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pedrointofolklore · 9 months

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This is me trying

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel hated you. he hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. he hated how much he worried about you. click here for part two.

warnings: detailed depictions of depression, heavily implied suicidal ideation, slight violence, angst with a sprinkle of fluff, no explicit smut but it does get very suggestive (minors do not interact), minor character death, enemies to lovers, poor communication, misunderstandings, these fools don’t know how to act, joel is an asshole but then he’s sweet, brief mention of drug use, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, boston era/ellie era.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: hey y’all. i just wanted to thank everyone who supported my last story rosebud (here’s a link if you want to read it). this story is a lot different and a lot sadder. i got the title from my favourite pop girlie taylor alison swift.

Joel hated you. It had to be his worst kept secret.

You hadn’t done anything to him. You used to think about it constantly, desperate to know what his reason was for despising you like he did, but you eventually accepted that he didn’t need a reason. He just didn’t like you.

Joel wasn’t particularly likeable himself. He was rude and intimidating and one of the most morally bankrupt people you’d ever met, but you didn’t hate him the way he hated you. You were Tess’s lackey—Joel tolerated you, and you supposed he wasn’t obligated to do any more than that. Although, he didn’t do it very well.

You’d existed in each other’s orbit in the QZ for a while, and finally met one night in the boarded-up old mall when you’d gotten to a stash of painkillers just before them. Joel wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot you between the eyes if Tess hadn’t been there.

Tess saw something in you—not a friend, not a life worth sparing by virtue of humanity; a business investment.

And it was a smart investment. You were young, agile and clever, incredible at slipping by unnoticed and gathering information. You knew all the best routes, the best times to take them, and you could swindle anyone out of their rations just by batting your eyelashes. You were willing to take the lead, to be the first one in and out to make sure the coast was clear.

It wasn’t the threat of death or the promise of mercy that made you join them—it was the sense of purpose it gave you.

Joel was adamantly against it. Things worked fine the way they did them, and he saw no reason to add another person into it.

“Don’t need to fix something that ain’t broken,” was how he’d put it.

You didn’t dispute that. Joel and Tess had survived for years, and they were clearly more than capable of getting the job done, but what you lacked in experience, you made up for in stealth and speed—something their aging knees struggled with.

Tess convinced Joel, which you soon found out she was very good at. You also found out that his compliance didn’t mean hiding his resentment.

He thought you were a careless, impulsive loose cannon, and he’d told you so after a particularly dicey deal with a particularly dicey FEDRA agent.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days.” He followed you into your apartment uninvited. Tess made him walk you home, and you were sure he only did it because he wanted to berate you.

“Why do you care?” you asked, tossing your keys onto the counter. They slid off and hit the floor.

“You’re with us,” Joel replied. “You'll get us killed.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes—you knew that infuriated him. “Am I on crack or have you not doubled your profits since I showed up?”

“I think you’re dangerous,” Joel said, ignoring you. “Always sneakin’ around, goin’ places you shouldn’t, playin’ mind games with FEDRA. Your luck’s gonna run out sooner or later, and I just hope I’m not around when it does.”

Your face burned with red-hot anger as you tried to fight the stinging in your eyes and the blurring of your vision, but you were too far gone. The tears fell, and they were ceaseless. You felt pathetic, but you knew this would happen. You didn’t often cry from sadness or pain, but anger always managed to bring it out in you.

“Who the fuck are you to tell me that?” you hissed. “You’re saying you don’t sneak around? You’ve never scammed anyone? You’re a smuggler, Joel! Be fucking real with me.”

“It’s different,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“Why, because you’re older? Because you have more experience?”

“‘Cause I don’t think I’m fuckin’ special.”

If his words were the dagger, the pure contempt in his tone was what plunged it into your stomach, twisted it, and left a gaping hole for all of your despair to come pouring out of, leaving behind a puddle of melancholia for him to gaze at in all its miserable glory.

It was the only time you might have hated Joel as much as he hated you. Working with him and Tess wasn’t perfect, but it was all you had, and now he’d managed to make it all meaningless. Your help wasn’t helping.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat.

You should have quit then, and you thought about it. After pounding your fists into Joel’s chest and screaming at him to get the fuck out of your apartment, you sunk down onto the floor and cried. You cried until you ran out of tears and were left with a nothing but a throbbing headache. You took a pill, passed out, and woke up to you discover that you’d lost the energy to really care about any of it.

You didn’t quit. If anything, you became even more audacious, but you never confused it with courage or bravery. Bravery was perseverance in the face of terror. Joel and Tess were brave. You weren’t like them.

Joel laid off after that. He wasn’t anything close to nice, but whatever animosity he held towards you was only ever expressed as quiet seething, and you could live with that.

Any fulfilment you got out of working with Joel and Tess dissolved, but for what it was, it still worked.

Until it didn’t.

Tess was dead. The buffer between you and Joel was gone, and you had no choice but to work together and get the immune girl to Colorado.

You wondered if there was a silver-lining in this wreckage. You thought that circumstance might force Joel to finally get along with you, and so you did the one thing you never did—you tried. You tried to help him, tried to speak to him like he was someone you actually wanted to speak to, tried to rein in some of your more annoying traits so you wouldn’t get on his nerves.

None of it worked. All you could get out of Joel seemed to be irritated mumbles and blank stares, and you couldn’t even blame him after what happened to Tess.

You never really knew if Tess actually gave a shit about you, or if she only ever cared about having an extra pair of hands around. Either way, you cared about her.

So, once again, you tried. When Joel and Ellie were sleeping—or at least pretending to—you walked down to the stream and tried to cry for her, but you couldn’t muster the tears. You even tried to get angry, mentally cuss her out for leaving you behind, but your eyes were dry.

You stared into the water, gazing at the way it sparkled in the starlight, and thought that the world didn’t deserve such a pretty sight. You couldn’t cry, but a deep sadness overtook you, weighing you down like lead.

Joel didn’t hate you.

He just hated how impulsive and reckless you were. He hated that you were smart, intuitive, and so maddeningly beautiful. He hated the risks you took, the danger you put yourself in, the total lack of value you had for your own life. He hated how much he worried about you.

There was a time he had disliked you. He used to think it was arrogance—that you truly believed you were so special that you could get away with anything. It was when he called you out on it that he realised how wrong he was.

Your reaction was frightening. You cried and screamed at him, pushed him out of your space. He didn’t know you were capable of such a strong display of emotion, but he’d struck a nerve, and those were the repercussions.

He recalled how the blows to his chest didn’t hurt, like there was no force behind them. You weren’t weak at all, you just couldn’t find the willpower to really hurt him. He wished you had hurt him. Maybe getting it out of your system would have helped. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to feel so guilty.

It became so obvious to him what was happening, and he felt like an idiot for not understanding it sooner. It wasn’t that you thought you were special, or immune to the consequences—you just didn’t care what happened to you.

Now Tess was gone, and he had this horrible feeling that he was going to lose you too.

His way of dealing with it was to push you away even more. He told himself it would make things easier when you inevitably left him.

Things came to a head one night after the three of you left Lincoln. Joel had been driving all day, and he would be doing it again the next day. He was in desperate need of sleep, but as he stared out into the eerie darkness of the woods, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if he didn’t stay awake.

He heard the rustling of a sleeping bag sometime after midnight. He thought it was you just rolling over in your sleep—something you often did—but then he heard the faint sound of dead leaves crunching under feet, and you were by his side a moment later.

“What are you doing, Joel?” you asked in a soft, sleepy voice that made his chest ache.

“Keepin’ watch,” he replied bluntly.

“But you’re driving tomorrow,” you said. “You need sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve slept, so I can take over,” you offered.

“I just told you I’m fine.”

“I’m just trying to help—”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

You backed off, hanging your head in shame, and he instantly felt horrible—you were being nice to him and he was still being a complete asshole.

Joel tried to tear his gaze away from you. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he hadn’t just done that, but his eyes stayed on you. He watched the shame dissolve and replace itself with indignation. You pulled your head up and glared at him with a fire in your eyes that threatened to burn right through him.

“I get it, okay? I’m sorry.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I never meant for you to get stuck with me. I know it’s your worst fucking nightmare. If I could switch places with Tess—“

“Stop.” He wouldn’t hear that. He couldn’t. It would kill him. “That’s not—I’m not thinkin’ that. I’m glad you’re here, understand? I need you with me.”

You let out a bitter laugh. The sound hit his ears like a gunshot. “You just told me you didn’t. All you’ve done—all you’ve ever done—is act like I’m a fucking waste of space.”

Joel’s mouth when dry, his heart dropped to his stomach, and he thought he might vomit. It shouldn’t have shocked him like it did, but hearing you say it made him sick. He put the gun he’d been clutching down on the ground, disarming himself in more ways than one. “I don’t think that…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just—fuck—I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Are you gonna leave?”

“Leave this mission or this mortal coil?"

“Either, I guess.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Your voice was just a whisper, and it felt like you were ripping Joel’s heart out and crushing it in your hands.

Fuck no, he didn’t want you to leave, and that was what scared him the most; feeling attached to someone so detached (and yes, he was a hypocrite). He wouldn’t be able to take it if he woke up one day and you were gone.

But he couldn’t keep doing this to you. It was selfish and cowardly and it just made everything worse. He made everything worse.

“I can’t do this without you,” he told you. He hadn’t known how true it was until he said it.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.” He felt suddenly impassioned. “You can’t…if you…just don’t. Promise me you won’t.” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the words out of his mouth and into the universe. You both knew what he meant.

“I promise,” you said. You sounded oddly tranquil, but Joel was destroyed, even though he knew he didn’t have the right to be—this was entirely his fault.

“Can you let me keep watch so you can get some sleep?” you asked again.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Just need to know where you are.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and glossy, and for a second he thought you might start crying. Before he could think of something to do or say, your hands were on either side of his face, pulling him down into an urgent kiss.

He didn’t know what was happening, what you were thinking, or what he was thinking, but it didn’t matter, he just knew he needed to kiss you back. One of his hands found your waist while the other splayed out across your back, pulling you flush against him.

It was nowhere near sweet. It was intense and unyielding—a frantic clashing of teeth and bruising of lips. It was intoxicating, earth-shattering, but felt so right, like it was always meant to happen—or needed to happen.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, somehow bringing him impossibly closer to you. You hiked a leg up around his hip and tugged his pelvis forward. He ran a hand down from your waist, brushing it over your ass and gripping your thigh.

You rolled your hips into his, eliciting a deep, involuntary groan from him. He was painfully hard. He knew he would regret this, but he set your leg down and managed to tear his mouth away from yours.

He missed the feeling immediately, and he didn’t have the self-control to pull away completely. His hands were still on you, pressing you against him. You looked so pretty and ruined gazing back at him; breathless and flustered with pink, swollen lips.

Fuck.

You had just kissed Joel Miller, the man you hated.

You didn’t hate him.

You kissed the man who hated you.

He didn’t hate you.

You kissed the only person you had left. You kissed him even though it made no sense. You kissed him because you wanted to.

You started it, but then he stopped it. His eyes were dark, his face was flushed, and the bulge in his jeans was not going away. He looked like he was in pain, struggling with his own conscience.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” He grinned softly and reached a hand up to tangle in your hair. It was an unexpectedly sweet gesture. “I liked it.”

Your heart melted. He was so lovely, so dear. You never imagined in your wildest dreams that Joel Miller could be like this.

“Just don’t wanna take advantage,” he said.

“You’re not. I kissed you,” you reminded him.

“I know, but you're upset, and you don’t like me much, and you’re tired. Don’t want you doing anything you don’t actually wanna do.”

You did want it, but you were also overwhelmed and exhausted, and more importantly, it would have been a majorly fucked up thing to do with a 14 year old sleeping 20 feet away.

“But if you still want it later”—he gave you another chaste kiss—“you can have it.”

You giggled, kissing him one more time. You didn’t know when you'd be able to again.

His gentle smile faded, and he looked into your eyes with devastating sincerity. “I got you now, okay?”

“I know, Joel.”

“Do you have me?” he asked.

“I’m trying.” You hoped that would be enough, because it was all you had.

“That’s all I need, sweetheart.”

a/n: so i wrote most of this when i was sick with the flu and i fully intended for it to be a one-shot, but i love this dynamic and i’m thinking of exploring it further. let me know if y’all would be interested in seeing more of these two. (edit: this a/n is now redundant bc i did in fact write the sequel).

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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queenofcoquette · 8 months

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how to be magnetic <3 (marilyn style!)

introduction

hey loves! i’m going to share some tips on how to have a magnetic personality. i want to just preface by saying of course you don’t need to change. trust me you’re just fine the way you are, but if you do want to be magnetic in terms of being approachable to people, then here’s my advice! i’m going to go over body language and lifestyle changes :)

such a big misconception is that to act like marilyn you need to act dumb and smile which is WRONG. marilyn didn’t captivate by acting dumb- she was magnetic because she was calculating. acting like an airhead and laughing at everything won’t captivate anyone. marilyn described how she could “turn on” this version of herself- the marilyn that people saw who was magnetic and sultry and the actions were planned.

body language

have good posture. when you sit and stand, roll your shoulders back and stand tall. not only does this just look better but its good for your health. (bad posture can cause a ton of complications + pain)

uncross your arms when you stand. i always do it because it’s comfortable, but when you do it it just looks defensive, or like you don’t want to be there.

have your chin up. i noticed i look down a lot when i walk, like literally at my feet which looks pretty goofy. so remember to keep your head up- look forward, etc.

unclench your jaw. a lot of times we clench our jaw so tightly from stress and other things. when you unclench it it’ll feel better and make you look more approachable.

make eye contact. i know for a lot of people eye contact is uncomfortable, so for those people it’s important to work on that skill, because it really is important. marilyn practiced looking at someone’s eyes and then their lips and alternating that while speaking to someone.

pay attention when people talk to you. listen to other people, really care and look like you do too. ask people about themselves, smile and just be a nice person. that goes such a far way.

say the nice thoughts you have. when you think someone looks good, tell them. when you have a compliment for someone- tell them! expressing these good thoughts makes the people around us happy, and it’s important to spread good energy around.

don’t try too hard. you don’t need to try to be overly likeable. laughing at everything someone says, being a people pleaser, that’s not the best. when you’re genuine then people want to impress you more because you’re not always impressed by them.

mental

work on building your confidence. in your private time work on becoming confident, whether it’s saying positive things, journalling, something of that nature. i’ve made a post or two about confidence before, and how to become a confident person.

stay educated. read books, use a high vocabulary. things like this make a big difference in how you’re perceived, and it’s also just generally good to be a well educated person.

take care of yourself. work on being confident, work on being happy. be grateful and live for the little moments. take care of your health and your body, treat yourself kindly. :)

stay out of drama. i always listen but never involve myself in other people’s business. there’s just no reason to be messy, stay quiet and do your own thing, it’s a lot less stressful.

protect your peace. i’m always careful about the people i befriend and the people i trust. i make sure to avoid people who are overly dramatic and cause problems- i have a close cirlce of people i trust with my life, and i dont’ engage in things i know will make me upset.

if you have a problem with someone, talk to them privately. be genuine- instead of talking bad about people behind their back, always have discussions with people. this is productive to help them change and makes sure that you don’t become a gossiper.

appearance

look put together. have a good scent, keep your lips moisturized, take care of your skin and hair.

wear things that make you comfortable/that you like. when you feel good, you look better. wear clothing that makes you feel good!

but ultimately? feel comfortable as yourself. be genuine to who you are, embrace youre uniqueness and once you begin to radiate a little bit of confidence, everything will fall into line. don’t lose your individuality to please other people, or fit their image. when you’re the best version of yourself thats all that matters. :)

overall just be aware of your actions and what you’re doing. if you want to be magnetic just have good body language, be genuine and listen to other people. take care of your health, your mind and your appearance. once you’re taking care of yourself then you can spread the goodness by helping other people.

