𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 - early grave

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 a blaring alarm was the very first thing that graced the Hopper home early the next morning. The pink alarm, covered in old and peeling stickers and dollops of old glitter glue shook atop the side table, vibrating so incessantly that Scarlet had almost flung her wrist to the side with the intent to destroy the thing entirely.

 Before she could, however, there was a light click and the alarm paused.

 Scarlet unfurled her palm from the pillow she'd smooshed over her head in the hopes of drawing out the irritating noise. She slung the pillow aside, hearing a light thump as it settled onto the ground... dangerously close to an old pot of murky water filled to the brim with paint brushes that should have been thrown out weeks ago.

 She'd, once again, stayed up as late as her poor little eyes had allowed; until they stung and watered with absolute fatigue. Her eyes cracked open, each one laced with nothing but the desire to slam shut once more. The sunlight burned as her lashes fluttered, drifting over her cheeks as they tried their hardest to grow accustomed to the stream of brightness peering through the window.

 She could see the smears of paint on her hand, the smudges that had trailed onto her freshly cleaned sheets... but that wasn't surprising... what was surprising, was seeing Joyce Byers standing right by the side of her bed, hand still atop the alarm she'd obviously paused.

 Scarlet's brows curled together; maybe she hadn't woken up, maybe she'd been so damn tired that for some God-forsaken reason... she was dreaming about the tragedy of waking up.

 If only that were the case.

 "Joyce?" Scarlet groaned, her voice cracking in the very same way Lucas' had been for the past few months; the poor kid was really getting clobbered in the face by puberty. She cleared her throat, heaving herself into a sitting position as her sheets pooled around her waist, "What — what are you doing here?"

 Joyce's motherly smile could warm even the closest of bones; it was like embers in the midst of a snowy forest, ready to spread further and further until everything was swamped in nothing but heat. She always managed to soothe those around her, from her soft voice to the little pet names she graced everybody with.

 Joyce swiped a cluster of hair from Scarlet's sight, tucking it behind her ear, "Looking after your dad."

 Scarlet was well and truly awake now. The mere mention of Hopper had shot her body as straight as a board, eyes widening with horror, "Is he alright?"

 "He's okay," Joyce breathed, even despite the look of terror that had graced Scarlet's face, Joyce couldn't help but feel a breath of warmth encase her; the teenager before her cared so very much... she was the reason Will was alive, "He's a little bruised, but he'll be just fine. You know he has enough stubbornness to keep him going."

 She wasn't wrong. Scarlet was certain that Hopper would continue running a mile even with bullet wounds in both knees if Mike Wheeler ever showed up on their porch at six in the morning again. He'd looked positively murderous the first time...

 It almost brought a smile to her face, instead, Scarlet rose her arms high into the air, stretching out like a feline. Her bones popped and cracked, taut muscles stretching until she blew a heavy breath through her pouted lips.

 Her stomach lurched. The smell of bacon had drifted through the cabin, the scent of slightly burnt toast smothered in butter. Her stomach growled as fiercely as a feral wolf, and Joyce couldn't contain her laughter.

 "I made breakfast for you both — Eleven stayed with Maxine last night, come down when you're ready, alright, sweetheart?"

 Scarlet muttered a quick and quiet thank you while Joyce descended the ladder. She soon heard the woman pottering towards the kitchen, breezing past the groan echoing from Hopper. He really did sound as though he was in pain... what the hell had he gotten himself into this time?

 Despite the lull of sleep calling her name, Scarlet begrudgingly tossed her sheets aside, bare feet padding over the paint-stained boards. She drew to her dresser, hunching over it as though she'd aged a couple of centuries in the process... a pair of yellow and red striped shorts she'd sewn some little flowers and patches onto were tossed towards her bed — she missed and they tumbled to the floor — alongside a white tee with an illustration of a happy little sun at the very centre.

 As soon as they were tugged onto her body, Scarlet all but slung herself towards the kitchen... but the sight of Hopper lying in a pitiful heap upon the living room couch made her pause.

 He glanced up, peering through his furrowed brows. There was a hint of a curl at his lips, "Good mornin'"

 Scarlet looked him up and down. From the remnants of blood settled beneath his purple nose, to the yellowing patch of skin around his left eye... there was a deep cut just by his eyebrow, new blood leaking free even despite Joyce's attempts at halting its trail.

