot meal and some sleep if you need me.”

I want to tell her everything. Tell her that I was like her once. Naive in the mindset that I could save the county. But instead of saving it, I caused the apocalypse. I ruined the whole world and destroyed myself in the process. I caused the death of so many of the people I cared about. Why did I get to live?

Maybe that’s why Jacob had tried to convince me to not stop Joseph. Maybe he knew what would’ve happened if I did, but couldn’t tell me, or didn’t want to tell me for some reason.

Why didn’t I listen to him?

***

I make it back to New Eden and immediately go to my bed. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it. My tiredness trumps my hunger as I fall asleep the moment my head hits my pillow.

I wake back up to see Joseph standing next to my bed and holding a bowl of soup.

“I noticed you did not stop to eat,” he mentions. I sit up and take the bowl from him. He sits down next to me as I move my mask up to eat. He chuckles a bit and glances at me. “You know, I never thought that you would actually stick to your vow of silence. When you stopped talking to me, I thought you were angry with me for some reason, but then when we came topside and I saw that you wouldn’t speak to anybody, I was sure it wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. But you proved me wrong.”

He places a hand on my shoulder as I eat.

“Their deaths were not your fault. None of them. Not my siblings, not your coworkers, not your friends. The collapse would’ve happened one way or another. We just sped up the process.”

I want to ask him how he’s so sure, but I can’t seem to get the words to leave my mouth.

“Do not keep punishing yourself, Braeden. It is not what Jacob would’ve wanted. It’s not what any of them would’ve wanted.” With that, Joseph walks away and I’m left in my thoughts. I haven’t been called by my real name for a long time. It felt strange to hear it, especially from Joseph, the one who rebranded me as the Judge.

It’s insane to think that that crazy son of a bitch could’ve ended up being my brother-in-law one day. Jacob and I had never talked about marriage; we never really got a chance to talk about our future together. I doubt the man would’ve wanted to be married, especially being in his late forties by the time we got together. I wouldn’t have blamed him for that. Being with him was enough for me. A piece of paper saying that we were legally bonded together would never have changed anything, and I’m sure Jacob felt the same way. Jacob wasn’t always vocal about how he felt about me, but he didn’t need to be. He showed his love by his actions and he was incredibly good at it. I understood his love language better than most people did, maybe even John and Joseph, but I also got to see a part of him they never did. I loved him. I still do. No one will ever be able to replace him.

I loved John and Faith, too. I love Joseph, despite everything he has done.

He’s right. Jacob wouldn’t want this for me, especially this long after the Collapse. None of them would’ve wanted this.

After that night, I decided to take Joseph’s advice. In private, I began working on being able to talk again. Not speaking for so many years took a hard toll on my vocal cords and for a while, I began to think that I had lost the ability. No matter how hard I tried, the words just wouldn’t come out.

It wasn’t until I stumbled upon what’s left of John’s bunker that I finally spoke. It was the only bunker accessible, the other two being stuck inside the radiation zones and making it impossible to reach, even with Eden’s Gift.

Seeing it in ruins like this makes me unreasonably emotionally. I stand at the top, staring into the flooded hole in the ground. Memories pour back. When I first met saw them in the church when we arrived in Hope County. When I seized control of his house singlehandedly. Me, never being able to stop apologizing for that. When John first found out about Jacob and me.

I still remember the look on his face when we decided that we were leaving the valley after Joseph was stopped. I could tell he was devastated. I don’t blame him, though. I promised him happiness, a life where he’s not a herald.

At least one of those things came through. He’s not a herald any more.

“I’m sorry, John...” I choke out, my voice rough and raspy. Tears fall down my face and I rip my mask off. “I... I j-just wanted you all t-to be h-h-happy and I-I-I fa-iled.”

“John? Who’s John?” I hear Cap’s voice behind me. I glance back and see her coming up the hill. “Judge, is that you?”

I wipe the tears from my face. “Ye-ah, Cap, It is.”

“You’re talking!” she exclaims.

I laugh a bit. “I am.”

“Who’s John?” I look back at the broken bunker.

“He would’ve been my brother-in-law if life had been kinder.”

As I talk, it gets easier and quicker, too.

“Ew, did you have a thing with Joseph?”

I laugh. “No, no.” I turn and face her. “Have you heard stories of the Deputy that nearly saved this county singlehandedly back before the Collapse?”

“Of course I have, Kim and Nick never shut up about her.”

“I was that Deputy, Cap.”

She looks as if she’s about to choke on air. “W-what?”

“I was the Deputy. My downfall was falling in love with the oldest Seed, Jacob. Joseph wouldn’t stop what he was doing and after he was stopped, I was going to leave the county with Jacob, Faith, and John,” I look at the bunker. “But the Collapse started before I could get to them and I believe they died that day. I was stuck in a bunker with Joseph where the guilt and mourning ate me up until I became this, the Judge. Joseph certainly didn’t help.”

“I never would’ve guessed that you were the Deputy.”

“Most people don’t and haven’t. The only ones that do are Joseph and Ethan.”

She takes a few steps toward me. “That’s why the other day at the outpost you got distracted when those Highwaymen were talking about the rumor that the other Seeds are alive.”

I nod.

“How are you so sure they aren’t alive?”

“I missed our meeting time. They would’ve been topside and away from safety when the bombs dropped.”

“But are you sure?”

“Please don’t get my hopes up, Cap. I’ve spent the last seventeen years mourning these people and feeling responsible for their deaths. Do you know something I’m unaware of?”

“Well... I wasn’t gonna say anything, but knowing what I know now...”

“Tell me!”

She sighs, crossing her arms. “I was up north a few days ago and... I saw what those Highwaymen were talking about.”

“What!?”

“I don’t know how, but I think they’re alive.”

***

My first steps into Prosperity feel strange. It feels like I’m coming home yet arriving at a completely unfamiliar place at the same time. My mask stays on as I look at what they’ve done to John’s ranch. I’d like to think that he would like it.

I walk around and find so many familiar faces that I almost feel overwhelmed by it. I don’t know how I should do this. Should I expose my identity to everyone all at once or do it one at a time?

Now that I think about it, all at once may be too overwhelming. One at a time it is.

My eyes wander over the sea of faces before they land on one that causes an indescribable feeling to shoot through my body. It’s Sharky. My crazy pyromaniac best friend. My ride or die for as long as I was the Deputy.

His back is to me when I walk over to him alone in the explosives lab, but he turns when he feels me getting close to him. He eyes me, unable to figure out what to make of me.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. His words would sound aggressive if you didn’t know Sharky like I do. Or did. Good thing I know better than to think that he’s being an asshole.

My hand reaches up for my mask and grasps it firmly. He’s looking at me strangely and I lift it up barely enough for my mouth to show.

“Hi, Shark,” I whisper.

His expression changes quickly. “Shorty?” he whispers back. Finally, I get the nerve to take my mask off all the way and I do. He wraps me in a bear hug when he sees my face, and he tells me he’s not crying when I feel wetness hit my neck, but I know Sharky too well. When we pull away his eyes are filled with tears, just like mine. He holds my shoulders, staring at me.

“I missed you too, Shark.”

“What the hell happened to ya, Brae?”

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “That a long story for another time. Just know that I’m back.”

A huge smile spreads across his face and he pulls me into a hug again.

One by one, I go to everyone and show them who I am. Then, I get to Nick, Kim, and Carmina.

She grew up into such a beautiful woman, Carmina did.

“The Captain brought you in, right?” Kim says, sparing a glance at me as the three of them have their backs to me and are looking at a map or something. For a moment I forget my mask is back on.

“Mhm,” I answer.

“Great, well, welcome to Prosperity. I’m sure you’ll be of great help. I’m Kim, the unofficial leader of our community. This is Nick, my husband, and our daughter-”

As she was talking and slowly took my mask off. Then, I finished the sentence for her. “Carmina,” I say. “Heard that name once or twice.”

My mask drops to the ground and the three of them turn to look at me. Nick and Kim stare at me in awe for a second, seemingly unable to move before they both spring forward and wrap me in a tight hug.

“Braeden, is that really you?” Kim questions, sniffling. I nod to her.

“Braeden...?” Carmina says. “You don’t mean that this is...?”

“Yes, honey,” Nick says. “This is Braeden Creed. Your godmother.”

Without hesitation, Carmina hugs me. And when I say it was the best feeling in the world, I don’t mean it lightly.

***

“Where have you been all this time, Braeden?” Nick asks after I got into a change of clothes. Those old rags I had been wearing were beginning to be uncomfortable. They sit around a fire, eating, and I join them, being handed a plate.

“I’ve been up in New Eden,” I answer. “After the bombs, I was stuck in Dutch’s bunker with Joseph. I... I felt guilty. I blamed myself for everything. For the end of the world, for the death of my coworkers. For the death of Adelaide, Mary May, Jess, Dutch, Eli. For Jacob, John, and Faith. I was mourning the loss of the people I loved while feeling responsible for it at the same time and Joseph took advantage of that.”

“Why for the Seeds?” Grace asks me. “What made you feel like it was your fault they were dead?”

I sigh. “The day we went to stop Joseph, I was supposed to meet with them after and we were gonna leave. Leave the county. I missed our meeting time and they would’ve had to have been topside and away from safety by the time the bombs dropped.” I set my food down, suddenly not being hungry anymore. “Jacob had pleaded with me to not confront Joseph that day. Maybe he knew what would happen if I did, I dunno, but he begged me not to and Jacob never begged. He was too proud for that.”

“But, if he knew what would’ve happened, why would he have let himself die?” Carmina asks.

I shrug a bit. “Jacob was fully prepared to give up his life for Joseph’s throughout the war. And he didn’t even really know if he believed that Joseph could talk to God.”

“That’s one thing about Jacob,” Hurk cuts in. “He never needed a reason for anything.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I respond.

The more I think about Carmina’s question, though, the more it makes sense. He wouldn’t have just let his family die. Not if he could have prevented it. Maybe Carmina’s on to something here.

Maybe the others really are alive.

***

I stare at John’s house, still in awe of how good of shape it’s in, even all these years later. The Ranch is still as beautiful as it’s ever been. Kim has taken such good care of it.

“Do you think he’d mind that we moved into his house?” I hear Carmina behind me. I turn to look at her and she hands me a cup with something in it.

“What?” I ask, my voice cracking a bit, making her laugh as I take the cup. “Sorry. Rusty vocal cords.” I crack a grin at her and she smiles back.

“Do you think John would mind that we moved into his house?”

“That’s a good question. I had never really thought about it. If I’m being honest, I think he would’ve preferred this to it ending up like a lot of the other structures around here.”

I place my cup on my leg, smiling sadly at the house.

“I remember when I took this place from the cult,” I mention to her. “Jacob and I were nothing more than two smartasses flirting with each other, and John was furious. Called me every name under the sun and more and me not reacting to it made it worse. I thought it was hilarious.” My face falls a bit. “Eventually he got it back, but he didn’t get to enjoy it much. I knew he was mad at me still and even when he said he was over it, I never quite believed him. The Resistance had destroyed a lot of his property: his plane, family photos.”

Carmina looks at me for a second before pulling something out of her pocket. “Here,” she says, handing me a photo. “I found it in the master bedroom in a safe. When you find them, you can give this to him.”

I glance down at it and find a family photo of him, Jacob, Joseph, and Faith. I smile and look back up. “Do you really think they’re alive?”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Carmina responds. “If you know, deep down, that they’re alive, that’s all that matters. Do you think they’re alive?”

I look down at the photo and run my thumb over it. “I want to. But if they are then I spent all these years punishing myself and feeling guilty for they’re deaths. I’m scared that if they are alive, things won’t be the same.”

Carmina stares at me for a second. “You’re afraid that Jacob won’t love you anymore. That’s it, right?”

“I...” I pause, the realization hitting me. “Yeah... I am afraid of that. Terrified, actually. A lot can happen in seventeen years and I still love him with all my being. I don’t know what would happen if he didn’t love me anymore.”

“I’ve heard about how you and Jacob were. And from what I’ve heard, it seemed like he really loved you. Not just any kind of love, either, no. The kind of love that can and would survive the end of the world. If he’s out there, there’s not a doubt in my mind that he would love you the same, even after seventeen years.”

Carmina’s words of encouragement stuck me with me over the next weeks as we started our search while simultaneously fighting the Highwaymen. Even New Eden is searching, wanting to bring the beloved heralds home. For a long time we turned up empty and I was beginning to lose hope. Then another sighting would happen and the process would start over. It began to feel like I was chasing ghosts.

“Times like this is when I wish I had one of my old guns for hire or fangs for hire” I mutter as me and the Captian steak out an outpost.

She glances at me. “Who were yours?”

“Well, for my guns for hire I had Sharky, Nick, Hurk, Adelaide, which was Hurk’s mom and Sharky’s aunt, Grace, a girl named Jess, a dog named Boomer, a cougar named Peaches, and a bear named Cheeseburger.”

“Sharky was a gun for hire?”

“Well of course. He and I were best friends. Loved to fuck shit up on the cult’s expense. I remember this one time-” My recollection gets cut short when commotion starts in the outpost. We watch as cheering spreads through the outpost. One by one, we see prisoners being dragged in. I grab my makeshift binoculars so I can get a better look and that’s when I spot a familiar blonde being dragged in. The green eyes were a dead give away, if the hair wasn’t.

I smack Cap’s arm and she gets annoyed at me before seeing my expression.

