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powderblueblood · 5 months

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

CHAPTER FIVE — CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

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

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

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

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

But she’s got a point.

You remember that day with perfect clarity.

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

A cool older sister.

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

You wanted to be just like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me help you out here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bought their crabs lotion, in Tina’s case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not there. He’s not there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snap.

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

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

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

“Hey! Asshole!”

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

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

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

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

“Go inside, you lunatic!”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“No! I don’t want to!”

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

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

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

The trailer door swings back open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know what you’d prefer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just barely,” you murmur.

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pinch yourself, hard, just in case.

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The very same.”

“Escándalo. What happened?”

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it’s go time.

He has to formulate some kind of plan.

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

That was not enough time to formulate a plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is my trailer, y’know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Munson. The cheerleader shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

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

“Munson! Come on!”

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

“That’s a child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t not say that, though.”

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

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

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

A little stiff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you have this?”

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

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

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

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then. Hello there, handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Munson has a happy trail that curls like brushstrokes.

“You fucking trifler,” you grumble.

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

And see what he’ll do about that.

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

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

“I’m only a little stupid.”

“Debatable.”

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

“Yes.”

“Like, perfect grades.”

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

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

“Artist formerly known as, but yes.”

“And you’re on the newspaper.”

“Very perceptive, aren't we.”

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

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

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

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

You answer him half-straight this time.

“Diet pills.”

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

“Diet pills,” he repeats.

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

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

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

“That is fucked up, Lacy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the door slams.

Fuck.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

He totally forgot to formulate that plan.

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

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

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readychilledwine · 3 months

Text

Glory Hole

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

We all probably know a glory hole is a place, typically in a bathroom, where people can pay for an anonymous sexual encounter. Here's what I didn't know before digging into this kink a lot more, though!

Glory holes have been used for hundreds of years but are believed to have originated or grown most popular among the LGBTQIA community. It was a safe way for closeted members of the community to be able to have sex with someone without risking their identity being revealed. Glory holes have resurged in popularity since 2020 due to the CDC and WHO being unable to provide people with ideas for safe sex during the Covid 19 pandemic. They can now be found in sex clubs, legal practicing brothels, and a ton of other locations. Typically, oral is what commonly happens with glory holes, but modern motivation and technology have made so much more possible with them, allowing both parties to receive pleasure and enjoy the experience.

The appeal of glory holes is the anonymous aspect of it. Sex with a stranger is always more thrilling, right? There's no expectations. You aren't as focused on impressing them. It is about pleasure and pleasure only, and that is the appeal that has made so many people fall in lust with the idea of them.

At least, Cassian will think that's pretty exciting.

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut

Cassian x Reader

Warnings - reader is a sex worker, sketchy business practice, inferred danger, dp via toy use, toy use, p in v, unprotected sex, restraints, praise, Liz throwing possible fic content into what's supposed to be one shots. Sorry, friends 💕💕

You sighed as you walked into the pleasure hall for the night.

To the outside world, it was no different than Rita's. Drinks, loud music, a dance floor. The only difference was the upstairs of the hall.

Whereas Rita's had private booths, here had something much much different. For a pretty penny, only the wealthiest of guests could enter and be taken into a whole new experience kept private from the High Lord himself.

You were led up the steps, already going numb to what you had to do to pay bills, to stay alive. You entered the room males and females alike stood in. It was a haven here, a place you all could run to after one too many clients as you were asked to call them. A board with countless messages and warnings on clients who were banned sat on the largest wall. Every day, each of you received a new assignment, a new place you were to be stationed and kept until you were purchased and moved into a new room for the time allowed.

You did not know if the Mother was blessing you or mocking you as you read your assignment, “The Hole.” One of your coworkers, a new girl fresh out of school, came next to you, taking your hand. “You can take the lay down spot,” you squeezed her hand gently. “It's your first time in there. You'll want it.”

“I heard we'll make good money tonight.” You smiled at her, kissing her forehead as you walked her towards the room.