#that girl #that girl 2023 #self improvement #pink pilates princess #queenofcoquette

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powderblueblood · 5 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FIVE — CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: after you get kicked off the cheerleading squad by an enraged tina, you're stranded in a rainstorm of biblical proprtions- and the only safe haven is eddie munson's trailer. fuck. content warnings: MINORS DNI I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU HERE- male masturbation, sexualized language, some mild objectification, cursing, smoking, drinking, drug mention, reader backstory (i do it for the plot the plot the plot), steve harrington cameo, reader is a pretentious bitch word count: 10.1k

Dear reader, Joan Didion said something because Joan Didion is always saying something. Particularly to me. She comes at me hard, smacking me in the back of the head with perfect clarity and I have not gotten around to not resenting her for it yet.

‘I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.’

Joan Didion probably did not have to stay on nodding terms with a girl she used to be in order to score a cheerleading scholarship because her family blitzed her college fund on ill-chosen legal advice.

But she’s got a point.

You remember that day with perfect clarity.

Middle school had been a lesson in elocution, thanks to your then-best friend Phoebe’s older sister Casey. Phoebe was a relic of your former life– a bookish indoor kid with Coke bottle glasses, a slight stammer and a distinct lack of style. Despite this, you loved Phoebe and she loved you. But more than that, more than anything, you loved that Phoebe had an older sister.

A cool older sister.

Casey was popular in the best way, which is to say that she wasn’t showy about it but she wasn’t humble either. By recognizing the power of being hot and likeable, she knew nothing could ever touch her.

You wanted to be just like that.

You remember the first time Casey told you you’ve got potential. Her hand-me-downs were a little too big for Phoebe, because Casey had boobs and Phoebe’s hadn’t come in yet. Even as a pre-teen, you knew an opportunity when you saw it. Can I try that top? And you did, flipping your hair and adjusting yourself in the mirror just like you’d watched Casey do a hundred times, sitting on her bedroom floor and soaking up her knowledge while Phoebe moaned and sulked about being bored.

Check you out, hot stuff, Casey had smirked, but not in a way where you felt stupid. You’ve got potential.

The shirt didn’t feel entirely right on you, but the way Casey regarded you did.

Fast forward– your first day of freshman year. You were in the parking lot, stepping out of the passenger side of Casey’s car. Phoebe slid out of the back seat, shoulders slumped forward. You were dressed in an outfit that you and Casey spent hours agonizing over the night before–first impressions are everything, girl–while, again, Phoebe looked on glaring.

Come meet some of the crew, Casey said, pointedly to you and not to Phoebe.

Hey– I thought were were going to find our homerooms together, Phoebe protested, grabbing you by the elbow. She knew she wasn’t invited. And she didn’t care– she’d never cared for Casey and her ‘airhead ways’, as she so derisively called them.

Yeah, girl! you affirmed, a note-perfect impression of her older sister. Phoebe’s big eyes flared with disbelief. You’d spent junior high carefully studying Casey’s every movement, absorbing and adopting her behaviors as your own. Stella Adler would have loved your ass. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?

Make a move, freshman! Casey yelled, and you came trotting after her. There would be no catching up later, and you knew that. You bit back the sinking in your stomach with a Bonne Bell-glossed smile.

Look, I love my sister, Casey murmured, but I’m glad that you’re my little freshman experiment, ‘kay? You are way more fun that Phoebs and her goddamn library card.

You nodded, wordlessly grateful. Way more fun. The older girl confiding in you like this made you feel warm, included, grown-up. But not quite so grown-up that you remembered to watch where you were going– the laces of your left Chuck Taylor All-Stars came undone, sending you tripping– tripping–

Oof! Right into the muscular arms of Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington and his autumn colored eyes, his swathe of hair that seemed to grow more voluminous the more girls he flirted with, his shock of grown-up cologne and his perfect, perfect, perfect smile.

But it wasn’t just Steve Harrington. It was also all the surrounding popular kids that had already made a name for themselves coming up alongside you in middle school–Tina, Carol and her boyfriend Tommy Hagan–mingling with the older kids.

You okay? Steve asked, his voice all breathy and cute the way boys voices are when they’re halfway making fun of you.

Uh-huh, you nodded, lashes fluttering like crazy as you wracked your brain for something smart to say.

Let me help you out here.

Then Steve did something you never thought possible, something right out of your daydreams. He got down on one knee and started to re-tie your shoe.

Better watch yourself, Lacy, he said, tightening the bunny ears, gazing right up at you, Wiping out on the first day is not a good look.

Lacy. Lacy. Your heartbeat quickened at the nickname, hammering like hummingbird wings. It was the greatest thing you’d ever heard– it makes you feel fresh. New. Seen for the first time. Seen by Steve Harrington for the first time.

Can you blame me? you said before you knew you were saying it; a common occurrence with you, You’re just too easy to fall for, Harrington.

You drawled out too easy like you’re making fun of him, which of course you weren’t, because he’s Steve Harrington and you would never– but it earned some warm guffaws from the surrounding kids and a little ugh, please, from Tommy Hagan.

Hagan’s something else. Hagan’s hated you since day dot, and you him. You remember his merciless teasing of some kid during Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party, the last boy-girl party of your middle school careers, goading that they were too chicken to go into the closet with you for Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Steve grinned at you, eyebrows quirking upward. A fizzing feeling ran through your sternum and you felt like you might faint. Casey threw an arm around your shoulder, a magnet for attention. Well, it looks like some of you already know my little Lacy! You guys better be fuckin’ cool to her, okay, or else you’ve got me to answer to.

You smiled up at her, the older sister you’d always prayed for, and she looked impressed with you. That’s all you wanted. That’s all you craved. That, and for Steve Harrington and everybody else to never quit calling you Lacy.

And they didn’t.

Everything you’d gleaned from Casey equipped you to cruise through freshman year with no speedbumps, no checkpoints– you knew exactly how to wear your hair, how to flirt, how not to flirt, what not to eat, who not to be seen with… and even better than that, these people really took a shine to you. The girls especially.

Hawkins isn’t kind to teenage girls. It’s heavy with passive-aggressive Midwestern sensibility, with all the backwards, misogynistic attitude that comes along with that. It’s not overt, it’s insidious. It makes sense that these girls were scared. Few women make it out of here, and look at the ones that don’t. Their mothers. Your mother.

But what was even scarier was to want something more. To strive for better and be met with the begrudgery of your attempt. To think about life outside the snowglobe of this wicked little town.

That's the thing with wanting. It doesn’t leave you alone. It gnaws at you while you zone out in the cafeteria, churning around with the half fat yogurt in your stomach. It finds you in the middle of the night, awake on the floor of your friend Carol’s room after an evening of pounding secret wine coolers and picking apart the rest of the Hawkins student body for their flaws and faults, looking around at your friends and thinking,

God, I fucking hate these people. God, I’ve got to get out.

And you were working on it. Like a motherfucker, you were working on it– perfect grades, perfect attendance, the perfect extracurriculars in an excruciating balancing act with your demanding social life. Keep your record spotless and you could fly the coop to any college you wanted.

One such extracurricular was–is cheerleading. And god, you were great. You’re a flyer, one of the shining, pretty faces responsible for revving up the Hawkins Tigers and their adoring fans. Given your propensity for perfectionism, it’s an obvious position for you. Tina, the reigning captain of the cheer squad, had even taken you under her wing and spit shined up your back handsprings when you tried out as a freshman. Tina had a prior career as a child gymnast, making her a shoo-in for the title come senior year. And here she is now, hollering you all into formation.

It’s Thursday, and it’s still the week from hell. You had almost forgot about cheer practice, but here you are, in your green and white and gold, ponytail too tight and bruise fading out. The tension between you and Tina casts a thick haze over the gym, the other, less-clued-in members of the squad not exactly knowing where to look.

It probably wasn’t fair, outing Tina and her indiscretion with Hagan like that. But you felt like a cornered animal. It was all you could do, after all of them subtly chipping away at you for weeks when you’d done nothing but be there for them. Wiped their tears.

Bought their crabs lotion, in Tina’s case.

“Sloppy, Lacy! Again!” She’s drilling you like you’ve never been drilled before. Each twist and flip you perform, she finds something wrong with it– and you can’t even tell her she’s wrong. You have gotten sloppy, because your head’s not in the game. While cheerleading was a social and athletic high at one time, it wasn’t high on your list of priorities right now. Dismounting your bases and tugging your ponytail ever tighter over your skull, you stalk towards her.

“Alright, Tina!” you yell, bubbling over with frustration. “How about you just drop the Russian gym coach bit and tell me what I’m doing wrong? Or is yelling at me all you got?”

She does her best attempt at a withering glare. You can’t help but think it looks like something she learned from you. “How about I show you instead?”

Tina shoulder checks you, hard, and calls to one of the underclassmen. A mousy sophomore with sandy bangs and blazing Bambi eyes. This kid looks terrified, and knowing Tina’s reputation, she should be. “Cunningham! You’re up!”

Chrissy Cunningham. Right. Heir to the throne of Hawkins High. You don’t think you’ve heard her speak more than a couple of words and most of those have been in response to her Aryan meathead boyfriend, Jason Carver.

But for what Cunningham lacks in vocal force, she makes up for in aerodynamics. This girl makes a basket toss look like ballet, ponytail pirouetting as she lands in the bases’ arms. Every move, faultless. She’s locked in.

“That is what I want. What I don’t want, Lacy, is a flyer that looks like she’s losing control of her rectum mid-toss,” Tina hollers. “We all know how crucial this weekend is. Not just for us, but for the Tigers, too. Right? So that means the last thing we need is dead weight dragging us down.” She locks her laserlike stare on you. “Right?”

The squad mumbles in the affirmative. Chrissy Cunningham visibly gulps.

And you? A knife slices right through you, cold and exacting. You almost gag, trying to swallow through your thickening throat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“You tell me, Lace. You’re the one that knows everything.”

You don’t waste a second of time trying to counter-argue, because you can’t be sure it won’t end in your limbs flailing, trying to smash Tina’s head against the waxed floorboards of the gym. Instead, you grab your bag. You give the squad a grimacing nod and head to heave the double doors open.

The sound of your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor makes you want to tear your shoes off and throw them through a window, just to watch the glass shatter.

You really never thought of yourself as a violent person, not until– everything happened.

But now, god, now you just want to punch and tear and rip everything apart. This slow burn of your social status, your friends, your tether to reality as you know it slipping away is torturous. You’d rather burn it all up than let it swallow you whole.

Standing on the front steps of the school, your eyes automatically dart to the parking lot.

It’s not there. He’s not there.

And why would he be? you think, starting in the direction of the trailer park. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day in the record store, leaving him hanging with his hands behind his back and his mouth in that grin.

There was a reason for that. Call it post-high clarity or something else, but you knew right then you needed to focus the fuck up. Quit acting out because of your daddy’s mistakes and prove all of these shitheels wrong once and for all.

Blend in. Stop causing trouble. Fall in line and study hard and cheer harder and get the hell out of dodge once you get your hands on that high school diploma. By whatever means necessary. Those means really did not include hanging out with Eddie Munson for even a second longer than you already had.

–which is a nice thought and all, but Tina really shit all over that one with this shedding the dead weight move.

The clouds above you carry the most pathetic of pathetic fallacies, gray and pregnant with rain that starts to hit you square on the crown of your head in fat, heavy drops. You’re still fifteen minutes from the trailer park, at least, and you don’t have a raincoat. You don’t have an umbrella. And you don’t fucking care.

You stomp up the dirt drive leading into Forest Hills, the pleats of your green skirt heavy with water, your cheerleader’s cardigan weighing down your shoulders. Your white knee-high socks are flecked with mud and getting dirtier with every sloppy step. And the rain, the relentless relentless rain, is streaming into your eyes, streaming mascara with it.

You gasp against the cold of the downpour as you approach your trailer– and a glowing yellow light catches in your peripheral vision. His bedroom, the one you can see into from your bedroom. Though you try not to look. And sometimes you fail.

You don’t see much, when you do look. It’s mostly his hunching figure, bent over his guitar or some binder or book or map or figurine. But he always seems calmer, the frenetic energy he wears around like chainmail finally falling to the floor. Watching him like that makes you want to breathe a sigh of relief right along with him, just to see if you’d feel similarly. Calmer.

Calm is not how you feel right now, wiping the rain from your face as you dig in your bag for your keys. Once, twice, thrice they slip out of your hands, and on the fourth try, you finally get them in the door. And then– the key strains in the lock. Come on. This door has always been unnecessarily sticky, but this wasn’t really the time– you push and you push the silver key to the left with no give.

Was your mom in there? Had she left her key in the door by accident before she went on another overnighter with Prince Valium? “Mom! Mom!” you yell, hammering on the door. No dice. You pull at the key again, and pull and pull and–

Snap.

You shudder, a full body shake that’s only partially down to the rainwater that’s soaked you right to the bone marrow. The key has snapped off in the lock, leaving you standing there with a useless silver nub.

“Fuck!” you holler, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuck! Fucking–shit!”

Your fists go straight to the side of the trailer, banging one after the other against the metallic veneer. You don’t care that it hurts your knuckles, you want it to dent or crack or something, you want to not feel so impotent and fucking useless, but here you are!

“Hey! Asshole!”

Your head whips around, heavy, sodden ponytail smacking you in the face.

Eddie Munson is leaning out his bedroom window, barely visible through the downpour.

“Keep it down! You’re in a residential goddamn area!” He’s not smiling that shiteating smile. He’s not even grinning. He’s just glowering at you, which is the look you’re most accustomed to seeing him wear. Even so, it feels– it feels– it makes you feel worse.

“Fuck you!” you scream across to him, “Who died and made you the fucking neighborhood watch?!”

“Go inside, you lunatic!”

“My fucking– my key broke off, dickhead!”

That makes his brow loosen a little bit. You just stand there, gasping in the rain. And then he disappears from the window–

–only to fling open the front door of his trailer.

“Come on,” he grumbles, massaging the space between his eyebrows like he can’t believe what he’s fucking doing.

“No.”

“What? Cut the shit, Lacy, come inside.”

“No! I don’t want to!”

Munson’s face opens up in an expression of sheer incredulity– and you partially can’t believe yourself either. What is it about him that just makes you shove and shove and shove, unable to let him win– or in this case, unable to let him help?

“Fine! Fucking drown out there for all I care!” The trailer door slams.

Your teeth have started to chatter, and your options from here on out are… walk or hitch your way back to town and drag your sodden ass somewhere there’s a phone where you then call your mom and pray she’ll pick up (she won’t) and tell her about the lock and try to tell her about the cheerleading squad and pray she’ll understand how upset you are (she won’t) and how much of an awful spiral this whole year has become and it’s not even Christmas yet and–

The trailer door swings back open.

Eddie Munson comes stalking out into the rain, white Reeboks splattering mud everywhere. He’s wearing that shirt from his Dungeons and Dragons club, the one with the big fucking smug Satan splayed across it and you wonder, did he model that after himself?

“What’s your fucking problem?” he asks, point blank. It feels like he’s aiming something at you.

“I’m having a shitty fucking day!” you scream in response, making that dog belonging to that red headed kid sister of Billy Hargrove’s yap somewhere in the distance. “And I keep telling you, I don’t need your fucking–”

“Help? Right!” he scoffs, loud and indignant, crossing his arms across his chest. The fabric of the ringer tee is changing color before your eyes, clinging to him. “You don’t need my help yet you always take it, you don’t wanna be seen with me yet you end up at my lunch table, in my van, smoking my weed– you know, it may shock you but I’m not exactly thrilled to be seen with you either, Lacy! I mean, playing chauffeur to a grade A certified bitch that wouldn’t give me the time of day unless she was desperate? Who stood by and let her shitty friends, who aren’t even her friends anymore, make mine and my friends’ life a living hell for how many years? What kind of an asshole does that make me? How pathetic is that?”

The way he spits the word bitch– it was different from the way he said it in the record store. There, it felt like a come-on. A compliment. Here, it feels like a curse. But oh, he doesn’t stop there! You are rooted to the spot, an unmoving target for his justified rage.

“You can’t even play ignorant, y’know, because I’ve seen you. You’re smarter than them. You know how godawful those people are–Harrington, Carver, Carol, fucking Hagan worst of all–and you just let ‘em run. Because you needed that status, you needed to be the most evil fucking twat at the twat table, and for what? They left you, Lacy! They all left you!”