“That’s Faith,” I breath. “It’s Faith.”

“Let’s go raise some hell, then.”

Faces blur together as I take them out one by one, making my way to Faith as fast as I can. It feels as if time as slowed down as bullets fly out of my gun, embedding themselves in the flesh and bone of the scumbag Highwaymen. Then my gun gets knocked out of my hands and I barely manage to dodge a swing as the bat connects with the metal behind me. I roll off to the side to put distance between me and my attacker when suddenly my gun comes sliding up to me. I look up, expecting to see Cap, but it’s not.

It’s John.

With a heavy breath and a smile, I pick up my gun and land a shot into the guy trying to kill me. After that, I jump to my feet and run over to him.

“I’ve got the key to free the prisoners they’ve already put away,” he sighs quickly. “I’ll go get them and Faith. Just keep doing what you’re good at.”

He leaves me with a hand on my shoulder and the question, “Where’s Jacob”, hangs in the air but I stop myself. For now, I need to focus on killing these bad guys.

I spin on my heel and fire off a few shots, dropping them like dead flies. The recoil of the gun feels familiar and for a second, Hope County is back to normal and I’m dropping Peggies faster than you could say Eden’s Gate. The memory waivers for a second before the scene in front of me turns back to normal and the last Highwaymen drops in a heap on the floor.

I glance to my left and see John making his way over to me, Faith in tow. Her eyes light up when she sees me and I run over, crashing into both of them and wrapping them in a tight hug.

“Please tell me that Jacob is okay.”

I pull away from there and their expressions are unchanged, giving me hope.

“He broke up away from the group when they were bringing us in and ran off,” Faith explains.

“We’re not really sure where he is, but we know he’s okay. It’s Jacob,” John adds.

Their eyes look past me and I hear heavy footsteps behind me. Turning around quickly, I see him.

I see Jacob.

Jacob.

My Jacob.

It’s almost like he doesn’t believe his eyes when he looks at me, but an emotion washes over him that I’ve never seen on him before. A look of confusion, mixed with pure joy and happiness.

I can barely contain myself and find myself crashing into his chest. Even seventeen years later, the man is well built and takes my impact without budging. My arms snake around his neck and I hold on like he might disappear if I let go, and a part of me might believe that.

“I thought you were dead, all of you,” I whisper to him. “I thought I had gotten all of you killed.”

“You can’t get rid of us that easily, sweetheart,” he says into my ear. His voice... I missed his voice so much.

I feel something wet on my face and it takes a minute to realize what they are.

Tears.

I haven’t cried in years.

“I wouldn’t want to.”

“Braeden, backup’s on its way! We need to go!” I hear Cap yell to me. I gather myself quickly and nod to her. “We’ve got a ride waiting on the road on the other side but we have to make it there in one piece!”

I let out a loud, ear busting, whistle, pulling the attention of the survivors around us. “Listen up! Highwaymen have reinforcements on the way so if you wanna live, you’ll follow us!”

The group of us run up into the tree where Cap and I were waiting and just as she said multiple trucks are waiting for us and we all pile in.

“Braeden, you’re bleeding,” Cap points out from across the bed of me.

I look down, seeing a gash in my upper right arm.

“When that person tried to take me out with the bat, the metal he hit must’ve buckled and cut me...”

“Well, I guess it’s good we helped Selene out so she can patch you up when we get back.”

“Back where?” Faith asks.

“Our base,” Cap answers.

“Yeah... John, you may not like this...”

***

The moment we’re through the door to Prosperity, Carmina’s on me, clinging to me for life.

“We heard what happened through the radio. I was so scared we lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“What happened to my house...?” John mutters, looking at me.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with this.”

A little bit later we sit down for dinner and the three of them start interrogating me.

“So, all three of them died...?” Jacob questions me, talking about Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson.”

“Yeah,” I breath out. “The truck crashed when I was driving us to Dutch’s bunker and, well, when I came to, it was too late...”

“Wait, then how did you survive?” John asks.

I smile a bit and look down at my food. “Joseph. He pulled me out of the truck. Unfortunately, I was trapped in that damn bunker with him and it changed me.”

“Changed you...?” Faith says.

I stir my food around, debating on whether I should tell them or not. “For the last seventeen years, I felt guilty and responsible for the collapse, for the death of you guys, my coworkers, my friends-everything. I became a shell of what I was. Stopped talking, never showed my face.” I glance over at Jacob. “It wasn’t until Joseph came to me a few months ago and told me that none of it was my fault and to stop punishing myself...”

“Braeden... did Joseph ever tell you what he tried to do?” Jacob asks me.

I feel my stomach drop at his tone and cautiously, I question him. “No, he didn’t. Why? What did he do?”

“He tried to convince us to stay... to stay hidden in our bunkers while he fought you. Tried to convince us to not leave,” Faith answers. “We didn’t listen to him and John and I, we went to meet Jacob at his bunker so we could go meet you together, but when we went to leave, there was a small army of followers outside that kept us from leaving.”

I stare at her, trying to make sense of what she just told me.

“Joseph sent the followers, Braeden,” John continues. “He’s known this whole time that we were alive.”

Once the realization hits me, I feel the rage bubble inside me-my wrath. I slam my bowl down, spilling what was left inside of it, and jump to my feet. “That son of a bitch let me believe that you were dead for the last seventeen fucking years. Let me feel guilty and responsible for your deaths and mourn the loss of all of you at the same time. He had the audacity to look me in my face and tell me that your deaths weren’t my fault. All while knowing that you’re alive!?” I pause for a moment, looking at them for a second. “I’m gonna kick his teeth down his throat and rip his fingernails out.”

***

They tried to stop me. They really tried, but they should know better than to stop me while I’m indulging in my wrath.

I was an unstoppable force when I stormed into New Eden for the first time in months with the other Seeds in tow. New Edeners were stunned to see my face as I blew past them in search of Joseph.

Ethan tried to get in my way when I found them, which was a major mistake. I shoved his bitch ass so hard into the wall that it seemed like the wall cracked under the pressure.

Joseph’s face was priceless when he saw the others and even better when slammed his back into the wall behind me. My rage was nearly palpable as I stared at him.

“You,” I seethed.

“What did I-?”

I pull him forward and slam him into the wall again. “YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID,” I roar at him. “For all these years, all these FUCKING YEARS you let me believe that they were dead and for what? To make me into your fucking monkey!?”

Joseph falls quiet for a second. “I wanted you to feel my pain. To feel what I felt when you turned them against me. I never meant for it to get this far.”

“Yeah!? And what the fuck did you mean to happen!?”

“I wanted to tell you! I wanted to find them, but the further you fell into yourself the harder it became.”

“Yeah? And what about them? What about leaving them trapped in that bunker for years!?”

“I never intended for they’re exit to be blocked! Believe me, I tried to move the rocks time and time again, but I am only one man! It was by the Grace of God that an earthquake came through and uncovered the doorway.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Joseph. Fuck you for what you did to me and fuck you for what you did to your siblings. I didn’t turn them against you, Joseph. You did that yourself by refusing to see that truth. You’re lucky I don’t put you out of our misery right now.”

I back away, glaring at him as I do. The rage eventually subsides and all I'm left to feel it betrayed.

Who would’ve thought that I could feel betrayed by Joseph Fucking Seed?

What a joke.

#jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #joseph seed #Far Cry 5 #far cry 5 oc #new dawn #far cry new dawn #the deputy #the judge #oc: braeden creed

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the-writing-otter · 4 years

Text

Malédiction ⇴ Chapter VI

⇴ Author: the-writing-otter

⇴ Genre: Fantasy, Alternate Universe, Action/Adventure, Romance, Angst

⇴ Main Characters: Kim Namjoon, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok

⇴ Summary:

Crown, Jungkook; Cursed, Jimin; Cast-off, Jin; Seer, Namjoon; Seeker, Yoongi; Sought, Taehyung; Catalyst, Hoseok

⇴ malédiction masterlist

⇴ previous

Chapter VI

The wind whipped through the town, rattling the tin roofs on the southern, sea-facing side, and blustering against the stronger wooden doors of the richer, northeastern side. Namjoon's flimsy door slammed shut behind him as he drug his bleeding charge into his tiny kitchen.

"What the-"

"Shut up and help me get him on the bed."

Taehyung jumped up and slung Jin's other arm over his shoulder. They set him on the bed as gently as they could, but he groaned and his head lolled to the side.

" He's lost quite a bit of blood." Taehyung's voice was calm and sure, and it was as if the calm had passed from Namjoon to him. As soon as Jin was settled on the bed and Taehyung was tending to him, Namjoon started pacing his tiny house, which was mostly kitchen, anxiously scanning old books and grabbing a different one each time he passed his messy wooden table. Taehyung inspected Jin's wound and grimaced. "Someone already stitched it. It got ripped up and I can't do anything but apply pressure. Have you got anything for the pain?"

Namjoon stopped pacing just long enough to grab a bottle off the table and toss it to Taehyung, who almost face planted trying to catch it. When he righted himself, he shot a glare at Namjoon, who was back to pacing again. "You can't just throw stuff like this. Why do you have it lying around, anyways?" "It's fine." He paused, realizing what he just asked. "Tae, I knew he would come."

Taehyung looked up from his ministrations.

"What?"

Namjoon face was careful, guarded. Taehyung stood slowly, his gaze open, but Namjoon could see his mistrust, plain as day. It was unnerving to see his friend look at him like that. He had known him for so long, had trusted him like a brother. And now he could see a crack, a chink in their relationship, growing bigger and bigger with every minute that passed.

“You never told me you could interpret your dreams. Do you realize that could have-”

“I know-”

“No you don’t!”

The tense atmosphere broke at Taehyung’s yell, and Jin jerked awake. The two men stood facing each other in the small room, one stiff and on edge, one meek and still. Jin recognized the one furthest from his as the shadow who helped him. After the alleyway he didn't remember much. His head hurt from sitting up and now everything else hurt too. The pain in his shoulder and on his chest had dulled to an ache now though, and he traced his hands over his bandaged wounds.

"What's going on?" His voice was hoarse and quiet but the two men turned at his query. He glanced between them as they stayed silent, until the shadow sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Sorry, you don't need to worry about it. I'm Namjoon, I'm a ...seer." He glanced at the other man for a moment. He seemed sheepish.

The other man brushed past Namjoon and took a seat at the table. He was frowning deeply, but he positively glared when Namjoon cleared his throat and gestured to Jin. He glanced up, "Taehyung," he said, and resumed his perusal of a random book from the messy tabletop.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, that wound isn't gonna heal itself and you need rest." Namjoon drug a wooden chair to the side of the bed almost knocking the table over as he did. Taehyung flailed as bottles and books were jostled; Namjoon obliviously kept talking.

"But perhaps it's for the best," he said sighing and taking a seat. Taehyung glared at the back of his head and Jin tried not to laugh. "I probably frightened you in that alley, sorry."

Jin seems to realize what was being said. "Sorry? You saved my life!"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But nothing. I owe you. Both of you." Taehyung glanced up as Jin looked to him as well as Namjoon.

"Please. Don't mention it. It's what any decent person would do," Namjoon said, rubbing his neck, abashedly.

Tae wanted to expose Namjoon, now that he knew he could not only see into the future and the past, but could roughly interpret their meanings as well, but he held back. The stranger didn't need to know everything. He would heal here, just enough so that Namjoon would be assured he would be fine, and then they would never see him again. There was no reason why he should know exactly how Namjoon knew where to be and when to save his life.

Thought watching the two interact, Taehyung suddenly wasn't so sure of himself. In the time he had known Namjoon, he had always been too eager to help any poor individual that crossed his path. Even when, during their travels with the gypsy caravans, there was hardly any food to spare between them, Namjoon would give his half to a beggar on the road and go without, making Taehyung feel like absolute dirt. He never begrudged him for it, till now. Till the stranger might be a threat. He had heard of an infamous highwayman who matched the strangers description and the thought of harbouring a possible criminal made him uneasy.

"Namjoon." Taehyung gently tugged Namjoon's sleeved as he finally left Jin's side, having finished checking his bandages.

"Can we talk?"

Jin was dozing, but his presence still made Tae uncomfortable, a fact that somehow escaped Namjoon's notice.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Namjoon. Can we talk outside?" He gestured to the door. His gaze was insistent and worried.

Namjoon shifted on his feet, unwilling to leave his patient.

"Please?" pressed Taehyung.

"Fine."

They slipped outside the door, and stood just under the stoop, the storm died down now with only a chill and wet cobblestones to show for it.

Concern was evident on Namjoon's face as he closed the door behind them, but Tae couldn't bring himself to pity him for it. He couldn't afford to.

"Namjoon, how long is the man going to stay here?"

"His name's Jin."

Tae sighed. "How long is Jin," he emphasized, "the possible criminal, obvious fugitive, who you just found bleeding in an alleyway, going to stay in this house." With every word he gestured angrily, losing his patience at Namjoon's obliviousness. "You expect me to stop by, say 'Hello, how are you? Oh, you can suddenly interpret your creepy dreams? And you're using that to save random strangers instead of the people who took you in?!' Of all the people who should benefit from anything you could have to offer it would be the gypsies. Or have you forgotten everything that was done for you? You love playing the hero until you actually have to face your past."