“You'll make your rent within two hours. We have an 8 hour shift, so you'll be able to safely afford recovery time off. Or a spa trip.”

Cassian hated being used by Azriel for spywork.

The general was hardly stealthy, too bold and loud to keep secrets, and frankly, everyone knew who he was. This was one spy scout out he was salivating at the idea of, though. A pleasure hall with a brothel hidden above it. A brothel that was hidden so well it and its workers had sat under Rhysand's nose for years, dodging thousands in taxes.

Nesta accidentally told Azriel about it after doing something to him that had the spymaster seeing the heavens. “A pretty female taught me when I went to Haven once.”

Haven wasn't an unknown pleasure hall to them. The inner circle would go there when they wanted more of a party atmosphere than Rita's offered, but Nesta had unknowingly confirmed a rumor that had been circling the court for years.

The large sum of gold in Cassian's pocket was a heavy reminder of why he was here. He handed the guard of the club 100 gold, a steep price just to be taken up the the brothel, and almost had a heart attack when he entered.

It was the cleanest whore house he had ever been in. The females all wore dresses similar to what Rhysand dressed Feyre in for the court of Nightmares. The men wore silk boxers. Cassian was approached by a pretty blonde with a menu of services they offered. One section stood out to him, though. “Anonymous Sex.” It was 800 gold, 2 hour time limit, a room with two females, a female and a male, or two males. “The females room please.”

The blonde smiled, head tilted almost longingly. “You're the first in there tonight. My girls will think they've been blessed with a God.”

He almost died again upon entering. Inside the large room, a wall of toys and discipline implements say, chairs in case you had brought friends with you, and a sink for aftercare for the girls. What really had Cassian stirring, thinking he was going to partake instead of question, was the two naked females, one on her back with her feet positioned into a harness, the other standing bent over whatever lied beyond that wall. All he could see was their lower bodies, wet and waiting with anticipation.

And the best part, the absolute best part? They could not see an inch of him.

You could hear the new girl crying out to any Gods that would listen as the wet sound of flesh smacking against each other was rhythmic. It was rare for one guest to enter the room normally reserved for parties of 2 or 3, but who were you to just if someone wanted to pay to have females to themselves.

It had happened once before in your time here. The female had not thought any of you would know who she was, but a sandy blonde female with grey eyes spending and tipping so freely and without concern was clearly a high ranking member of the court. And from the glimpse you had gotten, it was clearly Nesta Archeron.

You wanted to applaud when you heard your partner finishing. It was a genuine completion, not her faking the orgasm, training you all had and thanked the Cauldron for daily. You were dripping, but would have been content with being left alone. Maybe that's why you were so surprised when a harsh smack landed on your ass, cracking through the air and sending pleasure through you like a wave.

Cassian was memorizing the scent of both of the females in front of him. He wasn't going to waste the gold he had already spent to get into the brothel and into this room, so instead, he made the choice to mix work with pleasure, and fuck both of these girls until he could stand it anymore.

He left the first girl, dripping his cum and hers while she whimpered, legs visibly shaking. She had a preference for gentler sex, no aftercare. Whereas the girl, who's ass he was currently stroking himself to the sight of, had a preference for rough, toys allowed, aftercare preferred.

He saved her for last for that reason alone.

Cassian looked at the wall of toys, eyes locked on a thick dildo and lube and went to grab them. He set the lube down after taking some on his hand, rubbing it on the toys and then her pretty waiting holes. If she liked rough sex and toys, then fine, he'd stuff her full, filling both of those pretty waiting holes.

“Pretty thing, aren't you,” he purred, voice laced with lust. “We'll see how pretty you are when I'm done with you.”

You jumped in surprise and moaned as the male behind you began working a toy into your back entrance slowly. It was suddenly torture to be in the restraints they used to keep you both in place, to prevent you from ruining the allusion that the fae paying for these rooms were unknown to everyone. Every slow inch stretching had your body igniting, wanting you to beg for more.