You’re not sure at what point in his speech you started sobbing but at its crescendo, you yelp. It’s a high, pathetic sound you wish you could stuff back inside your throat and hopefully choke yourself with. See, you know all these things. You’ve told them to yourself in your most honest moments, of which there are not many, but having Eddie Munson lay them out for you in the pouring rain– it’s horrible. You’re horrible.

Eddie’s arms move from where they were bound on his chest. Okay, that was an outburst, sure, but he didn’t mean to make you cry. And you’re like, really crying. He can’t stand it when girls cry, and you, in particular–you, having never displayed much emotion beyond bemusement and annoyance and mild disgust toward him–is especially frightening.

And then you let out this scream. It comes right from the center of your chest, rumbling and primal and visceral and real. It’s a real noise, not one you put careful, curative thought into, tuning it just right before you let it out. Because in this instance, he’s right! You’ve worked so hard, and for what! For fucking nothing! For it to blow up in your face! So you let out another howl– and it feels so, so good. A feeling of satisfaction, more than a feeling of relief–

–so Eddie screams too. God, that feels fantastic.

His is heavier than yours, obviously, because he’s a guy and he probably screams as a hobby in whatever metal band he supposedly plays in. But you like that sound. You like the way it seems to ring off the exteriors of the trailer, ricocheting around like a pinball in its machine.

A couple more painful sobs escape you, and Eddie’s taking tentative steps toward you, like you’re a snarling animal he’s trying to coax.

In ways, you are, but that’s because you feel hunted. You have to blink, through tears and through rain, but you see that his shirt is so soaked that it’s see-through. You can see a vague suggestion of a tattoo on his chest. You see that he’s fighting a smile.

This is so stupid. This is so ridiculous, that you could make a noise like that and completely short circuit the white hot anger he was spewing at you.

“Come inside,” he breathes, a little less than a foot of space between you, “You lunatic.”

Your head, so heavy on your neck, so heavy from crying, so heavy from carrying your spiteful brain around, falls against his chest.

“Uhh…” Eddie mumbles, hands hovering behind your back, not sure if he’s supposed to embrace you or if you’re about to rip his heart out of his chest. Either could be true.

You know what you’d prefer.

You’re positive he doesn’t here you exhale into his chest, into the mouth of the cartoon Satan, into the thrum of his jumping heartbeat. Sorry. I’m really… I’m so sorry.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “hey. Shit.” His hand finally rests in between your shoulder blades. You let him guide you inside, and he even picks up the book bag you had thrown in the mud. You reach, try to grab it from him, but he yanks it out of your grasp. Half teasing, half assuring you that it’s okay.

A squeaky, squelching silence settles between you two as you stand in his doorway. You’re creating a puddle near some old work boots. You wonder if they’re his– you’ve never seen him not wear those Reeboks.

“So… welcome,” he cringes, emitting a pitchy, awkward laugh. You follow him through to the kitchenette, which is identical to your kitchenette, except every surface is not covered in legal correspondence or empty wine bottles or too-expensive tchotchkes. The light in here seems dimmer, warmer. There’s a distinct aroma of stale cigarette smoke and old coffee, which you breathe in deep. “Sorry for the mess–”

“It’s fine. It’s good mess,” you say, a little distant. You peer around the place like you’re in a gallery.

“Good mess?” he queries, crossing to the kitchen sink where he attempts to wring his shirt out by hand– still wearing it.

“Lived-in mess,” you say. What you mean is, it doesn’t look like a mausoleum of a life someone left behind. A storage locker. A haphazard sarcophagus. Before you moved to the trailer, your house was so clean– that was a whole other problem. The same tchotchkes that are scattered on your counter were kept behind glass, only touched when your mother polished them, the only housework she ever did. You stare at a collection of trucker hats nailed along the living room wall, the shelf of novelty mugs that accompanies them.

“Living in mess? What is that, like living in filth? You better start showing this fine abode some respect before–”

“Lived. In. Munson, I said, lived in if you would just listen– it’s good, it’s fine. It’s n-nice.”

It’s warm in the trailer, you can tell, but you’re shivering. You bear down in your body, jaw all set so your teeth don’t start chattering again, but he hears it in your voice.

“Uh-oh,” he says, somehow not at all betraying any signs of being out in the freezing rain except for being entirely soaked. You bet his skin is still running hot, like you felt through his shirt, like you felt grabbing his wrist. “Star cheerleader’s coming down with a case of hypothermia. Right before the big game!”

He slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror.

“I’m–” you’re about to tell him a couple things; one, that you’re fine which would be stupid, because you are so clearly not fine; two, you’re not the star cheerleader anymore; and a third, forgotten thing. “--cold,” is what you settle on. It sounds small, vulnerable.

Eddie holds his breath for a second. You sound so delicate. Hard, terrible you.

“No, sure, of course you are,” he fumbles. The way his wet hair has flattened to his skull makes him look younger– exposing a nervous boy behind the metalhead posturing. “You can– take a shower. If you want. To warm up.”

Take a shower. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. Your eyelids flutter closed, taking on their own vibrations from the wracking of your body. This is a hell of my own making. “Yes. Sure. Thank you.”

“I can also,” he starts, crossing the kitchen again and knocking something over on his way– it just clatters to the floor, whatever it was, and he lets it, like he’s used to leaving crashing sounds in his wake. “I can take your clothes if you want. Put ‘em in the washer.”

You hesitate a beat, then follow him down a hallway.

“I probably have something you can wear,” he says. There’s a note in his tone that’s high and nervous. “You’re for sure gonna hate it, but hey– beats freezing to death.”

“Just barely,” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“This, uh– this is dry-clean only,” you correct yourself, gesturing to the uniform.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Only the best for the pom-pom shakers.”

He ducks into a room that must be his bedroom, but you don’t follow him. Instead, you linger in the hallway, near the dingy bathroom, staring at the corn themed wall calendar. Going into his bedroom feels too personal– too intimate, as if preparing to take a shower in Eddie Munson’s trailer only to change into his clothes isn’t intimate.

“I figured,” he says, emerging from the bedroom with clothes and a towel in hand, “since you like all that rinky-dinky-tinkly garbage, you wouldn’t hate wearing a Stooges shirt.”

“I–” the shirt is soft under your wrinkled fingers, as are the boxers he passes off to you. Boxers. You hold them up between your forefinger and thumb, stepping into the bathroom. “These are clean, right?”

Eddie stares at you for a second– then leans his head into the bathroom and shakes his sopping locks at you, just like a dog. You let out a shriek that he thinks almost sounds like an involuntary giggle. I’ll take it.

“No comment!” And he slams the door on you.

Then you’re standing. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. In Eddie Munson’s bathroom. Holding his old Stooges shirt and his boxers, with mascara running down your face.

You pinch yourself, hard, just in case.

The shower heats up quick–quicker than yours, you notice–and you rest your head against the tile as the steam swirls up around you. This is so weird. This is so fucking weird, and you can’t scrub away the weirdness fast enough. There’s not enough Irish Spring in the world. You reach into the shower caddy to replace the bottle and notice something familiar– wait, that’s–

Wait.

Do you and Eddie Munson use the same brand of shampoo?

You had to switch from your favorite to the best that the Big Buy had to offer, given the change in your personal means, and this was the top score in terms of quality. Eddie Munson apparently agrees– but better yet, you realize as a grin spreads across your face, Munson uses women’s shampoo.

It’s nice to have a fresh piece of arsenal to aim at him once you get out of the shower.

Toweling off and changing, you do give the boxers a wary sniff before you put them on– but luckily, they smell like generic detergent and aren’t stiff in any way. So you slide them on.

They fit snugly– naturally, given he’s all sinewy and you have hips. He is really sinewy, now that you think about it.

His wrist wasn’t bony, but it was active. Tendons flexing under the thin, soaked layer of his shirt. You wonder, absently, was that a tattoo you saw. What is it. What does it look like. Is it shitty. It’s his, so it’s probably shitty, but I want to see it. Does he have any more.

You shiver, slipping the Stooges t-shirt on, and blame your hardening nipples on the cold.

The cheer outfit is another problem. You emerge from the bathroom, clutching the still-sodden uniform with Eddie’s– Munson’s towel thrown over your shoulder.

“Do you have, like, a garbage bag or something?” you ask, eyes rising to look at him where he stands in the doorframe of his room. He’s still in his soaked clothes.

He takes a second to answer you, and when he does, his voice is all thick. Avoiding eye contact.

“Suuure,” and he disappears and reappears with a plastic bag, quick as a blink.

“Thanks.” You dump the uniform, sneakers and all, into the bag and make for the door.

“Hey, it’s still raining–” his voice follows you, as if you hadn’t heard the raindrop gunshots hitting the trailer roof.

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. You yank Munson’s door open and fling the garbage bag outside. It lands squarely between your trailer and his.

Munson appears over your shoulder, looking out at the garbage bag. His face is twisted in confusion, concern, curiosity.

“I got kicked off,” you explain, plain as biscuits.

“Off the pom pom squad?” he whispers, eyes flaring in surprise that you think might actually be real. You’re looking at his lashes again, fanning around the almost-perfect circles of his eye sockets.

“The very same.”

“Escándalo. What happened?”

“How about you go and shower first,” you suggest, poking a finger into his chest. He makes a little breathy noise, a little ‘unh’, that you don’t… hate. “Can’t have the star dork of the make believe board game club catch his death, can we?”

“Anything happens to me and you’re the prime suspect, babe,” he grins and snaps the towel off your shoulder.

“Hey!”

“This is the last clean one. What am I, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”

Christ, he wants to jerk off into this towel but he knows that’s weird. That’s perverted. That’s fucked up. That’s everything everyone says about him and that’s everything you make him feel.

So he strips, turns the hot water to scalding and furiously rubs one out down the drain. One, because he feels bizarre about leaving you alone among all of his things for too long and two, because hot water is in short supply.

And three, because he’s achingly rock hard at the sight of you in his boxers, tossing your cheerleading outfit into the mud and the wet.

The metaphors. The implications. The feeling of your forehead against his chest. The stab of your finger in his sternum.

He cums jaggedly, almost silently, with his mouth rammed against his forearm.

If you heard him– God, you’d be so nasty about it. God, he’d never live it down. God, he’d love to know what you’d say.

He makes damn quick work of sudsing up and rinsing down, wrapping a towel around his waist– only to run into you as he’s coming out of the bathroom.

You stare. You stare at him, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and all the blood drains away from his brain. Again.

“Stare much?” he sneers, but only just about. Because his first instinct is to drop the towel and give you an eyeful. See what you’d do– hopefully something with your mouth. God, he hopes it’d be something with your mouth.

“Where are your smokes?” you snap back. “I know you have some.”

“Kitchen. There’s probably–,” he needs you to stop looking at him like that; like you’re going to snap his neck, “--kitchen.”

Eddie slams his bedroom door and smacks his face with three quick strikes. “Come on, man! Get it together!”

Because it’s go time.

He has to formulate some kind of plan.

He hadn’t exactly thought ahead when he invited you inside–or, demanded you come inside–and since you now had no place to go and Wayne had specifically told him not to go near you and your boobs were stretching out his dad’s old Stooges t-shirt…

Christ.

He’s entirely, massively, completely at a loss. Eddie paces around the room like an animal in panic, grabbing a Scorpion shirt and some worn flannel pants as he goes.

“Like, I’m supposed to go out there and do what? Ask her to hang out? Fucking paint her nails, read Cosmo? Study?! Jesus!” he angrily mumbles to his reflection, tearing the towel away and tugging his t-shirt over his sopping hair. “Hey, Lacy, you wanna beer? Who am I, Steve fucking Harrington? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ, dude!”

“Munson. Are you talking to me in there?” He hears your voice from a minute distance away– see, that’s the thing about trailers. Small space, thin walls, and Eddie Munson’s voice travels at super speed.

He stops, seizing, cringing, shoulders hitching up to his ears.

That was not enough time to formulate a plan.

Eddie, jankily tugging his pants on, sweeps out to the kitchenette area like something is chasing him and stops dead when he sees you. You haven’t trashed the place. You haven’t even tried to stick your head in the oven, two things he was kind of concerned about given the way you were wailing outside.

You’re standing in the middle of the room with your hip cocked out, smoking a stolen cigarette and studying his uncle’s trucker hat collection.

All the air in the room seems to orbit around you like a tornado in slow motion.

How is it that you make an old shirt and boxers look like a skirt set? How is it that you can be sobbing your lungs out one minute, then the picture of poise and sophistication the next?

All that air and none left for Eddie to take a breath.

“Hey, Lacy,” he strains, “you wanna beer?”

“What,” you purr– like, he’s so sure that you actually purr, “You mean you’re all out of Sancerre?”

He does not know what the hell that is, but he can only assume it’s some rich people bullshit– and he’s relieved. You’re mocking him. At least that’s some tether to normalcy. She’s baa-aack.

Eddie rolls his eyes, not entirely meaning it, but if he beams right at you he’s going to give the game away.

“Think fast!” He tosses a can of the cheapest beer available at the Big Buy your way and you just about catch it, hands above your head and the cigarette dangling out of your mouth like Keith Richards.

“God, Munson,” you mumble around the filter, “What kept you off the basketball team?”

“Half a brain and a big dick,” he smirks, cracking the pull top and snatching the soft pack of cigarettes you’d left on the countertop. You cross from the living room, propping yourself up on the counter stool in a fluid movement that can only be described as feline.

“Well, we sure can account for one of those things,” you say, ashing with your right hand and tapping at your temple with your left.

“And the other?” Eddie asks, voice dropping a mocking octave.

“I’d sooner drink arsenic than find out.”

He raises his beer can to you. “In that case, cheers!”

Your mouth twists around a smile and Eddie can see you’re fighting hard to keep it at bay. And that you’re losing. You tip your beer to your lips and he braces his elbows on the counter, looking around for a lighter. He spots a Bic, but the trigger won’t light it– just sparks, no flame.

“That thing’s dead,” you say, “I lit this off the toaster.”

“Oh! Right,” Eddie goes to turn, but something chilly snaps to his forearm. Your fingers. Damn. What is it with you? Circulation thing or what?

“Don’t do that,” you shake your head. “I don’t trust you not to burn the whole trailer down.”

“This is my trailer, y’know.”

“Yeah, and I’m in it. So burn it down on your own time.”

You motion for him to light his cigarette off the half-burned length of yours and Eddie tentatively places the filter between his lips. You prop yourself up on the stool, ass raised from the seat, leaning toward him. He leans in too and you cup that little hand with the perfectly painted fingers around the cigarettes. Like you’re whispering a secret. You look down, focusing on making fire, but Eddie’s eyes follow the tiny crease of your brow, the slope of your nose. The little wipe of mascara still underneath your eye.

Tips touch and Eddie inhales just as you do. The cherried ends of the smokes glow orange and you pull back and Eddie just stays there a moment, frozen with the now-lit ember hanging out of his mouth.

You pull back and inhale that smoke like one of those chicks from those black and white movies Wayne is always watching. You exhale all daintily, in one perfect clouding stream. You’re all– you’re so–...

“Fucked,” you groan, shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I am so fucked.”

Eddie finally tugs the cigarette from his mouth, filter gone a little soft with the low-level salivating he’d been doing. “Oh. The cheerleader shit?”

“Yes, Munson. The cheerleader shit.”

“What happened, anyway?” He resumes the position of being elbow-up on the countertop, which incidentally brings him a little bit closer to you. Incidentally. “You crack some skulls this time?”

“Huh,” you chuckle emptily, “Almost. Um, Tina more or less took me out at the knees. Which, I understand of course. If I were her, I would have obliterated me, but–”

“You’re not her, and it doesn’t feel awesome to be on the other end of obliterated,” Eddie nods, giving you a squint-eyed pout of mock-sympathy. “Poor Lacy. Getting shitkicked by the consequences of her own actions.”

Thunk! You punch him in the shoulder, which hurts and he gasps, but it’s so funny and categorically unladylike coming from you. These little peals of violence that keep coming off you are a seemingly bottomless source of amusement for him.

She’s so funny-looking when she’s mad.