As Taehyung had been ranting, Namjoon's face had become more and more hard, settling into a grim visage as Tae finally stopped.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

His voice was soft, it did not match his face, and for the first time in a long time, Taehyung was scared of him. "Every dream is a nightmare, every prophecy that I can understand is living hell. If I see a whole town burning, vividly, horribly, I can't magically go to wherever they are and warn them. It could've happened years ago or it could happen tomorrow. You don't know what I've seen." He stepped away, and went back inside, leaving Tae stunned on the doorstep.

⇴ next

#jungkook scenarios #namjoon scenarios #jin scenarios #taehyung scenarios #jimin scenario #jhope scenario #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male Dullahan - ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ Story - Final Part (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's the 4k or so conclusion to the now rather epic cyoa story! It's been a blast, and I have loved sharing it with you. D has become one of my favourite characters, as has my darling goblin boy Kravik, as you might be able to tell from this chapter. Perhaps he'll get his own story soon...? My supporters over on Patreon have already had access to this, and I want to thank them publicly for their wonderful comments and support. Now it’s everyone else’s turn. Thank you for making this epic project possible, fun, and come to life...

Anyway, without further ado, here is the final part, Part Thirteen (because 13 is actually a lucky number, I promise...)

Catch up on the full series here if you missed it: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve

“I’m coming with you, D.”

At your response, he sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers clenched in an iron grasp around the brush in his hand. Midnight shifted uneasily, sensing his roiling emotions, and then stuck her nose out to nuzzle against his back, as though offering him encouragement. D let his shoulders drop and he sighed heavily and nodded. “Very well.”

“‘Very well’,” you snorted. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

His gaze turned from hard to pained in a heartbeat, and he lowered his eyes to the gravel of the path between you. That distance - perhaps only three or four feet - seemed an impassable gulf until he spoke again. “What am I supposed to say?” he asked softly. “I could already see that that would be your answer.”

“Aren’t you happy about it?” you demanded.

“You know my feelings on the matter,” he said flatly. “I want you safe before I want you with me; before all else.”

“Safe and sad,” you spat sourly. “Got it. I thought you were going to respect my decision,” you added, feeling your face heat up. “I thought…”

D took a step towards you and held out his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is just a big change for me. It’s a lot for me to deal with. My kind work alone, and what we do can be very dangerous at times. I told you all this already though. I just… I just hoped you might stay here, that’s all.”

The dullahan suddenly went rigid, and with a wave of his hand, Midnight and he both vanished from your sight.

“D?” you asked, stepping forwards in panic.

“Quiet,” came his rumbling voice. “I’m still here. It’s just a glamour. Someone’s coming.”

“Don’t you dare sneak off, will you?”

His touch on your elbow made you jump, and his warm breath fanned out across your cheek and neck. With a soft chuckle, he pressed a kiss onto your skin that made goosebumps skitter over your whole right-hand side, and he murmured, “I won’t sneak off, I promise.”

“We could have some fun with this, you know?” you giggled, and with a final squeeze somewhere considerably cheekier than your arm, D vanished from your perception.

A few seconds later, Kravik emerged out of the evening shadows on the road, his hands in his pockets, the little goblin whistling softly to himself as he walked. When he saw you already standing on the road in front of your house, apparently alone, he drew up short in surprise, and tilted his head. “Everything alright?” he asked as he approached.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“I thought I’d drop in and see if you’re doing alright… You know, after your dullahan dropped by last night.”

You looked pointedly over at where Midnight had been - and probably still was - standing, and said loudly, “He’s still here.”

D took it for the invitation it was, and removed the glamour, since Kravik already knew all about him. The goblin leapt about a foot to the side in surprise as the horse materialised out of thin air, shortly followed by the tall figure of the dullahan, standing beside her shoulder. He nodded politely at Kravik, but remained silent.

“Right,” the goblin said awkwardly once he’d recovered. “Well, look, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to check you were alright. I’ll, erm… yeah…” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Wait, Krav,” you called as he turned away. “I… I do need to talk to you. Any chance you’re gonna be at the inn a bit later tonight?”

“I can be,” he said carefully, dark eyes narrowing.

“Great,” you chirped. “I’ll see you there in a bit then…”

He was clearly still very suspicious as he turned away, but he trusted you, and nodded curtly at D before he left.

About an hour or so later after discussing things in more detail with D, you headed to the Highwayman’s Secret. As you approached, you tried hard not to look too closely at the sign above the door this time, since you now knew the actual subject of the painting and the truth of the story behind the inn’s name. D remained behind at your little hut, having promised - yet again - that he would not leave town without you.

Kravik took the news of your imminent departure about as well as you’d thought he would. He was devastated. He said he understood, and that he wanted you to be happy, but his delicate, grey, tapering ears drooped visibly and his dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Krav, I’m sorry,” you said, seizing hold of his long, spindly fingers and squeezing him hard.

A single tear spilled from the rim of his eyes and rolled down his cheek towards his sharp chin. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispered, his glassy gaze fixed on your joined hands. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“I’ll still be here for you, Krav,” you said. “I’ll write to you, and I’ll visit when I can.”

“Just promise me you’ll take care,” he said, and you nodded. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “But soon. Maybe even tomorrow.”

His grip clenched even tighter, and he bowed his head, bringing your hands up to his brow. He pressed his forehead against your skin and sighed, silent tears now rolling freely down his cheeks.

“Krav, don’t cry,” you said, choking up. “Please…”

“Come and say goodbye before you go?” he asked, and you promised.

You spent the rest of the evening holding his slender hands and talking about everything, from the progress the goblins were making and what they would do now that the mine was closed, to your earliest childhood memories of scrumping for apples and stealing fresh-baked biscuits from the open door of the baker’s together… Most of the goblins to move away to where their family and friends worked in other mining villages and towns, while only a few were prepared to try and find different work in the same area. Kravik said that he might try and look for somewhere else, now that he knew you weren’t going to be there, and you tried not to feel too guilty. It would be a new chapter for both of you.

“You’ll have lots to tell me about when we see each other again…” you smiled. “You must let me know where you decide to go…”

As the night wore on, you were joined by the rest of your friends, and you told them that you were leaving and planning to travel. They seemed supportive and excited, though Erik said he and his brother would miss you. Only you and Kravik knew the truth, that you were going to be galloping off in the morning with a dullahan, and once you’d said all your goodbyes, you let Kravik and Erik walk you back to the hut. Erik gave you a minotaur-speciality, bone-crushing hug at the door, while Kravik just stood there looking miserable. You knelt down, knowing that he didn't mind it when you did so, and put yourself at his eye level. You drew him close to you and held his small body tightly. He was trembling softly.

“I love you, Krav,” you whispered to your life-long best friend. “I’m sorry I’m leaving.”

“I get it,” he said. “I really do; I just… I’m… I’m going to miss you.”

“I promise I’ll come and say goodbye tomorrow.”

He nodded, and you stood and walked up the stairs to your front door. Pausing with your hand on the latch, you gazed back and saw Kravik and Erik walking away, the goblin looking so miserable it almost made you change your mind.

You pushed the door open and D looked up at you from a seat by the fire, one of your favourite books in his lap. His physical head appeared still to be in its protective chest because the soft glow of his green essence flared a little brighter as you walked in. When he saw the expression on your face, however, he closed the book and surged to his feet, striding over to you and putting his hands on your shoulder and waist. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened?”

“I hate goodbyes,” you said glumly and closed the door behind you with a click.

“You don’t have to -”

“Don’t finish that,” you snapped, trying to blink the tears from your eyes. “Tonight was painful enough without you making it worse by changing my mind. I’m coming with you, and that’s that. Alright? We’re done talking about it.”

He nodded and leaned down to kiss your tears away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to be an ass about this. I just wanted you to consider it thoroughly.”

“I have,” you said. “I missed you so much when I thought you were dead… But knowing you were out there, and that I couldn’t be with you, would be even worse. I think it would just about destroy me, D.”

He smiled suddenly, and you flashed him a quizzical frown. He chuckled, and said, “I love that you call me that.”

“What, ‘D’?”

“Yes,” he said, ducking low to kiss you right on the corner of your lips and making you smile. He thumbed a line across your cheekbone and drew you towards the fire to warm you up.

Instead of taking a seat opposite him, you sank into his lap, and he laughed as you leaned your body against his chest, resting the back of your head on his shoulder. “Why do you like it?” you asked in a quiet voice. The flickering and crackling of the logs in the grate were the only other sounds in the hut, and you savoured the quiet peace of it after the noise of the inn and the rush of Kravik’s emotions. “It was just a stupid thing I started calling you before I knew your name…”

“I know,” he said, sliding his arms around your waist and hugging you. “But you thought of me as an individual worth naming, not just ‘a dullahan’. You cared enough to call me something in your own mind. It’s nice, that’s all. I… I feel more…” he shrugged and your head bobbed slightly with the movement. “I feel more human, I suppose. Less… less anonymous.”

You laced your fingers through his and brought them up briefly to your lips to kiss them before lowering them once again into your lap. They came to rest on your thigh, but he soon let go of you and began to hoist your dress slowly up your leg until he had bare skin beneath his palm. You groaned and leaned harder into him, feeling him wakening beneath you, even as heat pooled between your legs. You rolled your hips just to confirm it, and he groaned sensuously in your ear. His ghostly lips brushed the shell of your ear and his breath made your skin tingle as he kissed down your neck. He was slow, taking his time, biting and sucking bruises, then kissing the brief sting away with his soft, cold lips. His hand searched beneath your dress, and he moaned when he felt how wet you were for him.

“Already?” he gasped, and you nodded, tilting your hips up to meet the touch and guide him right to where you wanted him. He made slow, torturous, loving circles around your aching clit, sliding his fingertips carefully up your inner lips, mindful always of the sharpness of his claws. When he did catch you accidentally and you hissed, he growled and cursed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m going to have to do something about that now, aren’t I?”

“What, about your talons or about the fact that I need kissing better?” you asked playfully. It honestly didn’t hurt much at all.

With a playful, laughing snarl, he put his hands around your waist and lifted you off him. He set you down again and began to kiss you, backing you towards your bedroom with a low, rumbling growl constantly emanating from his chest like a rakshasa’s purr.

“I love that sound,” you gasped between kisses, your palms flat on his chest, feeling the vibrations of it.

“Good,” he hissed, “Because I can’t help it.”

He was more assertive than he’d yet been as he steered you into your bedroom and pushed you roughly onto your bed. He stripped you both - mercifully not ripping your clothes apart this time - and parted your legs with a gruff gesture that had your head lolling with the pleasure of it. He didn’t waste any time in setting his kissing lips and teasing tongue to you, sucking hard on your clit and circling it with the tip of his dark tongue until you began to shake all over.

When you made to grab his ghostly head, he deliberately evaded you, turning intangible, and you complained and whined at him while he laughed and continued to send tingling chills over your body with the ghostly touch of his tongue and the sting of his sharp claws against your thighs.

“D, please!” you begged, bucking your hips upwards in desperation.

His tongue caught that little place just below your clit that you loved, and with the heat of his mouth around you, you came hard, stomach clenching, sparks dancing in your vision, and wailing in wordless pleasure.

He kept his tongue pressed tight against you, drinking the taste of you down as you came, suckling gently at you until you jerked sharply and begged him to stop.

“Can I come inside you?” he asked as he pulled back.

“I should have asked this before, but I’m assuming we’re good on the whole ‘pregnancy’ front… right?” you asked, voice slurred and mind still spinning.

“My kind are sterile,” he said, his voice neutral. “And we carry no diseases.”

“Oh good. Then yes, you can…” you smiled, and he didn’t waste any time sheathing himself to the hilt inside you in one rapid stroke that had his spine bowing forwards and his fingers snagging on the sheets as he balled them into fists.

“Oh gods,” he whimpered in a broken voice. “You’re so tight.”

“I want you, D…” you whispered, and he began to move.

He started off with a slow rhythm, savouring the feel of your heat as you still occasionally twitched in the aftermath of your release or when the tip of his cock hit that spot inside you, but he soon started to lose himself in the sensations of your body. He grabbed your hips, plunging even deeper inside you, and you let out an earthy groan of pleasure.

“Gods,” he cursed, “You’re so perfect.”

For a while, he seemed perfectly content to rock his hips, moving in and out of you at a punishingly patient pace, but eventually his breathing began to shift and grow more ragged, and his snarling growls grew louder and more frequent. D pushed himself upright on his knees and raised one of your legs up, holding your ankle in place at his collarbone, his fingers gripping the joint while his right hand held your other leg down against the mattress. The new angle caught you deep, and he started that rhythmic growling in earnest, baring his sharp canines in a ghostly snarl of pleasure. The spidery veins of phosphorescence that spread all over his body like living marble pulsed and flared more brightly the closer he got, and as he pistoned in and out of you, breathing ragged, his growls filling the room and making your ears ring, you knew he was close.

Without warning, his hips stuttered and he pushed himself as deep inside you as he could get, spilling into you and filling you so completely you almost felt like crying. He was giving himself to you all over again, and you gazed up at him in his moment of pleasure, savouring the monstrous snarl, the inhuman colouring of his skin, the ghostly green of his head, and the beautiful way in which his muscles bunched and spasmed as he released into you.

Lowering your leg, he slumped forwards over you and laid his head beside yours, kissing your shoulder, before his head lost its opacity and you shivered as the chill of his ghostly form passed right through you. “Sorry,” he slurred, clearly trying to manifest it once again. When he couldn’t, you laughed and held him tightly to you, pulling him close.