You whimpered once it was fully inside of you, wiggling your hips in a silent plea. “Eager little thing.” That voice, Gods that voice, it had your cunt twitching around nothing. “Oh don't worry, kitten, I plan on filling that too.”

And Gods did he. That stretch started after a few sloppy thrusts of the dildo, and you could have sworn you saw the Mother once he was seated inside of you.

He either had the largest cock you've ever taken, or, the use of the toy made it seem that way. He gave you a few moments, cooing praise to you as a large calloused hand ran the outsides of your thighs.

The first roll of his hips inside of you did have you seeing the Mother. His cock was heavy and perfect, rubbing every nerve in your velvety walls. Once his testing was over, you felt those hands grip your hips, bruising them instantly, and he began.

This male began fucking you like both of your lives depended on your orgasm. He fucked you like he owned you, like he owned that peak of pleasure he was quickly driving you to. Between his cock and the toy, you were stuffed full and so sensitive, mind going numb and you moaned, cried, and begged.

He was so deep inside of you he hit places others had easily failed to. “Fuck you feel like Heaven, kitten.”

Your eyes rolled back at the praise, a soft “Thank you, sir,” leaving your mouth as you began to twitch around him.

Cassian was lost in the softness, warmth and wetness of this female's heat.

He would have paid 800 gold just for her. For just one hour with her. Each twitch of her silk had him on edge, ready to pump his seed so deep into her every single fae trying to fuck her afterwards would have to use him as lubricant.

She tightened around him again, moans becoming higher in pitch and more desperate. “Gonna cum for me, kitten? Gonna cum around my cock? Cum with that toy in your ass like a good whore?”

He was practically begging for it knowing he was going to finish in what he felt was embarrassingly record time. One of his hands moved to her clit, groaning as she gasped and wailed loudly. “That's it baby, cum for me.”

Those skilled fingers circled your clit over and over in time with him fucking into you with reckless abandonment. You were right on that edge, ready to fall, and then he growled. The noise so primal it shot through your body like an arrow, and in true nature, you came.

You came so hard you saw the cosmos, the afterlife, the ocean. Your high ripped through you like a tidal wave, walls milking him as he roared behind you.

You heard him him lean against the wall, panting as he gave a few sloppy finishing twitchs. He pulled himself and the toy out at the same time, chuckling as you whined from the sudden emptiness. You heard him following protocol, washing the toy and setting it on the table closest to you so any Other clients knew who it had been used on.

The warm rag he used to clean you while he whispered to you gently was almost better than the sex as it wiped away the remnants and dripping reminders of this sin.

Something made you pause, though, the rough sound of leathery wings flapping.

You replayed the voice in your head over and over after he left. Thinking to where you had heard it before and then whispered, “Oh fuck.” Your hand slapped the release for the restraints and you stepped out and into the room, grabbing your robe and pulling it to the other side as you did. You touched the new girl's leg, “I'll be right back, babe. We have a problem.”

You left the room, entering the hall quickly. You made eye contact with the front desk girl, then the Illyrian male leaving tips for you and your partner.

Cassian, the general of the Night Court, paused as he saw you. He smirked, but that quickly fell when you hit a button. On the wall and the fae lights died, the establishment was going dark.

The female before him began to glow. “You should leave before she gets the owner.” Cassian blinked, confused as to what was happening. “Big daddy doesn't like having his business potentially fucked with. He's killed for less. Leave before she gets him. It won't end well if you don't.”

Cassian heard movement in the room, cursing himself for not wearing his siphons and left, throwing gold on the table for the females.

He called for Rhysand to send Azriel as he walked through that shady part of Velaris alone. His shoulders fell in relief as his brothers both walked beside him in time.

“One,” he started. “I just had the best sex experience of my life.”

“Two,” he sighed. “It's fucking expensive, Rhys. The common citizen isn't getting in there unless they've saved for months.”

He turned to Azriel, “They call the owner Big Daddy.”

The shadowsinger paled before masking his concern. “Let's winnow,” he said firmly. “I do not feel like dealing with him tonight.”