 "Is it?" Scarlet asked, flinging herself beside him.

 Sweat glistened over his forehead, his usual tanned complexion had faded, replaced with a sickly pale sheen that Scarlet couldn't help but grimace at. Hopper was always a gruff-looking man, towering above anyone and everyone, his brows seemed to hide his ocean-blue eyes — the only part of him that didn't look as though they could do harm — and his moustache tickled his lips... he looked just about how anybody would picture a police chief of a small town.

 Yet with that ghastly sheen and a glowing bundle of sweat sprouting on his forehead, he looked utterly disastrous, "What happened, Hop?"

 Surprisingly, Hopper hadn't the energy to argue, to hide his findings and the little excursion he and Joyce had partaken in... Midway though, whilst words were slipping from Hopper's tongue in a low and tired drawl, Joyce had joined them. A plate of crispy bacon smooshed between two slices of toast was passed Scarlet's way, a second helping towards Hopper; she then took over.

 Scarlet paused amidst her chewing, a light splotch of ketchup hung upon her lower lip, a mouthful of bacon and toast still unchewed. She blinked, and hastily swallowed, ignoring the way unchewed toast scraped against her mouth and trailed down her throat.

 There were not only Russians in the midst of their dreary little town, plotting God knows what beneath the mall, of all places... but Hopper and Joyce had managed to test their luck in the worst way possible — there was a hit man, too.

 Scarlet had almost thrown in the towel there and then, she'd almost gotten the urge to scour the home for a suitcase and fill it with anything and everything before leaving the town with Hopper and Eleven by her side... but that was preposterous... and if she truly believed that she alone could take on the Russians, why couldn't she put a little faith in Hopper to take down this one man?

 Hopper groaned as he lifted himself, sure to keep an iron grip upon the covers he was shrouded in. His plate was placed on the ground with a light clatter that Joyce scowled at. He met his eldest's eyes, "I'm telling you because... because I know you can handle yourself, but I want you to be careful, okay?"

 "Yeah, yeah of course." Scarlet nodded, hair bobbing here and there. She should have taken the moment to divulge the information she and her little Scoops troop had uncovered... and yet she didn't. Perhaps it was stupid of her, and maybe she'd soon learn to regret her choice, but Hopper was already a bundle of cuts, scrapes and fresh bruises... she didn't want him to worry. She didn't want him to... to be in even more danger.

 She could do this. She could find out what the Russians were up to and... and she didn't know what else, because really, it all sounded made-up.

 She could feel Hopper's gruff and fatherly gaze upon her skin, assessing her face for even the slightest of twitches... he had entrusted her with the information, but she knew he didn't want her to act upon it. So she nodded, picking at her toast, slowly tearing away the burnt pieces that Joyce had apologised for, "I'm heading to Scoops again, do I need to pick El up or —"

 "— She'll be fine, I'm sure..." Hopper's eyes narrowed in thought, wracking his brain for the ginger girl's name... there were too many children.

 "... Max?"

 Hopper snapped his fingers, "Max! I'm sure Max's parents will call if there's trouble, just — Just go to Scoops and stay out of trouble."

 "You keep telling me that, yet you're the one coming home with bruises, Hop."

 He avoided replying to that. His ego was about as bruised as his busted cheek and throbbed just as painfully, "You were late home."

 His voice had lowered, an edge of suspicion lying on the tip of his tongue. Jim Hopper might have been far more forgiving when it came to Steve Harrington hanging around his daughter... but Hopper was still her father.

 Scarlet threw a look Joyce's way, the pair of their eyes rolling in tandem at Hopper's poor attempt to evade the spotlight cast upon his own misfortunes and bad decisions. Still, Scarlet shrugged, "I dropped Steve, Robin and Dustin home..." She felt her lips curl, "Is that okay with you?"

 Hopper only nodded; he'd never met Robin, even despite the amount that Scarlet spoke of her... but he quite liked that she had a friend... that was her age. Nancy Wheeler made her rounds, she taught Scarlet some of the things she had missed, and so did Jonathan; but Scarlet hadn't taken to them in the same way she had with the children.

 It was obvious now, more than ever, that while the kids adored her and she adored them in return... she was thriving more with other teenagers by her side. There had hardly been a day through the summer that she hadn't been up and out of the cabin by noon... Sure, she'd return home smelling of ice cream while her tongue was still coated in chocolate, but if a cavity was the price she'd pay for integrating herself like a normal teenager... it seemed a fair trade.