“It’s alright,” you giggled. “You’re a dullahan. Revel in being headless for a bit, will you?”

He laughed and gave up, half crushing you with his body, unable to muster the strength to roll off you. His skin was cool against your own. Eventually he withdrew and rolled over onto his back, but not before managing to make his head tangible enough to kiss you.

You fell asleep that night beside him, and when you woke in the morning, he was still there, curled up on his side and facing you this time.

You would have been lying if you’d said it wasn’t a bit of a surprise to wake up next to a naked, chilly, headless body, but once your brain had processed it, you smiled. In sleep, D had not bothered to maintain his ghostly head, and you reached tentatively out for his neck again and ran your fingertips around the ragged, long-healed scars. He jerked the moment your skin touched his, his head flickering back into existence like a kindling flame, and his eyes found yours wide with surprise.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you…”

“You startled me,” he smiled. “I’m sorry if I scared you…”

You shook your head. “You made me jump, that’s all.” You inhaled deeply and pushed him so that he rolled like a docile lion onto his back, and you could snuggle up against his chest.

The two of you stayed like that until the sun was well up, and your stomach began rumbling.

“Do dullahan eat?” you asked as you cut a slice of bread and pulled some butter and jam out of the pantry.

D, who was leaning against your small table with his arms casually crossed over his chest, shook his transparent, green head, the ghostly hair swinging down his back in the same way his actual hair did. You loved that long ponytail and the feel of his dark, silky hair. You cleared your throat before you could get too distracted, and grinned as he cocked an eyebrow curiously. The glint in his inhuman eyes told you he knew the nature of your mental tangent…

“Listen,” you said after you’d eaten. “I promised Kravik I’d say goodbye before we left. I want to leave my hut to Will. I know he’s been living at the infirmary while he’s been working there, but I think it’s important that he have somewhere to call his own, you know? Especially after everything he’s been through…” The mayor’s half-goblin son deserved some kindness in his life.

D nodded. “I’ll get Midnight ready, and load up your things into my saddlebags if you like. I’m sorry you aren’t able to take much with you.”

You shrugged. “I’ll wear my little back pack, and that fits most of my essential things in. I’ll get anything else I need as we go along.”

“I’m sorry…” D choked, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“For heaven’s sake,” you grumbled, getting up from your seat and smacking him playfully with the back of your hand on the shoulder as you cleared your breakfast things away. “Stop apologising. I knew this would be a change… it’s fine! Stop fussing…”

He nodded meekly, and you quickly penned a letter for Kravik to give to Will, explaining about the plants in the herb garden at the back, and why you were leaving the little healer’s hut to him. That done, you slipped out into the ripening day, and made your way to the other end of town where Kravik lived. The goodbye was as painful as you’d expected, but he seemed braver about it in the morning light, and maybe even a little excited about starting over somewhere new.

“I have something for you,” he said, tugging you inside his familiar home. He scuttled to a low table and grabbed something, retuning to you with a bashful expression that you weren’t used to seeing on your confident friend’s face. He held out a silver pendant with an engraved handprint on it. The handprint was noticeably not human, with longer fingers and a smaller palm. It was the handprint of a goblin. “I made it last night,” he said shyly. “So you have a piece of me to take with you.”

Tears fogged your vision and you swept him up and hugged him tightly. He wrapped his strong little arms around your neck, dangling from you in an undignified manner that would have made any other goblin deeply uncomfortable. That he was not was an indicator of just how much he cared for you.

“Don’t forget about me,” he whispered in your ear, and you felt your heart crack.

Giving him one final squeeze, you promised him that you’d write when you could, and that you would never, ever forget him. “You mean so much to me, Krav,” you choked. “I’m going to miss you so much, but I promise I’ll come and visit.”

He hitched a lopsided little smile and sniffed. “When do you leave?” he asked.

“Now…” you said, and, on glancing out of the window, you saw D sitting astride Midnight, waiting for you.

“Is he out there?” Kravik asked, and you nodded. “Put me down.”

The little goblin strode to his door and flung it open. “Show yourself, dullahan,” he barked, and, to your surprise, D obeyed. Kravik glared up at him, jabbing his long finger up at him. Midnight shuffled nervously, drawing her head back as if she expected Kravik to chuck something at her. “If you hurt her…” Kravik growled. “If any harm comes to her because of you, I will personally set fire to your horse, skin you alive, and use your head as a football in the Beltane celebrations, do you understand me?”

To your surprise, D swung down from Midnight’s back and sank down onto one knee in front of Kravik in one smooth motion, bowing his head - his physical head, as it happened. “I swear,” the dullahan rasped rasped, “That I will do everything in my power to protect your friend and keep her from harm. I would not allow you to harm my horse, but you may do anything else to me you see fit should I fail.”

Kravik looked almost as stunned as you felt, and he turned awkwardly from D to look up at you. “Well,” he croaked. “That’s… reassuring? I guess?” he laughed. And then he clapped the still-kneeling D on his shoulder hard enough to upset his balance a little, and said, “See to it that she’s happy. That’s all I ask. And that you bring her to visit her old friend once in a while…”

“Whenever she likes,” D said, pushing himself to his feet again. “But know that if I’d had my way, she wouldn’t be leaving at all.”

“She’s a stubborn little thing,” Kravik said, shaking his head as he looked you up and down.

“That she is,” D said with feeling.

You looked from one to the other of them and set your hands comically on your hips. “Well, I’m glad the two of you can agree on that, at least.”

You gave Kravik one last hug, and got D to put his necklace around your neck where it glinted in the sunlight.

“Take care,” the goblin offered as he watched D swing up into the saddle and pull you up behind him. As he did so, he let a glamour settle in place over him so that his skin warmed to a tan brown, instead of its usual slate grey, and the pulsing green lines faded almost to nothing so that unless someone looked really hard, he looked like an ordinary human. You knew, however, that underneath he was anything but ordinary.

“We will,” you promised. “And you too.”

As you closed your arms around D’s waist and he nudged Midnight into a trot and then an easy, comfortable canter, you hugged him tightly and tried not to look back.

Your new life lay ahead of you, and you had no idea what it would bring. One thing was certain, though: if you ever met Tenacity again - which you were almost certain you would - you were going to give her the sharp side of your tongue for letting you think that D had not survived his injuries. You found yourself chuckling at the thought, and D glanced back over his shoulder at you and shot you a questioning look.

“I’m just thinking that when we see Ten next, I’m going to give her as much of a talking to as Kravik just gave you.”

D’s warm laugh rippled out of him and you hugged him tighter for a moment. “Oh boy… she’s in trouble…” he chuckled. A moment later he added, “I love you.”

“Will you defend me against her?” you asked, aiming for lighthearted silliness until the sincerity of his response hit you in the chest like a club swung by a minotaur.

“And everything else,” he said. “Always.”

You had no words for that, and clung to him as he gave Midnight her head and let the night-dark mare gallop along the sandy track, following the same calling that drove him on from place to place to right wrongs and deal out the justice after which he had been renamed.

And you would remain right there beside him through all of it.

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As ever, I would love to hear what you thought of it, and now that we're at the end of this 46,688 word (!) story, I'd like to thank you for getting involved with the voting, and to thank my patrons for choosing D in the first place! I did this story as a 'thank you' to my 3000 followers on Tumblr, and it wouldn't have been the story it is without everyone’s support. So yeah. Thank you. *blushes and wibbles and sees self out*

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#dullahan #cyoa #male dullahan #male monster #choose your own adventure #exophilia #goblin #male goblin

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arabfanon · 5 years

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Writer and historian, Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers prove that vvhite women had a lot more to do with American slavery than most people realize…

There’s an image of the American white woman; she’s smart enough to breed and vote, but, too docile to lead and too fragile to harm. When it comes to American slavery, it’s simply assumed that white women were too oppressed, too busy managing their homes to be involved in the peculiar institution of slavery. From history books to political pundits, long and gone white men are solely held responsible for centuries of kidnapping, rape, and torture enslaved Africans were forced to endure. However, thanks to Stephanie E. Jones-Rogers, author of the 2019 hit, They Were Her Property: White Women as Slave Owners in the American South, the truth is out. White women played a big part in the business of slavery. They owned, tortured, sold, and brutalized the bodies of enslaves Africans just like most white authoritarians.

By no means is They Were Her Property an easy read. Besides the dense, college text-style which the book is written — loaded with historical facts and notes, it’s a bitterly painful read. Nearly every page contains the story of an enslaved African who succumbed to circumstances at the control of their mistress.

Here are the five most relevant takeaways I got from reading They Were Her Property.

1. Nothing and no one stopped white women from owning slaves. Not the white men they married, or the slaves who tried to escape, or even the law.

Jones-Rogers uses old court records and preserved wills of slave owners to prove that there were legal systems in place so white women could maintain ownership of enslaved Africans without disruption. The entire book is filled with accounts of white slave-owning women who went to extreme lengths to keep ownership of enslaved Africans, even post-war:

“One-way former slave-owning women held on to their former slaves was to keep them uninformed about their free status. This proved to be an easier task in some parts of the South than in others…”

During the war, white women went as far as stomping in Union soldier territory to retrieve the slaves that had been removed from their possession. These bold actions prove exactly how invested in slave ownership these women actually were.

2. Black women’s bodies being used (and discarded) to breastfeed for the white women wasn��t just ‘a thing’, it was big business.

“ … Unlike other barter exchanges, these white women did not ‘produce’ enslaved wet nurses through their own labor, but they did claim ownership of their bodies and the products of wet nurses’ labor-their breast milk. The narratives of enslaved people and slave-owning women’s personal letters and diaries attest to the existence of this informal market. And its informality has generally obscured it from historians’ view.”

Many of these Black mothers had lost their newborn or needed desperately to be with them to care for them, but, under the control of white slave-owning women, they’re bodies had one purpose and that was to serve them.

“ Historians long asserted, for instance, that Southern women used wet nurses only “as a last resort,” but the testimonies of formerly enslaved people — and advertisements from the 18th and 19th centuries — tell a different story. The practice appears to have been widespread. One woman recalled that her enslaved mother always gave birth at the same time as her mistress, so she would be available to nurse the white baby.” — The New York Times

3. Women tortured slaves like white men, broke up families like white men, and defied the emancipation proclamation, just like white men.

They Were Her Property is filled with many stories that document the brutality slave owners inflicted on enslaved Africans, however, the story of Henrietta King is one that won’t be forgotten.

King was only eight or nine when she had been accused by her mistress of stealing a piece of candy. King’s mistress decided that an adequate form of punishment would be to get her young white daughter to beat King with a switch for nearly an hour, while the mother placed King’s head behind the rocking chair, proceeding to rock back and forth until a young, brutalized King was near a coma. The result left the young enslaved girl severely mutilated, forced to ingest only liquid food through a straw because she’d lost her ability to chew.

While the story of Henrietta King is severe and devastating by equal measure, physical reprimand or starvation was not uncommon treatment from white slave-owning women in the antebellum south. From young slave owning girls who made enslaved children ‘kiss the whip’ they were beaten with, to forcing them to beat one another, white women were well trained in the torturing and barbaric treatment of Black bodies.

4. Owning slaves was the only wealth many white slave-owning women claimed. The abolishment of slavery left many former slave owners broke overnight, forced to depend on the kindness of… FORMER ENSLAVED PEOPLE!

“Sometimes life became so difficult for former slave-owning women that they were reduced to beggary among the people they had once owned. Two young women visited their father’s former slaves ‘pleading their poverty’ and begging for help. These freed people gave them ‘grits or potatoes… plates and spoons… and money.’ One enslaved women even ‘took the shoes from her own feet and gave them to her former mistresses.’”

It’s a hard truth to swallow, the idea that newly-freed Black people extended kindness and warmth to those who once held them captive, but it’s true.

5. Slave-owning women harbored resentment and disgust at having to treat Black people as human beings.

In post-war 1865, after President Andrew Johnson issued three proclamations which forced soldiers from the Confederate army to give all allegiance to America and abandon all confederate ideology. Many slavery-sympathizers appeared to agree with the United States, only to privately continue to support Confederate people and culture. Catherine Ann Edmonston, a white woman who proudly stood with Confederate soldiers said after the proclamations:

“Who considers it binding? No one. Not one person whom I have heard speak of it but laughs at and repudiates every obligation it imposes. It binds one no more than a promise at the pistols point to a highwayman!”

Slavery may have been over on paper, but white slave-owning women like Catherine Ann Edmonston had no intention of respecting Black bodies as anything other than property to be owned. Many white women would share this contempt for a litany of reasons, many of them financial. Some white women had inherited enslaved Africans at birth, making them wealthy before reaching adulthood. The end of slavery turned their prosperity into poverty, and for that, they blamed Black people.

Purchase a copy of They Were Her Property today!

#books #slavery #america #slavery in america #black americans #books to read #imperialist feminism #intersectionality #intersectional feminism #western chauvinism #western feminism #feminism

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wolffyluna · 5 years

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Storybook Pirates - F!Hawke/Isabela

@kawuli: Something with f!Hawke/Isabela or f!Hawke/Isabela/Merrill?

“I will write something short, it’s just for a prompt-fic” I said to myself, as I ended up writing 1.8k words in the space of a morning.

F!Hawke/Isabela, largely canon compliant.

(And I am still taking prompts, if people are interested!)