General tag list:

Rhys nodded, grabbing Cassian's arm and then Azriel's. “Let's go home, and then I want to hear about this sex.”

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

#acotar #acotar x reader #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #cassian smut #cassian of illyria #lord of bloodshed #cassian acotar #readychilledwine valentines day bingo

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asexualtuckerfoley · 3 months

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Thinking about Duke frequently employing kids (to the point that people in town he’s never met like Cornell Stamoran know about it) because he knows what it’s like to be in a bad situation and be powerless to get out because you’re young and have no money of your own, and he just wants to protect the kids in town from that.

It’s probably well known at the high school that if you need money, go to the Gull and ask Duke for a job. You’ll have it and get paid under the table, but he remembers every single kid’s name and when they do make it out on their own, he’s the number one reference on all of their applications. And the references he gives aren’t just good- they’re specific. He remembers that David was great at making kids laugh and that Helena was better at keeping books than his actual accountant and whoever called him has to cut him off cause he won’t stop talking them up.

He’s like Spencer Shay except he’ll pay you and what I would give for a teen horror-sitcom set in Haven about these kids and their boss/older brother figure.

#haven syfy #haven #duke crocker #denial is a river in egypt #he’s fine okay? and he’s giving fantastic references for these kids after college #op #my thoughts

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silent-sanctum · 2 years

Text

✧ Polaris ✧ - Jotaro x Reader

PART I. Bento Boxes

Disclaimer: This is my first time writing a self-insert fic on Tumblr so if the formatting is slightly wonky I'm sorry (._.), but rest assured i tried my best ♥

cw: afab! reader, reader is a stand user, fluff, sfw

Word count: 8148

Taking place prior to the events of SC, you're a foreign transfer student taking up high school in Japan, and while still trying to overcome the lingering culture shock, you meet a delinquent that doesn't quite meet your expectations.

When you first saw him, you had thought his eyes were that of the ocean, with depths so deep that are yet to be discovered underneath the shimmering surface.

When he first saw you, he had thought your eyes were that of the night sky devoid of clouds, bearing witness to the galaxy of stars twinkling within.

Both of you had thought the other’s eyes held a world of their own, waiting for the time they would collide at the horizon that would eventually form a safe haven made for the 2 of you.

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Ever since moving to Tokyo 3 years ago, you got accustomed to the culture fairly easy given how similar it was from where you came from. The language was a bit tricky to learn considering you had to familiarize 3 sets of Japanese alphabets. You found the streets quite lovely, peaceful, and comfortable to be in for the long run, though you can’t help but miss the exciting lifestyle and nightlife of your home city.

However, the crowds were something you had yet to get more used to.

You weren’t sure if it was just the lingering homesickness or plain overthinking, but living in a society so reserved and collected made you realize how direct and upfront your fellow brethren were just like you were to them. All in good spirits, of course.

Maybe that was why you found this specific teenager so appealing.

It was the start of the 1st week of school and you had to walk a fair distance to reach your destination. You had passed by some of your batchmates, recognizing them by the plum sailor-like uniforms. Though you went to the same school, your uniform was customized to resemble those belonging in a country like England- plum blazer with a white blouse underneath and a red bow to match.

You had no idea how you managed to persuade the higher-ups, but it worked and you did it.

At the same time, the girls you just walked past suddenly rushed ahead of you, squealing to no ends at a newcomer you just noticed passing by a corner to join the walk on the main road to school. “JoJo” was what they called him in their overtly sweet tones.

The first thought you had about him from behind was that he’s giant as fuck compared to the girls around him. Though, you could tell he was in high school from the gakuran he wore (customized too with the large golden chain dangling from the collar and the ripped hat that oddly blended well with his hair).

He’s a foreigner or half probably… or maybe it’s just genetics on steroids, who knows?

You didn’t want to involve yourself in the swarm of females so you made sure to distance yourself a bit, walking ahead of them but just enough for you to throw a glance at the school’s heartthrob.