“Fuck off!” you bark, as if reading him like a goddamn horoscope, but there’s a glimmer to your narrowed stare. “I got replaced by a sophomore, as if I needed an insult topping on that injury shitshake.”

“Oh, she Old Yeller’d your ass!” Eddie gasps again, chuckling heartily, “Took you out back and–” He mimes blowing your brains right out, nailing you right through the forehead. You stare at him square, unimpressed. “Who usurped ya?”

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

Oh. Well, isn’t that interesting. Eddie’s lips flatten into a straight line and he makes a little mmh sound. And you pick up on that immediately, being that you’re annoyingly perceptive.

“Munson! Come on!”

“What? Whaaat? I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s a child.”

“That is a sophomore and you said so yourself. Besides…” he trails off, pointedly crushing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray until it’s oversquished. “...we have history.”

If his cigarette extinguishing was pointed, yours is needle sharp with the way you crush it into the ashtray right next to the remnants of his.

“Go on,” you hum, just like you did in the van that last night. I really wanna know. It’s conspiratorial and intoxicating and makes it feel like you’re on his side, which you know he’s not but it’s so, so tasty to think that for a second you might be.

Is this how you make everyone feel? Lull ‘em into a false sense of security? Hoard your ammo and go apeshit later?

Eddie draws back, nearly congratulating himself for doing so. “That’s for me to know, and you to die ignorant.”

The way your lips pop open is almost too good, your little doll face turning to a mask of betrayal too quick for you to hide it. Too quick for you to be all like fine! Keep it to yourself! You’re both totally irrelevant anyway! or whatever other bitchy retort you’re bound to come up with.

“Wow. Well, if that holds any water, Carver’ll shit,” you start, sipping on your beer, “His little virgin Mary deflowered by the devil’s first alternate.”

“Hey, I never said–!” Fuck. Fuck! How do you do that! Eddie pinches his lips together as you smirk over the rim of the beer can, all stuck under your gaze. Fly in the spider’s web.

“A-ha,” you say, irritatingly smoothly. “So nothing happened. She’s just spank bank material.”

“Didn’t– say that either,” Eddie mumbles, mind going annoyingly blank under your rapid fire tearing and the inebriating way you’re delivering it. He hates this and he has no intention of telling you to stop. The duality of man.

“Didn’t not say that, though.”

“You oughta be a lawyer,” he tells you, swigging deep, “the way you find a loophole in everything.”

“The way you want me to get you off, you mean.”

You come out with that, something so incendiary, oh-so-casually and slip off your seat. She can’t just do that. You’re padding around the living room again, bare footed and small-looking, but Eddie’s staring at you like you’re a hand grenade with the pin missing that also has the secret to everlasting life inside. Terrified. Fascinated.

A little stiff.

“What?” he breathes, but doesn’t really want you to answer the question.

And you don’t, you just keep looking around the living room with your arms crossed over your chest. “You need money to be a lawyer, Munson. To go to law school. To go to any school. And I don’t have that. And I foolishly figured getting a cheerleading scholarship would be a cinch of a backup plan, and now I can’t do that either.”

“What are you looking for?” he asks, finally willing his dick down and his legs to work, rounding into the living room with you.

“Your, like… stereo, or record player, or something,” you murmur, smoothing down his boxers over your hips. “It’s too quiet in here.”

Eddie blinks. What should really happen is he should say, no, stay out here in the silence, you insolent wench. Think on your crimes. Reflect. Repent. Stop being such a bossy little ballbreaker and give my balls a break.

“Room. Uh– it’s in my room,” is what he says instead.

“‘kay,” is all you say with a little shrug of your shoulder, grabbing your can from the counter and padding down the hallway toward that same bedroom. His bedroom. Eddie Munson’s bedroom with his bed and his shit in it. “Let’s go.”

How irregular does your heartbeat have to get before you classify it as a cardiac event?

There’s only so many times you can flagellate yourself with the ol’ what the fuck are you doing thing before it becomes redundant.

Songs get overplayed, nail polish color gets overused, trends die. Things become redundant all the time, and you discard them.

The notion of what the fuck are you doing in Eddie Munson’s trailer in Eddie Munson’s boxers walking towards Eddie Munson’s bedroom has become redundant because you simply are doing all those things. Not much point in questioning them. The chips have fallen.

An eerie calm had come over you when he was in the shower and you were staring at all of these trucker hats on the wall– if the insanity is temporary, you might as well lean into it. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re trapped. Might as well get comfortable.

“God, this place is filthy, Munson.” You, with your arms still bound across your chest, toe a discarded t-shirt out of your path as you move into the bedroom with that same reserved interest of a gallery-goer. The place is cluttered, posters and flyers and doodles torn out of notebooks tacked up on the wall in total disarray. Every surface area is covered in what could be organized chaos, but knowing Munson the little that you do, you doubt it.

To test the theory, you ask, “Where are your records? Tapes, anything?”

But he’s just lingering in the doorway, chewing on the end of a lock of hair. Watching you stand in the middle of the room with astronaut eyes, unblinking. It’s kind of– sweet, in a deeply unnerving way. He looks like a kid.

Your brow furrows, grimace turning your lips into a point.

“Fine. Ogle me like a goddamn lobotomy patient, then.”

You resume your perusing of his things, when you spot the most precious piece of hardware hanging by the mirror. A marbled black and red body fashioned into nasty spikes. You reach out to give the strings an aimless thrum but your wrist is rapidly snatched away.

“Nuh-uh. That’s where I draw the line,” Munson says, shuffling you away from the guitar like a security guard. A flash of something as your calves hit his mattress– him shepherding you toward your own bed, you drunk out of your gourd. “Siddown.”

And you sit, bouncing against the sinking mattress on impact. Rubbing at the spot on your wrist that his fingers had been squeezing. Staring up at him glowering down at you. “Ow.”

And Munson, it turns out, knows where everything is in his nuclear fallout of a room. He shoves a shoebox of tapes into your hands and nudges a bigger milk crate full of records nearer to you with his foot.

“Knock yourself out,” he huffs, flinging himself face-down on the mattress next to you. You jerk; always the court jester, this guy. “Not that you’re gonna find anything you want to listen to.”

A scoff flies out of your mouth before you’ve got a chance to suppress it– he’s gotta know, right? He’s gotta know he can’t just say shit like that to you without you fully activating that I can do anything you can do better–backwards–bleeding–in heels chip in your brain. You’ll show him. There’s nothing that matters to you more in the world right now than showing him.

Though, rattling through his box of tapes, each one bearing a different variation of hot chick and the Devil artwork, you’ve got your work cut out for you. W.A.S.P. Mercyful Fate. Dirty Rotten Imbeciles. Witchfinder General. Some band that’s literally just called Loudness, for Chrissake. As you flick and flick, hope wavering, one catches your eye. There’s a jump in your throat. Scrawled letterhead against a draped satin background. A photo of something you always figured was a headless marble statue, though you could never be sure.

“Why do you have this?”

No response from the corpse of Munson, presumably smothered by his own comforter.

“Hey!” you tap the back of his skull with the plastic casing. One eye appears, glaring up at you from the mattress. Rattle rattle goes the Cocteau Twins tape as you shake it in its case. “Thought this was haunted doll music.”

“Ow.” Munson slowly raises himself onto his elbows, looking like he’s about to start kicking his legs in the air behind him. Twirling his hair around his finger. A grin is edging onto his lips, lips he’s pulling strands of hair away from.

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

A feeling akin to heat spreads rights across your breastbone. You want to pry, secretly. You want an explanation. Why would you take that? Do you like me, or something? But asking speaks it into existence, and the insanity is temporary, and you’re so waiting for dawn to break on it so you can resume some hobbled together semblance of a normal existence.

One that doesn’t include Eddie Munson stealing tapes that make you feel ticklish in order to, I don’t know, listen to them on his own so he can feel ticklish too.

He hadn’t listened to it, for the record. Not all the way through, at least.

He’d gotten as far as track two and had to switch it off, ejecting it out of the tape deck of his van with such speed that he was sure it’d shoot clean through the doors in the back. Too close, too real. That had veered a little out of the lane of objectifying you as someone whose crotch he maybe wanted to bury his face in and a little into the lane of you being like, a person. With feelings.

The events of tonight aren’t helping that case. He hoped that lying face down for as long as he possibly could might let them just unfold around him, like he’d roll over and you’d just be gone, no evidence left behind except for your hair in the drain.

But you demand attention. Eddie might be obvious, but you demand attention. His attention, at least.

He grabs the tape from you. “We’re not listenin’ to that bullshit. Try again.”

“Fine!” you snap, but there’s this irritating bemusement dancing around your face.

You lean forward from your spot on the mattress and tug the milk crate between your calves. Now, this is more your lane– in here, Munson’s got the classics. Or as close to the classics as he will deign to recognise. Zeppelin, Sabbath, Alice Cooper, Blue Öyster Cult– the combination of which you have something borderline mean to say about, but you’ll leave that ‘til later. You dig around, and then.

And then. Hello there, handsome.

In your hands are twelve inches of beauty, belonging to a grisly-voiced Tom Waits. Blue Valentine. Straight to the record player with this old bastard.

“People give this record too much shit,” you remark, and Eddie watches you as you tentatively lift a sock off the turntable. Yeah, he’ll cop to it, he doesn’t take such good care of some of his gear, but sometimes his brain behaves like a police scanner. Lotta channels operating at once. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. He’s watching you lift the needle onto the vinyl right now. “People say that this is a mediocre addition to the oeuvre, but what is mediocre about this–!”

Rousing strings seep from the stereo speakers– it’s Waits’ cover of Somewhere from West Side Story. Eddie knows it within the first half a second because, and now he’ll never admit it since he knows you like it so much, he has played this album to death.

Somewhere around the halfway mark of Christmas Card For a Hooker in Minneapolis, the record will skip because it's scratched. Or well-loved, if you ask Eddie.

“Fucking Robert Christgau thinks he’s being funny, doing this, y’know,” you sneer, examining the record sleeve as if you hadn’t seen it thirty thousand times before. Your copy had been lost in the move, among a number of your little sonic secrets. The records you’d keep to listen to by yourself, lying on your bedroom floor. “As if the whole core of Tom Waits’ whole thing isn’t heartache, the sentimentality of what-if. What if we could, what if life wasn’t garbage. That’s sentimentality, right there. It’s West Side Story, I mean, c'mon. Tom Waits is singing to us with his heart on his sleeve, but Christgau wants to suddenly be pedantic, turn around and be like, it’s a vaudeville act! because Waits sometimes also wears his dick on his sleeve.”

It’s a tirade you’ve often repeated to yourself, in your diary or alone in your room, pretending like you’re on a panel, pretending like you’re Susan Sontag and people actually give a shit what you actually have to say. You can’t exactly figure why you’ve said it again now. Maybe because you always found the strings on this song too much to bear without emoting, and you’re already vulnerable and tired.

Munson, for his part, has flipped over onto his back on the mattress. “Who?” he drones.

“Robert Christgau,” you say, momentarily distracted by the way his shirt has rucked up around his belly. No six pack. Some meat there. Tendons, like you’d noticed before. “Just one of the most seminal rock writers of our time.”

You have a well-thumbed copy of his Record Guide: Rock Albums of the Seventies somewhere in a still-unpacked box.

Munson has a happy trail that curls like brushstrokes.

“You fucking trifler,” you grumble.

His face takes on that terrible look that he’d given you in the record store, all enraptured and cloudy at the corners of his eyes. Looking at you from where he leans on his elbows, one knee propped up, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. You want to shove it back down.

And see what he’ll do about that.

“How do you know all this shit?” he asks. Eddie can’t help this. He can’t help that he keeps changing his channel about you (again, police scanner) because one second you’ll be such a massive pain in the ass, then the next, you’ll say something so clever that it’ll make him want to vomit.

“I like music,” you say, flatly. You give it to him straight, because you suddenly feel searched. You clutch Waitsy’s printed face to your chest in an effort of self-defense. “And I like… words. Kind of makes sense that I would enjoy music journalism, if you’re not totally stupid.”

“I’m only a little stupid.”

“Debatable.”

“Wait, but I mean–” and he’s gearing up, because Eddie is about to ask you a real question. Something that’s been on his mind, the more ice shavings he can tear off of you. Considering you, all three dimensions of you– four, if you add in how much you like to punch him and stuff. “You’re like, incredibly smart, right.”

“Yes.”

“Like, perfect grades.”

“Almost. Save Kaminsky, because he can’t teach for shit and he can’t grade for piss.”

“And you’re a cheerleader… like, an important one?”

“Artist formerly known as, but yes.”

“And you’re on the newspaper.”

“Very perceptive, aren't we.”

“You’re also popular– or, yeah, were. You party and stuff. You’re always hanging out with those assholes who don’t do half the shit that you do.”

“Are you closing in on a point here, Munson?”

“How?” he nearly whispers, tone close to dreamy. “You’ve gotta have like, body doubles running around or something because no human person could possibly have that much time in the day. How the fuck did you do all that and also be running around ready to cite, like, an issue of the New Yorker from 1975, and not go completely insane?”

How do you know I’m not completely insane. Because, if he had ever witnessed how Jekyll and Hyde you could get, smacking the shit out of yourself with your hairbrush before you could turn on and be Lacy the cheerleader, Lacy the hot chick, Lacy the playground bitch, he would think you are totally insane.

You answer him half-straight this time.

“Diet pills.”

This makes him sit up, and makes you take a couple of steps back towards the bed. You flop down, tossing the Blue Valentine sleeve to the side.

“Diet pills,” he repeats.

“Oohhh, yes,” you nod, drawing the shape of the cylindrical pills on his comforter with your finger. You don’t really want to look up at him. “Rainbow diet pills. Soon as I hit my menses, I started lifting them from my mom.”

“Isn’t that stuff illegal?” Eddie murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, mimicking your criss-cross applesauce seating position. “It’s basically speed, right?”

“Said the drug dealer,” a snort bursts from you. You’ve moved your fidgeting, starting to braid your half-damp hair. “And it is. It’s fully speed. I was doing baby Valley of the Dolls at age thirteen.”

“That is fucked up, Lacy.”

“Yeah. Well. I'm a little fucked up, or haven't you heard?”

“There’s been rumblings.” Eddie watches your fingers work, weaving locks of hair, one over the other. He’s never braided his hair. He wonders what it might look like. You come to the end and twist it around your finger, at a loss for a hair tie. He sticks a finger under his leather and silver bracelet, digging out an elastic he keeps handy, just in case. There are a lot of times that Eddie needs to yank his hair out of his face just to focus. “Here.”

You mouth a silent thanks and wind the elastic around the tuft of hair. Tom Waits whines away about rain washing memories from the sidewalks and you feel weirdly… at ease. You’ve shared a couple of rainbow diet pills with Nicole and Carol (Tina doesn’t mess with amphetamines, a consummate athlete), but you’ve never had anyone ask you how you’ve managed to be the person you’re pretending to be.

To put the clues together about your impossible do-it-all identity.

And not react in disgust when he finds out you’re fallible.

“Hey,” Eddie says. Something about hearing you rattle off, not sniping for once, saying something real… it eased the heartburn. It has loosened his tension around you, a little. He figures it’s his turn to say something real. “I’m sorry I called you evil.”

Most evil twat at the twat table, you nearly correct. “You had grounds.”

“No, no, I didn’t. You–” this is actually harder for him to get out than he thought, “You’re trying. You’re trying really hard to make the best of a messed up situation, and maybe I should’ve seen that– but I didn’t, because it’s high school, and it’s dumb, and I’m trying too, and we’re all trying, just to survive this messed up microcosm of the world– and– and–" He huffs. It's you gazing at him this time. Eyes sparkling in the half-light cast by his bedside lamp. You're... really pretty. "Jesus, can you just forgive me so I can stop talking?”

“That’s a first,” you say. “Microcosm is a five dollar vocab word, Eddie.”

The way you say his name. “I’m a changed man.”

“Can you use adulation in a sentence next?” Your big grin is devastating.

He leans right into you, dastardly looking suddenly. “Is this provocation getting you hot, you psycho?”

