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taintedcigs · 1 year

Note

OMG LITERALLY LOVED POLAROIDS SO MUCH DUDE 🤭

Also if your taking requests could you maybe write Eddie x fem!Scoops Ahoy Worker!reader

✦ A SCOOP OF MISUNDERSTANDINGS | e. munson x reader ✦

wc: 2k+

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader

warnings: not a lot of warnings tbh, just swearing, jealousy, fluff, like annoyingly fluffy, i hope this isn't cheesy and tiny tiny bit of angst if u RLLY squint

summary: eddie is really enamored with the new scoops ahoy worker, and is jealous of how her and steve get along so well.

authors note: NONNIE PLS EXCUSE HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY ASKS FOR A LONG TIME!! im so glad u liked polaroids and now i hope u like this as well and hope i did ur request justice <33 this concept was so fun to write!! ITS ABIT CHEESY BUT I LOVE CHEESY SO EXCUSE ME PLS! also lmk if u want more like this or all ur requests and any of ur feedback pls send me an ask abt anything ily all <3

eddie LOOVES ice cream, and most of all, eddie loves going to scoops ahoy with dustin and annoying the shit out of steve.

it's like their weekly routine at this point, getting ice-cream, but also trying all the flavors so they can get free ice-cream, steve and robin always end up yelling at them.

so eddie entered the scoops ahoy shop with a smirk on his face, and the mission of annoying steve, but his smirk is wiped off and he is almost baffled by something, or rather someone.

you.

he is intrigued at the sight of you, standing next to steve, pouting your glossed plump lips at him for something he is saying, and you look so pretty, that it catches him off guard. even with that stupid scoops ahoy hat on top of your hat, eddie thinks you look so fucking good that it's unfair, and he is too dumbfounded to speak.

you laugh at something steve says, and it makes eddie's heart skip a beat. his mind is fuzzy when he's staring at you, he wonders if you're new here, because if someone as angelic as you worked here before, he wouldn't have missed it.

his attention is drawn back to robin, who tries to take his and dustin's order and dustin asks to try his 100th flavor "god, will you take eddie and dustin's order i need to go on a break!" she exclaims shouting your name, groaning. you nod quickly as you wave steve away.

a warm smile is plastered on your face, "welcome to scoops ahoy! what can i get for you, dustin" you point to dustin, guessing the kid steve always talked about must've been him, and then you turn to eddie.

"and, eddie?" you smile, also remembering him from steve's stories, as he told you all about eddie and how he was 'not jealous' that dustin had gotten another older brother, who played the 'same stupid nerd game as dustin'.

"you know my name?" eddie asked, his eyes widening and his mouth dried up. "robin just told our names, you doofus." dustin lightly nudged him, and a blush crept up eddie's cheeks, his first words to you and he already looked like an idiot, great, he thought to himself.

"oh, not only that but that one talks about you two all the time!" you said giggling as you pointed to steve.

"all good things i hope." eddie chuckled and you gave him a warm smile again, nodding. the way your eyes sparkled as you smiled was etched into his brain forever, dustin realized eddie's adoring looks but he kept his mouth shut.

"so, uh... what kind of ice cream would you like today? we have a lot of flavors!" you asked, showing them dozens of ice cream flavors.

"i'll have one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough, and same for him, if that's okay." eddie said, smiling at you.

you looked up at him, your smile widening. "coming right up!" you said sweetly, grabbing a cone and getting to work.

as you did so, dustin lightly nudged eddie's shoulder, eddie could barely turn his head around to dustin when all he could do was focus on you. "what?" he asked annoyed.

"dude, you have to ask her out!" dustin exclaimed excitedly and eddie threw him a look as to say 'keep your voice down idiot, she's right there!'

"what?" eddie asked playing dumb and dustin rolled his eyes, "you've been gawking at her ever since we walked in, just ask her out!" dustin encouraged eddie.

but eddie didn't know how he was supposed to do that. he was the 'freak' of hawkins, and you were- oh you were so pretty, so nice and you seemed so kind. he couldn't even manage to get his words out when you were around, let alone ask you out on a date.

"maybe next time, kiddo." he gave dustin's shoulder a squeeze, as eddie watched you laughing at steve's jokes again, and sighed.

he knew you were out of his league and possibly suited better for someone like 'king steve' anyway, but it didn't stop him from returning in a few days.

"eddie, hi!" the way your face instantly lit up and how you remembered his name, made him smile, eddie was putty in your hands with just two interactions.

"one scoop chocolate and one scoop chocolate chip again?" you remembered his name and his order? eddie's heart was about to burst out of his chest, you were giving the poor boy hope with just existing.

he nodded, and you scooped a generous portion of ice cream into a cone. "will that be all?" your tone was so sweet that it was making eddie sick.

"um, yeah." eddie said, feeling a bit flustered. he took the cone and turned to leave, but then he hesitated, dustin's words rang in his mind. he knew he at least had to start more conversations with you.

"hey, um, do you have any recommendations for other flavors?" he asked, his voice was still timid.

you grinned, excitedly. "oh, there are so many! have you tried the mint chocolate chip? it's my personal favorite." when he shook his head no, you immediately grabbed a spoon feeding him the ice cream.

you excitedly waited for his feedback, your eyes were glimmering, "really good." he managed to get out with a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, making you giggle.

even if eddie wouldn't have liked the flavor, he would pretend that it was his favorite flavor for the rest of his life if it meant he would get to hear your pretty laugh and those dreamy eyes again.

and eddie knew he was obsessed now, he didn't want to be so hooked on you, but you made it easy, so very easy.

and in the next few weeks, eddie started coming to the shop more often, finding excuses to try new flavors and linger around you at all times. and the more he came the more he got comfortable with you, always making small talk, while trying to be funny and charming, but always feeling like he was failing miserably.

but you didn't seem to mind. in fact, him always coming around to see you, and your conversations were the best part of your day, and your job.

you were always laughing the hardest at his jokes, asking him about his day, and even sneaking him extra scoops of ice cream every now and then.

but eddie had one problem.

steve.

he was always there, talking to you, and making you laugh, jealousy was starting to consume him.

he couldn't help the agonizing anxiety inside of him that made him feel like he wasn't good enough for you, especially compared to steve who seemed to be a ladies' man and had a natural charm to him, along with the 'king steve' title that eddie felt he lacked, the only title he had was, 'the freak'.

and eddie couldn't get you out of his head. his head was constantly filled with thoughts of you and the little moments the two of you shared at scoops ahoy.

so when he came to the shop the next day, he had one thing on his mind. he had to at least try his chances, and ask you out.

"hi, honey." he greeted you, the nickname was something you felt so comfortable with, and it made you feel so giddy inside.

"hi, eds." he loved the nicknames you gave him, 'handsome, eds, pretty boy.' he could feel his insides about to burst when you called him any of them.

when the two of you fell into your routine conversations again, eddie felt comfortable, he felt at ease with your presence, and he realized he could really do it, he could actually ask you out.

so when he called out your name in a soft voice, he gathered his courage, clearing his throat.

"i just wanted to ask you if-" but once again, his voice was drowned out by steve, and he sighed his anxiety was starting to bubble over when your shift instantly focused to steve.

"shit- sorry i'm late, again!" steve's voice was irritating him now, and you waved steve off, to say that it was fine.

"you're only late like 5 minutes." you offered him a smile, and as steve gave you a hug to greet you eddie could feel his stomach knotting up.

he tried to stay composed, but he couldn't help his mind getting fuzzy about his insecurities.

when you returned to eddie, you could sense he was off. "sorry handsome, what were you saying?" you asked, as you gave him a sympathetic smile.

but eddie was distant, and even the 'handsome' nickname, wasn't enough to ease his worries "oh, it was nothing important." his voice was timid and he was now lost in his own thoughts.

"is everything okay?" you asked, your voice filled with worry.