And suddenly your cheeks were warm. Not to be them but holy shit, I can see why they’re barking up this tree of a man now. From the front, you could take in his strong jaw, the toned build underneath his faded green shirt and black school jacket, the 2 tessellated triangle-patterned belts, the obvious unamused expression, and the blue-green eyes hidden underneath the tip of his hat.

Those eyes. He seems familiar for some reason.

Déjà vu aside, your mind immediately went to “bad boy” if his demeanor was to be taken into consideration. You still had to judge his character to complete your tiny hypothesis, but you had a feeling he isn’t the type to entertain anyone at the moment.

You shrugged your curiosities away and looked straight ahead, dismissing the crowd behind you, though once their squabbling grew a tad bit too loud for comfort-

“Shut up! All of you are so damn annoying!”

The deep booming voice earned itself a double take, turning to look over your shoulder to see the delinquent gritting his teeth as he shrugged off the persistent females and set a faster pace in his walk. You quickly stepped aside to make room for the other to pass, looking away for extra measure.

Talk about bold and direct. From your peripherals, you could see a glimpse of him slowing for a second to spare a look at you before turning away a second later, resuming his regular pace.

All you had as a response to what had happened were raised brows and a smile of delightful disbelief. “That’s a first.”

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Class flew by with no issue and it was about time to eat.

Looking for a perfect spot to eat lunch should not be this complicated and yet here you are- one hand holding a nicely wrapped bento box you bought from a bento shop near your apartment, and the other tucked underneath your chin, contemplating the ideal location for your daily lunching.

You could always eat in the comforts of your seat, but there was something off-putting in a room with fellow classmates chatting away while eating. It wasn’t that you hated them talking or the possibility of them finding you and including you in their social circle; in fact, you’d love to chat with others with no problem, your Japanese did improve over the years… just not during mealtime.

Same thoughts came through when the cafeteria was brought up in mind, coupled with the added hassle of too much people crowding the place and the noise that came with it. You just wanted to dine in peace. Well, that’s out of the picture.

There was the choice of eating outside… maybe underneath a tree? You sighed. Then again, people are passing by and eating in a sort-of-public area is just not it.

You almost considered giving up and just resorting to the first thought you had, but one more location flickered in your head. Your feet moved on its own and led you up some flight of stairs until you came across a metal door leading you to the school’s open rooftop.

It was cliché, you knew that much, but there was a reason why it became such a recurring spot for many high schoolers.

Immediately, the gentle breeze kissed your face upon entry, lightly blowing loose strands of your hair that made you clip them behind your ear. A satisfied smile grew on your face. “Ahh just as expected.” The place was spacious, surrounded by a fence for safety measures, with a couple of discarded desks and chairs by the wall beside the door, and the resident bad boy smoking on one side of the area.

Wait.

Your eyes raked in the figure sitting by the fence just to make sure you weren’t mistaking him for someone else, but with yet another double take, you could confirm that it was the same teenager.

With the way his body was angled away from the door, it was either he noticed you enter before you did or he braced the arrival of someone that wasn’t necessarily you, like a fangirl of his or a faculty member.

Despite this, you gave a curt and casual bow with a quiet “hello” (with an initial stutter as you switched the language before it slipped out of your mouth by habit). Expectedly, you received nothing but a faint smell of smoke wafting past your nose.

Okay then. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not here to harass you with flowery letters or sweets.” You approached the fenced ledge and sat a comfortable 6 meters away from the other individual. “I’m just here to eat in peace. Okay?”

No answer. “Alright!” You snapped your fingers and turned your attention to your lunch box and began to dig into the meat and veggies inside.

Minutes passed in silence and only when you were halfway finished with your food did you realize that the other did not consume anything. “Yah,” you said. “Did you eat? You’ve been smoking for some time now and didn’t touch anything edible.”

