----------       𝗣𝗹𝗡𝗞𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗦        is  an  independent  ,    private  multimuse  writing  blog  featuring  female  characters  from  various  media  .    i’m  isa    (  she/her,  20,  gmt-3  ),    and  i’m  back  for  yet  another  round  of  writing  women  and  themes  of  crime,  womanhood  and  a  whole  bunch  of  sapphic  romance!

having a little feminine urge to make an older lydia d*eetz for the goth wife factor of it all… my queen i could make u so very camp

❝   i have to  look at it,  so it’s relevant.   and it’s not  shenanigans,   choice.  it’s a legitimate successful business,  something you clearly would know  nothing  about.  ❞    he bobbed his head so strongly to make his argument that a strand of  super natural  blonde hair falls on his forehead.  brad slicks it back irritably and recomposes himself  and  his shoulder pads.   ❝  i want to offer you a  sale.  seems like you won’t be sticking around for much longer,  you look very pale,  it will save your boys the trouble if you have everything sorted already for when you kick it.   ❞

      home.  according  to  the  dictionary,  the  place  where  one  lives  permanently  especially  as  a  member  of  a  family.  she  has  been  studying  it  now,  attempting  to  improve  her  spelling  and  her  grammar.  it  is  important,  el  has  come  to  realize.  high  schoolers  in  california  do  not  take  kindly  to  girls  who  do  not  know  some  things,  neither  do  teachers.  but  jane  had  heard  about  home  before,  felt  it  when  she  was  with  her  dad.  she  did  not  think  she  would  feel  it  again.  but  she  does  here  with  the  byers.  california  might  be  awful  to  her,  but  they  aren’t  /  they  are  family.  at  joyce’s  voice,  doe  eyed  girl  turns  around  with  a  smile  on  her  lips.  ❝  i’ll  help!  ❞  she  replies,  getting  up  instantly.  ❝  what  do  you  need  me  to  do?  plates?  ❞

smirk spreads across his lips,  expression even  more  winning than when he closes a sale.  brad saunters over to her while loosening his tie.   ❝   you know me,  my sweet cyanide.  ❞   drawn to the seat right next to her on the couch,  brad faces her entirely as only inches separate their faces.   ❝  tantalising  is my  specialty.   ❞    he whispers,  punctuating it with a kiss to her jawline.   ❝  you know how these things go,  you  just  …   ❞    his hand falls to her knee,  only two fingers walking along her thigh as he speaks.  his sales pitch is murmured near her skin,  as he spreads kiss along her neck at each short pause taken.   ❝  remind them of those awful deaths.  how it could happen to  anyone   –    it got to little suzy,  why wouldn’t it get to little billy?  and you see how  distraught  those parents are now,  they can barely think straight.  don’t you want to have  everything  in place when the time comes?  this town has become  so dangerous,  but we can still have a sense of  security  in it.   ❞  

his mind was used to  wandering  in here.  to survive,  it had to take him  anywhere  else.   it always came back to two people  :  el and joyce.   their smiles,  their voices,  the way they made him feel like his heart could  beat again.   just as they had brought him back to life,  they had been  keeping  him alive.   and hopper had spent so long living in the fantasy that the reality that joyce was  right there  still eluded him.   it was like he needed to get  pinched  in order to remember that he was  awake.

the pinching surely comes,  but in the form of her countering.   how her argument makes him come alive almost instantly with the instinct to  speak up  to say his piece.   he had been quiet for so long in this place,  it was  strange  to want to talk again.  it had to be joyce to bring him back so quickly   –   he always wanted to talk to joyce.   it was easier than breathing,  certainly  easier than breathing in  this  shitty weather.

jim smiles as he spots the wrinkle on her forehead,  a gesture that feels a little out of place,  out of  tune.   he hasn’t stretched the muscle in a while.    ❝   or  something.  you absolutely stood me up.  ❞   there’s no annoyance in his tone, it’s all spoken between that frail smile of his.  hopper pulls her closer to himself then,  gloved hands rubbing her arm up and down for warmth and they draw closer to the  excuse for a plane.    ❝   i’m  happy  you showed up.  ❞  he tells her quietly,  so that murray and their  prisoner  (  the pilot, he assumes  )  could not quite hear   –   this moment was  theirs  alone.  then his voice grows louder with his teasing  :  ❝  you flying the plane too,  boss?  ❞  

❝   yeah ,   fine .   but you were supposed to pick me up this time if i remember right ,  so ...   might just wanna call that even .   ❞   head tilts as if that was something to be bargained,  though features soften at once,  thankfully leaning into the warmth of his touch.  joyce had grown quite used to it, the having someone to rely on with him, the way time and time again it’d be just the two of them against things no one in the world could begin to understand. she hadn’t had the time to conform to his absense;  his place was empty still.  the only time she had was to drown a little in that almost,  try and convince herself that finally it was what it was.  though as his hands run up and down her arms,  she can feel that it’s real.  she’s as ready to fight for it as she was a year ago,  underground and in a silly uniform,  making plans for a date they never had.  her eyes fall closed,  sighing at the sound of his quiet confession,  coming back from it with a soft blush that would be credited to the rough winds at the spot.

❝   and why are you dressed like this?   did you  just  wake up or  …  ?   ❞

the deadly winds of winter cut through his skin,  the  year  in that prison of mind and body had done much to make it  thicker,   but no armour could ever be enough to fight off that unforgiving weather.    they dredge through the snow,  hopper mentally tells himself to put one foot in front of the other,  as the more  functioning  part of him uses of his built to put himself between  @plnkladies​  and the gusts that come from the east    –     the wind is  everywhere,  but he tries to shelter her as  much  as he possibly can.  

feelings have to be processed later.  once they are on the air,  once they have hours of safety ahead of them before landing on a  cursed little town  in indiana where more battles were to come.  he needed to compartimentalise now to function later.  so he keeps it going  :  shield joyce,  one foot in front of the other,  get to the plane,  make it out of the prison perimeter,  shield joyce,  get to the   –   his mantra comes to a halt when he sees the vessel of their salvation,  unimpressive as shit,   staring back at them.  hop can’t help the words that leave his mouth next  :   ❝   are you sure that thing’s gonna  fly?   ❞

there are little ideas she dreads more than that of their very present;  the cold seems to be one single blow far from knocking her off her feet or freezing her fingertips for good,  yet she can barely mind it, barely give it any time. if it meant that man would be by her side whenever she reached safety,  joyce is confident she could keep going for a good amount of miles more. her eyes follow the long way ahead and its immersive nothingness with a frown, as it’s been glued to her features for some time now,  like the cold couldn’t bother numbing down the anxious turns of her mind as it did the rest of her body.  though joyce tries and remedies her worries with the palpable elements around her,  thinks of the wool of her gloves around her fingertips and the extra strenght required to remove one boot from the snow and then the other,  thinks of the weight of his arm that every once in a while rubs against hers as they walk,  but still her mind wanders.