"yeah, yeah, you can go back to your thing with steve, i didn't mean to interrupt." he meant for it to sound casual, but it sounded bitter.

you looked at him, furrowing your brows. "what?" and when you saw the way eddie looked at steve, it clicked.

all the times when steve came and interrupted you and eddie's conversation, all the times steve made you laugh, eddie always had the same disappointed look on his face that he did now.

and you actually face-palmed at the realization, and gave him a chuckle, causing eddie's attention to shift to you again as he gave you a puzzled look.

"jesus- eddie, have i ever told you how i started this job?" you asked, and he shook his head.

"we moved into hawkins a few weeks ago, my dad told me i had to find a summer job and then my cousin told me he got this new job at scoop's ahoy, so i thought why not? and i signed up as well." the information was slow to process eddie's brain.

"steve is my cousin, eds." you said, a smug smirk played on your lips, and eddie immediately felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. "oh."

"shit, i didn't know. sorry." he shook his head, glancing down at the floor.

he wanted to laugh at how foolish he had been, worrying about steve this much in the last few weeks.

"it's okay, i mean we do hang out a lot, but that's because he's my favorite cousin, and it's really fun to be able to annoy him 24/7." you giggled and eddie chuckled, nodding.

he felt a surge of relief, but he wanted to slap himself for being jealous over nothing.

when the conversation between the two of you went back to normal eddie felt comfortable around you again, and he decided to push his plans to asking you out to the next day, his cheeks still blushing at the mention of steve.

so when he says his goodbyes to you, it makes you groan, and eddie tilts his head, confused, as he turns his attention to you.

"are you ever going to ask me out?" you asked, impatiently, and you felt desperate to do so, but you had spent weeks flirting with eddie, and it was driving you crazy now.

eddie blinked slowly, not believing the words that were coming out of your mouth his heart pounding in his chest. "w-what?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

you huffed, "i mean i've been flirting with you for weeks, and i thought you weren't interested, but you did nothing." you pouted, and eddie felt like he was going to faint.

"shit, honey." now your heart was pounding out of your chest, the nickname, again, was enough to make you melt.

"fuck, i've been trying to ask you out for weeks, but i thought you weren't interested, especially because i thought you were interested in steve-" you made a gagging sound at that and his mouth turned up into a soft smile.

he felt like he was dreaming, he felt so stupid. "would you wanna go out with me? maybe to that new restaurant that opened up just right down the street?" he asked, intoxicated by your hopeful eyes.

"yes," you replied, without hesitation. "i would love to."

eddie grinned sheepishly at you. "great," he said. "how about tomorrow afternoon?"

you nodded eagerly. "tomorrow afternoon sounds perfect."

"see you then." eddie replied, appearing to be casual and trying to hide the fact that he was screaming internally. and trying to comprehend that he was actually going to go on a date with you.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #scoops ahoy!reader #eddie munson

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stevenose · 3 months

Text

idk. gang idk. wanna eat this guy’s ass nahimsayin

contains: gender unspecified reader/no gendered language; free use reader; conflicted steve; mentions of steve trauma :( he head hurt; foot massage MILD MILD I PROMISE; oral (steve receiving); rimming (steve receiving); some humiliation going on; ‘whore’ is used both ways hashtag equality; facial (reader receiving)

Steve’s had the worst day of his life. Well, that’s not true - not even close. He has to remind himself of that, as if he forgot, even though the headache currently clouding his brain is a consequence of too many concussions. Actually, thinking about his bad luck just pisses him off more. He almost breaks the key to Family Video while he’s closing up, ripping it from the door so harsh it hurts his hand.

He slams the car door, too. Which makes his head pound. He’s so goddamn tired. And if he has to tell one more teenager they can’t rent porn, he’s going to drive his car into the building. He gets it - really, he does. He used to steal VHS tapes from his friend’s parents and watch it in his basement when he was underage. But now he’s 21 and too old for this shit.

Speaking of porn - blowing off steam sounds great. He sighs as he turns the engine of his car over and leans back. He just has to get home. And maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll be there and you can do that thing you both talked about.

It’s really out of character for him. He’s ready to admit it. Actually, he’s not just admitting it. He proclaims it, over and over - I’m not that kind of guy. But you showed him some real interesting porn and told him about the term “free use” and now he can’t stop fisting his cock to the idea of you choking on it. It’s sore, already straining in his jeans as he traverses Hawkins pothole-riddled roads.

Free use. He can imagine coming home and fucking you over a table, or pushing you to your knees, sure - but actually doing it is entirely different. He doesn’t know how to be mean. He didn’t even know how to be mean when he was an asshole. It makes him nervous, palms clammy against his steering wheel. He does know how to be confident, however, and he tries to lean into that assertiveness as he parks his car and strides towards the door.

Steve’s irritated he even has to unlock it, but you’re right there, sitting at the kitchen island reading the back of a cereal box. Pajamas on, ready for bed. It makes him feel bad about asking and he pushes any thought of getting his dick near you out of his sore brain. But you perk up when you see him, equally eager and shy, tucking into yourself.

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hi.” He stares at you. Stupid.

“You okay?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “I had a bad day.”

You nod, drumming your fingers against your forearm. “Want me to do something about it?” you ask lowly.

Steve nods slowly. He’s still standing halfway through the door like a doofus.

“Shut the door, handsome.”

He blinks, zoning back in to reality. The door swings shut behind him and you make your way over to him, approaching cautiously. Like he’s infected with something. Perhaps just a sour mood.

“Anything you want,” you remind quietly.

He nods again, licks his lips. “Come here,” he says, walking towards the living room. Then he stops and looks back at you. “Please?”

Steve’s so grateful that you’re patient with him. You don’t poke fun or chastise him. You just nod, letting him lead the way as he settles on the couch. He’s also grateful that you take the lead at first, settling on your knees in front of him. Your little fingers move towards his Nikes and you unlace them, pulling his shoes off. He groans low when your hands move to massage his socked foot.

He can’t believe how gross you are. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be into shit like this. Neither should he. He reminds himself he really isn’t into this kind of thing, he’s just into you. But he’s painfully hard in his Levis while he watches you below him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “No. But you’re sweet.”

You smile. “I know. How’s your head?”

He sighs. “Sore.”

“I’ll get you some advil in a sec,” you promise, moving from one foot to the other.

“Thank you,” he says, sinking into the couch. “You’re so good to me.”

“Yeah?” you goad. Your hands crawl up his thighs and you stare up at him eagerly. “I’d do anything you ask. Anything.”

Steve sucks in a measured breath, lost in your warm eyes for a moment. He leans forward and takes your jaw gently, but firmly, between his fingers. He can’t believe how much your eyes light up. “You can get me some medicine and suck my cock til I’m feeling better.” And then, again, he adds, “Please.”

You hop up, heading towards the kitchen while he stands to strip. It almost takes effort to get his jeans down past his erection, and his cock leaks precum on his stomach once it’s freed. He rolls his eyes at himself, so worked up over nothing yet. He sits back on the couch as you re-enter, bottle and water in hand.

“Come here,” he says again, patting his thigh, and you do as you’re told. You really are so good for him, so eager to please. He takes the items from you, downs 800 milligrams, then turns his attention back to you. Steve wracks his brain for something to say, but your fingers reach out for his scalp. You massage his head and he moans, his hands finding your hips while his eyes drift shut.

“Did you think about me today?”

“I did,” you answer. “Nearly every second.”

His eyes open, half-lidded. “Tell me what you thought about.”

You bite your lip for a moment. “I thought about your, um - well….”

He surprises himself when he swats your ass. He soothes it immediately, about to apologize, but your reaction gives him pause. Your hips grind on his thigh and your pupils go blown, teeth digging in to your plush bottom lip. Your fingers keep working his scalp, soothing the ache, helping him come back to life a little bit.

“Can I just show you instead?”

Steve hums. “Only if you show me how you touched yourself while you do it.”