“…Why do you care?” He replied without looking at you, voice gruff as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

You cleared your throat. “I’m just pointing out an observation and then making a question out of that, doesn’t necessarily mean I ‘care’- “

“Tch,” he said. “Mind your business bitch.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and a raised brow. Excuse me? Hello? The countrymen of your place liked to blurt out profanities out in the air like it’s nothing, and you had gotten used to it to the point you took the insult as nothing.

Hearing it from a Japanese (or half) was the second surprise you received from him. Anyone who would’ve heard this would genuinely be appalled at the usage of the word, but to you, it was a breath of fresh air.

Without even thinking too much about it, your hand was on your chest in a fake insulted manner and simply spoke back with a small curl of your lip. “Unnecessary but thank you.”

For the first time within the hour, he turned his head to look at you with furrowed brows, most likely not expecting that type of reply. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just your manners of addressing women is very… how do I say this… colorful,” you replied back, smiling. “It’s my first time hearing such vulgarness in a while so thank you~”

The delinquent didn’t seem to have the words to counter what you just said and for a while, you both stared at each other in another round of silence. He clicked his tongue again and mumbled a quiet yet audible “good grief” before turning away with one last charming remark.

“Weird bitch.”

You scoffed, snarking back with a sweet overtone. “Rude asshole~”

In perfect timing, the bell rang by the time you neatly packed up your emptied lunch box. You sighed and stood, smoothing your skirt before turning to the other. “I know you’re aware but the bell rang just now and we still have class,” you said casually, as if you 2 hadn’t shared insults a few seconds ago.

“I’m heading off now. See you~” You singsonged your farewell greetings, earning you your second “tch” for the day.

Once you had your back turned to him, you couldn’t help but feel a genuine smile grow on your face, the familiar warmness returning to your cheeks. You cocked your head.

“Ah this guy…”

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Once the door clicked shut, he angled himself back into the position he was in prior to your arrival- back facing the fence, arms crossed, and one leg crossed over the other. He tipped his hat over his face, scowling the moment he found your mutual insults… amusing.

In all honesty, he didn’t expect his rooftop guest, nor any girl in this school in general, to be like this.

He was all but ready to bark a firm “get out” the moment the door opened minutes ago, but as he caught sight of your long locks, shining eyes, and unique uniform, his words got caught in his throat and ended up not saying anything. Instead, he turned away before you had noticed him.

He didn’t know why his voice decided to betray him when it hadn’t failed him in yelling at every persistent female on school grounds. Was it because you were the only one who wasn’t falling head-over-heels for him on the walk to school? Because you actually had the decency to respect his space?

Whatever it was, he appreciated it and maybe that was why.

He heard your soft voice clarifying your intentions of being here and remained silent a bit further, irritated with himself that he’s holding his aggressiveness back for you. It was only when you started to question whether he ate or not (which he did and hid the bento his mother lovingly made for him after), did his attitude return.

And when you showed a piece of your own attitude back to him, he was… taken aback. The usual response his admirers would show in response to his bluntness was the typical and annoyingly high-pitched “kya’s”. This was a first for him and a silence grew between you as a result of this. Refusing to back down from your unbothered expression, he muttered out a “good grief” before spitting out “bitch” one more time, thinking maybe another attempt would get under your nerves.

Though when you said “rude asshole” in return, he physically had to will himself not to curl his lip from the unexpected liking he had from the brief first meeting banter he and you had.

The time you left, leaving him by himself on the rooftop, he took one last drag of his cigarette and sighed, dropping the stick onto the floor shortly after and crushing the butt with the heel of his shoe.

“Good grief that woman…”

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Ever since that first day, you decided that lunch at the rooftop with the school’s infamous bad boy would be the routine you’d follow from now on.

You’d walk up the stairs, greet the early smoking bird by the fence with the enthusiasm of a grown puppy, and began eating at the same spot near him, uncaring of his disinterest in you. As usual, not once did the teenager paid any attention to your presence and found the sky more appealing.

Eventually as a couple more of days had passed, you could feel the initial tension fade away into a mutual air of ease between you two, as if both of you had gotten used to each other’s presence despite the lack of proper conversation and vulgar exchange you two did often the second you talked to him.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna start venting out some feelings.”

