#ghostsofhawkins

▪ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ @ghostsofhawkins sent: Good boy ;)

Two words. Hell, two syllables. Insane how such a low effort phrase was enough to spark excitement deep in his being when spoken by the right person, he could feel the effects almost immediately. That little butterfly feeling in the pit of his stomach, the uptick in his pulse, if he were a cartoon character his pupils would have turned hearts.

Was he really so easy to turn on? Well, he supposed it was a bit more than just the words themselves.

Deena was the perfect girl to deliver them. She had everything, the voice to say that phrase in a way his mind was going to remember far too long, chemistry with yours truly, and his favorite thing:

Shared investigative intrigue. “Say it again,” he hears the request pass his lips before even realizing he'd opened his mouth to speak. What kinda romance novel shit was that??

Any amount of ground he would have had to play off his response was gone the moment he spoke. There was no humor he could manage. So, to hell with it.

Sweets pulls her into his lap, looks up with those brown eyes that have been known to get him into trouble. Hands sliding up her back, beneath her shirt.

“Tell me what I can do to hear it again.”

✧ 𝄃 𝄃 𝄃 𝄃 𝄃 @ghostsofhawkins sent » Send a 📸 to see 3-5 pictures that my muse has/has taken of Deena + an extra.

it is munday! send ‘♡’ for a pointless fact about the mun.

i recently started getting into jigsaws to try and chill out and lower my screentime!

Few things in this world were as dangerous as allowing your guard to slip, this was one of those lessons boxing taught you. The tiniest slip in your defenses could be taken advantage of to great effect. Movies and video games taught you that it was the large hits, your dramatic uppercuts or aggressive slugs, that break you down. A jab thrown with speed a precision to a person's weakspots was damaging enough.

Deena struck him as the sort to know that, though she had learned it a different way, and her walls were likely high and reinforced. Though, for the briefest moment, she'd dropped one of those walls. Not low enough, yet, to let him through completely. Enough to give him a glimpse of the heart inside. A glimpse could at your weakpoint could be a dangerous thing.

Willingly showing it to someone was a very trusting act. That wall stays down for a few moments as her admission hangs in the air. Mars is comfortable with it but isn't surprised when it lifts back up in the guise of humor. Makes him smile, even.

Everyone had their way to cover exposure; he used irritability or anger. Her method probably caused her less trouble. Doubt it led to as many fights.

❝ There are precious few things surrounding me that are ever convenient, ❞ he says, about as close as he could get to a genuine warning. Hanging around him, caring about him, could be hairy sometimes. ❝ Isn't it a little bit of weight off your shoulders, though? Knowing that you're not the only one dealing with complicated affections and whatnot? I'd hope it's at least mildly flattering. ❞

Heaven knows he was flattered that she thought about him. Particularly, the phrase she used, “more than is useful”, as if thinking about him served a special use. Couldn't help but wonder what that use could be. Either way, he loved that even when the use of his memory passed, he still lingered.

[ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?

Mostly answered [here], but adding onto that, I think that Dottie's the type of person who probably (in most -- not all -- verses) doesn't really leave Hawkins. Not because she doesn't have the means (she could buy herself a first class ticket anywhere she wants to go), and not because she necessarily loves being in Hawkins, but more because she's used to it. And I do think that she feels indebted (for lack of a better word) to the town because of her dad. She isn't, and she shouldn't be, but she feels it on some level, even if it's not something she can put into words exactly why she feels that way or what specifically she feels like she has to stay to do. Her favorite spot in Hawkins where she'd go if she could disappear tomorrow and just stay there (also a good place to look for her if she's MIA) is a little pull-off on one of the back roads near the edge of town, right by the border of one of the farm fields and the forest. It's not an 'official' pull-off on the side of the road, more something that's just gotten worn down over the years when people realize they've gone the wrong way and are turning around. But she likes driving out there and leaving the Rabbit parked on the pull-off and going running along the road or in the woods, sometimes she just lays down in the back seat of the Rabbit and looks up at the sky and enjoys the quiet. In her mind's eye sometimes she considers running away and camping out in the woods right by the edge of the road, but if she actually stopped to think about it, she's a little too bougie to actually be good at camping long term.

[ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ?

Mostly answered [here], with the answer being acts of service. Her secondary love language is quality time. Something that neither of her parents ever wanted to do with or for her growing up, so it always means a lot when people just want to spend time with her (like really spend time with her, not just hang out with the popular cheerleaders at school), and she always likes expressing her love for people by wanting to spend time with them. They don't even have to be doing anything, just being there is enough.

[ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ?

"That feels. . . Ominous." The redhead's brows furrowed, "Like good things or. . .?"

Jessica isn't naive enough to believe she doesn't have a reputation, but that doesn't mean she's particularly keen on hearing it. Gossip's a hot commodity, and if her name's in the mix, she's not certain if she should feel honored or if she should dread whatever is being shared about her.

"Uh--"

The hesitation comes as she pulls her flannel back on, having not realized her shirt was just a little too short, and some of the faded pink scars that littered her back had been too easily put on display. Her knee-jerk reaction is a flat No. She doesn't talk about what's happened to her or the reason why, even in the warm summer afternoon, she's dead set on wearing some sort of overpiece. But the gentle way Deena asks feels less like an intrusion. Rather than simply pointing out her trauma, she asked.