***

Hawke grew up on tales of pirates. Tales of dashing rogues, battling wind and waves and worse ne’er-do-wells. People who were just bad enough that they got to do the fun things, but good enough that you could rely on them to race across the waters to go save king and country and their one true lady love.

She grew up running along the shores of Lake Calenhad, brandishing a stick as a cutlass, and saving Bethany from the Dread Tax Customs Officer Carver. (None of them were quite sure what a customs officer was, other than, presumably, the natural enemy of the pirate.)

They took turns, as pirate and captive and customs officer, but Marian was the eldest. She got to strong arm her way into being the pirate more than her fair share of times.

If Lothering was on the coast, she might have felt different about pirates, felt about them more the way she felt about highwayman. But she grew up on the shores of a lake. The sea, and the dangers of being boarded, and having all your goods taken, and the question of whether you would starve, were just as fictional as pirates to her.

And then she grew older, and maybe most would have grown out of the tales of pirates—but when she grew older and magic sparked from her fingers—running away across the waves where no one knew who she was and no one was in a position to care, being just bad enough to do the fun things, but good enough to still be a hero, and not a bomb with a slow burning fuse to abomination-hood—Well, that had appeal.

***

She ran away across the waves, to a town that didn’t know who she was, and at the time, wasn’t quite in a position to care—It wasn’t as fun as it was in the stories. Because this was real life, and in real life you have to grieve the people who die, and you can’t be assured of your victory because you are the ‘good guy’, can’t be sure you were the ‘good guy’. But she made the best of it. She would be the dashing apostate that was here to help, so she could get enough money to go and be a pirate of the Deep Roads.

(“They’re roads,” Varric pointed out. “If you’re anything, you’re a tomb robber, or a highwayman, not a pirate.”

Hawke was aware of this, but still had her instinctive dictate of highwaymen. “Tomb robber just does not quite have the same ring to it.”

Varric held out his hands, and smiled. “It all depends on how you say it, Hawke.”)

***

She went to the Hanged Man, and met Isabela. Helped her out, offered her a cut of any jobs she helped her with, hung out getting far too sloshed on far too terrible liquor.

Isabela was a pirate, a real one—and one just like in the stories. Okay, so her jokes would never get told in a children’s pirate story. But she was cocky and brave and sure of herself and gave witty one liners as she ran people through. She swayed as she walked, compensating for the yaw of the ship that wasn’t under her feet, even on land. She joked and drank and was incorrigibly greedy—but she was good hearted on some level.

She was a story book pirate, and even if Hawke was older now—you still always had that pull to childhood stories, that nostalgia for things that never happened. All that was different is she could turn to the starry eyes of ‘you’re my hero’ into the starry eyes of ‘you’re beautiful—want to have your way with me?’

(Isabela laughed. “You know it’s not that easy to get into my pants?”

“Really? What if I said I’d been looking forward to a chance to be debauched by a pirate queen?”

Isabela tapped a finger under Hawke’s chin. “I’d say I’d been looking for a chance for an apostate to have their way with me—”

“But that ship has unfortunately already sailed?”

She smiled. “Similar ships. But this specific ship?” She put her hands on Hawke’s hips, pulled her close. Her breath smelled of cheap whiskey distilled badly, and, somehow, the salt of the sea. (Hawke guess that must be her imagination.) “I’d be more than happy to board.”

Hawke grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t that easy.”

“’Beautiful’ is a dime a dozen. But ‘pirate queen’? That’s rare. Can’t let that opportunity go by.” She kissed Hawke, hard and all pressure, nearly pushing her over.

Hawke managed to extricate herself for one second to breath, and say “Aye-aye, my captain.”)

***

Isabela was not a story book pirate. Isabela told a story—and Hawke felt embarrassed that she hadn’t spotted it. Hadn’t taken the thought that this was too good to be true to it’s logical conclusion—that it wasn’t.

She knew Varric span tales. He said as much.

But because Isabela did not say it outright, and the stories were about herself, and Hawke wanted to believe in heroic pirate queens—she missed it.

She freed the slaves in her hold, and that was good—but she dumped them on the coast, no supplies, no by-your-leave, no nothing. And she may not have had a lot of choice, but it stuck in Hawke’s craw. But that could be put aside as life not being a simple as stories, people not being able to pick the perfect option.

And stealing to Tome of Koslun. Okay, so pirates stole things, Hawke was aware of that. But it got her crew killed, and dumped a bunch of angry Qunari of Kirkwall’s heads—but still reasonable. She was imperfect but she tried and Hawke would take ‘tried.’ And she had lied about it—but no real pirate was Owen the Honourable. Real pirates lied, and Hawke knew that.

But running off with the one thing that would make the Qunari peacefully go away? To save her own skin (assuming Castillon was honourable and wouldn’t kill her anyway, assuming Hawke wouldn’t be able to save her from Castillon)? It was still reasonable. That was the frustrating thing. It was the sensible if self-centred—but she still believed in the greedy, seemingly self centred person, running forth to save the day, because that’s ‘just what anyone would do.’

But no, Isabela ran.

(And okay, Hawke had given it to her, and said it was hers, but she’d hoped she could talk her around, explain that surely if they could fight their way through that, Castillon would be no trouble—

But Isabela ‘didn’t want to cause any trouble.’ The bitch.)

And now half of Kirkwall was on fire.

***

Her judgement of Isabela may have been a bit premature, Hawke would admit, as Isabela strode through the double doors, tome under her arm. “I believe I can help.”

And striding over a prone Sten was also a very nice touch.

So, Isabela:1, Arishok:0, because Hawke was more than happy to let bygones be bygones, and trading people for the safety of a city was wrong.

“When a pirate was more willing to be the bigger person than you are, that’s not looking good for you,” Hawke said, staring up at the Arishok in an attempt to be intimidating.

“Thievery must be punished. If you are willing to stand you life in for this woman—”

Hawke took her staff off her back, cool flame leaping over its end at her touch. “I am.”

The Arishok nodded. “Then we duel.”

Hawke was a good fighter. Being able to set people on fire from a distance did give her a, maybe unfair, advantage in that situation.

But burly Qunari with axes were very much not her forte. The Arishok had evidently fought mages before, knew how to get in their faces and not give them the room to cast. Every spell was risk of getting smote by that tree-cutter—and she had misjudged too many times already. She rolled back, healed herself, stopped the bleeding—and felt her connection to the Fade weaken. Not much, but enough to know she wouldn’t be able to heal herself for the next ten minutes. She went to raise herself up off the floor--

The Arishok ran over.

No time for standing. Hawke raised her staff, trying to will fire into the world, try and get him burning and rolling on the floor and her having room.

The fire grew weakly, piecemeal, like trying to light a forest fire with a candle—it would happen, but would it be soon enough?

The Arishok gained on her, and the flame was so, so small.

Something flew at the Arishok. Metal, shiny, landing in his back. A dagger.

Isabela’s dagger.

It was a weak stab, barely holding into his flesh.

But moving light objects was easier than conjuring fire, she could do it in her sleep (and she had, occaisionally, done just that, and accidentally made a thankfully empty chamberpot fly around the room). She released the fire spell, with an embarrassingly small puff of smoke, and pulled the dagger towards her.

The Arishok was strong, but her was made of flesh. He was made of flesh, with most of his important bits stuck in his chest.

The dagger inched through him, and he raised his arms, aiming to hit her while was casting—and then the dagger flew right through him.

It caught Hawke on her hand, cutting her knuckles, but honestly she didn’t care. A slice out of her knuckles was better than being sliced in half. The Arishok fell forward, and landed on her.

The Qunari, as one, turned and left.

“Uh, hey? A little help, here?”

Aveline and Fenris ran over, and helped roll the Arishok off her.

Isabela leaned on a pillar, and watched from the sidelines.

***

The official line was that Hawke had duelled the Arishok, using daggers, and stabbed him. The Champion of Kirkwall was most definitely not an apostate, what are you talking about, they are a good honest stabby bastard, just like you and me.

The line from Varric was that Hawke was apparently capable of summoning knives out of thin air.

The rest of them, that were in the room, knew what had happened.

Hawke may have landed the final blow, but Isabela had killed the Arishok.

And saved Hawke.

And indirectly saved Kirkwall.

Which made up pretty well for endangering it in the first place.

***

Hawke bought a drink from the bar, and toted it over to Isabela. It was whiskey—but the good stuff. Old, sensibly distilled, from Fereldan. Tasted of peat, but apparently some people liked that.

She placed it on the table in front of Isabela. “Here you go.”

Isabela picked it up, and sniffed it. “The good stuff? For poor old me? You shouldn’t have.”

Hawke leaned on the table nonchalantly. “Only the best for my favourite pirate queen.”

Isabela smiled, and took a sip.

Hawke spoke quietly, so that only Isabela could hear, and even the most determined eavesdroppers couldn’t. “And thanks for the help back there.”

“Only the best for my favourite rogueish apostate.”

#premium original content #dragon age #isabela #hawke #F!hawke/isabela #hawkebela #my fic #wolffy writes fic

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theparanormalperiodical · 5 years

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Every Haunting in Bristol You Need to Know About

When it comes to haunted locations, you need to stick to a few simple – albeit, rather traumatic – conditions: it needs to be old, and it needs to be drenched in death.

And that’s why most historic places in the UK have been stamped with ‘Haunted’ by travel guides and ghost hunters alike. Sure, it’s a marketing go-to to draw in crowds of kids, their disinterested parents, and fellow sceptics, but the unsuspecting city of Bristol has a lot more to support its claims than having a few basic bitch ghosts wandering down its streets.

It actually has all of the stereotypical hauntings and the real ghost stories that you can possibly cram into the HMV horror section; asylums, theatres, pubs.

And it all starts 1019 years ago.

In the year 1000 Bristol was founded, and 20 years later, it began trading. And it is this trading role – particularly the docks and the River Avon – which made it the prominent city that it still is today. This also shipped in the paranormal that we celebrate.

From the 13th century to the 18th century, Bristol was one of the top 4 wealthiest cities in England, fulfilling the prowess it still maintains, and even now it has the 10th largest city population in England.

Yet even before the middle ages, its history left many intricate traces in the corners of the city: Iron Age hill forts and the odd Roman Villa were built near the River Avon, and have undoubtedly helped fulfil the conditions needed for a haunted location.

But what about being drenched with death? Well, thanks to British History, this is not a difficult condition to meet.

It turns out that Bristol was one of the first locations for the voyages to the New World, and in the 18th and 19th centuries, half a million Africans were sent to the Americans as slaves from this city.

Yet even on top of this it has witnessed further wickedness of its past.

And it is this which puts the paranormal in this place.

Bristol’s Pubs

With every haunted location comes the token haunted pub. Maybe a beer glass goes missing now and then, perhaps a shadowy figure is seen lingering outside?

If it’s haunted, it’s here.

Home to one of the oldest coaching inns in the UK, Bristol’s Rummer Hotel was founded in the medieval city and has been a short-stay favourite for a handful of our kings and queens. It’s no surprise, therefore, there it also houses residents that stay longer for 2 nights and a full English breakfast.

In 2007, a torso – yep, just a torso – was seen by the fireplace in the middle of the dinner rush. And with this uninvited guest, a ghostly young girl is often witnessed here.

Our next pub (The White Hart) is also pretty damn old, and is believed to date back to 1674. But its history has had a much more striking impact on its paranormal activity: it is reported that 2 brothers had a brawl over financial matters in the pub, and the murdered brother is said to stick to his place of death. This often crops up in terms of orbs on the CCTV.

Although these previous pubs won’t be sending too many shivers down your spine, prepare yourself for our final visit in this crawl: Llandoger Trow.

Built 10 years prior to the White Hart, it is founded on the rumours of pirates and tunnels hidden within the secret history of the South West. It’s even been the inspiration for fictional characters that likely would’ve fit in as frequenters of this pub, but what really matters here aren’t the characters trapped within the pages of a book.

15 ghosts allegedly haunt this pub.

And it’s no surprise that the team behind the TV show Most Haunted have even reflected on this rather cramped location!

The most notable resident here is Little Pierre, a young disabled boy, who is often heard upstairs either pulling himself across the floor and sobbing, or limping.

Da streetz, bruv (this is humour, right?)

It goes without saying that to get to these haunted pubs so you can order your pint and wait for the paranormal, you have to, you know, get there. And to get there you have to walk some of Bristol’s spookiest streets.

First up is All Gallows Lane, which isn’t giving out any good vibes from the outset. One of its junctions is reportedly haunted by a highwayman known as Jenkins Protheroe. When he was caught in the 18th century, he was hung for his crimes, explaining the name behind this road.

And the executions don’t stop here; the Christmas Steps might have a jolly name, but the circumstances of this location are less so. Back in the 1660s, this was a famous location for Gallows, and people still claim they can hear a man screaming where the victims used to meet their ends.

The Theatres

If you’re looking for an evening of fine dining, and perhaps even to take in a show, you won’t go a miss here, whether your heading down to the Odeon, or even looking to rewatch Wicked for the umpteenth time.

And if youre really looking for an immersive experience, Bristol is the place to go: the Old Vic Theatre – as Britain’s oldest theatres – has its fair share of long standing residents. And it’s the theatre manager from an odd 200 years ago that won’t quite quit her post: shes often seen lingering around the front desk area (good customer service never gets old, dear reader), and has even been followed out of the building, only to disappear into thin air.