He hears your breath hitch in your throat. You nod, then cup his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

The tenderness makes him melt. You make him feel like he’ll be alright. Like he doesn’t have a dead end job, like everyone isn’t moving on without him. “I’m great,” he answers, finally smiling. “Got a pretty thing like you on my lap, getting waited on, taken care of….”

“I’ll take care of you,” you coo, sliding off of his lap and back onto your knees before him.

The two of you haven’t fooled around very much. Steve loves watching your reaction to his cock - it gives him the biggest ego boost. He knows it’s pretty. Long and thick, pretty pink tip, a few beauty marks marking the shaft. It curves a little bit upwards, easy to find your sweet spot. He watches you stare at it now, eyes wide, breath fanning over it.

“Please hurry,” he has to say, a little bit impatient.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. Your hand reaches out for his shaft and you slowly pump your hand up and down it. Steve sighs and lets his head rest against the back of the couch. “It’s just so beautiful, Steve.”

Your touch spurs him on. “Beautiful, huh? You like it that much?”

“Mhm.” You lick your lips. “It’s so big, and - and soft….”

You press gentle kisses along the underside of it. Steve curses under his breath. His head falls forward so he can watch you now as you kiss every inch of it. You nuzzle your nose against the shaft, thumb swiping across the head, your tongue giving him kitten licks.

“There you go,” he groans. “Show me how much you love it.”

Your kisses become open mouthed and messy, your tongue getting him a little bit more wet. You kiss up towards the head and swirl your tongue around it, lapping up the precum pooling in his slit. Steve groans again, gripping your hair, and with a gruff “open up,” he slides his cock between your lips.

Your mouth is his salvation. Wet, warm, tight. Steve gasps and moans, hips immediately bucking upwards. You gag and he shudders, hand fisting your hair harder, tangling his thick fingers in it. “It’s okay, g-gag on it, make a - make a mess.”

You moan and angle your head to take a bit more of him, beckoning him to take what he needs. Your eyes are so pretty looking up at him, glassy, teary. It makes Steve frenzied. He bucks his hips into your mouth, reveling in the perverted noises you both make together.

“This what you wanted?” he growls. “Be my personal s-stress - stress toy?”

You moan and nod.

“Touch yourself.”

Your hand makes its way inside your pajama bottoms. You gag as you attempt to moan, throat constricting around Steve’s thick cock. He knows it has to hurt and he scratches your scalp in an attempt to soothe you. His balls tighten as your eyes roll back. He can see your fingers moving in the thin cotton of your sleep shorts and his stomach flips violently.

Steve fucks his hips against your face for a while, sensitive balls slapping against your chin. It’s so goddamn gross and he can’t fucking stop. His toes curl, breaths ragged and shallow, groans and praises falling from his lips. He pushes his cock into your throat as far as it can go, feeling it tense and constrict.

“Take it,” he grits. “Holy fucking shit goddamn you feel so good holy fuck oh my god -“

And when he finally pulls out, giving you a moment to breathe, you don’t pull back. Instead, you duck downwards, kissing and sucking gently at his balls.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, half in pleasure and half in scandal. “Feel - feel how much cum I’ve got for you?”

“Steve,” you moan. Music to his fucking ears.

“Love any part of me you can get, huh?” His blunt fingernails scratch your scalp some more, soothing.

And then you go lower.

Steve sort of short circuits. Now your tongue is on his taint and that is quite honestly not where a tongue should go. He wonders if you even know that’s where you are, and he tries pulling you upwards again. Voice hoarse while he’s saying, “Baby, that’s - oh, that’s - not -“

Your hands find his hips. You pull him towards the edge. And your tongue is really, really where it isn’t supposed to be now.

But Steve couldn’t stop you if he wanted to. It’s like he’s been electrocuted. Your tongue flicks against his hole, innocent, sweet. You even press a cute little kiss to his rim.

“Oh my god!” he wails, throwing his head back. He spreads his legs wider for you. His voice is gorgeous, all scandal, a deep tenor. “You dirty little whore.”

His own reaction shocks himself again, but you moan at that. He can even see your arm moving while you continue to touch yourself. All while your tongue licks broad stripes against his sensitive rim - and who knew he was so sensitive there? His stomach flips and tightens, cock pouring.

“Stroke me off,” he commands, though it’s more of a plea. Your hand finds his cock again and you pump him, tapering your tongue against his hole. Then you lick back to his balls, kissing each of them, before taking his cock in your throat again.

“What the fuck,” he groans, his entire stream of consciousness finding its way past his lips. “This what you got off t-to? Eating me ou- out?”

You pull back, a glint in your eye while you moan. “You’re about to get off to it, too.”

Which Steve can’t argue with. His balls are starting to draw up again and he doesn’t know how he’d like to cum. Down your throat? Or in your hair while you kiss his ass? He wishes he could have both.

His hand grips your hair again and he fucks your face with abandon. You moan non-stop around his length, gagging, drool finding its way down his cock to his balls and beyond. He plants his feet to fuck you like he knows you want, groaning through gritted teeth.

“You gonna cum? Gonna cum from being used?” he grits. “Go on, g-get off, you dirty - little -“

You go a little slack when you do. Eyes all crossed, drool falling down your chin. Steve can’t fucking stand it. He pulls you off of him and jerks himself off in front of you, his face red with effort while you gasp for air.

“Give me your filthy tongue,” he orders.

You stick your tongue out, a blissful, gorgeous expression on your face that Steve is quickly addicted to.

“Gonna cum - gonna cum a-all over your slutty face, just like you wanted - fuck!”

His eyes want to close but he forces them open to watch thick ropes defile your face. His chest heaves with exertion, low groans rumbling from his chest, head still pounding from how much effort it takes. But the headache’s the last thing on his mind. He’s all focused on you, looking like a porn star in front of him, all ditzy and happy.

“Up,” he pants, grabbing onto you. He pulls you onto his lap and he doesn’t care if you have his cum on your face. He’s already hardening again, could really use another scalp massage while his cock finds its way inside of your hole. “One more, can you do that for me? So goddamn hot I gotta go again.”

“Whore,” you snark weakly, hands finding his head, letting him sit you down on his cock.

#stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭#this isn’t very good but in my defense 1. sleepy baby 2. bad night

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eoieopda · 5 months

Note

🙏🏻 This is my first time submitting a request because I can’t stop imagining Dino helping his drunk BFF home while secretly being in love with her 🧎🏼‍♀️Please if you have time!

superpower

summary: not all heroes wear capes, but chan would probably do so if you asked. pairing: lee chan x reader type: drabble genre: fluff au: friends to ?, pining word count: 1.4k (oops) rating: pg15 — still, minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: alcohol/drunkenness, obvi; no pronouns or gendered language is used for reader. a/n: not even remotely proofread (double oops), but i still love this down-bad doofus, so i hope you do, too!

“I’m not saying I have superpowers, but I’m not not saying it.”

Your eyes are blinking a little more slowly than usual, but the unimpressed look you fire off at Chan can’t be missed.

“Can you just —” A hiccup cuts your question in half. You frown with your whole face just to make it clear how serious you are. “Hold my hand? It’s wobbly.”

Chan knows you’re referring to the sidewalk — where you stand and sway along to music that isn’t playing — but that description fits his knees, too.

He hopes you’re too busy pouting at him to notice the way he wipes his palms against his jeans, afraid you’ll notice how nervous you make him. You start to lean a bit too heavily to one side for his liking, though; and he thinks it’s safe to bet that you’re not noticing much of anything.

That settles it.

The second he envelopes your hand in his, you take it a step further, tugging him close enough that you can slot yourself under his arm.

“Smell nice,” you mumble from his side. “‘s that the new stuff? From the place?”

Now, Chan is the one that’s blinking slowly. He was as drunk as you were until you needed him, and despite his sobering up on a dime — which is a superpower, thank you very much — his processing speed is lagging. You nudge him with your elbow, as if that’ll make what you just said make sense.

“Ahhh!” He plays along, making a big show of realizing things. “Yes, that place. By the thing, right?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

Behind you both, the Uber that dumped you back at your place pulls away from the curb. Three beats later, you tilt your head and cheer “goodbye” at a long-gone Kia. He feels his heart swell three sizes in chest.