 Hopper had, somewhat, opposed the sudden connection that had erupted between his eldest daughter and the only Harrington offspring; he, like many others within Hawkins, judged them as though they were one person, rather than separate people from the same family.

 Hopper had never been able to stomach Mr Harrington and the whispers that followed him. From infidelity to — Hopper grimaced — to hurting his own kid. Hopper had never seen Steve with any bruises that he hadn't simply brushed aside with the words 'got into another fight', so he had nothing. He couldn't charge the kid's dad... and even if he could have, Mr Harrington had money in his pocket.

 Money, as they all already knew, made the world go around... and it kept assholes like Mr Harrington as snug as a bug in his oversized home within their undersized town.

 Hopper could remember the first instance of feeling genuine sympathy for the youngest of the Harringtons; it hadn't been all that long ago, maybe a couple of months when the air still brought a chill to their bones.

 It had been a cool night, the windows shut tightly to keep the chill of the outside air as far away as possible. They'd all been bundled in sweaters and blankets... Hopper had been asleep, snores and drool tumbling from parted lips before the telephone had practically screamed into the night.

 Hopper was almost certain he could still feel the throbbing bruise that had stained his hip when he'd slipped from his mattress and onto the ground. He had thundered through the cabin, snatching the phone up with such ferocity, that it might have been close to crumbling within his hold.

 He had slammed it against his ear, lips parted and ready to scream some insult or another down the line... until there had been an unsteady breath and a broken whisper. It had been Steve, and it had been clear that the kid had been hoping and praying that it  Scarlet who answered his call... for he whispered her name with tears still in his eyes and a lump still clogging his throat.

 There had been an endless string of apologies when Hopper had uttered Steve's name, asking what the hell had happened... He'd paused Steve's efforts, phone dangling mindlessly within the air as he trailed to his daughter's side, a calloused hand shaking her awake.

 Scarlet had bolted the moment Steve's name, in tandem with Mr Harrington, had weaselled from Hopper's mouth. She'd clambered down the ladder, stumbled across the floor and scooped up the telephone as though she were cradling a newborn baby.

 Hopper had watched as Scarlet slowly slid down the wall, legs folding beneath her as she whispered through the phone; tears had formed, threatening to topple from her waterline with every passing beat. When the call had come to a close, she had just sat there with wobbling lips and trailing tears.

 Hopper had scooped her up and sat silently by her side on the couch, television flickering through the dark, not a peep to be heard... She explained the call. How Steve's father had stumbled home in the midst of the night as drunk as a skunk. He'd reeked of rum and hadn't been able to walk straight... there was no mention of physical violence, but Steve had been sporting a bruise on the side of his jaw after that night.

 Hopper had asked, and Steve had evaded; thinking that, as usual, he deserved what he'd gotten.

 Hopper had felt nothing but a burning pit of rage within his gut ever since. He glared at Mr Harrington whenever they'd pass one another — which wasn't all too often considering the man often left his family behind for a business trip. Hopper had scoffed at that, a business trip didn't slap itself with make-up or dress up to the nines only to end in a steamy hotel room, did it?

 He couldn't fathom how anybody could treat their kid in such a way; they could be taken from you in an instant, in a mere breath. So, from that day onwards... their living room couch, or even Eleven's bedroom, had been open for Steve to take whenever he pleased. His own set of sheets tucked away in a closet with a set of Hopper's old clothes... just in case.

 He always brushed off Scarlet's question's with a meagre shrug, stating that if Steve kept plying him with burgers... he was welcome whenever.

 Now... Don't get him wrong, Hopper knew Steve Harrington held nothing but complete and utter adoration for his eldest daughter; he could see the longing stares, the little brushes of their legs and the intertwined fingers; after the whole Mike debacle, he'd learnt to spy the signs. But Steve wasn't Mike. Steve was respectful, he didn't intrude, he didn't steal his daughter away for every waking moment... to put it simply. Steve wasn't Mike, and that was enough.

 Starcourt was as swarmed as ever, as though the building itself was a hive, the teenagers milling about were a colony of buzzing little bees. Scarlet had dodged and weaved through the masses, skimming past flailing limbs, wincing at the loud ring of excitement that streamed from lipgloss-smeared mouths... until she was almost sent toppling to the ground.