The local cinema also is a phantom favourite, with a murdered manager turning up in the third row occasionally, or wandering down corridors. Cold spots and banging sounds have also added to his paranormal portfolio, and he’s got a good reason for doing so:

It’s the mid 1940s. Britain and the allies have nearly claimed victory in the war. Economic suffering is widespread, and the end doesn’t seem in sight. Oh, and then the manager of your local cinema gets shot in his office.

The guilty party was never found.

Perhaps he is still searching for him, wandering the cinema for the escaped assailant.

The Haunted Asylum

It’s a fan favourite, it’s a common cliché; the haunted asylum is the perfect avenue to erect pyschological thrillers for horror movie obsessives like me.

And it turns out Bristol has just this.

Dower House was once part of Stoke Park Hospital, and has seen no shortage of death and other dark things, but the major haunting cited for this location is that of Elizabeth Somerset.

In 1760, this seventeen year old fell from her horse and broke her neck, dying shortly after.

Walkers today still hear echoes of the horse galloping near the monument commemorating her short and fragile life.

Indeed, even the name of the building serves more to its paranormal purpose: traditionally, ‘dower house’ means the home of a widow, and a wealthy one of that.

And the creepy shit doesn’t stop there – it was in the 20th century that it was converted into the mental hospital that fulfils the trope we know and love (I take that back, I hate it, its cancelled, just nope).

The Clifton Suspension Bridge

Our penultimate supernatural site takes us to one of Britain’s architectural landmarks, and it’s the creation of this bridge – and, unfortunately, its melancholy usage – which leads us to our next rumoured hauntings.

The bridge’s designer – Isambard Kingdom Brunel – is often wandering around the areas that overlook the bridge, but this iconic top hatted figure is seldom the only ghost to haunt these parts.

As it is a bridge, it has become a hotspot for those that wish to take their own lives, and with rumours of dark silhouettes traipsing the area, and a young man hurrying through the woods towards the bridge, its difficult memories remain stuck to this location.

The Dock

It gave Bristol the fierce and famous history it still upholds, and had even been labelled by the crew of Most Haunted as one of their top 5 most haunted locations they’ve ever witnessed - the docks have earned their place in this post.

One of its most famous attractions – SS Great Britain – sees 150000 living visitors, yet those that don’t fit this criteria still find time to make this boat their home.

Residents include a sailor who fell from the rigging whilst working on the ship, or Mrs. Cohen, who passed away weeks after her wedding whilst on the ship. In 2005, for example, workers saw a woman make her way across the promenade deck just before the re-launch of the ship.

On board, or on the land, ghostly attractions are never a sight to be missed.

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lgbtqiahistoricalromance · 6 years

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LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels with...Favorite Authors

If you’ve followed the blog any length of time at all, you know I make lists based on themes, the one unifying factor being LGBTQIA+ representation that happens in historical romances. I started reading historicals when I was in middle school, because my grandmother and great-aunt would trade them with one another, and back then they were usually low on heat level. I went on to collect them myself, and still have most of those in storage, but left off for various reasons over time.

By the time I came back to it all, I’d reached well into adulthood, and had gone from thinking of myself as a female with tomboy issues to realizing I was non-binary and graysexual. I didn’t feel represented by any of the main characters in those romances I’d once read so avidly, but I still wanted history with a romantic twist. So, I started exploring.

What fits me, won’t of course fit everyone, but I’d like to recommend some of my favorite LGBTQIA+ historical romance authors that I haven’t seen on similar lists in the past, and authors I’m hoping to see more from soon...Maybe it will add to readers’ TBR lists...

Alex Beecroft - I honestly have no idea why Beecroft doesn’t make more Best Of lists. The broad range of her novel settings (from ancient Crete to 18th century Transylvania to Regency ships), the amount of research, character development, and evocative language, makes her one of my favorites. I don’t think there is anything she couldn’t write about, and do it well. For those interested, she also writes contemporaries, and fantasy. My favorites are The Reluctant Berserker (role reversals from the typical warrior and bard combo), and Labyrinth (non-binary MC and a twist on an old myth).

Erastes - One of the first LGBT historical romance authors I found, this author got started by writing Harry Potter slash fiction. Favorite by this author is Muffled Drum, because it’s a lovers-to-friends-to-lovers plotline.

Ainsley Gray - This author normally publishes under other names, but their recently released Unchained came to my attention, and kept it. If you like your Victorian romances with a darker twist, this one is for you. Hoping to see more from Gray, soon.

Eliot Greyson - I know next to nothing about this author, but their Like a Gentleman (Love in Portstmouth #1) put them on my One-to Watch radar. It’s actually a novella, but packs a lot into those few pages, and makes for an adorable read.

Jude Lucens - Lucens is new on the LGBT historical romance scene, but has already managed to give the genre representation in the forms of gay, bisexual, demisexual, and polyamorous MCs. She’s also a WOC author, and has included a biracial MC in her novella/novel pairing of Gutter Roses & Behind Closed Doors: Indecent Proposals Book One.

Katherine Marlowe - I don’t know what happened to Marlowe, but after several lovely novels, she disappeared. Still, her novels are ideal for those that like low dose homophobia in their historical romances, enjoy novels with working class MCs, and she has at least two novels with POC MCs. Favorites: A Wager of Love & The Blue Ribbon.

Farah Mendlesohn - Normally an author of fantasy and science fiction (they’ve won the coveted Hugo Award), this versatile author transported us to the Regency era with some wonderful historical detail, in the delightful and affordable f/f Spring Flowering. They are also the Managing Editor for Manifold Press, which will be returning this January, with a focus on LGBT historical romances.

KA Merikan - The pen name of a duo, their highwayman novel The Black Sheep and the Rotten Apple is one of my favorite bad boy/cinnamon roll novels ever. This pair typically writes contemporary series with motorcycle gangs, but even then they manage to bring historical ghosts and details, with their series Kings of Hell MC. The Art of Mutual Pleasure is another historical, which will amuse and educate, because it deals with the historically accurate notion of illness being brought on by the loss of male essence, and aggravated by self pollution.

Ruby Moone - If Moone writes it, I read it. Moone’s gents tend to reside in the Regency era, and have been adapting in terms of historical elements and diversity. They were some of the first non-titled MCs I read, and some have disabilities and/or cope with mental illnesses. The plots have increased in tension over time, but a mainstay of Moone’s novels is that despite laws against men being together, her MCs are often supported by those around them. There are also sometimes multiple Favorites: The Wrong Kind of Angel, The Mistletoe Kiss, & Thief of Hearts

Niamh Murphy - Looking for lesbian historicals? Murphy has you covered, with loving details, and also high adventure. Her Escape to Pirate Island is a staple of the LGBT pirate genre, and you can read a free sample on her site.

Victoria Sue - Typically Sue is known for contemporary novels and babies. That said, her Regency novels The Innocent Auction and The Innocent Betrayal are two you should try. They’ve a fair dose of angst, but they also come with some good espionage and character development.

Hayden Thorne - If YA and gothic are something you’re into, Thorne’s novels are a staple. An extremely prolific writer, she has created some of the most unique plot lines of any genre, while managing to have intriguing MCs, and representation. Favorites: Ansel of Pryor House

Leandra Vane - Normally a contemporary author and librian, Vane recently published the great historical Cast From the Earth, which takes place in America’s heartland in the 19th century. Vane is another author that uses her novels to explore with MCs that have disabilities, and this novel also delves into polyamorous love.

NR Walker - Walker is actually known for her contemporary m/m romances, and is one of the rare temp authors that I read a lot, because she includes so much research and detail. Recently, she made the leap into historicals though, with the fantastic Nova Praetorian, which takes place in ancient Rome.

Kelley York - In the past, some of you may have read York’s contemporary YA work, but she’s begun publishing about her beloved Victorian era gothic tastes, too. The Dark is the Night series is co-written with her wife, and I’ve been relishing the two novels that have come out so far. It even comes with its own artwork, and playlist.

Of course, there are the mainstays of the genre, authors that have gone above and beyond on bringing LGBTQIA+ representation to the historical romance reader: Keira Andrews, Joanna Chambers, KJ Charles, Charlie Cochrane, Bonnie Dee, Summer Devon, Jordan L Hawk, Ava March, EE Ottoman, and Cat Sebastian.

#lgbt romance #historical romance #m/m romance #f/f romance #poly romance #two men in love #two women in love

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boarix · 5 years

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Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XIII

Let Me Go

Trigger warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Suggestive/mature content

Bloody mess warning!

Game spoilers!

Please enjoy

“My dad’s old Highwayman would’ve come in handy right about now. Are we sure we’re still on ninety-five? I figured there would be a little more asphalt than this. ”

A week out from Sanctuary, Wraith’s caravan had been traveling in almost nonstop rain and the road was thick with mud.

“Was that a truck? I’d think we’d need some big tires for this slop, ya feel me?”

“Nothing can stop a Highwayman!” Wraith did her best impression of the spokesperson but then frowned to herself when she realized she was the only person to have actually ever heard the original commercial.

“I’d rather have a vertibird… fly above all… nngh… stupid… wet… CRAP!” Falling over sideways, MacCready lay defeated and motionless as the ever helpful Dogmeat licked his face.

Deacon fished him out, smiling at the cork-like pop, “No thank you, I’d rather not.”

“How long, in a car would this trip have taken anyway?” Hancock crouched slightly, “You want me to give you a piggyback ride, MacCready?”

“Naw man, I’m all gross and… oh… very funny.”

Laughing at them, Wraith snapped her fingers, “I don’t even have the heart to tell you. A Blitz would have gotten us there like that.” She smiled as she reminisced, “Plus they had those really cool gull-wing doors!”

“What kinda doors?”

Raising her arms out to either side, Wraith bent her elbows and spread her fingers like pinions on a wing, “Like this.”

“I know what it means, sunshine. Wanted to see if you’d make a silly pose.”

“I’m not silly! I’m a majestic shorebird.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as Deacon enjoyed listening to and occasionally joining the trio’s banter. However, while maintaining the Harley character he had to be careful about breaking into his establish Deacon-the-funny-guy routine; laughing too loud or too frequently. Successfully gaining enough muscle mass to almost completely change his physicality, along with a full, red beard and without his glasses, he was completely unrecognizable even since Valentine’s wedding. Hancock, MacCready and Wraith had been consistent with calling him by his alter ego and he along with the five synth refugees all remained safely anonymous.

“Yes general, this is the highway. Behold your tax dollars at work.”

“Well… I’m gonna write my congressman…” Wraith slowed to walk next to Deacon, letting Hancock and MacCready move ahead. “Are we going to be able to stop in Baltimore? Or… whatever it’s called now. Or do we have to skip it like Philly?”

“There’s not a whole lot to see if we do stop; there’s some small trading stations that pop up in the summer but we might be early yet.” Deacon’s smile broadened as Hancock, noticing Dogmeat struggling in the mud, hefted the pup and carried him against his chest like a child, “We might have left too early in general… General. I haven’t seen spring rain like this in ten years.”

“Are we… talking about the weather like old people?”

“The weather will do more than… dampen our spirits. Time is a concern.”

“We wouldn’t want to get sick… being under the weather would slow us down.”

“If L&L sent a party after us… their rain of terror would…”

“Ugh, no! That’s stretching.” Wraith play-punched his arm.

“Oh? Couldn’t think of another one? I guess I won that round.”

Careful! Harley wouldn’t be this familiar. Tune it back…

Making note of the sudden shift in Deacon’s body language and tucking her chin, Wraith whispered her concern from the corner of her mouth, “L&L, huh? I thought you found the last two…”

“Later.”

MacCready had found a small rise that was relatively dry and despite the fact that it was still a good two hours until sunset, the caravan stopped for the night. After making sure the brahmin were sound, everyone was being fed and watch shifts were selected, Wraith broke away to meet with Deacon.

“Hey, that’s my trick!”

Wraith doubted that she had actually been able to sneak up on him. “You’re being kind.” Folding her slender legs under her, she propped her back against a wretched-looking tree, “How much will you tell me?”

Seating himself on the opposite side of the trunk, Deacon’s voice was low, “My contact in Underworld is Tulip. Captain Sally and The Bruiser are still at large.”

“I thought Hancock’s network had found them.”

“Shit happens.”

Not for the first time, Wraith berated herself for leaving the Railroad, “I should have stayed. Should have finished…”

“Not everything that happened or will happen is your fault, Pippa. Fuck’s sake!” Genuinely annoyed, Deacon leaned around the oak to glare at her, “Dial down your ego for two seconds and you’ll realize the Earth doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

“Holy shit! What the fuck was that for?!”

With Wraith’s angry frown inches from his own, Deacon had an impulse to kiss her. Letting the image carry him away for far longer than was healthy, he felt heat on his face.

Shit! FUCK! SHITFUCKDAMN!

“…are you?” Clearing her throat, Wraith sat back on her heels, “What was that? Please, tell me what…”

“No, Wraith.” In one fluid motion, Deacon rose to his feet, turned and melted away into the evening shadows.

The insects were becoming a problem. The rains had finally let up but the further south the caravan progressed the warmer it got and the swarms of bugs were insufferable. Ranging in size from annoying to lethal there was a growing concern over the amount of ammunition being spent.

“Goddamn bugs!” Hancock seemed especially agitated and would routinely spend his daily allotment of shells, “Someone take my gun from me; I can’t help myself!”

“You could always just stab them…”

“Hey, that’s right!” Brandishing his beloved combat knife, the ghoul licked the blade with a mad light in his eyes.