“You like it?” He redirects you because he’s a little bit greedy for your praise — and also because he bought this cologne with the hope that you’d compliment it. Chuckling, he notes, “Considering how much I’m propping you up right now, you’ll probably end up smelling like me.”

When you smile and mutter, “Good,” Chan suddenly feels weightless.

It takes some concentrated effort, but he manages to guide you up the front steps to your apartment building. It takes significant concentrated effort to corral you into the elevator once you clear the threshold. You would’ve spent your night talking the doorman’s ear off, otherwise, providing a dramatic retelling of every single step you took over the last few hours. It takes everything Chan has not to laugh at the relieved sigh he gets in thanks for intervening, although it’s hardly altruistic to want your rambling to himself.

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the elevator car, you point to your joint reflection and muse, “Someone’s awful smiley this evening.”

Chan makes eye contact without having to tilt his head. His brain works overtime to churn out a response that isn’t self-incriminating, but the only thought ricocheting around his brain relates to how cute you look, nestled into him.

With a ding, your reflection is gone. The moment goes with it, and without a barrier in front, so do you — like a bat out of hell.

“Oh, my god,” you wail when your apartment door comes into view. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

Chan chases after you, arriving embarrassingly out-of-breath — and more than a little fond — just in time to watch you wrestle your keys out of your pocket. They clatter to the floor the second they’re free. You groan, bereft at the loss.

“Stay here,” he says firmly with a finger pointed because he knows you, knows you’ll take one or both of you out of commission if you don’t heed his warning.

Your eyes cross a little bit as you stare down the barrel of it, but you listen, thankfully; and he’s able to pick up your slack without anyone receiving a concussion. He’s able to usher you into your own home without further incident, too.

Once again: superpowers.

The task of kicking your shoes off is apparently too much to ask of you, so you wander off to your bedroom without even trying. His Nikes are discarded so hurriedly that they barely hit your mat by the time he takes off after you. The second he catches up, he wins the pleasure of watching you flop backwards onto your mattress.

Funny, he thinks. His heart makes a similar thwump when you smile at him the way you are right now.

Gesturing to the feet dangling off the edge of your bed, he laughs. “Can I please help you?”

You shoot him with dual-wielded finger guns. He takes that as a yes, please, and gets to work on the triple knots you managed to install in your laces.

“Chan?”

He hums in acknowledgment without looking up, too confounded by your drunken rope-work to take his eyes off his fingers.

Were you a sailor in a past life?

A little louder and a lot more pathetically, you whine, “Chan,” adding several seconds’ worth of the vowel sound in the process.

Chan has no option but to look up at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got no choice but to smile with all of his teeth, too. “You rang?”

“You’re so nice.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, he suspects, but it sounds much more like a shout. “How?”

His bemused snort is disguised by the sound of your right shoe hitting the floor.

“I mean it!” You laugh — like he’d ever doubt you — and smack your palms against your duvet for emphasis. “Like, hello? Good boy alert!”

That — well, that does something to Chan that he’s not willing to unpack right now. Instead, he shucks off your other shoe, bites back his smile, and sits back on his heels.

For a minute, the two of you stay that way: you gazing at him, him gazing right back at you. In every second that slips by in comfortable silence, he works to convince himself that the twinkle in your eye is a byproduct of the shots you took, nothing more. You’re smiling at him like that because you won’t have to sleep in your shoes tonight.

Right?

You nibble thoughtfully on your lower lip before your smile turns sheepish. “Chan?”

He’s not thinking that an angel gets its wings whenever you say his name, but he’s not not thinking that.

“The one and only,” he says with a nod, and he only cringes a little bit at his words, after the fact.

Whatever you want to say next seems to be stuck on its way out. In fact, you open and close your mouth twice to no avail. Patience is a virtue, and you are divine, so he waits there — on his knees, no less — and lets you take the lead. Your eyes flick from his face to the fidgeting fingers in your lap, then to the blank space at your side.

“It’s cold out,” you finally declare.

It’s July, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You shouldn’t have to walk home in this weather.”

The sky simply couldn’t be clearer, but Chan would take your word for it if you said that it was green.

“Maybe you should stay.”

He tries not to let the giddiness overtake him. Really, he does. He attempts to shrug nonchalantly, but it's more of a shiver than anything else, and he’s scrambling to his feet before he can chide himself for it.

You laugh — with your whole chest, no less — when he leaps into the spot beside you, settling flat on his back and grinning up at the ceiling. You’re still giggling when you mimic his graceless movements, still beaming when you turn your head to look at him. The air still feels electric, somehow, even after the laughter peters off.

A few moments pass, probably. He doesn’t notice them on their way out.

In a whisper that is actually a whisper, you say his name again, and it kicks off that wild thwump inside his chest.

“Yes?” He responds, much more quietly than his pulse in his ears.

You tug gently at the pillow under his head to draw attention to it. “You’ll probably end up smelling like me now.”

#svt #svt dino #lee chan #chan x reader #dino x reader #chan drabble #svt drabble #svt imagines #svt scenarios #jade writes #jade’s requests #lc #kvanity #re: superpower

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thejockout · 4 months

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A Word On Dumbing Down

In some conversations with my bros @avissapiens and @master-villain the other day, I finally managed to put a specific idea into words that had been crystallising for a long time. Nothing earth-shattering or even transformative, because I'd been exploring this same understanding with different wording for quite a while now, but it felt significant to me and sparked me to make this post.

The realisation was simple: Dumbing Down is not something you can "Do" as a standalone action. It's perhaps more accurate to say Dumbing Down is itself the perspective shift and realisation that "Smart" is something you can choose to "Not Do."

Clunky wording, I know, but pretend it's smooth for me.

(And as a necessary fyi, this post assumes familiarity with Dumbing Down as a hypnotic concept, which is nowadays most often written and spoken about as a general simplification of thought and cognition versus turning you into some drooling doofus. Maybe the latter is your thing, maybe it isn't - either way, I'm talking here about the more "realistic"/AKA sustainable model where the word dumb is synonymous with "so laid back, you don't want to think or care if people perceive you as dumb because of it".)

Too many subjects (myself included) work at hypnotic personality and cognition changes with a straining effort, in an energetically desperate approach. This is understandable - we tend to push hard for things we really want - and anyone can fall victim to it. It's very similar contextually to the trap many anxiety sufferers fall into when they begin therapy. In an earnest attempt to recover, many sufferers approach recovery with the exact same mindset they do life; that of a "fixer", a "do-er", someone who problem-solves and overthinks themselves into knots and runs loops around the same well-worn mental tracks over and over again to the point of exhaustion.

Don't worry, I'm not here to give some big-brain solution to mental health issues. I suffer myself and am on my own journey of recovery, so I'm in no place to play armchair psychologist. But I will speak about this topic as it relates to hypnosis and dumbing down because the overlap of people who are into Dumbing Down/IQ Reduction/Simplification/Bimbofication/Himbofication hypnosis and who suffer with anxiety (and overthinking) is quite high, so chances are that many who struggle with Dumbing Down suggestions are making the same mistakes. Please see my peer-reviewed Paint Diagram below which provides unequivocal, non-anecdotal proof of this.

IMO, there's nothing wrong with this overlap. Kink is an outlet for many people to deal with emotional issues, and often a very helpful coping mechanism. Dumbing Down is no different conceptually. But I'm talking about this because, just like approaching anti-anxiety work with an anxious energy and effort is doomed to failure, the exact same is true for Dumbing Down. Approaching it with an Intellectualist mindset OR in other words, the anxious energy of a fix-er and do-er and try-er is antithetical to the very state you wish to experience.

Does that make sense?