 Her feet twisted, and had the person who'd managed to barrel into her side not have clasped a hand around her wrist, tugging it all their might, she'd have landed in a pitiful heap. Scarlet blinked, staring at the ground, eyes slowly dragging to the side. Dustin.

 He wore a sheepish smile, a look of genuine apology hidden somewhere beneath that excited grin of his. He parted his lips, meaning for an apology to spring free... however, his untamed excitement got the best of him, "We have to get to Scoops!"

 Scarlet had thought about interrupting him, halting his rushed footsteps while his fingers were still taut around her wrist, yet she had grown to know better. Once Dustin Henderson had set his mind to something, he couldn't be stopped. No amount of whining would falter his stride. He was as stubborn as an old mule.

 Dustin's haste created a path for Scarlet to follow; children and teens hopped out of his way, sneers of distaste lingering on their faces as their eyes followed the boy whose elbows had jabbed their sides.

 Soon enough, that delightfully sugary scent of Scoops Ahoy infiltrated their noses. The mouth-watering smell of syrups and sherbert, the hint of fresh mint wafting through the air as a mint chocolate chip cone was handed over.

 Robin was at the counter, her usual bored expression painted on her face until she spotted the duo through the crowd. Her back straightened and she thrust the cone towards the customer with absolutely no regard for the fact that she'd almost shoved it right into their nose.

 There wasn't much Scarlet could offer, besides a shrug, when Robin had risen a brow their way. It was enough for Robin, for despite the fact that the ice cream slinger had only known Dustin for... about twenty-four hours, even she knew that the gleam in his eyes was something she wanted in on.

 She gestured, willing the duo through the break-room door, swiftly following behind.

 Steve was slumped in one of the cold and uncomfortable chairs, feet slung atop the table as he tattered back on the chair, balancing on two legs. Scarlet knew he'd topple over at some point, he always did and he never learnt.

 He caught her gaze, a light smile tugging his lips higher, a slight tinge to his cheeks. Even though Scarlet returned his look... she could see as plain as day that there was something off about it. His lips merely twitched, no over-exaggerated curl, no teeth shining behind that silly pout that seemed stuck to his features. It was... awkward.

 Though she hadn't expected much else, not after how he'd acted the night prior. He'd all but sprinted from the confines of her car, his voice had become shrill, while his eyes had practically prayed for an escape route.

 The moment Scarlet's chair had screeched in protest upon pulling it free from the table, Dustin had teetered closer, elbows planted on the table as he described his morning. Scarlet couldn't count the number of times she'd shared a look with Robin, or the times she'd sighed and shaken her head.

 Dustin Henderson had risen with daybreak and had immediately set out for the mall... he'd spent his morning atop the roof, staking out the Russians. Alone.

 Scarlet truly wanted to reprimand him; he could have easily called the cabin and demanded her company. She would have been groggy and very much annoyed, but she would have joined him... of course she would have.

 "They have a keycard that opens the door," Dustin said, promptly darting his gaze to stare at a stain on the wall, rather than meet Scarlet's narrowed eyes. He knew he should have taken someone along with him, but, as ever, Dustin was the puzzle solver and he wanted nothing more than to uncover the motives of their mystery, "But unfortunately, the Russian with this keycard has... he has a massive gun."

 He was insane. Scarlet knew it now, Dustin Henderson — as bright as he was — had far more than a few screws loose.

 She could feel her brow crawling up her forehead, "Did you leave after you saw this gun?"

 "Uh —" Dustin's eyes hopelessly whipped to Steve... and upon finding that Steve seemed just as interested by his answer, he averted his gaze, "— No?"

 "You kids are going to send me to an early grave."

 "I promise you'll have a nice headstone?"

 "Dustin Henderson."

 He quickly cleared his throat, his hand darting to soothe the light slap Steve had given his arm, "Whatever is in that room, in those boxes, they really don't want anybody finding it."

 Robin mirrored Steve's position, she slung her dirtied red converse — that had a multitude of little scribbles marring the soles — atop the table, spinning her scooper in her hand. She pointed it Dustin's way, unbothered by the little droplet of mint chocolate chip that splattered onto the table, "But there's gotta be a way in."