“Or, or you could take some Day-tripper and we could strap you to a brahimn for the rest of the trip.”

Hancock made a show of being torn between ending all bug life at the end of his knife, or enjoying a nice high, “Gee, Harley how will I ever choose?”

Surprised that he would play along, Deacon’s confusion mounted when the lanky mayor draped an arm across his shoulders, “What’s got you so… friendly?”

“Wraith’s been lower than brahmin udders since she snuck away to chat at ya.” Hancock pulled the other man close to whisper in his ear, “And you’ve been even lower, brother. You kids feuding or what?”

Alarmed to know that his mood was affecting his body language, he straightened his back. Feeling uncomfortable under the ghoul’s arm, mostly because he enjoyed the contact, Deacon shrugged and was able to side-step away. He chuckled, “Damn, you are just as dangerous as she is.” Still feeling the weight of Hancock’s touch and angry that he had liked it, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “I told her about the L&L setbacks; the false intel… more or less.”

“You tell her ‘bout the mole? About how I killed that fucker?”

“No Mr. Mayor, I didn’t. Because she’s not supposed to have to know about the Railroad and where I’m at or about whatever it is that I’m doing. I’m trying to give her one less fight and one less worry.”

“Well, you’re doing it wrong. Lyin’ has never worked with her.”

Annoyed, Deacon talked through his teeth, “Well, how exactly would you go about it?”

“Fuck if I know.” Folding his arms behind his head, Hancock walked away while whistling Keep a Knockin’.

Hancock was whimpering. It wasn’t unusual for him to battle his demons in his sleep but it still made Wraith’s heart hurt. She pulled him closer to her and his eyes opened briefly. He smiled, thankful to be rescued and he laid his head against her chest.

“Fighting ninjas again?”

“Heh. Not this time, sunshine.” He yawned and nuzzled her breasts through her shirt, “MacCready and Dogmeat still on watch?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotta get up soon. We’ll do a swap-out so you won’t be alone for long.”

“Stay with me for a couple more minutes.” His voice carried a surprisingly high level of anxiety.

She kissed his head, “A bad one, huh? I can stay a little longer.”

“I’ve told you I love you, right?” His voice wavered, almost as if he had been crying.

“Yes, of course!” She squeezed him tightly, “And I love you. What was it?”

“Don’t wanna trouble you with it.”

“It’s no trouble. It was just a dream, right?”

“I… MacCready didn’t want to leave th’ Capital and you decided to stay with him. I… I lost you both.”

“That you, Wraith?” MacCready was staring intently through his night scope, “You picking up anything on your fancy wristwatch?”

“No. Why?”

“I… my neck hairs are up… I don’t see anything but…”

“You feel.”

Lowering his scope, MacCready’s shoulders slumped, “That’s from that book again, isn’t it? You enormous nerd.”

Wraith gave Dogmeat a pat, “Puppy here seems to be relaxed.” She stuck her hand in MacCready’s back pocket to give his butt a squeeze, “Now, now. We have been through this; if you know what I’m talking about then you’re just as big a nerd.”

Returning the scope to his eye, he pretended not to notice her hand, “Darn it! I feel like I’m being stalked. Harley isn’t out there being a… messing around, right?”

“He’s out and about but he’s taking this all very seriously.” She checked her Pip-boy again, “I still don’t see anything. You sure it’s not just a case of the jitters? Tell you what; I’ll go do a quick sweep. The bad vibes are coming from the east, right? Hang tight.”

Moving silently through the scrub, Wraith calmed her mind for peak focus. Stopping every few yards, she strained her ears to listen for any minute change in the night sounds around her. Crisscrossing back and forth, she moved east until she reached a swamp and ran out of solid ground. Slowly standing in the moon-cast shadow of a large bolder, she held her breath and closed her eyes.

You never thought that maybe Mac would want to stay. You never thought that up until a couple of years ago his whole life had been in the Capital Wasteland and maybe he prefers it. What if Duncan refuses to leave and Mac doesn’t want to traumatize him by forcing him? What if Carol and Greta convince him not to take his son? What if he had been in love with Morningstar and when he sees her he’ll realize that you’re not as good? What if…

Dangerously close to hyperventilating, Wraith was able to snap herself back… just as the deathclaw hit her.

“Light, GET SOME GODDAMN LIGHT OUT THERE!”

“How?! We don’t have a generator with us, Mayor Hancock!”

As soon as he heard the deathclaw’s roar, MacCready had raised the alarm and he and the dog sprinted off into the night. Now, Hancock was left to organize the pursuit and was terrified that his nightmare was coming true.

“Lanterns! Torches! Fucking sake! Let’s GO!” When Deacon made as if to follow, Hancock stabbed his finger at him, “Not you! Stay and protect the camp.”

His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth but he complied.

Get up! Getupgetupgetup!

Able to gather her legs beneath her despite her lungs being devoid of air, Wraith ducked and dodged as the monster did its best to bifurcate her. She felt hot blood streaming down her face and she realized she had forgotten her armored hood back at camp.

I am such a shitshow!

The moon was full and so afforded her enough light to evade the monster’s swinging talons. Injured as she was, Wraith knew that she would tire quickly and needed to get on the offense. She expected that her companions would hear the beast’s bellow and attempt to come to her aid but she had traveled fairly far from camp. Even with the moon’s light it would take time to find her. Options seemed to be limited…

I need to slow it down. I don’t know how deep the swamp is but if I can get it stuck in the mud…

Weaving through a small copse of trees, she gained enough distance to grab a syringe of med-X and the bottle of Buffout from her pack. Bolstered by the chems, she unsheathed Kremvh’s Tooth and sprinted straight at the creature. Diving between its legs, she slashed its Achilles tendon as she passed and rolled to her feet behind it. Ducking under its tail as it spun around to pursue her, she sprinted for the water.

Leaping to a fallen tree, Wraith ran along its length and turned to mark the deathclaw’s progress. It seemed oblivious to the fact that its left foot hung by a strip of hide and she watched in horror as it gathered itself to jump to her log.

I’m drowning here! The only way this could be worse is if there were two…

A second deathclaw bellowed from her left.

Oh. Swell.

Trying to keep up with Dogmeat, MacCready paid no mind to the branches whipping across his face. He was terribly worried that he hadn’t heard gun shots and he was attempting to convince himself that it was because she preferred melee weapons and not because she had been killed.

Has she lost her mind? Didn’t she learn anything from the last time?!

Man and dog rounded the bolder just in time to see the second deathclaw rear back and bellow its challenge. They then both watched in horror as the injured deathclaw leaped to Wraith’s log. She was catapulted through to air to land with an enormous splash, where she sank like a stone into the swamp’s dark waters.

Snarling as viciously as Dogmeat, MacCready quickly doubled back and climbed the bolder. Rifle in hand he sent shot after shot to the second deathclaw’s right knee as Dogmeat led it in circles around the rock’s base. The sniper cut through the beast’s leg like a lumberjack felling a tree and it collapsed heavily to its side. Dogmeat continued to worry it, preventing it from getting up and MacCready changed his target to the monster’s left knee. As soon as it was destroyed, the former merc whistled the canine away and tossed a grenade; finishing it off.

Although her flight had been ungainly, Wraith had seen the deathclaw coming and so had been able to steel herself before being launched into the water. Unable to see through the silt, she swam to the bottom and headed back toward the shore, hoping to flank her foe.

The deathclaw had somehow tracked her progress and so dragged itself through the muddy water after her. Wraith surfaced right next to it and it lunged at her with its mouth open. Pulling her .44, she unloaded a full clip into its gaping maw. Her angle was bad however and so even though the wounds she inflicted would prove to be mortal, the monster wasn’t dead yet.

Frantically doing the backstroke, she was able to find footing enough to leap at the deathclaw with her blade leading the way. Landing heavily on its head she pushed the dagger through its upper jaw and pinned its mouth closed, roaring defiantly into its face.

The deathclaw plunged and shook; crow-hopping to try and dislodge her. With one hand on her weapon and the other on one of its horns, Wraith held on for dear life as the monster thrashed. Her substantial strength still augmented by the Buffout, it should have come to no great shock when the creatures horn came away in her hand. Losing her grip on her weapon’s blood-splattered hilt, she was once again flung into the water.

Moonlight reflected through the great spray of blood, clearly defining its crimson hue. The deathclaw stood with its head raised and arms spread wide, almost as if it was appealing to the moon for mercy. Then with a deep, mortal groan it fell dead.

MacCready stood motionless in complete shock. When Wraith surfaced, sputtering and cursing he realized he had been holding his breath, “Are… ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“GrrrrrrrAWWRRR!” Splashing and growling, Wraith kicked at the beast’s head before retrieving her dagger. Then, suddenly spent, she flopped onto her back in the mud, “Ugh. I think so.”

Dogmeat ran to her and setting his nose to her head wound, whiffled unhappily.

Wraith sheathed her weapon and reached up to run her fingers through the dog’s neck ruff, “I’m okay buddy. I… I think.”

“NO! YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE BLEEDING!” MacCready had his med kit out in a flash.

“You have a flare gun, right? Do that first, okay?”

The relief Hancock felt when he saw the flare was dashed when he saw MacCready hovering over Wraith as she lay on the ground. Unconsciously gripping his chest over his heart, he walked with slow, heavy steps to stand next to Dogmeat. “MacCready…”

Taken aback by Hancock’s stricken look, the young man waved his hands, “She’s alive! She’s a crazy monster but she’s alive.”

“Who’s a monster?!”

“Have you ever seen yourself fight?” MacCready bent to kiss her, his slight shiver evidence of his fear, “My knock-out, monster woman…”

Hancock kneeled in the mud and placed a hand on Wraith’s blood-caked forehead, “Did you pick a fight with two deathclaws all by yer lonesome?”

“No… I’m ashamed to admit they got the drop on me.”

“I distracted you. Got in yer head. Shouldn’t have told you ‘bout that dream.”

“It’s not your fault! Don’t… just don’t, please.” Wraith caught MacCready’s hand, “Don’t bother stitching me up; I have a couple of derma-fuses at the camp.” She sat up as the young man bound her head. “It’s a shame Bear isn’t with us; I’d have him skin these two… deathclaw armor would be super cool.”

“The one I got was an albino too. That’s pretty rare.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Hancock turned to one of the Minutemen escorts, “How ‘bout it Lloyd, you wanna help me set yer general up with some swanky new threads?”

“Do you have the right kind of knives for that?”

Placing his hand on his chest as if she had given him the greatest of insults, Hancock raised his voice to a falsetto, “Do I have the right kind of knives? ME?! You’re asking ME?!”

It was the last night before the caravan reached the designated rendezvous at relay tower Kx-B8-11. MacCready and Wraith lay together in her bedroll and a nervous Wraith had not slept at all. Her mind was tormenting her with Hancock’s dream and she couldn’t shake the image of MacCready’s back moving further and further away from them.

“Wraith, you keep sighing…”

“Oops, sorry!”

Gathering her gently into his arms, MacCready kissed her temple, “What’s the matter?”

“What’s Morningstar like? Fahrenheit calls her a ‘beautiful giant’ but I don’t think it’s a complement.”

“No, probably not.” MacCready laughed, “It’s accurate though. She’s about as tall as Hancock but like two of him across. Maybe three…”

“Were the two of you friends?”

“No...” The pregnant pause suggested otherwise and it was his turn to sigh, “Maybe… It’s kinda complicated.”

“Tell me a story, Mac.”

“Sure, fine. It’s not like I’m gonna get any sleep anyway.”

“Yay.”

“Nyx is a nosy, goody two-shoes. She’s a busybody who can’t seem to leave sh… stuff alone.” He rolled away from her onto his back and stuck an arm behind his head. “She came to Little Lamplight so she could get into a vault. I helped her out and then I couldn’t get rid of her. She said that she owed us. I told her to… leave us alone.”

“You told her to fuck off?” She could see him smile in the dark.

“Verbatim.” His smile grew larger, “She didn’t listen, of course. She would bring supplies; food and clothes and stuff. When I turned sixteen and left she offered me a job but I was… stupid and told her ‘no thank you’.”

“Fuck off, part two?”

“Yeah. I thought I could make more money, faster with the Gunners. Looking back… I acted like such a idiot kid.”

“Mac, you were sixteen! That is a kid.”

“Not in the wasteland.” His smile gone, he looked sadly backward in time, “Then I found out that she had cleared Lamplight out and set up an orphanage in Megaton. I was so angry… but I don’t know why. Honestly, it was pretty amazing what she did for those kids. She gave them a chance to be... well… kids. That didn’t stop me though. I went and told her exactly what she should do with herself.”

“The return of fuck off, part three the sequel?”

“After Duncan was born, Lucy…” MacCready swallowed, hard, “Lucy said I needed to make peace with her. I… refused.” A rim of moisture gathered at the corner of his eye, “I was still being…” Unable to continue, a large tear traveled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to keep going.”

He sniffled and reached out to pull Wraith to his chest, “No, it’s okay. After I lost Lucy, I got… dark. I would drop Duncan off at Underworld and take missions that… I don’t think Charon would’ve done.”

“Charon is Morningstar’s… bodyguard? Actually I’m not sure what their relationship is.”

“Complicated. I think at one point she owned him. They might be a couple but I honestly don’t know.”

“Owned?! Like… not like a slave?!”

“Like I said, complicated.”

“Oh… no.”