Successful Dumbing Down (beyond the very enjoyable, shorter-term effects of deep trance which feel like intoxication) is effectively the act of stepping back from mental action/the habit of overthinking. To give another clumsy metaphor, if your default mind works like a toy train constantly running around its track, sometimes gaining speed and sometimes slowing down... Dumbing Down comes from realising "hey, I can actually plug this thing out." No, it's not as simple as turning off an appliance, and it takes time for everyone. Overthought (in all its forms, whether anxious or just from over-intellectualising your life) is effectively a habit, and habits take time to make or break.

Therefore, Perspective Shift #1 that you need to make: recognise that thinking patterns and their frequency are ultimately behavioural and habitual, and can therefore be rewired and lessened with time and specific action. It's not an immediate thing - but it is possible, and this is effectively what dumbing in hypnosis is about.

That perspective raises some questions, I know. But I don't want to write about the answers just yet. Reread and consider that last paragraph a few times to make sure you've really processed it. Think about the questions it leaves you with, and come up with a few answers of your own if you can. You can post your thoughts in the comments or reblogs of this post, as I will be taking the time to read through them, and I'll continue this topic in future as I think more on it myself.

Later.

#hypnokink #hypnosis #jockification #dumbing down #jockout

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

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Threadbare (3)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.

[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]

Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251

Captain America: Man of Action.

Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.

It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.

He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.

That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.

This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.

Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.

Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.

This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.

“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.

“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.

“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”

“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.

Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”

“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”

“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”

“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”

“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”

Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.

“Maybe it is…”

Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?

Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.

Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.

Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.

He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.

The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”

Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.

“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.”

Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.

“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”

“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”

“What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”

Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”

Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.

Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”

Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.

Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.

Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.

“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”

“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”

“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.

Steve’s cheeks are on fire.

“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.

You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.

You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.

You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.

Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.

“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.

“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”

Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”

As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.

“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”

The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.

“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”

They look at each other quizzically.

“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.

“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.

While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”

“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”

“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”

Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”

The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.

Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’

If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.

“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.

He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”

Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.

He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.

Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”

He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.

Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.

No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.

Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.

If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.

Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that.

Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.

Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.

Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.

The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.

Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.

Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.

This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.

Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.

He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.

The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.

There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.

“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning.

Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”

You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.

“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”

Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.

“You okay?” he mouths.

The same tired smile flashes as you nod.

“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”

“Three ping fire.”

“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.

“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”

There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”

Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”

Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.

“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”

You’re gone. The access door closed again.

“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”

The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.

If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.

“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.

Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.

He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.

As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.

Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.

“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”

Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.

“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”

“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.

“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.

“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”

Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.

“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“

“—leave him alone, Stark—“

“—then I can put in a word.”

“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”

Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.

“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”

Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”

There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.

“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”

“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”

“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“

“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.

“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“

“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.

The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.

“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”

One spot of purple in a sea of white.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.

“I ordered butterfly bush…”

“What?”

“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.

Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.

Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.

“We don’t have time to change them—“

“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.”

A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.

He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.

“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”

The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.

There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.

You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.

A one-minute warning is given.

From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.

Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.

Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.

The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.

‘For you, handsome.’

They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.

Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.

You get to watch it dawn on him, too.

Model 1: he’s a little miffed.

Model 2: his jaw goes slack.

Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.

By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.

Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.

Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.

It’s so bright. So loud.

The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.

People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.

It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.

“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.

Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.

Rose stems snap and litter the floor.

Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.

And it works.

Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia

A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.

[Next Part]

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #fashion designer!reader #threadbare #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #romance #steve rogers angst #action/adventure #captain america angst

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relatable-trxsh · 1 year

Text

What We Came Here To Do Pt. 5

Episode 3 pt.1

A/N: Holy shit I'm so sorry this took me so goddamn long. But I'm back guys and I will be regularly (Hopefully) posting again for this story!

Summary: Y/N Kane is not doing well after getting speared but with a little help from her friends maybe she can survive this.

warning: Mentions of a knife, Surgery(?) lots of cussing, if you squint a little bit of fluff

Third person pov

Everyone in camp was on edge, You were in an immense amount of pain and made it everyone’s business. Charlotte, the youngest delinquent sent to earth was having a nightmare when Clarke walked by. She crouched next to her gently shaking charlotte awake.

“Hey hey hey, shh it's okay wake up.” Charlotte jolted awake, sitting upright, shaking terribly. “Hey, it's okay to be scared. You're Charlotte, right? I'm Clarke, do you wanna talk about it?”

.”

“It's my parents, they were floated…they are all I see in my dreams.” Clarke gives the young girl a sympathetic look.

“Yeah I know the feeling, but I’d like to think down here we can live past all that, start over new and live a good life.” Charlotte wipes her face.

“Do you really think so?” Clarke stands dusting off her pants.

“I'm trying to. Now try and get some actual sleep.”

She walks to where the water is then before making her way back to the dropship.

“Hey princess.” Finn greets. Clarke hands him a container of water before sitting down.

“I'm worried about Y/n. She had a temperature and hasn't woken up yet. If I can't get advice from my mom soon I don't know what we’re going to do.” Finn signs looking down at you.

“Yeah, It worries me as well,” he says yawning.

“You should go get some rest, I'll keep an eye on her.” Finn is reluctant but nods because he was exhausted.

Clarke walks over to where Monty was working.

“How’s it going, Monty?” He lets out a sad sigh.

“Not well. The bracelets are fried before I can even try and use them.”

Clarke rubs her face in frustration, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Monty notices and places his hand on hers.

“Look Clarke it’s gonna be okay.”

“W-what if I can’t save her.” He gives Clarke's hand a firm but gentle squeeze.

“Hey don’t think like that, negative thoughts bring negative actions. No pressure but you got this.” She takes a deep breath and nods bending down to hug him. Monty is thrown back at first but hugs her back.

“Thank you Monty” He nods into her shoulder.

“Go get some sleep I’ll watch over her. Not like I’m gonna make any progress with these bracelets.” Clarke thankfully nods and goes to her tent.

Monty walks over to you and sits down taking your hand in his.

“Hey, they goober. I really need you to push through this. I know it’s for mostly selfish reasons because I don’t want you to die but also because we need you at this camp. I need your brains I know you would know how to contact the arch with these stupid bracelets. Hell if you were awake right now we’d probably have full power on this ship.” Your hand twitches a little and Monty smirks. “Cocky much.”

The next morning Finn walks into the ship and sees Monty asleep holding your hand. He goes to wake Monty but a hand stops him.

“He was up all night watching her, Plus they are pretty precious.” Clarke chuckles. Finn smiles and looks at you for a long moment, sadness in his heart as he thought back to the first time he met you.

You came racing to the mechanic wing tripping over your feet as you call, no scream down the hall for Wick. Before you could ever watch where you were going you collided with someone both of you hitting the ground. “Jesus watch where you're going!” You rub your head and look up.

“Sorry doofus I was in a hurry.” The boy with fluffy hair looks you up and down.

“Who you calling doofus, doofus.” You couldn't help but giggle a little which caused the boy to smile and hold out his hand.

“I'm Finn.” You grab his hand and give it a good shake.

“I'm Y/n”

“So where were you going in such a hurry?” You both stand up and you do a little twirl.

“I was going to show my best friend my new mechanics outfit!”

“Mechanics outfit huh?” He smirks. You nod proudly.

“I got into the program a month ago but my outfit just came.”

“Well go get 'em, tiger.”

“Finn…Finn?” Clarke waved her hand in front of his face.

“Uh sorry…” Clarke gives him a sad smile.

“We're gonna save her I have an idea., It's not a great idea and it's gonna be hard for everyone but it might actually save her. I'm going to cut out the infection.” Finn looks at Clarke a little scared. “We don't have any other option, Finn. We have to try.” He lets out a sigh before nodding.

“Okay, let's do it. I’ll wake up Monty you get what you need.”

About 45 minutes pass before Monty, Jasper, Clarke, and Finn stood around you, no one saying a word for a few minutes. Clarke is the first to speak.

“I really need you guys to make sure she doesn't move okay?” The boy's nod in agreement and Clarke takes in a deep breath before pressing the knife to your skin. Immediately You scream, jerking your body trying to get away from what was hurting you. “Hold her still!” They grab onto you tighter, watching in horror as their best friend screams.