Fingertips braced over your knees, your torso keening just the right amount of degrees to favor him, your stare making an unsubtle job of darting from Eddie’s lashes to his lips to his lashes to his lips…

“Maybe.” A beat. A heavy beat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

In any other world, with any other person, the wanting would completely make sense. Wanting him to say nothing more and just do, to plant a big, ringed hand either side of your hips and pull you into his lap. To crush his lips against yours. To dig his hands into your thighs, to wind your fingers into his hair. To feel the chill of silver traveling up, under the back of your borrowed shirt, to press down onto him and–

Hey Charlie, I almost went crazy-ayzy-ayzy-ayzy-ay–

Eddie doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t mean to, but his head snaps away from you just as the record starts to skip.

Then the door slams.

Fuck.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

He totally forgot to formulate that plan.

author's notes: ZOOWEE MAMA HOW WE FEELING ARE YOU STILL WITH ME longest chapter in the fic so far. thanks for keepin up. i love you, let's not waste any time, i don't think i've got a lot of notes for you this go around but i love you - there is nothing more secretly pretentious teenage girl than loving joan didion and susan sontag (i know this because i was her, i am her to this day in fragments) but particularly joan didion on keeping a notebook really sticks to one's ribs. this is not the last joan didion ref in this fic, sorry for being unbearable - stella adler, the mother of method acting - steve harrington being the originator of the nickname lacy is a tribute to him showing signs of being a goofy motherfucker from day dot. please see this post. it was always there, we just couldn't see it in freshman year because of all the hairspray - what's going on with tommy hagan? does anyone really care but me, probably not. but for those that are keeping tick on the timeline (don't)- he got held back senior year, hence why he did not graduate with steve and is in the same grade as eddie, lacy, carol, et al. - WICKED LITTLE TOWN!!!! - the stooges t-shirt is yet another flight of icarus pick; al wears a stooges shirt and i creamed because i love the stooges. let's listen to one of my favorites - loudness are a metal band from osaka, japan! they got signed to an american label in 1985, but how did eddie munson get that tape in hawkins, indiana in 1984? well, my theory is that eddie loves music and jerry from main street vinyl loves benzos. a trade's a trade's a trade. - reader, you are an 18y/o girl who thinks you're better than everyone. of course you're stealing lester bangs' opinions on blue oyster cult and making them your own - and shitting on robert christgau bc you've got a wetty for tom waits - also, here is tom waits' cover of somewhere! my theory on eddie being a tom waits fan-- of course he is, that man looks and sounds like billy goat gruff and is a storytella just like eddie is. he would especially be into his later stuff, like the megalithic orphans album. y'all remember this song from shrek 2 - rainbow diet pills were a real insane thing! this seems more accessible than adderall for the time period, which modern!lacy would certainly have been abusing - for the time that's in it, let me present tom waits' anti-christmas song, christmas card from a hooker in minneapolis my loves, if you've still stuck with me this far, i thank you greatly. i know i'm nutso but i'm having fun writing this fic. i would've been writing it if nobody was reading, but it's a billion times better now that you are. reblogs are always appreciated, and the inbox is always open to chat shit ♡

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

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my--moon · 3 months

Note

heyyy i was wondering if you could a do a request for Leo with a child of Demeter headcanons? You’re free to take creative liberty with it 🫶🏼 thank you :)

❝ Earth and Fire ❞

Pairing; Leo Valdez X Reader (Child of Demeter) Warning; Curse words and slang used by me 😗 A/N; Reader's a lil bit feral. No gender really mentioned idt

Lemme tell you something.

When you first met, he kinda burn your garden to the ground

It was by accident tho!!!! He'd never do it on purpose :((

He just saw you sitting there so refined, playing with a daisy—then he went up in flames

Then the daisy in your palm incinerated in your palm...

He tried to apologize !! You were only slightly annoyed, you could always grow another y'know

He offered to help you out after that, basically saying he's in debt to you

Conveniently, you were *suddenly* put on more quests together :O who'd of thunk? (me lying)

Somehow you'd wriggled your way into the friend group—everyone loved you :D especially leo

then came the flirts! You thought they were only empty flirts—no actually love

Nah, that boy was head over heels, infatuated, and obsessed with you

you could've glanced in his direction and he'd have to try not to faint

Y'know those ships “A is absolutely batshit feral and B is a little too into it” that's you and Leo

Like, when I say feral I mean FERAL

You can use your powers to choke monsters with thick and sharp thorned vines—but you can't open the jar without help from him?

hearts in his eyes 😍😍

LITERALLY SEES NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU

any insecurities you have are non existent to him

wydm you don't like your body? you literally look like Psyche (she was told she was prettier than Aphrodite)

Piper love you, she likes how chill you can be yet how badass you are with those earth powers

Annabeth finds you likeable—your one of her best friends

Percy and Jason think your rlly cool and nice to be around

Nico glares at you, but will says he likes you dw

Will adores you—in a platonic way ofc

Frank finds you cool

Hazel loves you as well—she likes to ask you questions about your life

Now back to Leo!!!

Once you two actually start dating—hes still basically the same

Head over heels, infatuated and obsessed

Blushing, up in flames and swooning

He's hopeless.

He's also very romantic<3

Leo likes to make jewelry for you, like bracelets and earrings

He's so given you a plush of your favourite animal

Hand holding>>>

man GRIPS onto your hand, he's got a strong grip and he's not letting you go

Sometimes to reassure him your not going anywhere; you wrap small vines around his wrist

if you've got lipstick and you kiss him, he will not wipe it off—he's wearing that lipstick mark like a badge

same with hickeys and scratch marks

Cuddles from behind!!!

Lots of cuddles

Man is very touchy— it's just how he is, he needs to touch his friends and family to show his affection

If you don't like touch, he won't push anything onto you dw

often calls you pet names in Spanish

the most common ones are “mi amor” “mi vida” “cariño” “muñeca”

call him any pet name he'll giggle and blush

Piper once caught y'all making out (reference to another fanfic I made)

Best chef 🫶🏼🫶🏼

He's so a trophy husband, like he still works but he'd happily marry someone and be the stay at home parent

He's very sweet<33

He loves kids. For no reason he loves them, he's also rlly good at taking care of them

All his siblings love and adore you

they like to make jokes over when's the wedding

THIS FUCKING MAN IS SO SWEET I SWEAR

he'd do the same thing he did with calypso in the books, and literally go missing if that means finding and saving you

Slutty waist Leo. I've said it once, I'll say it again!!!!!

It's my core headcanon

but no why's it so grabbable

he uses kaomojis over emojis tbh

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

he prefers them okay?

tho he does uses emojis for shits and giggles

like going 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 or 🔥🔥

Y'know what I mean!!!!!

not really jealous tbh

hes keeps saying opposites attract because he's fire and your earth

He quotes avatar with you, Percy, Jason and him

“Earth, Fire, Air, Water.” — 😭💕

He likes bites

I'm not going to elaborate on that

he buys your favourite candies and lollies

He bought you a balloon once

that shit popped the moment it entered the Demeter cabin but it was pink and heart shaped :((

he's such a good boyfriend

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knightsickness · 2 months

Note

hiii can you elaborate on the "harwin getting fucked over again and again" thing is it just the whole "everyone knows but won't acknowledge the kids being his and he has to stay and deal with that judgement while not being allowed to parent them ever" thing or is there more?

harwin i think is interesting bc he’s so obviously part of a conversation abt targ exceptionalism both in how his sons are ostracised bc of his features but also, far less addressed, how he is ultimately disposable, but bc he’s so apparently satisfied with his objectively shitty situation it never NEEDS to be addressed. he’s this deeply strange character of either inscrutable and extremely shallow motivations bc what happens to him is fucked up but if he’s doing it for anything other than enthusiastic uncoerced love of the game or at any point complains about his situation rhaenyra is doing something greyer than the show will let her be OR harwin is another bitter lowly asshole trying to dim her sparkle

interesting to compare to criston bc his arrangement w rhaenyra is exactly what she proposed to criston and he rejected + while criston is obviously a singularly awful guy for many other reasons i DON’T think he was in the wrong on that one i think not wanting to spend his life in constant mortal danger with no oaths and no honour and no reward but getting to be with rhaenyra was not unreasonable + rhaenyra not recognising that does say something interesting abt her and how she views people specifically non targs around her. it’s often flattened into a ‘he could have been the most powerful guy in westeros and fumbled’ or worse unironic ‘he should have known his place and just been her whore’ when if we’re being honest judging from the everybody else who thought they could escape the targaryen grinding wheel by going along with it (including harwin) he would have been dead in three years tops

and she can just do that w harwin not bc criston is weird (not in that way at least) but bc harwin is weird. his motivations can really only be that he genuinely singlemindedly loves rhaenyra to the point he’s fine with apparently not marrying or having legitimate kids to stay close to her and the boys and ruining his reputation for an adulterer and how his dad (even though he’s the strong knight eldest son who should make him proud) is now always angry and disappointed and yes how he’s at a middle distance from his kids and the moment that slips he goes home in disgrace and is immediately murdered in part bc of the political ramifications of his and rhaenyra’s relationship. nothing about the relationship gains him anything politically it actively ruins his life how could he do all this knowingly hang his reputation and potentially himself if he didn’t love her more than ANYTHING and he was neverr rhaenyra’s number one. and he knew this and was ok with it she’s uncomplicatedly fond of him she obviously likes him a lot but he dies and she’s sad and she doesn’t go to the funeral bc the optics are bad and she quickly marries daemon who she’s always loved. how thankless !

harwin’s relationship w her is convenient and not really dissected bc he’s acting in rhaenyra’s best interests. and we like rhaenyra !! the show is written to make rhaenyra likeable and it is well written they do a good job at that. that he IS cool with it is more important than WHY he’s cool with it. harwin is a contrast to criston bc unlike criston he doesn’t have aspirations above his station and will not try to argue with any of rhaenyra’s entrenched beliefs about targaryen relationships being inherently more meaningful and then turn around and kick a puppy to death to show he’s evil and you don’t need to take anything he’s said seriously. but like Why Is He Doing This

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #hotd #house of the dragon #harwin strong

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ghostlykeyes · 1 year

Note

Rejoice, for requests have opened again! Could I please get some Makima general relationship hcs? You somehow make her likeable (Unlike canon (No offense if you do like her but it's Makima so y'know?)) Thanks man!

Thank you!! I take this as a huge compliment as a firm and permanent member of the Canon Makima Hate Club™

Makima

Makima's favorite part of her daily routine is an early-morning walk. If you're willing to get up that early, she loves when you come along! She hands off a few of the dogs' leashes to you, sternly instructing them not to pull. Then, she winds her free hand through yours and guides you down a gentle, secluded path next to a pond that's close to her apartment. Sometimes, she's content to pass the walk in silence, soaking in the morning air and quiet peace. Other days, she prefers if you strike up conversation--likely, you won't know which she wants until you're treading down the path, waiting for her to ask you about your daily plans.

Makima has a merciless sweet tooth so be prepared to share your favorite treats. It doesn't matter what you have; cake, ice cream, cookies. She'll always smile innocently, bat her eyelashes at you, and open her pretty mouth without a word. It usually succeeds in getting her part of your dessert--who can say no to a face like that? On the bright side, though, she's always willing to share the generous amount of candies she keeps tucked in her pocket, so it all more or less evens out in the end.

Naturally, Makima tries her best to avoid asking you for things, because she knows you'll be compelled to do it. Even though it's extremely hard for her to break from her previous patterns, she knows that to have a successful relationship, to really love you and be loved in return, you need to be free. That being said...sometimes she's not above asking you to fetch her morning tea. Don't worry, though; she always rewards you with a sweet kiss for your service.

Her weirdly keen sense of smell means that Makima always notices if you're wearing perfume or cologne. She'll often remark on what she does or doesn't like; "Hmm, darling," she'll say, "Of course I prefer your natural scent, but this smells delightful on you."

Even at the best of times, a relationship with Makima can be tricky. She needs a lot of physical and emotional affection, but she doesn't know how to ask for these things, or even express that she wants them. But she is trying, for you. Be generous with your touch, and try to be understanding when she struggles to communicate, and things will get better as she learns what it means to love.

Dates with Makima have a strict itinerary. She likes to plan everything from the time you'll arrive, to what you'll eat, to where and when you'll take photographs together. Sometimes, you need to remind her to just let go and have a little spontaneous fun. It's probably best if you plan most of your dates. That way, you can just unwind and enjoy what you're doing, instead of Makima micromanaging everything down to what you both will be wearing.

Every morning, Makima gently asks if you'll tie her tie for her. Of course she knows how to put it on herself, but she likes when you do it. It gives her the perfect view of your beautiful eyes, and she relishes in the slight warmth of your fingers fluttering against her neck.

She hides it well, but Makima can be insanely jealous. She can't help it--you're the only person she's ever truly cared about. She's just supposed to let other people take your time? The idea doesn't sit well. She knows how to play nice, but anyone taking your time is met with an ice-cold stare from her as soon as your back is turned. If someone really gets too familiar with you, it's altogether likely something bad will happen to them--termination at work, trouble with pests invading their home, other unseemly, dire things. Of course, no one can ever prove Makima is behind it, but it happens often enough that people know to be wary of taking Makima's time with her lover away.

Makima buys you plenty of gifts, often seemingly at random. If she sees a flower arrangement she thinks you'll like, she gets it. If she passes by a window displaying clothes she thinks will suit you, she orders a set in your exact measurements. And jewelry? Don't even get her started on jewelry. She always wraps your gift in neat, pristine paper and presents them to you with a warm smile. It's nice to be showered in gifts, of course, but make sure to remind her she should be doing it because she really wants to, and not out of a misguided attempt to buy your love. She doesn't know any better, so you need to be careful not to enable bad thought patterns.

#chainsaw man/reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #chainsaw man headcanons #makima/reader #makima x reader #makima #makima csm #makima chainsaw man

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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

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Could you write an anthony lockwood x reader with 'you belong with me' by taylor swift?

You Belong With Me - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: 2.4k, enjoy! Tried my best, hope you like it :)

It was a quiet sort of night. George was shut up in his room as usual, tinkering with his experiments, and Lucy was finishing up a whodunit in the attic. There was nothing to do except sit in the kitchen and snack on marmalade toast while listening to the soft strains from the wheezing radio.

Whatever wailing love song that was playing finally ended, and some commercials started to play. She looked around disinterestedly, tuning out the cheesy advertisements. The door of the kitchen was slightly ajar, and through the gap she spied Lockwood standing at the telephone in the hallway. She couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but he looked mildly miffed and seemed to be busy extensively explaining something. He distractedly tugged at his scalp the way he did when he was burdened with a case that never seemed to end, and she almost felt sorry for him, if it weren't for the fact that it didn't take much to annoy Lockwood. She did it all the time.

He hung up the phone with a sigh, shifting out of sight for a moment, before reappearing at the door. He smiled at her and her sticky fingers weakly, rolling his eyes at the radio.

"I don't know why you bother with that beat-up piece of junk. It's been breaking down for years now. Maybe it's time to let it go."

"Are you kidding? Half the fun is positioning it just right." Lockwood shook his head, busying himself with some tea before sitting down opposite to her. She jerked her head towards the door, trying and failing to brush the sweet crumbs coating her fingertips. "Trouble in paradise?"

He laughed ruefully, running his fingers through his hair, as if just thinking about it was enough to make him want to pull at his hair. "No, not exactly. Anna's lovely, of course. It's just that we have different...tastes. She didn't like one of my jokes, I said that it wasn't that serious, and now she won't talk to me."

"Makes sense. Your jokes suck."

"They do not."

"You're the only one who laughs at them."

"You do too!"

"Only because they're so bad!" She trained her eyes on the precious little crumbs left on her plate, as if looking up would be enough to let Lockwood know how much she secretly adored his jokes. "I will say this: they're an acquired taste. I'm sure Anna's great, and all, but she hasn't known you all that long." She frowned into her tea as she took a sip. It was something that wriggled inside her brain from time to time. It took Lockwood a while to trust someone enough to let down his defences, and though she would never say it out loud, she felt as though he had rushed into this a bit too quickly, quicker than he was comfortable. The disparity just didn't reconcile in her mind no matter how she looked at it; it didn't make sense for quiet and unassuming Lockwood to suddenly launch himself headfirst into a relationship with someone he barely knew.