 Steve tossed his sailor hat onto the table, cringing when it landed perfectly atop the splodge of melted ice cream. He looked up, a nonchalant shrug tugging his shoulders higher, "Well, you know... I could just take him out."

 Scarlet almost cackled, and from the way Dustin's lips curled to hide within his mouth, he'd come close to a hearty chortle, too. Steve Harrington was not known for his... fighting prowess. Nancy had told Scarlet everything, and by everything... she meant it. From Will going missing to everything in between...

 When she'd gotten to describing the lovely little message Steve and CO. had left on the theatre for her... and, consequentially, the fight Steve and Jonathan had gotten into, Scarlet hadn't been able to hold back her smile. Jonathan Byers didn't look as though he could take on a crumbling leaf in the midst of autumn.

 He looked, and sounded, rather meek. He seemed... well, too kind to have so much as a single violent bone in his body. Yet Nancy hadn't lied, for even Jonathan had recalled the fight with the slightest hint of amusement dancing on his tongue.

 Scarlet pointed a finger at Steve, her glittery nails — courtesy of Eleven, of course — sparkling beneath the pale white light swinging above them, "Take him out? As in... fight him? Stevie," She cooed, prompting a hearty snort from Robin, "You'd have better luck taking him out on a date."

 A squeak slipped through Dustin's lips; the beginnings of a laugh bubbling within his throat, but even so, Steve still argued. He gaped at her, pink lips falling slack as his cheeks darkened a shade or two, "I'm offended by your lack of support." He cleared his throat, eyes following the smile that only widened upon Scarlet's face. He tried to act cool, really he did... but as he leaned back, his chair wobbled and his voice wavered alongside it, "I could sneak up behind him, knock him out and take his keycard. Easy."

 Scarlet's fingers were splayed over her mouth, a cage to trap the most shrill and deep bellow she'd ever felt rise within her gut. A swift look Robin's way assured her that Robin Buckely was no better off; her cheeks were puffed out, lips wobbling while her eyes almost seemed to water at the mere prospect of Steve Harrington — clad in his little sailor uniform — trying to sneak up on, and overpower a Russian guard.

 Dustin's amusement had swiftly morphed into nothing more than a bout of judgement. He folded his arms over his chest, looking Steve up and down. There was no way he really thought he could take on the guard, "Did you... not hear the part about the massive gun?"

 "Yes, Dustin, I did. And that's why I would be sneaking."

 "Oh, well, please, tell me this — and be honest — have you ever actually... won a fight?"

 "Okay, that was one time —"

 "— Twice." Scarlet corrected, a sly smile still lingering. She watched Steve grimace, watched as a sigh parted his lips. He knew what was coming, and really, he shouldn't have expected anything less, "Jonathan, and Billy."

 Steve jabbed a finger her way, there was no malice and Scarlet had obviously clocked that, for she only leaned closer, eyes flicking between his face, and his hovering digit. Steve wagged his finger, "No, no, no. Jonathan doesn't count."

 "He does."

 "He does not."

 Scarlet looked at Dustin, "Dustin?"

 "Don't bring Dustin into this!"

 Dustin was enjoying it, he always did. Nobody he'd ever met could rile Steve up quite like Scarlet could; though that was from the obvious crush that Steve had, and his innate need to seem and feel as cool as he possibly could.

 It never worked, obviously. Steve never really seemed cool in the way he wanted to anymore.

 Dustin grinned, gums on full display, "Yeah, Steve, why doesn't Jonathan count? 'Cause... it looked like he beat the shit out of you."

 "Wait." Robin muttered, her voice sliding higher as she snorted once more, "Jonathan Byers? You got your asked kicked by mousy little Jonathan? Jeez, dingus, that's rough."

 Steve paused for a beat. His gaze swept past them all... he couldn't exactly argue. He tried to put on that brave face and unbothered smile, the shrug of his shoulders to try and seem completely relaxed; but Dustin was right. Jonathan had beaten the shit out of him — But he'd deserved it.

 Steve had recalled the moments leading up to that fight, the words he'd called Will, the things he'd said to Jonathan, and even the way he'd treated Barbara. He'd deserved the cut lip and bruised eye... but while those had healed over, it didn't mean that his ego had.