Clarke was almost done when Bellamy comes running in.

“What the fuck are you guys doing to her?!” He didn't know when it happened but over the last few days, listening to the rest of the camp complain about You saying that they should just let you die had made him feel protective over you. So when he had gotten back from target practice with Murphy and your screams filled the camp his heart dropped to the bottom of his chest.

“Saving her life!” Finn snapped trying to hold you still.

“She can't be saved.” Murphy says walking in behind Bellamy. Bellamy is silent for a moment and Murphy looks at him.

“You can't be serious, you really think they can save her?” Bellamy looks at Clarke.

“Do what you have to do, I’ll be crowd control.” Clarke nods at him, mentally thanking him and Murphy scoffs before Bellamy shoves him out of the dropship.

Clarke goes back to work and soon she finishes. At some point, you passed out from the pain.

Monty and Jasper had left to take a nap so that left Clarke and Finn once again. Clarke pokes at the red moss on your open wound as she contemplated.

“Whatever this red moss is, is clearly helping to heal her. I need to find more.” Finn nods.

“Ill tell Monty and Jasper to watch over her, we can go on a little adventure.”

As soon as Clarke and Finn leave, reluctantly letting Wells tag along, Bellamy walks into the dropship.

“Hey can I can talk to her for a minute.” Monty and Jasper look at Bellamy.

“Uhh… sure want us to go outside?” Bellamy nods. They shrug and leave. Bellany takes a seat next to you and grabs your hand.

“Hey… sorry, I have visited since that night. I don't know why I'm so scared that you are gonna die but I am. I don't even know you but I feel so connected to you.” He leans down and kisses your hand. “Please don't die Y/n I need you.” He gets up and leaves not saying a word to Monty and Jasper. He leaves the camp with a hunting team, deciding he needed to kill something.

You continue to moan and scream in pain. Monty and Jasper just whisper to you and hold your hands trying to calm you down.

Outside the drop ship, Murphy is going crazy. He stands up knife in his hand.

“That's it, I can't take this anymore, she's fucking dead.” Mbege looks up at Murphy.

“I thought Bellamy said to leave her alone?” Murphy scoffs.

“I don't fucking care.” Octavia gets up from where she was sitting next to Atom and books it to the dropship.

“Murphy… he's gonna come…and kill Y/n” Monty shoots up from his seat and runs to the hatch, sitting on it just as Murphy tries to come in.

“Jasper, Octavia get me something thing to block the hatch!” They search around as Murphy pounds on the door.

“LET ME IN MONTY SHE NEEDS TO DIE!”

“NO!” Octavia finally finds something big enough.

“Got it, move!” She places it and the three of the watch the hatch, it moves but keeps Murphy out.

A full day goes by before Clarke, Finn, Wells Bellamy come back with the moss and atoms dead body.

Octavia runs out there.

“What the hell happened?!”

“There was a fog. We all got caught in it but looks like some didn't find shelter.” Finn says sadly.

“I'm sorry but I need to get to Y/n. Octavia, I’m so sorry.”

She nods and gives Clarke's hand a squeeze. Bellamy looks that the other delinquents.

“Get Clarke whatever she needs.”

“Jesus I was starting to think you guys died!” Jasper said exasperated. Finn sighs.

“There was a weird green fog, we did almost die.” Monty starts asking questions to which Finn answers the best he came about the fog while Clarke starts applying the red moss.

Bellamy looks at Murphy

“Anyone here besides Atom die?” Murphy does his signature scoff.

“No.”

“How's Y/n?”

“Tried to take her out but your psycho little sister and he stupid frie-” Bellamy lunges forward and grabs him by the collar.

“My what?” He says angrily.

“Your little sister.” Bellamy shoves him to the ground.

“That's what I thought, and if you ever try to lay hands on Y/n again you're done.”

~Taglist~

@gaymansruse @severa-kane @slut4bradley

#the 100 bellamy #the 100 clarke #the 100 au #the 100 imagines #the 100 finn #the 100 #the 100 imagine #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake #bellamy blake imagine #clarke x finn #john murphy

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cjsarchive · 1 month

Note

Oooh can I request some Sam fluff?🩵🩵

Yeah! Hope you enjoy!<33

Paradise-Sam x Reader

My feet felt heavy as I finally walked in the door to the house. I dragged my feet up the stairs to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed. Work was especially draining lately. It’s that time of the year where I can hardly be bothered to do anything productive.

“Rough day at work?” I looked to see Sam in the doorway. I nodded, not really in the mood to speak. Sam walked over and laid on top of me, careful to not put his whole weight on me. “Need me to beat someone up?” He joked. I smiled and shook my head ‘no’. Being around him already managed to help improve my mood. “Welp, whatcha wanna do? I’ll do whatever you want.”

I tried to think, but my brain wasn’t fully functioning right now.

“I don’t even know to be honest.” We laid in silence for a while longer before Sam spoke up again,

“Hey, how bout we go for a drive?” He gave me a kiss of the forehead making me giggle.

“Hehe, Alright.”

Sam drove, making sure to play my favorite music the whole way. I will say, hearing Sam sing along to the music extremely loud and off key did make me feel better. Soon enough, we arrived at our destination. I saw the fields of sand and the waves crashing along the shore. I gasped, “We’re at the beach!” I announced out loud.

Sam chuckled, “Yeah, doofus, we’re at the beach. Come on.” We took off our shoes and socks and made our way into the sand. Breathing in the salty air and feeling the wind blow in my hair made me feel great, like I was light as a feather. “Pretty sight, huh?” Sam asked, staring at the soon to be setting sun over the horizon.

“Absolutely.” Simply standing on the beach and taking in the sight was amazing. But soon, a silly idea came into my mind.

“Wanna race to the water?” I smiled mischievously.

Sam scoffed before he laughed, “We’ve been over this, doofus. You can’t beat me in a race,” He smiled arrogantly.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, can you put my phone back in the car for me, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam grabbed my phone and made his way back to the car. When he was almost there, I started bolting towards the water, taking my clothes off as I ran until I was just in my underwear. I knew Sam was fast, so I had to get a bit creative. I looked back and Sam finally noticed I was almost at the water. He laughed loudly, “Cheater!” He put my phone in the car before he chased after me, following my lead.

My feet splashed in the water barely four seconds before Sam’s did. “YES!” I cheered, “I won!” I began to jump and celebrate. It was the first time I’ve ever beaten him in a race. Sam simply watched me with a smile. He grabbed my hand and gently pulled me to him to give me a kiss on the lips. We both smiled into the kiss.

“Heh, you’re really cute.” He said shyly. I kissed him on the nose.

“You’re cuter.” He blushed and scoffed before we swiftly scooped his hand under the water and splashed me. I froze her a second, finally registering how cold the water was, before smirking and immediately firing a series of splashes at Sam. It quickly turned into a splash war as we made our way further into the water. Sam kept managing to dodge from my splashes. “Hey, no cheating!” I exclaimed.

“You’re one to talk.” I playfully scowled at him. Soon, I noticed Sam was off guard. Our splash war turned into play fighting as I quickly rushed at Sam and tackled him into the water. After registering what just happened, he threw his head back and laughed. He very willingly play fought back with me, making sure to be careful to avoid hurting me. There was little to no one else on the beach, which added to the experience. It felt like our own little paradise, like it was just us two in the world.

After we tired ourselves out, we stood in the water, feeling the waves slightly sway us as they passed by. The sun had started setting now. It’s been awhile since I’ve watched the sun set over the water like this. I sighed happily as I watched. I felt Sam wrap an arm around my shoulders and pull me in to kiss my forehead, bringing me back down to earth. He had a blush on his face,

“You’re really pretty.” He told me softly. I turned to him, placing my hands on his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around my waist. I kissed him deeply, melting into his arms, wanting to stay awhile.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Sam. You’re amazing,” I leaned against him, “I love you.”