Maybe it was because Anna actually registered as a girl to him. After weeks of drifting through the rooms, looking like a zombie, even during lull periods, she probably didn't look much different to him than George. It wasn't that she didn't like dressing up; they had such little free time and dolling herself up was quite low on her list of hobbies. Anna, on the other hand, was always so put together, so pristine, so likeable, so easy to make substantial conversation with. She loved Anna to bits, but it stung whenever she saw her standing next to Lockwood. They didn't even have to be touching to simply look like a couple.

The commercials faded, and the radio forced out a few crackling notes of a jaunty tune, and the lyrics which accompanied it, at least those of which were decipherable, seemed barely coherent and completely nonsensical. Lockwood laughed, leaning back in his chair, fingers absent-mindedly drumming along to the beat.

"Anna would absolutely hate listening to this."

"It's entertaining!"

"It's nonsense, is what it is."

But in that moment, she just couldn't bring herself to care about what Anna would or wouldn't think. She saw her enough without dwelling on her when she wasn't even there. So what if the music was a little silly and clunky? She was a little silly and clunky herself. And she was having a hard time picking a fight with something that made serious-serious-Lockwood-with-bills-up-to-his-elbows laugh. How did he stand spending so much time with someone as averse to goofiness as Anna? It didn't make any sense to her.

But what did she know? It wasn't like she'd known him for ages and sometimes felt that she knew him better than he knew himself, or could sense when he was feeling down from the other end of the house, or was privy to all his inside jokes. No, that was a completely different girl that just happened to walk and talk exactly like her. But who was she to feel bitter over Lockwood's new beau? Just a starry-eyed employee who hung on his every word, whether she showed it or not.

"I don't get how you listen to this," Lockwood broke her out of her reverie, tapping at the dusty metal as she looked away, face warm over nearly being caught staring at him. "It all sounds the same to me. Like static."

"Not to me," she watched Lockwood swirl his tea, distantly wondering if there was some veil over his eyes that she could just peel back for him to see her as she was: everything he would be looking for. " I know it well. I know it inside out."

Oblivious as ever, Lockwood stared into his tea glumly, half-shrugging as he murmured. "We can get you a new one, if you'd like."

"No thanks. This one's perfect as is."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Lockwood went over to Anna’s in the morning, and when he came back, he was uncharacteristically quiet. He looked like he had a lot on his mind, so she didn’t want to bother him, but she couldn’t restrain herself for long. The Council had hired them for a job in a park, and George had sent the two of them to check out the perimeter to find any information that could be useful.

"I heard you leave in the morning."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I was at Anna's."

"Everything okay?"

He forced out a laugh. "As okay as it can be, I suppose."

She nodded, feeling the sun beat down on them, burning the back of her neck. Her hair was starting to stick in her forehead and Lockwood's laid limply on his head, making him look even more deflated. It was a sluggish sort of day, too warm for children to be running about, so it was around an empty park that they were dragging their feet. The only people in sight was a group of high-schoolers, and even they seemed to be leaving soon. They decided to take a break on a park bench, watching the teacher anxiously repeat her head-counts.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like. To stay in school, I mean. And...learn. And have anything ghost-related be background noise to...other things in life." He was choosing his words very carefully, but the blankness in his face sounded alarm bells in her head. She straightened, taking on a dry tone.

"I don't think you'd be able to handle it."

"No?"

"So much of you is tied to the paranormal, and some of it must be fate. I'd expect you'd somehow manage to make it your life's purpose anyway."

"How so?"

"I don't know. Ever fight a ghost?"

He choked on his laughter, caught off-guard. "Not yet, no."

"Well, there you go. You'd find a ghost, wind up your fist, and POW! And then you'd open an agency dedicated to knocking the living - er, dying - daylights out of ghosts."

"What if I got ghost touched?"

"Ech, then you'd be insufferable. You'd make it your whole personality and we'd never get rid of you."

His shoulders shook silently and he took a deep breath to calm himself down, only to burst into another fit of giggles. It wasn't easy to get Lockwood to laugh, and a very unique laugh he had - deep, but light at the same time, and it erased the wrinkles on his forehead and corners of his mouth like magic. He was alight with amusement, different from his somewhat stiff and hesitant smile in front of Anna, the kind of smile that made her want to look away, lest she fall in love even harder. She secretly prided herself on being one of the few people who could make him laugh so readily, creating a few moments for herself to unobtrusively memorise the curve of his smile and shine in his eye. It was Lockwood and her, two peas in a pod, who shared the same whisper of breath, whose heartbeats synced. Somehow or the other, they were always meant to be, even as friends; there was little else she knew with such certainty. He was something familiar, something known, a treasure trove of memories untold. He was home.

How long before he moved on to greater things in life? Things which didn't include her? How was she supposed to get up and move on herself? Leave, just like that?

Some clouds had gathered over where they were sitting, and a slight breeze picked up in the still air. Rather than making the park pleasantly cool, she felt a growing sense of unease, unsettled by the anxiety the rushing winds seemed to carry. Lockwood cleared his throat, standing up, glancing at his watch. "We should go. George will be waiting."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was sitting in her room, unseeingly staring at the dust on her floor. The job had gone less than smoothly, and she was stuck in a cycle of reliving flashes of it, the terror that gripped her and the numbness that struck her heart when she saw Lockwood launching himself in between her and the ghost. As if her body knew she wasn't strong enough to handle the shock.

What followed wasn't pretty. She vaguely remembered yelling at Lockwood and maybe shoving him on some ice, but she was too blinded by rage to remember many details. She couldn't remember if he had tried to stop her or say anything in return, but that was just as well: she didn't want to hear a single pathetic excuse as to why he suddenly decided his life was worth less than hers.

She jerked up at the sound of a soft knock at her door. It was Lockwood, still holding his coat in his hand and his sleeves slightly rolled up. He had a Hello Kitty bandage near his hairline, but other than that, he looked just as worn as he did on the way back. Their bedrooms were situated such that Lockwood would pass by on his way to and from the library, and he more often than not stopped to chat about the most menial of topics, even if it was in the middle of the night, as long as she was awake. This visit, however, clearly didn't have that same ease to it. He looked at her hopefully, maybe a little expectantly, but she looked back impassively.

"You alright?" He asked tentatively, faltering under her sharp gaze. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, looking so pitiful that she felt a stab of pity despite herself.

"Look, I didn't realise what I was doing. You looked so scared. I only wanted to help." She finally relented.

"Of course I was scared. I'm always scared. I'm scared that we don't have enough flares, that we underestimated the number of ghosts, that one of them will touch us. But none of that scares me as much as you or your reckless abandon. I know how far you'd risk your neck for us, and I can only hope I'm wrong. If you were touched..." she trailed off, a disturbed silence stretching out in front of both of them. "I don't know if I would be able to live with myself. You belong here," she reached out, wrapping her fingers around Lockwood's with only a dulled sense of panic. "Here, in the real world, with us. With me."

She was tired, so tired, as she closed her eyes, head on his collarbone. "I know you like the back of my hand, Lockwood. You're always the first one out the door on every single one of our suicide missions, but there's something quieter under all that bravado. A craving for peace." She blinked back tears she didn't realise were there, breath shallow. "And I hope you find it. I hope you find it in time."

They sat like that for a while, her forehead gently resting on the side of his cheekbone, both of their visions adjacent to each other. Lockwood's heart pulsed through his veins but all she remembered was the sticky stagnance that cemented them, as if they were slowly drifting towards their doom. She would never open her heart to anyone else, and he would never change his ways, and they would wonder why they were heartbroken as they grew old together. She saw a tear land on his dusty white shirt, and her remaining resolve to hold herself together dissolved.

"It's just...we have so little. I want even less. I just want to spend the rest of my days fighting ghosts and listening to a crappy radio with you. Is that too much to ask for?"

He inhaled shakily, and she held his wrist to steady him. He was silent for a while before he responded.

"I wasn't completely honest before. Anna and I...we ended things. And I was having a lot of thoughts about whether or not I did the right thing. Whether I really was too blind to see what was right in front of me. I think I've found my answer."

There was nothing wrong with going out, messing up, trying to find love. But if it's not out there, he was always going to come back.

Come back to the person he knew all along.

#fanfiction #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #taylor swift #you belong with me #fearless (taylor's version)#requested

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imminent-danger-came · 1 month

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tbh you are so real for talking about the misogyny targeted to mei & other women in the lmk fandom. in general its like people only value mei as: a: the wingman to some basic mlm ship or b: macaque 2.0. its honestly crazy how so many male side characters overshadow her in the fanbase despite not even having a FRACTION of her screen time. idk chat i feel like the reason people dont care about mei but care about some random male side/background character is less because they're inherently more likeable but because some of you view women as inherently less likable. and everyone is always like "mei is so girlboss pussy cunt slay shes the only reason theyre still alive because she keeps them safe from their silly boy shennanigans shes their ultimate wingman shes so badass shes their lesbian best friend i totally paid attention to her when i watched this show LOL" and even ignoring the obvious misogyny here (ie. how people reduce her to being the male characters babysitter) its like... okay... i know mei is cool & badass already... could you name literally ANY other character trait she has. like people just value her as being "the braincell" who can get red son and mk together or something stupid and its like are we having fun still is this still fun. literally every day i go into the mei tag its like "look at mei shes red sons wifey and shes vaguely in the background of this drawing of red son and mk staring into each others eyes #trafficlighttrio am i right oh look shes macaques niece now this post is about ao lie why is it in the mei tag"

and thats literally JUST talking about mei and it doesnt even begin to cover the other female characters. chang'e constantly gets reduced to being red sons aunt/mom/big sister despite them like. not having any actual interactions in the show. lady bone demon constantly gets overshadowed by her minion who has like 2 seconds of screen time, or she gets made into a cartoonishly abusive madwoman who people call lady bitch demon. just in general people act like shes a horrible person for like. being a villain. liks yeah the trying to destroy everything was bad but also she was an antagonist and thats what antagonists do LOL. spider queen gets completely ignored. princess iron fan gets made into a cartoonishly abusive mother so that way red son can have a poor angsty backstory and some male character (usually nezha, macaque, swk) can take care of him.

(also theres just a great deal of ethnocentrism in the lmk fanbase? like im white so take what İ say here with a grain of salt but so many people will misconstrue aspects of chinese culture for their own personal hcs. people will say male characters are transfem or nonbinary while completely ignoring the time period/culture their from where thats the norm. like yippee youve implied that an east asian man is feminine/emasculine because he has long hair. how do you not see the negative connotations with this. people also turn pif (& lbd to an extent) into a dragon lady which obviously has negative racial connotations lol.)

anyway this is where my unhinged rambling ends have a good day have a good night İ had more to say here but İ reached the text limit. İ dont see a lot of people talk about the misogyny thats prevalent in the lmk fanbase so İm glad youre pointing it out lol.

Yeah, I totally hear you. The lmk fandom has plenty of issues with misogyny and, like you said, ethnocentrism. It's definitely something worth having a discussion about, along with these issues in fandom as a whole.

#you seriously hit the nail on the head anon #(feel free to rant more! I appreciated reading yer thoughts)#tbh I think it's the purity culture like #If LBD and SQ were men. They'd be so popular it's not even funny #But because they're women. And women can't be flawed #(or their flaws are harder to justify- unlike a male character like Wukong. So they're a ''bitch'')#But don't worry! There's one girl character we can girlbossify and ignore all of those pesky flaws and characteristics!!!#I'm so sorry Mei #You're not a support character for spicynoodles to me #you're literally so insane about MK it's not even funny #she's going to become my fav character out of spite on god #when she was like ''what's the point of having power if you won't use it?''#and azure was like ''i did not sacrifice everything to be an idle deity''#And 1x03 was about her using her family sword (her power) to protect her house #And Azure used his sword (his power) to protect the world #And when Mei modeled her sword after Azure's (and now he's dead)#and when- *gets shot*#also Mei doesn't even have the fucking braincell #None of them have the braincell #They're all dummies. They're all scrambling around doing their god damn best #A main theme is the fact that no one knows what they're doing. Like #idk #lmk #lego monkie kid #torment nexus #asks #anon #lmk Mei

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otaku-tyriq · 1 month

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Do you have top 10 or top 7 favorite (fictional) characters (if you feel like listing multiple) of all time from any media?

That is actually a very tricky question, dear Anon. For you see the list if my favourite characters is CONSTANTLY changing. Similar to my list of my favourite songs haha. So I cannot give you a set "All time Favourite” list but I can offer you a "List of Characters Tyriq enjoys at this very moment on the 18th of March 2024”

1) Nero Claudius from Fate/Extra, Fate/Last Encore, Fate/Extella and Fate/Grand Order

The second I had first heard this woman say "umu” that was it for me. I knew I’d be obsessed with her for the rest of my days. She is adorable, she is loyal, she is THAT GIRL, a queen, an emperess, a goddess, and just seeing her instantly makes my brain pump out serotonin. Who even needs anti depressants when you can have Nero.

2) Vash the Stampede from Trigun Stampede

Babygirl. Princess. Loserboy. Golden Retriever Puppy. Beloved Wife. He’s adorable, pathetic, a wonderfully tragic yet optimistic character. He’s my beautiful little princess and I lay my life down before him.

3)Yoimiya from Genshin Impact

Her absolute happy go lucky attitude and sweet personality is like liquid gold shot straight into my arteries. I had fallen in love with this woman the very second I had laid eyes on her. Also she has been my main for two years at this point she’s genuinly just that fun to play.

4) Kaveh from Genshin Impact

The suffering artist trope CRANKED UP TO ELEVEN! Again like Vash this man is equally tragic as he is kindhearted and despite having been scammed out of his money multiple times he still cannot help but sacrifice his own well being if it would result in someone else’s happiness. Also before you ask: Yes, I do ship him and Alhaitham

5) Ichiban Kasuga from Yakuza

What else can I say about Ichiban other than he’s almost stupidly optimistic and no matter how hard of a curveball life throws at him, he ALWAYS keeps the attitude of "once you hit rock bottom the only way is up.”, always trying to both see and bring out the best in people. Also he’s a massive Dragon Quest fan so obviously I’d end up obsessing over this beautiful specimen of a man who at the age of 42 still is not 100% sure where women pee from.

6) Erik from Dragon Quest XI

Honestly I could have EASILY put the entire main cast of Dragon Quest XI on this list because the characters of that game are simply that likeable and well written, but if I had to choose one, it would have to be your very first party member and the hero’s best friend and totally platonic roommate Erik. This man’s sassy attitude yet undying loyalty and devotion towards the hero is so strong not even the apocalypse itself could tear the hero and Erik apart for long.

7) Ryuji Sakamoto from Persona 5

I think at this point y’all are starting to see a pattern in my favourite characters: Ryuji is loyal like a golden retriever puppy, absolutely adorable and sweet with a severe lack of Braincells.

8) Silver the Hedgehog from the Sonic the Hedgehog Franchise

Silver has literally been my favourite Sonic character since Childhood. His whole stick is that he’s unbeatable optimistic. Despite becoming from an apocalyptic future where everything is covered in flames, he never stops believing that things can become better if you try. His naivety however leads to characters like Mephilis abusing his optimism for their own agenda. But none of that stops Silver from

being one of my greatest comfort characters.

9) William James Moriarty from Moriarty the Patriot

✨Be Gay. Do Crime✨

✨Communism✨

✨Clinical Depression✨

All these things and more describe William James Moriarty and he’s so valid for it.

10) The Professor from Puppet History

He’s just a little guy. He’s a little guy and it’s his birthday

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transfem-tomboy-oni · 1 month

Text

I feel like I should jjust give up on all my "good" qualities and stop trying to be a "good person" and fighting sgainst all my bad qualities. I. I start to feel like there's nothing good coming of it for me, and not enough good for anyone else to actually keep bothering with me.

I feel like the positive things I get told the most is that I'm nice, and that I'm beautiful.

But. Apparently I'm not enough of either for people to... stick around.