 Steve hadn't believed it himself when he'd suddenly sprouted the idea of sneaking up on the Russian, but now he was in too deep and felt the need to defend himself. He turned to Dustin first — the little shit never knew when to stop talking, in fact, he'd been listing off the injuries Steve had sustained from the fight he and Jonathan had gotten into.

 Scarlet watched them argue, it was like clockwork by this point. Steve would say anything, and Dustin would find some way to retaliate... Though, even when Dustin muttered anything, Steve would find his own way to challenge him. They really were like a couple of brothers, always needing to one-up one another.

 It was cute, really. Steve didn't have any siblings, just his pathetic and abusive father, and his mother that turned a blind eye to everything her husband did. They were mere strangers in his life, people that he had to deal with just to have a place to stay.

 For most people, having their parents away on business trips for weeks on end, having to fend for themselves and be left completely alone... they'd hate it. While Steve relished in the loneliness, in the freedom of having a moment away from yelling and drinking... It would eventually get to him, prompting him to call Scarlet just for her voice to fill the void, but anything was better than wondering if he'd get yelled at the moment he strolled out of his bedroom.

 Scarlet felt an assault on her arm, a palm slapping at her bicep, entirely unrelenting. Robin had remained quiet through the boys prattling, simply watching with dull eyes as Steve and Dustin argued like a pair of little kids on the playground... her eyes had rolled so very high, that she had spied something high on the wall... the perfect way to move around the mall, completely hidden from sight.

 Scarlet followed her gaze. The vents.

 "Rob?" She grinned, "That just might work."

 The vents were likely to run throughout the entire mall, twisting and turning through every single store... all the way to that secure little room; they'd just need the plans. Robin, however, was already that one step ahead.

 Robin grabbed Scarlet's hand, and without a word to either of the boys still bickering at the table, they both scrambled for the door. Scarlet pulled it free, her body lurching when Robin tugged her through. Their smiles couldn't be matched... they'd cracked the code, and now they were well on their way to finding a method of entry into that heavily guarded room.

 Scarlet caught a glimpse of Steve stumbling from the table, clambering for the little window. He furrowed his brows, watching with utter dismay as Robin slipped her fingers into their shared tip-jar, grabbing as many coins and bills as she possibly could.

 "Hey!" Steve whined, "What are you doing?"

 Robin shrugged, her hand hoisted high as coins glittered and notes crumpled, "We need cash."

 "Half of that's mine!"

 "I'll put it back, I promise," Scarlet reassured him; she knew how much he needed that money. From college to simple things like gas for his shitty car... He worked almost every single day, and yet hardly had the money to show for it. Still, they needed that money now, "But we need it!"

 Steve could do nothing more than pout as he watched Robin drag Scarlet, and his tips, far away from the store. He couldn't understand what they were doing that required such urgency. He sighed, kicking his sneaker against the ground as he trailed towards the front counter, Dustin hot on his heels with Steve's abandoned scooper in hand.

 Steve slumped, elbows planted against the cold counter... something sticky was beneath his skin. Perfect, he thought as he lifted his arm, spying the splatter of blue-raspberry syrup on his arm. Not only did Robin steal his tips and his... uh... Scarlet...  but she'd also left the counter smothered in ice cream, syrup and peanuts.

 He glanced to the side, and there to make things that little bit worse, was Dustin licking ice cream out of his goddamn scooper. The boy only grinned, lapping up the sugary ball of salted caramel — Steve wanted to throttle him.

 "Oh, dude..." Steve groaned, whipping the scooper from Dustin's hands, pointedly ignoring the utter despair on his face, "Not my scooper, that's gross."

 There wasn't a hint of regret on Dustin's face, only a splotch of ice cream at the corner of his self-satisfied grin.

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08-02-2020

edited version: 03-10-2022

:·ﾟ★ el-oh-el sorry i disappeared off the face of planet earth for the past month or so; i'm somewhat back now, slowly posting the chapters i had prewritten for you all. i've decided to finish up re-writing season three(i'm, like, almost done i swear) then i'll be taking an extended break before catching up with season 4 - burnout is TOUGH rn. n e way, love u lots.

don't forget to let me know what you think; and remember that i now require a particular number of comments and feedback before i consider releasing the next part (this is just to ensure people remain engaged and supportive, as well as to allow me to see what you all enjoyed most!), please give me a follow, and please do NOT leave comments telling me to update; they'll be ignored and you'll be muted, much love <3