He chuckled, “I love you too, doofus,” he touched his forehead with mine, “So fucking much.”

After the sun had set, we went home, washed up, and laid in bed together. I laid my head on Sam’s chest as he rubbed my back. “We should go to the beach more often.”

“We can go to the beach whenever you get stressed, okay? Or hell, if you ever just wanna go and fucking scream at the ocean, we can go.”

I laughed, “Really?”

“If it’ll make you smile as much as it did today then yeah.” I felt my face heat up and I began to blush. I leaned up and kissed him. Cuddling in each other’s arms, we fell asleep against the warmth of each other’s bodies.

#seduce me the otome #seduce me otome #seduce me #smto #seducemeotome #seducemetheotome #seduce me sam #aomaris #seduce me sam x reader

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hellsingmongrel · 1 year

Text

That sure was a fuckin’ JOURNEY

(Spoilers, AGAIN, for Trigun, Trimax, and Tristamp) Welp. I hyperfixated on the entirety of Trigun Maximum that I got through it in like a day combined of reading, and that was WILD. Actually had a headache from fixating so hard and from all the megasads, but now that I’ve seen the conclusion, I’m feeling a lot clearer in my brain.

What made me kind of cackle at the end was that Meryl and Milly. Became REPORTERS. People who complain about Meryl being a reporter in Stampede can just sit down. It’s canon. They just moved the timelines a bit. Also, HOLY SHIT was that the most “The Power of Love and Friendship” solution to the battle I’ve ever seen out of a magical girl anime! And honestly, it made SO MUCH FUCKING SENSE. Needle-noggin’s unending, exasperating pacifism actually did save the world! Who would have thought??? And I sure as Hell did not expect EARTH to still be functioning and sending out rescue ships!

NGL, though, there was a stretch where I legit was worried it wouldn’t have a happy ending AT ALL, and boy did that make me even more worried! It was SO DARK. So much death and horror and actual sexual assault (which is the one that I REALLY didn’t expect, and especially not with the character it involved, wow, :U) Nor did I expect Knives to come out of it on the other end actually going “...Wow, ok, yeah, I was a shit.” And for a while, there, it felt like a TOTALLY different story than it started off as!

Nightow did a good job of bringing it back around full circle at the end, and in such a way that yeah, Vash was having to be back on his bullshit all over again, but he didn’t have the weight of everything he was running from emotionally weighing him down like he had before, which made it seem so much nicer! Sure, he’ll have to deal with people getting hurt and killed, but it seems like he’s not going to be putting the blame for literally every little thing that happens on his own shoulders.

I gotta say, when it comes to Stampede, I’ve seen some people saying that the Knives we get in episode 11 is super out of character and he would NEVER do what he did, but man. I gotta say. After reading the entirety of the manga, I do not agree with that criticism. There was a time there when he SUPER tried to shut down any compassion he had for Vash, so I can totally see him trying to use him for his own goals. I’m still excited to see how they handle the rest of the story they’re telling with the new series and stand by my assertion that Stampede Vash should be wrapped up in blankets and given cocoa and lots and LOTS of therapy and hugs and cuddles and head pats and told everything’s going to be ok. But he seems like a much younger Vash, who you only saw a few times in Max, but who had the same sort of naivete. It’s an interesting reimagining for the boy, but it all still feels very much like our favorite donut-addicted doofus.

Also, I have mountains of Vashwood feels that I don’t have the current capacity to handle and will have to stew on for a while, because GOOD LORD that was one hell of a fucking ride in THAT regard, too. Meanwhile, literally his relationship with Meryl and Milly feels almost like the protective, constantly-worrying parent. I know Meryl and Vash is a huge ship, and that’s totally valid, I just do not see him feeling that way for her at all. o_O The part where she was bawling and he was kneeling down to talk on her level had HUGE “adult talking to an upset child” vibes for me and nope. It just reinforced the “This man looks like he’s barely old enough to drink, but he’s literally old enough to be everyone’s great, great, great grandparent!” He still lights up like a giant golden retriever puppydog when they show up, because he adores the fuck out of the insurance girls, holy shit! It just doesn’t seem romantic to me at.

All in all, I gotta say, when I was big into anime and manga, Hellsing was my top favorite and Trigun was my second favorite, solely based on the Trigun anime. But after the really unsatisfying way Hellsing ended for me, and after seeing the way Trigun Max was done, it absolutely blows Hellsing out of the number one spot for me. It’s just SO GOOD! I was seriously doing myself a major disservice, not reading it for so long! Not that I had much control over supply chain issues for very small rural towns with little access to foreign goods.

There’ve been rumors that Dark Horse is planning a special edition rerelease of the manga (same as they did for Hellsing a few years ago, apparently. That’s on my bucket list) and I will ABSOLUTELY be buying those if and when they do! GIB GIB! LEMME HAVE PHYSICAL COPIES! I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED!

#Trigun #Trigun Maximum #Trigun Stampede #I'm probably forgetting some things I wanted to say #but my brain is a literal pile of goo right now #so Fuck it.

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creepychippy · 1 year

Text

At first, “Life doesn’t have a Meaning” inherently seems like a negative and depressing Sentence which gets used around a lot as a bad Thing, but I actually find it quite beautiful since it means you can apply your very own Meaning to Life, whether that is to marry and have Children, achieve your biggest Goals, aquire certain Skills or to just relax and go with the Flow. With no pre-determined Meaning, the Choices are endless. Imagine if the one and only Meaning in Life was already determined for every Human to be “make as much Money as you can” or something like that. That wouldn’t be really pleasant and just add a lot of Stress, now would it?

As for me, my Meaning of Life is to relax, enjoy it and to spend it with my best Friends whom I see Part of my Family. Also, occasionally petting Cats as well- uwu

#doofus Brain talking again-

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doubledyke · 7 months

Note

Now lets talk about Ed:

1: His intelligence. He's just a doofus, or is he smarter than he looks?

2: Is he this 100% pure cinnamon roll, or he's a kind of jerk just like everyone else (yeah, I find him to be a jerk in some episodes, just like Your Ed Here)?

3: Is he so genuinely sunny and carefree, or is this a mask and he's secretly depressed or struggling (you know, his abusive homelife and all more)?

thanks for giving me some food for thought! i do just wanna say that any and all (okay, most) interpretations and opinions, including unpopular ones are valid, even if i have different ideas. im but a humble dumbass that spends my free time blogging about a cartoon. no one needs a green light from me to feel a certain way about any character. the fun of participating in goofy fandom stuff is to hear opinions from people with different experiences that shape their perception.

that being said 🤔

i've posted here before that i think ed became gratuitously stupid later on, especially for season 5. maybe he got brain damage from eddy using him as a battering ram so often. but he's got some lucidity sprinkled on top of his oafishness throughout the series. i don't think he's "stupid", i think he just stays in his own little world and that his brain works differently than others'. early on he comes off more as a dopey guy who hangs with eddy because they're both outcasts and can be themselves around each other. not a lot of options, if you get my drift. of all three eds he has the least culpability when it comes to their eventual injurious antics, in my opinion. he's kinda just there because he hangs out with eddy (and edd) and that's what eddy does. there's a true friendship there, don't get me wrong. but i don't think the eds started hanging out because they found each other interesting or cool lmao. that's comes later as they get to know each other and experience trauma together.......anyway, im getting off track.

i think ed is just as multi-faceted as anyone else, it's just maybe those facets aren't explored as much as they are for the other two idiots.