I don't know. Even now I don't know what to write. Cuz it might might people unhappy. But.

Maybe I'll try to let what I feel out, for just this once;

I do my fucking hardest, successfully too most of the time, to make people happy, to help them, to make them feel comfortable around me. Cuz all my life no ones ever done that for me. In school people gave no two shits about me, unless it was to make fun of me or get their homework done easier. FOR 9 DAMNED YEARS. Then I switched schools. I guess I had friends. Friends that, as soon as they were not forced to be in the same classroom as me either cut contact or essentially bullied me online. Since then I haven't made friends in person. My own mom has been there for me. As in. Provided for food, entertainment and ignoring my existence otherwise. I got hugged by her for the first time I can remember when I tried offing myself and telling her that I thought I wasn't worth anything and she didn't love me. She graced herself to hug me long enough so I stopped crying and then pushed me away and went back to watching TV alone telling me to go cuz SHE NEEDS A MOMENT. My dad is just inept. Nice. Trying his best. I guess. I used to see him once every 2 weeks, and we talked like 2 hours maybe, where he left me completely to myself otherwise. The person I had contact and an actual "friendship" with the longest eventually started using that friendship and manipulating and breaking apart my entire friend group to just fucking use me as his damned sex toy whenever he felt like it. And I didn't realize for what? 8 or more damned years. That friend group is now so splintered and fucked that I don't even know what the fuck to do about it. Do I still want them? Do they still want me? Pretty sure they don't enjoy me around anymore tbh. Newest friends I made are from therapy or from tumblr, and it's like 5 people in total, 1 if which I haven't talked to in 2 months as I assume she doesn't give a shit about me anymore, at least not that I could tell. And I still really really damned like her but I wish I fucking didn't cuz it's fucking tearing me apart. I suppose I got used to her being there for me and when she wasn't when I was at 2 of my absolute lowest points my mind just broke or something idk. 2 of them I met in therapy and one of them is nice but doesn't have time, which is okay but also annoying to be honest, but it's not her fault I suppose, and the other ignores me whenever she can. The newest 2 ppls I met are nice but I feel like they either are scared of me, I guess at this point rightfully so or don't actually care.

I keep saying that I'm not super likeable when you stick around me for too long and everyone always tells me they don't think so but somehow the only people that seem to have sticked around for years either did cuz they had no choice or in one case because they didn't actually like me and just enjoyed my body.

So. My honest feelings, no one actually cares about making me happy. I want to be treated the way I try my hardest to treat everyone else. I. I'm tired of having and making friends. I can't bear it. I can't bear being alone either. I have been for too long. I. I want this to end, not my life, just this this this dambed conflict of everything. I feel such conflicting things. I'm trying my hardest to make things right for everyone. And I feel like I am not getting enough back to even keep me going until 30.

Love is conditional. And I don't think I am capable of meeting these conditions. Besides all my hatred for how I'm being treated. I still only blame one person. Myself. For just not being good enough.

I wasn't wanted in this world. I was conceived on accident. And I feel that in the way my mother treats me.

But I hoped that maybe someone else doesn't.

Maybe I'll be able to hold on long enough until I can find someone that does want me. Maybe.

I hold so much hope. For such a hopeless person. Such a hopeless world. I wish I could give up.

#nem's ventposting

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chungledown-bimothy · 10 months

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Are you still doing d20 hot takes? These are admittedly lukewarm (some salsa that everyone at the table can enjoy).

1) I watch for the character arcs/development, not the story, so I really enjoyed Neverafter.

2) Both campaigns set in Calorum have been really hard to get into, even though they’re really good. But I also don’t like GoT so maybe that’s on me.

3) Hard agree with everyone who said they don’t really want sequel campaigns. I would, however, be down for the odd one shot a la holiday MisMag or Boys’ Night.

4) Coffin Run is so slept on, it’s not even funny. Jasmine’s props, the letters, the Dracula wings lighting, gorgeous sets & minis, incredible RP all around, great bits, all the campy horror movie references… Truly one of my faves.

5) I really wanna see Aabria or another guest DM do a full length/over 10 eps season. I feel like Aabria’s DM style would do well with a few more eps so she can explore more. And it would just be nice to hang out with a guest DM a bit more.

6) Confession: Never finished UC2 or Pirates =< UC2 was hard to pick up with less likeable characters (to me) + feeling like Chap 1 wrapped up so nicely + I’m bad with interpersonal conflict. And then I never got past the start of ep 1 of Pirates cause bad British accents is my pet peeve and B Dave’s character was first introduced 😭

oh i'm ALWAYS here for d20 hot takes. (god i love sam says that was so fucking funny, especially because what lou then gave was the most mild gossip i've ever heard)

1- completely valid. and to a large extent, i do too- i did ultimately enjoy the season, primarily because i love the characters so much.

2- skill issue. calorum campaigns slay absolute penis. (for real though totally fair, they're not for everyone. but i do think it's interesting in conjunction with watching for character arcs/development, bc i think acoc in particular is one of the best with that)

3- ooh yes one-shots are a different thing entirely, always a fun time.

4- coffin run FUCKS. my favorite non-intrepid heroes campaign, and it's only acofaf that comes sort of close. everyone needs to watch it, and if they've already watched it and don't appreciate it, they should try again. i could talk forever about it and how great it is.

5- yes. a million times yes please give us 20 episodes with aabria gming i'm begging. and in general yeah i'd love to see a guest dm have more time and space to flex. (except mercer please no more mercer in the dome)

6- i feel you. it took me a long time to get through tuc 2, this is a cody walsh hate account (half joking). and it took 3 attempts to get through pirates as well. honestly what got me through it was myrtle, cheese, and the little bit of garthy that we got. i found the other characters kinda annoying, big same on that accent, bob's was grating, too.

#dimension 20 #neverafter #coffin run #aabria iyengar #tuc 2 #pirates of leviathan #a crown of candy #the ravening war

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sun-is-a-square · 2 years

Text

Headcanons abt the new Minecraft default squad!

Steve

- Just so happy to have friends :) He spent years alone before Alex showed up and now he’s got a whole BUNCH of people in his life!

Alex

- While the newbies are still learning the ropes, Alex fills the role of a mentor for them. Despite not having been around as much as Steve, Alex is a better fighter, and they care deeply about making sure the new folks are safe

Sunny

- Easygoing, likes to take their time. They believe that the journey is more important than the destination

- Women want them, fish fear them. Loves to just sit down with a rod for a few hours. Thinks AFK fish farms disrespect the craft (of fishing)

- While everyone else upgrades to axes, they keep punching trees—their prosthetic arm is just as effective as most tools for collecting wood!

Kai

- Laidback, doesn’t talk much, but generally quite likeable and trusty

- Loves the slow repetitive work of farming. They find it meditative, and would be quite happy to just stick to that—though they’ll branch out if xer friends encourage them.

Makena

- Always happy to help! Often helps her friends with their projects when she’s free

- The group’s unofficial delivery person, they enjoy the excuse to stretch their legs and chat up everyone

- They spend a lot of their free time collecting flowers to make brightly colored dyes. She made most of the others’ clothes, and takes great pride in her creative endeavors

Zuri

- Terrified of creepers, but their pet cat is not particularly bothered with her job of scaring them away. They’re a total cat dad and dote on animals

- Tends to stick around Efe—both because they’re close friends, and because Efe’s fighting skills have saved his life more times than he can count

- Very polite and friendly! They’re a total sweetheart and everyone loves them.

Efe

- A naturally gifted fighter who could probably beat Alex if they’d been training as long. Much prefers fighting alongside their friends, though

- Loves swimming! She often goes out to coral reefs to watch the fish at work. When she finds sunken ruins, she brings the loot back to the others to share

- Their hair is natural, but sometimes they use lilac dye to make the color even brighter

Ari

- Takes to elytra as if born wearing them! She’s a talented flier, and frequently challenges the others to races and increasingly dangerous obstacle courses

- Short-tempered and foul-mouthed, but has a heart of gold

- They’re very close with Noor, and often check in to remind them to take breaks on his expeditions

Noor

- Loves to explore, especially caves

- Mining is their special interest! They know the best coords to mine for every different resource, a variety of strategies, and which biomes affect ore generation

- They see Steve down in the tunnels a lot. But whenever they try to go up to him, he seems to have disappeared. Whenever they try to talk to Steven about it, they seem confused. Still, Noor likes having company in the mines, even if the company is strangely quiet and distant.

#minecraft #minecraft update #minecraft steve #minecraft alex #minecraft sunny #minecraft kai #minecraft makenna #minecraft zuri #minecraft efe #minecraft ari #minecraft noor #sneaky lil herobrine easteregg at the end lol :)#minecraft headcanon

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valentine-writes · 2 years

Note

Hello hello!!! I heard you were taking request so...

May I please have some HCs about how GR Freddy and the rest of the gang would be as S/Os? 👉👈

i could use a love of some kind

↳ ft. the glamrocks + sun/sunnydrop, and moon/moondrop

「 gn! reader, romantic relationship <3 」

author's note: the song iz just.... so sweet ^_^ i thought it would b nice 2 listen 2 while writing this, so i added it so u can listen while u read!!!! if u wanna!!!!! ty anon 4 tha fun req, and i apologize 4 not writing it sooner luv <3 also he/it moondrop my fav ever.....

GLAMROCK CHICA headcanons:

▸ she's your best friend before anything else. the minute she met you, she couldn't help but get attached

▸ ultra energetic whenever you're with her. your presence really refreshes her. can't help but be buzzed with energy when she's with you

▸ chica is beyond sappy. you two are an adorable duo, it's undeniable- but man do roxy and monty tease you so much. this does Not Stop chica at all

▸ enjoys being physically close. you don't even have to be actually touching- even like. sitting near her makes her happy

▸ adores you. chica is the best hype girl ever and will b ur cheerleader when u need it!!! gives you that extra bit of motivation when you need it.

▸ she may not be all that threatening, which is expected, since she's sweet as sugar and incredibly friendly- but swears she would throw hands for you.

▸ likes receiving gifts! even if it's something small and simple like a trinket, giving her something tells her you were thinking of her. small gestures like that mean the world to her

more hcs under the cut !!

GLAMROCK FREDDY headcanons:

▸ in my head, the healthiest relationships you could have are with chica and freddy. i think it's mainly because these two aren't so emotionally constipated- for lack of better term (´꒳｀;)

▸ so completely genuine and honest. willing to communicate when there's something wrong and is very gentle w/ u

▸ that being said, maybe he's just a little. tiny bit. protective. not incredibly or overwhelmingly, but definitely needs to know that you're doing well for his peace of mind.

▸ pays attention to you. remembers the little things you tell him about yourself. he especially likes hearing about what type of music you enjoy! if there's anyone who knows your music taste as well as you- it's him

▸ likes dancing with you!!! idk why i just feel like this is a thing. if you insist you can't dance- he'll try to teach you!!!! (he wants 2 spend more time with you so badly (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) freddy's rly trying <;/3)

▸ incredibly patient with you. if you're in emotional distress of some sort, always willing to comfort you first.

▸ secretly gets very nervous around you. he has this natural ability to have good conversational skills, doesn't have trouble getting along with others, and is generally likeable- he doubts ALL OF THAT around you. just a little. he seems to falter or get flustered very easily. freddy gets a little shy around u aw ^_^

ROXANNE WOLF headcanons:

▸ her insecurities can sometimes turn into jealousy- roxy just needs that extra bit of reassurance when it happens, she just wants to be good enough for you </3

▸ it's a little hard for her to let her pride down and actually express her emotions for you. her "i love you"s are often in the form of gestures and not verbal

▸ only ever really shows her soft side to you. it takes some time but she really does seem to melt around you. she's scared of being overly vulnerable with you- but give her time and you'll be the first person she opens up to when she needs some comfort

▸ WOOO SCARY ROBOT WOLF GF PRIVILEGES!!! if you ever feel in danger or uncomfortable in a situation, roxy 2 tha rescue!!!!! :] if someone's messing with you, they're gonna have to deal with her.

▸ she just thinks you're the cutest thing to ever be on the face of planet earth. likes watching your face light up when you tell her about things that you're passionate about- even likes how expressive you get when talking about things you despise. a good listener when you need one.

▸ compliments. so many. just casually. she wants to appreciate you like you appreciate her. she's a little bad at giving them at the start but give it time. they're from a place of sincerity.

▸ misses you very easily when you're not around. you could be gone for a day and the next time she sees you, she'll act like you've been away for decades.

MONTGOMERY GATOR headcanons:

▸ ough boy i write for this silly guy so so much. i am runnin outta monty juice but oh babey!!!! u two are just tha perf pair

▸ actually starting the relationship was the hardest part..... he's kind of emotionally guarded. slowly but surely he learns that he can trust you

▸ it might not be easy at the start- like, actually trying to get to know him. he's got some issues with anger and is very short tempered. little things throughout the day irritate him so much and he takes his anger out by thrashing his room and on people who don't deserve it.

▸ if he ever gets mean to you becuz of this anger tho?? oh man. he'll struggle through a million apologies just to make you feel better again. he wants to be nice 2 u, really. he's not bad. just a little troubled :(

▸ once he trusts you, you're one of the only people he's really soft for. you really just melt him into a sappy puddle. but also. still wants 2 b cool in ur eyes. so tries to hide it. (it does not work!!!!! he cannot hide how much he adores u)

▸ you get a million names and are always called them. like. always. so much so that like the entire pizzaplex probably thinks ur lil nickname from him is ur legal name. he likes recieving sweet little nicknames too :] however. he loves to hear your voice saying his name most.

▸ bonus: when talkin abt when u first saw each other, he's all like "it was love at first sight ;]" and ur like "...u looked like u wanted 2 kill me the first time we met." he recalls being absolutely head over heels. you recall how he stared intensely as you walked past, wondering what you had done to make him glare daggers ur way. (he remembers that heart eyes were practically forming under his shades. perhaps thats for him 2 know.)

SUNDROP headcanons:

▸ ok so he's fully and completely in love. his words, not mine. probably because that was one of the first things he said when meeting you. kidding! i think. but it's certainly no secret sunny liked you the minute you met. and how couldn't he?

▸ he tried so hard just to be friends with you. drew you a million drawings of you and him holding hands just to get the message across. guess it worked eventually!! and better than he thought it would <3

▸he puts so much effort into the relationship you two have- he secretly fears being replaced for someone better but shh its not the main reason he does all this- because he's never had this type of thing with anyone. he make sures to cherish you and give you all the attention and care you need. you will never go neglected by sun.

▸ you will however, have to be there for him too. he can get a little erratic and he needs someone to get him to calm down. offering him some patience and time is really all he asks for when he's being a little much.

▸ physically affectionate!!! so much!!!! he's not very shy about wanting a hug 24/7 or holding your hand- but if you aren't a very touchy person, he understands!! looming over your shoulder like a terrifying shadow works for him too. he just wants u there with him.

▸ knows every little detail about your likes and dislikes! keeps a list probably. just like. a t-chart with one side that says "good! fun!" and the other that says "ick! not enjoyed >:[ !!" stuff like favorite colour, genres of music you listen to, movies you love are there, yeah- but there's also like. specifics. incredibly niche details about yourself you've mentioned once or twice which he will keep and remember! the list was just for sun to keep track of what could be good conversation starters to talk to you when you two first met aw

▸ can get a little protective. again, he's a bit worried he's too much for you, or that you'll find someone better. he doesn't get jealous in a possessive sense but he def needs a bit of reassurance. he'd hate to be something replacable in your eyes. this is the first time someone has cared for him like this- losing you would hurt more than anything in the world.

MOONDROP headcanons:

▸ BASTARD WHO STICKS HIS COLD METAL HANDS ON THE BACK OF UR NECK. it's his way of showing affection. or bothering u. same thing when it comes to moon /hj

▸ i don't know how you managed. but hey congrats. you're stuck with it now! and moon fully intends to let you know that. clingy, yes- but not in the way sunny is. ok. kind of like how sun is. but more of the "looming-over-your-shoulder-like-a-terrifying-shadow" sense rather than the cuddles and handholding.