“After Duncan got sick I promised him that if he could hold out until I got a cure, that I would be a better person. I finally went to Nyx. She never even hesitated, just came to help me as if we were best pals. I took it completely wrong, like she was using this as another opportunity to show how much better she is. Ugh, I was such a bastard!”

“Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“You don’t understand. If you knew all the things I’ve done…”

“Hancock says that too. You both know perfectly well all the horrible stuff I’ve done.”

MacCready shifted himself and sat up, taking Wraith by the shoulders and looking in her eyes, “You two are different. You guys did that stuff to help other people. You both made sacrifices and hard decisions so that they could be saved. I did terrible things because I hated everything. I was joking when I called you a monster. I’m the monster.”

Matching his stare, Wraith cupped his cheek with her hand, “I don’t know if you’d ever want to tell me everything but I want you to know that I would listen. I love you. I always will.” She kissed him and gently set her forehead against his.

They sat that way, quietly for a few seconds until MacCready pulled slightly back. He stared, smiling into her eyes. His look morphed from adoration to lasciviousness and he ran his hands from her shoulders down her back. Setting his lips against hers in a needful kiss, he tucked a hand in the waistband of her jeans to squeeze her butt.

“Mmmm, Mac… We have to… stop…” As her lover’s hands and mouth traveled across her body, Wraith barely had the presence of mind to protest.

“Think so? I can be quiet. I can be good and quiet.”

“Huugh… It’s even… more fun… oh mmmm… when you’re loud…”

“Beacon has been activated… Harley.” Wraith was genuinely regretful at not being able to make a rhyme.

“Acknowledged, general. The Morningstar escort should arrive in less than twenty-four hours. Was there anything else?”

“No. Thank you soldier, you are dismissed.”

Wraith frowned as she watched him walk away. She had made several attempts, during the last days of travel, to engage with Deacon. She understood the need for his alter ego but was disappointed that he was no longer allowing himself to be friendly.

I make jokes and laugh with all my people. Probably more than what’s appropriate but… This is so different than any other mission. He’s so different… even from when we left Diamond City.

“General, Morningstar has been spotted. She should be here in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Lloyd.”

The sun had barely risen the following morning but Wraith had been up all night. Both Hancock and MacCready had tried to calm her but her anxiety had turned Nyx Morningstar into some sort of boyfriend-eating gorgon.

And then she was come.

At well over six feet, she was perhaps the tallest woman Wraith would ever see. Morningstar wore heavy combat gear with a custom, lion-like helmet that was heavily inspired by gladiatorial armor. Lifting an arm, she waved as her group crested the hill. When she removed her helm her impressive mane of blue-black hair poured forth like liquid night. Her large, gold eyes smiled in a truly friendly manner as they surveyed Wraith’s group.

“Hey there, butt face.”

MacCready stood, flanked by Hancock on his left and Wraith on his right, “Hey mungo.” Swaggering up, he stuck out a hand. Nyx clasped it firmly, then to his shock, pulled him to her and swept him off his feet to spin around in a whirling bear hug, “AAAAAAHHHH! PUT ME DOWN, YOU BEHEMOTH!”

After a couple more revolutions, she set him back on his feet, “I’m sorry R.J. It’s just so good to see you!” She turned her sun-beam smile onto Hancock and offered him her hand. “John Hancock, you old raisin! How are you?!”

Shaking her hand firmly he smiled, “Still sweet and wrinkly! You’re impressive as always, Morningstar. Speaking of impressive, may I have the pleasure of introducing Wraith, General of the Minutemen?”

Wraith lifted her chin and secured her face into her best I-need-to-win-over-this-jury smile, “I’m honored to meet you, Morningstar.”

“The honor is mine. And please, call me Nyx.”

“Only if you will call me Wraith.” Wraith turned her attention to the silent, tall sentinel standing slightly behind Nyx, “And you must be Charon. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” The entire hill top seemed to freeze as Wraith extended her hand to the mountainous ghoul.

To everyone’s shock he took her hand and offered her the tiniest of quarter grins, “The pleasure is mine.” Charon then turned slightly to Nyx with a slightly larger, tiny grin and a wink.

When Nyx saw Dogmeat her eyes widened and she took a knee, “Hello old man.”

The German shepherd sat and placed his paws on her leg. The two stayed in silent communion for several seconds before woman and dog rose to their feet.

Turning back to Wraith, Nyx was all business, “We should move soon. It would only be natural for my group to assist yours breaking camp. Lots of moving bodies can be confusing to those who may be watching.”

It suddenly occurred to Wraith that six of Nyx’s group very closely resembled Deacon and his five synth refugees. Nodding, she joined the throng of people and brahmin. Then, completely imperceptible to an outside observer, the two groups swapped costumes, as if by magic.

As the large caravan headed south, Nyx and Wraith walked together. Wraith’s mind was a whirl of questions but afraid that she’d be a pest, wasn’t sure where to start.

“Danse isn’t with you.”

Wraith jumped slightly, startled by the broken silence “No. I did ask him if he would like to come but I think he feels this chapter of his life is closed. Did you know him?”

“I know everyone.” Nyx’s smile somehow softened the egotistical declaration, “Not well, but I did meet him before Maxson whisked him away. I have a letter for him from former scribe Haylen.”

“Ah. She did end up quitting then.” Wraith somehow felt even more awkward, “You might find this a strange question but, is she… okay?”

“Wraith, to be clear; I am connected to the BOS but I myself am not an active member. I have an understanding with the elder. To be blunt, they owe me. A lot. As such, they understand that certain towns, settlements and people, are under my protection. Places like Underworld. People like the ghouls living in and around the Capital Wasteland. People like my super mutant friend, Fawkes. People like Haylen.”

The large women had unconsciously picked up her pace and Wraith had to practically jog to keep up with her, “Did they threaten her?!”

“Not at all. That whole… debacle, was a huge embarrassment and setback for the Brotherhood. You remain public enemy number one but Haylen will be fine. I have her doing medical research for me and she seems to be happy.”

“Speaking of medical research, I have a gift for you.” Wraith, eager to change the subject, passed her a derma-fuse, “It’s Institute tech designed to close lacerations.”

Nyx’s eyes took on a greedy gleam as she accepted the device, “Fascinating! How does it work?”

“I don’t actually know how it works but what it does is localized cellular regeneration. Dermis only, hence the name. I actually brought you two; one to use…”

“And one to ruin, trying to figure out how to make more?” The two women shared a laugh.

“Well, glad to see you are getting along.” Returning to the group after scouting ahead, MacCready flashed them a roguish grin.

“What of it, R.J? Why wouldn’t we? I happen to be a super-fun person!”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right. What were you two talking about?”

“About how you’re a huge dork.”

“Oh, I’m huge alright. In all the right places!”

“Does that explain your enormous head?”

“Big brain.”

“I think you mean big ego.”

Despite the harsh volley of words, MacCready seemed to be enjoying himself, “Well, you would be the expert on gigantism and egos.”

Wraith, feeling out of place, dropped back to her more normal walking pace. Suddenly finding herself side by side with Charon, her feeling of awkwardness intensified to new heights.

“So, I assume this is normal? For them, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Not to say it isn’t funny.”

“Sure.”

“Well. I um… guess I’ll go check on… brahmin stuff.”

Wraith’s passage through the Capital Wasteland left her feeling nostalgic and sad. The ruins of The Mall were particularly emotional. Her nerves frayed by the journey and the imminent face-to-face with Duncan, she held Hancock’s arm as they walked.

“You’re gonna be fine, sunshine.” The ghoul kissed the back of her hand, “We’ll be back, all together in Sanctuary before you know it. One big, happy family; lots of weird aunts and uncles for the kids.”

MacCready sought them out just before passing through Underworld’s doors. “Whew! Here we go.”

The caravan members distributed themselves between The Chop Shop and Underworld Outfitters as MacCready, Hancock, Dogmeat and Wraith climbed the stairs to Carol’s. Just beyond the door, flanked by his ghoulette aunts stood Duncan.

“Daddy!” Giggling, the small boy threw himself into his father’s open arms. “Daddy I’m a big boy! I poop in the potty and can come with you now! Auty Carol says so! Daddy… are you ‘kay? Daddy?”

MacCready had tried his best to hold back his tears, afraid that his crying might confuse or scare his son. Caught somewhere between sobbing and laughing he was making strange noises in his throat, almost as if he was being strangled.

“It’s ‘kay, daddy. Crying is ‘kay too.” Duncan had pulled back slightly and was now patting his father’s tear streaked cheek, “Daddy, does your tummy hurt?”

“He’s just very happy to see you, honey.” Tears ran down Carol’s face as well, “I’m Carol, you must be Wraith and Hancock. This is my wife Greta. Welcome to Underworld.” The ghoulette did a double-take, “Is that… that can’t possibly… Dogmeat?!”

“Look, Daddy! There’s a doggy! It’s a good puppy?”

“He’s… yeah buddy. He’s the best puppy.”

Deacon sat at a barstool waiting for Tulip. After their tearful reunion, MacCready and company had settled down for the night and he had separated himself to wait for his contact to close her store.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Mine’s in the shop.”

“Harley, everything is all set. The packages will be distributed by Morningstar’s courier service starting tomorrow.”

“Well, all things considered that went remarkably smooth. Kinda waiting on the other shoe…”

“It’s funny you should say that. I need your help.” Tulip lowered her voice and set her hand suggestively on Deacon’s thy. “Follow me back to the shop.”

Maintaining character, Deacon slung his arm around the ghoulette’s shoulders and leaned into her as if too drunk to walk straight, “Ohboy, I thought you’d never ashk me!”

Morningstar’s imposing presence seemed to fill the store and she leaned toward Deacon with a predatory look that reminded him of a hunting lioness, “The L&L gang is here! They’ve killed Watts.”

“Victoria…” Deacon’s mind whirled, “Who’s running the show?”

“I want you to.”

It made perfect sense. He hated it. His mind reeled back from it, “Why can’t you…”

“Don’t do that. You know why!” Nyx folded her powerful arms, “I’m way too high profile. It wouldn’t have to be permanent. We need you to whip us in to shape like you did for the Commonwealth branch. Tulip has her hands full and,” She cast an apologetic glance to the ghoulette, “she has no leadership experience. It’s you. Take a protégé if you want. Train them… but it’s you.”

“You… you got me over a barrel.”

“I promised General Wraith that I would make sure Duncan MacCready makes it safely back to Sanctuary. I will not go back on my word. I will go… you will stay.” Her eyes softened at the pain in Deacon’s pale blue eyes, “I know you and Watts went way back. I’m sorry to throw this at you now but it just happened a couple of days ago.”

“Hancock’s network had been closing in. We knew they left but we had been misdirected north. Goddamn it…”

“You’ll do a lot of good for us here. I will make sure you’re provided all necessary resources.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Squaring his shoulders, Deacon turned to leave, “No time like the present. I’ll be off to…”

“Headquarters are still at the late, great Manya Vargas’s. Let me know when you change location… cause I know you will.”

“You’re not going to say goodbye.” All three flinched as Wraith stepped out of the shadows.

Nyx turned and took a menacing step, hands raised and ready to attack, “Bad move, General…”

“Wait! Wraith is Railroad! Or… she was…” Deacon placed himself between them, “Whisper! Wraith was Whisper!”

Nyx calmed immediately. Looking back and forth between them, she seemed to have an epiphany, “Let’s go back to the bar for a bit, Tulip.”

“Fine. If you two fight, don’t go wreaking up my shop!”

The silence was heavy, like the pressure before a thunderstorm.

Don’t… Wraith, don’t…

“Am I a child to you? Do you honestly believe you can protect me from… why wouldn’t you have told me? Hell, lie to me about the reason but fucking tell me that you’re leaving!” Wraith still had her fists clenched.

“You’re giving me permission to lie?”

Don’t… I can’t…

“I...” She seemed to deflate before his eyes, “I guess you’ve always come and go as you please.”

“You told me to leave. You told me once…”

“That was a mistake! I fucked up. Had I known better what I was doing…”

“No! You were right! You did everything and more for the Railroad… for me. You were done. Turning your focus to the Minutemen was the best decision you could have made. Just look at everything you’ve accomplished!”

Wraith shook her head, “Look at all the lives I’ve ended…”

“STOP FUCKING DOING THAT!” Deacon’s eyes flashed fire and he took an unconscious step toward her, “STOP! Don’t belittle yourself. You are the single greatest thing that’s happened to the Commonwealth… and to me.”

“You… you have no intention of coming back. Do you?” Tears streamed down her face.

“You don’t need me, Wraith. You have to let me go.”

“You’re like my brother! We… you’re my family.”

“The time has come for us to part ways.”

She lifted her arms as if to embrace him but he backed away.

Don’t hug me Wraith. I’ll… I’ll shatter. I’ll break if you hold me.

“You… you’re my friend. I love you, Deacon.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You don’t know me, Philippa. My name is not Deacon.” His face empty of emotion, the nameless man turned his back, opened the door and walked away.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please search my Wraith in the Ruins tag in my bio. There is a link-tree master post with all of the chapters. Questions/comments/concerns, my ask is open (anon too). I appreciate any feedback. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #john hancock #rj maccready #fallout deacon #fallout hancock #maccready romance fanfic #hancock romance fanfic #deacon fanfic #fo4 hancock #fo4 maccready #fo4 deacon #fo4 companions #fallout 3 #the lone wanderer #fallout dogmeat

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