that being said, i don't see him as a jerk personally, but he has his moments i'm sure. i think it's moreso that he doesn't have much of a filter and just says what he thinks. and it's obvious that his doting on sarah is not because he actually gives that much of a shit but because he gets in trouble if she tells their parents. not that it really matters because she makes shit up all the time. he's probably said a lot more jerk-ish things but they're made incomprehensible by his use of nonsensical literary devices. little ed blue is one of my favorite episodes because as we get to see ed when he's upset and irritable which is rare and always fleeting. i'll leave it at that and recommend @gettingfrilly's recent post about that scene where ed is on the tree stump just fuming. they're way more qualified than i to examine this type of stuff 🥴 i'll reblog it after i post this. but i do find it hilarious that he grabs eddy by the face and throws him into a tree. with edd, he gives a warning and pushes him away. there are lots of examples of him being notably gentler with edd and probably even jimmy and others a few times. overall i feel like he's not really intentionally violent with anyone besides eddy. i have a terrible memory so despite watching every episode several times by now, i tend to forget stuff often. so i could be wrong. anyway, again i digress. in 'your ed here' he makes a few playfully sassy remarks when he's playing tic tac toe with edd, but i don't really see it as him being a jerk per se. he thinks he's good at the game so he's doing his weird version of bragging and teasing. and I think a lot of times he comes off as aloof when someone (eddy) is being humiliated and/or getting their ass kicked but i think that has to do with him again, being in his own world and not necessarily because he doesn't care. and finally, with him laughing at eddy and edd's middle names, i just don't find it to be mean-spirited. he thinks the names are funny and so, he laughs.

one example of him being snotty that comes to mind right now is from another of my fave episodes, 'thick as an ed'. it's hilarious to see him try to clap back at edd by saying "stinky hat" over and over. he's expressing genuine annoyance at double dee being well, fucking annoying as usual. to me it's unlikely that edd's hat actually stinks so that means ed came up with something he knew would get under edd's skin. you could argue that it's a bit of a dick move! but given the context of the episode, he's reached a breaking point after his friends have done nothing but try to take his beloved lucky cheese chunk. i can't believe i'm writing this right now.

anyhow, there's definitely a theory out there that ed is putting on an act of being stupid and clumsy just to essentially spite eddy, or foil the scams. it's just not my own personal take on things. interesting nonetheless!

yeah man, ed has an unquestionably awful life at home. his maladaptive daydreaming is definitely a coping mechanism for his shitty reality and probably helps him make sense of the things going on around him. i think ed has a bit of a lack of object permanence (for lack of a better phrase) so once he's away from his house and sarah isn't around, he might be able to put his hardships on the back burner for a while. with the other two eds, they wear their emotions and trauma on their sleeves. there's a lot in what they do, say, and how they react that are tells for their less than ideal upbringings and lack of emotional well-being. a big difference is that they try to hide it and don't explicitly state that things are though back home. with ed we mostly gain insight from his interactions with sarah, the neglected state of his room and personal hygiene, and the random things he discloses about his parents a handful of times. he doesn't even express his opinion about how his parents or sarah act, he simply recalls his past experiences. he's smart enough to grasp cause and effect, even if it doesn't ways show in his actions. his cheerfulness might come off as him being blissfully unaware and i think that's because he essentially is?? at the very least when he's not being actively lambasted by his mother, he's able to hardcore dissociate and go off into ed-land to escape the horrors ™.

TL;DR: i don't think ed's thick-headedness detracts from his distinct personality. he is a loveable oaf and that's perfectly fine in my book. i don't think he's a "cinnamon roll", but i also don't think he's a jerk. my opinion is that he leans waaaaay more towards benevolence. and yeah i absolutely think he's experiencing a lot of neglect and trauma, no doubt about it. i don't see his sweet disposition as a mask necessarily, but more as the result of masterful compartmentalization.

#thanks again! i have a headache so im gonna spare everyone any further attempt to form cohesive thoughts at the moment #@gettingfrilly don't roast my poorly expressed takes too hard #text

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steddiejudas · 7 months

Text

Loop 17

tags: angst, referenced drug use, violence

Continuation of this post:

“You know this isn’t the first time we’ve hung out?”

“No?” Chrissy always asks, a little hopeful that Eddie will tell her he knows her. He’s known her for 16 loops, and this one, number 17 is going to be different.

“You don’t remember?” Exactly what he said the first time, exactly what he says every time that breaks her heart a little more in each loop. Chrissy has never been that lucky, so she doesn’t know why it would start now, when she and this doofus she’s growing to love keep dying.

It’s all trial and error at this point. She knows if she buys Eddie’s weed and leaves, Vecna will get her later this evening and that will be the end of the loop. If she stays here and smokes with Eddie, there’s a chance they’ll sit here and talk all night. She’ll still die, but at least Eddie won’t be the prime suspect in her murder, although she’s not sure it really matters — what happens to the world when the loop resets is unknown to her. Maybe there are 16 alternate timelines, or maybe they cease to exist. It hurts her brain, sends her spiraling to consider the possibilities.

This loop she decides to go for the ket again. So far it’s the only way she’s managed to stay alive. The loops tend to blend together so it’s hazy, but she thinks after the first one Eddie plays music when they get back to his trailer. She doesn’t know why, but the heavy drumbeat in Eddie’s music of choice is grounding. She kind of likes it.

Her survival doesn’t stop the killings, and no matter what, Jason is always small minded and obsessed with hunting Eddie down, convinced he’s inducted Chrissy into his ‘cult’. There have been a couple loops where seeing them together drives Jason to kill Eddie. With each loop, she loves him a little less, hates him a little more.

So when Chrissy sees Jason at the gun counter of the Warzone, threatening Nancy Wheeler, she snaps. She marches up to him with purpose, placing her tiny hand on the barrel of the shotgun, between where the two of them play keepaway, and tugs. Chrissy is a cheerleader, a flier, she’s much stronger than she looks, despite her petite frame. The gun falls from both of their hands into hers.

“Jason. Outside. Now.” She grits through bared teeth. She relishes in the way he ducks his head and cowers slightly, taking the opportunity to grab him by the scruff of the neck and lead him out of the emergency exit to the back alley. Without a second thought, she’s aiming the gun at him.

Jason throws his arms up in surrender. “Woah, Chris — Chrissy, hold on. I’m sorry, please, just put the gun down.”

“You’re sorry? That’s the best you can come up with? You’ve taken everything from me over and over again and all you have to say is ‘I’m sorry’?”

“W-what are you talking about? I didn’t- I haven’t done anything.”

“You haven’t? Then what do you call the mob we’ve had to hide Eddie from loop after loop? What do you call the times that you’ve KILLED HIM right in front of me? What do you call that in there with Nancy? Just letting off some steam? Boys being boys? Well let me tell you something Carver: I’m getting really sick and tired of you and your boys.” She pumps the shotgun for emphasis. Jason takes a step back, his strategy of redirection completely failing him as he stares down the barrel, meeting Chrissy’s piercing blue eyes through the iron sights.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jason shouts.

“You never do.” Chrissy says, her tone almost bored as she pulls the trigger, firing a round of buckshot into his chest.

It should be terrifying, traumatizing. Chrissy should scream and feel regret for what she’s just done, but the sight of his blood leaking from his chest into a pool on the asphalt makes her think of the first time she saw Eddie the same way. She feels nothing.

Until the door swings open and Nancy is standing there. Her face is calm like she’s seen worse on any given Tuesday. She reaches for the gun and calmly says: “Everyone heard that shot. We gotta go.”

Chrissy nods, letting Nancy ease her grip on the barrel of the shotgun and take her hand, sprinting back to the RV. The rest of the Party is already there, and Steve steps on the gas as soon as the door is shut. They lurch with the force of the acceleration and Chrissy falls into Nancy’s arms. She realizes she’s panting, the adrenaline finally catching up to her and maybe it’s making her a little crazy because she thinks Nancy is beautiful like this. Calm and powerful, tightly gripping Chrissy’s waist to hold her steady.

Chrissy can’t help herself, leaning her head up to catch Nancy’s lips in a searing kiss. Nancy holds on tighter, kisses back stronger and they melt into each other. When they pull away Chrissy is for once thankful for the prospect of the time loop as 6 pairs of eyes, wide as dinner plates stare at the two of them. Thank god they won’t remember this.

#tiny badass chrissy my beloved #she is fED UP #stranger things #wheelingham #chrissy cunningham #nancy wheeler

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