▸yes, when the lights are out, he will be following you around. he likes being in your presence. he doesn't undestand what draws him to you at first, but finds himself trailing your footsteps often. (this is. very anxiety inducing for you, who probably hadn't even talked to him at this point. like?? where are those weird bell noises coming from?? are those... eyes in the distance or- oh no wait it's gone in a blur wtf)

▸ though very reluctant to talk to anyone, you two somehow become close. it likes the fact you never really gave up on it- despite the fact it can be a bit offputting and unnerving.

▸ likes picking you up. greeting ritual where moon just kinda- hoists you into the air on sight. he decends down on his wire when he sees you enter and just. swoop.

"hi."

▸ will fight and kill and murder and bite and slaughter for you- just. your dynamic:

moon: why do you think i don’t like you? i do. i would kill for you.

moon: ask me to kill for you.

you: ...first of all, calm down-

^^THATZ U TWO. ITS CANON NOW. so like... yeah his chill is. very low. moon just tends to be very intense in every way possible and it shows. he's got the right intentions (for the most part) with all his fervour. he puts all that energy into showing you and letting you know you are loved and safe with him :] no one will hurt you. no one can.

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perceabeth · 2 years

Text

growing pains

happy birthday @perseannabeth i would do this literally for nobody else in the entire universe. blowing u a big wet kiss hope u have the best time ever xxxxx

Jason Grace has a problem and he has nowhere else to go.

“I’m not really sure what you want me to do.” Annabeth plays with the lemon slice in her cosmo. To say she’d listened to his whining patiently is generous. He’d just about managed to hold her attention long enough to explain his situation, but she’d looked about a second away from falling asleep through his entire narration. Now she just glances desperately over her shoulder, as if she’s praying for someone to call her away.

“You could try to look like you want to talk to me, for starters.” Jason says flatly.

“Oh– no, sorry, Jason.” Annabeth’s smile is sheepish. “It’s just that, you know.”

“What?”

“You talk about Piper all the time.” She tells him. “I can listen to it once, maybe twice– but this is getting out of hand. I have the same advice now as I did three years ago when you first met her: ask her out and then shut up. Please.”

It’s easy for Annabeth to say it. The girl’s got everything going for her. She’s pretty, she’s clever, and she’s a lot of fun to be around. She could have asked any boy she wanted out and they’d be tripping over themselves for the opportunity. And, to really rub it into his woefully single self, by some miraculous stroke of luck, she’d found Percy Jackson– who matches her in every way possible and lifts her up like it’s what he’s built to do.

Jason is not like Percy Jackson. Percy has an effortless way about him– when he walks into a room, everyone turns to him. He doesn’t try to stand out, doesn’t put himself up on a podium to be heard– people gravitate towards him because he simply is. Jason isn’t even like Annabeth Chase. Her brilliance shines through her every step, and she has an inexplicable romance about her– it’s impossible not to fall slightly in love by just breathing the air around her. Jason is definitely nothing like Piper McLean, either. Piper is loud, obnoxious– but even in her belligerence, she’s understated. The part of her that she puts up on display is nothing like the quiet, contemplative girl she hides with layers and layers of armour. Both versions of her, if you’re lucky enough to see them, have something so innately likeable about them– she’s easy-going and calm and has this wonderful way of mollifying his most obstreperous anxieties.

What does Jason have? He’s measured, controlled because he’s terrified of letting his most primal, baseless fears get the best of him. He’s not particularly funny, and his only way to command attention is to boss people around, which he’s been told, multiple times (thanks, Percy), is a deeply unattractive quality. He’s not really the kind of man who should have the audacity to ask women out, really.

“I need to do something else.” He shakes his head. Asking her out is not an option. “I need you to get her out of my house.”

“Listen to yourself.” Annabeth groans. “How am I possibly meant to remove a person from your apartment? It’s not like I can spray roach repellent on her and cleanse your space of her.”

“Don’t call her a roach.” Jason frowns.

“You’re the one asking me to shoo her away.”

“Just invite her to your place!” Jason cries. “Say you want to, I don’t know– say you want some girl time with her and she can crash on your couch. Seriously, Annabeth. I can’t keep waking up to my best friend wandering about the kitchen in her jammies. It’s too domestic. I start to feel things.”

“Here’s a thought for you: maybe I don’t want to have her on my couch.” Annabeth makes a face at him. “Percy’s basically moved in and Beckendorf’s always around with Silena and Grover and Clarisse are always around, and sometimes Juniper and Chris tag along as well because both of those relationships are getting serious now, and not to mention Nico, who drops in unannounced all the time, or Tyson, or my brothers, or Silena’s sister– if I have to fit one more person in our two-bedroom flat, I think it’s going to explode.”

“I don’t know how you and Percy are still that close to your high school friends.” Jason says. “I only keep in touch with Reyna and Gwen, and that’s only because they moved to New York with me.”

“I actually had a good time in high school.” Annabeth smiles sweetly at him. “I wasn’t bullied and I didn’t hang out with the losers.”

“You’d have bullied me if you knew me in high school.” Jason says, and Annabeth nods.

“Yeah, I probably would’ve.”

“Back to my point,” Jason knows Annabeth is gifted when it comes to distracting and manipulating people, but he’s not going to fall for it. He needs a solution to his Piper problem, and he needs it now. “Please make Piper move out.”

“No.” Annabeth says forcefully. Then she hesitates. “Sorry. That was harsh. Have you considered that there’s a reason she asked to stay with you? She didn’t ask me. Didn’t ask Percy– and he has a whole spare room she could use, considering he spends all his time in my cramped apartment. She asked you.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“I’m her friend.”

“You compared her to a roach.”

“She’s used to it.” Annabeth shrugs. “I’ve called her much worse to her face.”

That’s another thing Jason doesn’t understand. Piper and Annabeth’s entire relationship is built on them bickering over absolutely nothing. A long time ago, Piper had confessed to him that she used to have a crush on Annabeth– that she’d goad her friend into arguments simply because it meant Annabeth was focusing on her. She’s never picked a fight with Jason before.

“Ugh.” Jason runs his hand over his face. When he looks up at his friend again, she’s downed the entirety of her cocktail in one impressive go. She signals the bartender for another one just as her boyfriend sidles up to them.

“How many drinks have you had?” Percy asks, studying her empty glass and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“It’s your turn to pick up the tab.” Annabeth sings, and Jason never gets tired of seeing the way she lights up around Percy. “I’ve been listening to Jason talk about Piper for three thousand years. I deserve whatever I drink.”

“I’m going to go broke dating her.” Percy tells Jason, not looking particularly bothered. He nuzzles Annabeth’s neck and she collapses in a fit of giggles. “And it’s all because you can’t ask a girl out.”

“That’s not true.” It sure is.

“Okay. How many girls have you asked out?” Percy raises an eyebrow.

“Well–,”

“None.” Annabeth fills in for him. “He waits, and waits, and waits until a girl asks him out.” She nudges Percy in the stomach with her elbow. “Sound familiar?”

“Hey.” Percy grabs the bottom of her barstool and swivels her away from the bar so she’s fully facing him. He leans his arms against the counter, boxing her in, and ducks his head until he’s at eye level with her. “I asked you out. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Only after I kissed you.” Annabeth laughs. “Doesn't count.”

“Oh, it doesn’t count?” Percy scoffs. “I’m sorry, when’s our anniversary, again? Do we celebrate the day you kissed me and then ghosted me for two months?”

“That’s not what happened–”

“Can we get back to my problem!” Jason cries. “God, Annabeth. It’s impossible to hold a conversation with you.”

Annabeth shrugs, just as the bartender delivers her next drink, accompanied with an audacious wink. Her lips pull into a smug smile and she glances at Percy, whose jaw is set firmly but says nothing about it. All in one smooth motion, she rests her head against his chest and he shifts his weight from one foot to another, swaying her gently as his posture relaxes.

Is it so bad that Jason wants that? For someone to understand him, to soothe his insecurities and to want to know him so intimately? For someone to share his life with, for someone to listen when he speaks and listen when he doesn’t?

“Ask Percy.” She says finally.

Percy plucks her drink out of her hand and takes a long sip that clears half of it out. Good, Jason thinks. He’s watched Annabeth finish three of them already and he’d spotted her nursing a beer when he’d walked in. Whatever number she’s at, it’s well beyond human capacity, and the fact that she’s holding a conversation with him at all is pretty impressive.

“Ask Percy what?”

“Piper moved in with Jason while her apartment’s being fumigated.” Annabeth explains. “She’s crashing on his couch, but Jason thinks they’ve moved into domestic territory and it makes him want her more, and now he’s been complaining to me because he can neither tough it out for a couple of days nor pluck up the courage to ask her on a date. Charming, isn’t it?”

“God. She’s crashing on your couch?” Percy makes a face. “Why didn’t you offer to take the couch while she takes your bed? You’re meant to be a gentleman, Grace.”

“Well–,”

“Excuse me,” Annabeth cuts in. “Gentleman? This is coming from the same man who refuses to make me breakfast in bed the one time I asked him?”

“That’s different.” Percy says. “You were pretending to be sick so you could skip that stupid job interview. I don’t date cowards, Annabeth. You should know that.” Then he pokes Jason’s forehead. “Piper, on the other hand, just might have to.”

“I’m not a coward.” Jason crosses his arms over his chest. Their friends are scattered through the entire bar, but his eyes keep drifting to the girl in the corner, swaying her arm along to the music so she appears just engaged enough that nobody will bother her while she holds a seemingly riveting conversation with Leo. “I’m just… boring.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.” Percy points out and Annabeth smacks him in the chest before turning to Jason.

“What are you talking about?” She demands. “Who told you that you were boring?”

“Well– you can barely stand to talk to me right now.” Jason shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m not insecure about it or anything. It’s just that she’s exciting. She’s like this livewire of energy and bad ideas and… I’m not. I’m too tame for her.”

“First of all,” Annabeth holds up her finger and Percy takes the opportunity to steal the rest of her drink. “You’re not boring. You just say boring things when you crib about Piper. Other times, you’re easily one of my favourite people in the world.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, though.” Percy cuts in. Judging by the unfocused look in his eye, he’d done a pretty good job racking up a tab himself. “She says it about everyone.”

“No, I’m serious.” Annabeth frowns up at him. Slowly, she leans forward to Jason, one hand outstretched. It draws him in, and he finds himself mimicking her. When they’re almost nose to nose, she flicks him on the forehead and he jumps back.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“For calling yourself boring.” Annabeth says. “The worst thing you can be in this world is boring. Or a serial killer, but you’re definitely not one of those, I don’t think.” She tilts her head to the side and considers him, like she’s double-checking for herself. “You store so much useless information in that massive head of yours. So much. I have never witnessed anyone be so knowledgeable about the stupidest things the way you are. And you’re just bossy enough that you force me to listen to you blather on about it– which is good, by the way, because now I know that vacuum cleaners used to be horse-drawn back in the nineteenth century. How many people know about the evolution of the hoover? Exactly. None.”

“Also,” Percy adds, his hand sliding up Annabeth’s body with little elegance. “We now know what a tittle is. And that it has nothing to do with boobs.”

“So I’m good at pointless facts. Thanks.” Jason mutters. “Piper doesn’t care about facts. She’s all about adventure and finding the next cool thing. I’m not cool.”

“Secondly,” Annabeth continues. She points to where Piper and Leo are now howling with laughter. “That girl there is, like, one of my closest friends, alright? And she’s– she’s…”

“Annoying?” Percy supplies and Annabeth waves him off.

“She’s exciting. You’re right. She moves fast.” Annabeth says. “But it’s not what she wants. If you haven’t seen her for who she is– the quiet part of her that sits in the corner in parties, that hasn’t stopped looking over at you since you walked in– then I don’t know what to tell you. If you haven’t understood the part of her that wants someone to love her as fiercely as she loves her friends… if you don’t see who she really is, after three years of being her friend– Jason, maybe you don’t deserve her.”

Jason risks another glance at her, but this time he catches her looking at him. Immediately, she straightens up, turning her head back to Leo and trying her hardest to cover her face. It’s cute, he thinks. She’s cute.

“What I’m saying it– you don’t have to be amazing to ask her out, stupid.” Annabeth flicks him on the forehead again and he slaps her hand away. “It’s not like you’re asking for her hand in marriage. It’s one date.”

“Besides, between the three of us–,” Percy looks over his shoulder in Piper’s direction. “I think she thinks you’re pretty amazing as you are.”

“She definitely does.” Annabeth seems inexplicably pleased with herself for doing nothing, really, except maybe bruising Jason’s forehead. “So stop whining about the fact that you get to spend all day with the girl you have been relentlessly in love with for years, and start enjoying the time you have with her.”

“And if she says no?”

“Nothing changes.” Percy shrugs. “Literally nothing will change. You can come right back to being a miserable old man. Annabeth and I will buy you a pet to cheer you up, maybe.”

“Yeah.” Annabeth nods. “So either you ask her out and then have a chance at a girlfriend, or you get a puppy. Looks like a win-win situation.”

When she says it like that– it doesn’t sound all bad. Maybe Jason would be good for Piper. Maybe she’d be good for him. Unfortunately for him, his friends are right– he’s not going to know if he doesn’t ask. If three years worth of dates and fleeting relationships hadn’t distracted him… maybe he’s best off giving it a go.

“Okay. I’m going to do it.” He declares.

“Now?” Percy presses a kiss to the top of Annabeth’s head.

“God, no. If she says no– I don’t want to make a scene. It’s Dakota’s day today.”

“He’d like nothing more than to see you make a scene.” Annabeth yawns. Apparently she’s sped straight past every phase of drunkenness right into the exhaustion state. She rests her head on Percy’s chest and he gathers her up in his arms. “Just go for it, Jason. You won’t make a scene and she won’t say no.”

“We should call a cab.” He says. “But tonight, Jason. Tonight, you make a move.”

He walks out of the bar with Annabeth and Percy, happy to wait for their Lyft with them. Annabeth is bundled up in Percy’s coat, his arm around her holding her steady. They’re conversing between themself, speaking in soft voices and a language nobody else is privy to. Plans for tomorrow, a recap of the night– it’s not for Jason to hear. It’s sweet– they complement each other in a way that suits them both.

Jason remembers the Annabeth he’d met at freshman orientation. The girl he’d shared a corridor with, the first friend he’d made in college. Annabeth from Before Percy was just as smart as the woman in front of him now— just as beautiful, just as sharp— but she was also desperately searching for something, hiding bits of her away because she was so afraid of being rejected. Today, she stands taller, has little to prove to the world; to herself. She’s confident in a way that inspires him— confident like she isn’t faking it anymore, and he has no doubt at all that it’s all Percy’s doing.

His mind drifts back to Piper, to the different sides of her that he’s had the pleasure of learning. Everyone has that— a tiny voice in their head that pushes them to be bigger, better, brighter to the world than they are. If Annabeth is any example– he lets himself believe for a moment that there’s a cure to that insecurity. That he could, in some way, be that cure for Piper the way she could be for him. That by finding the right person, the world won’t be as scary anymore.

The cab pulls up and Annabeth pauses, taking both of Jason’s hands in hers.

“Text me.” She says earnestly. “I want to celebrate with you both.”

Percy chucks him on the shoulder, wearing a small smile. “Both of us do.”

“Yeah.” Jason buries his fists in his pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet, looking back at the bar. “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it.” Annabeth calls as Percy helps her into a car. When she’s safely inside, he turns around with a grin and shoots Jason a thumbs up.

“You never have.”

Jason watches their car merge into the Manhattan traffic, the cool October air carrying a nostalgic longing as distance grows between them. Percy and Annabeth are returning now to their own life; one a hundred miles from him, from anyone else. Everybody was drifting away; forging their own way forward. When they’re out of sight, Jason turns back around, the dingy doors to the bar beckoning him in with the promise of a brand new life.

On the other side of these worn doors is a girl with stars in her eyes and moonlight in her step, and maybe– just maybe– she’s waiting for him.

With a deep breath, he steps in.

#god christ almighty u dont know what this took out of me fr #but its all worth it <3 #mari #hope u like it xoxo #i rly cannot remember my writing tag tho F in chat #percabeth fanfiction #??#jasiper #good lord whats happened to me

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