“Whatever bitch.”

“I’ll take that as an okay then asshole.”

The new vibe between the 2 of you granted you the privilege of speaking your thoughts out into the world to release some stress you kept bottled in little by little. What you talked about? Almost anything. From something you found while window shopping in Shinjuku, to your change in food and music preferences, even to the minute details about what had happened to your rice cooker.

Your rooftop acquaintance had looked at you with a mix of genuine irritation and confusion, probably wondering how and why you became so chatty around him all of a sudden. “Why the fuck are you so noisy these days?”

“Oh, am I now? Don’t worry!” You hovered a finger over your smiling lips. “I can lower my voice to your preferred volume and- get this… curate what the topics I want to talk about. Just think of me like a radio, choose a station to your liking and I’ll broadcast whatever you want to hear.”

“Unplug yourself then.”

“Sorry, I have built in batteries that last a good while.”

“Remove the batteries.”

“Nope. Sorry. The screws been tightly shut. Almost like it was glued close apparently.”

“Good grief.”

Even if it didn’t seem like it, you could notice a tiny shift in his demeanor as more time passed and a couple more bento boxes have been emptied.

It was those small details that one could overlook if not paid closely- the way his body slowly angled toward you despite his attention remaining elsewhere, the split-second curl of his lip every time you called him an ass, the corner of a box peeking out from behind his shoes that implied he does eat lunch (with the bonus of a faint hint of pink on his cheeks once you brought it up), the subtle reactions he made to each of your stories such as a silent scoff and a brief shake of his head, and some other tidbits you were able to pick up on.

The more you just allowed yourself to vent freely, the more you got to observe more who this guy was in a way that wasn’t forced, stiff, or uncomfortable. It was strange how that worked but you didn’t complain about it. Quite the contrary actually.

Few more days in and you were comfortable enough to pause your daily venting and instead ask the delinquent questions about himself, to which was responded with his typical vocabulary of “not your business”, “shut up”, and the ever-present suffix that was “bitch.”

You shrugged. He’ll cave in eventually.

All these lunch periods of you verbally expressing yourself and attempting him to answer your queries had made you realize… Oh my god, I still don’t know his name. You were so contented in calling him “asshole” that an actual name didn’t even pop into mind.

Though it does provide a good starting point for the question-and-answer segments you had with him.

Come next day and you just finished your lunch, you turned to him with a hand cupping your cheek as you pouted. “Listen, I know you keep this silent brooding face up so well to the point you compliment me with ‘bitch’ every time I ask about you, but at the very least can I know what your name is?”

The delinquent regarded the request for a moment, staring at you for a solid minute with a cig between his thumb and forefinger, deeply contemplating whether to answer or not. You hoped he would.

And that he did.

“… Jotaro.”

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help but let out a tiny gasp, a hand coming to hover over your mouth to hide your smile of success. The fact he actually answered properly for once and that you finally knew what to call him by aside from “asshole” …

He cocked a brow and glared at you. “Is knowing my name that amusing to you?”

“Given your silent nature, I’d take any answer from you a win for me,” you smiled. “Jotaro-ssi~”

“Hm?”

“San! I mean Jotaro-san!” You cupped your mouth, heat flooding your cheeks. “Sorry, force of habit. A roll of the tongue, you know?” Oh my god, you get to know him for the first time and you immediately slip-up. Get your head in the game!

Though he couldn’t care less about your tiny mistake as he looked away with a huff, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Whatever.” A prolonged pause hung in the air before he continued, “Well?”

You stared at him with question in your eyes. “Hm? Well what?”

He scowled, crossing his arms. “I’m telling you my name and you’re not telling yours?”

“A-Ah! Right!” You let out a nervous chuckle. Great job me. Your second mistake within the minute. Totally fine. “I’m Y/N.” You bowed your head lightly. “Nice to meet you… though this phrase is way overdue for it to be used in this context.”

With the mention of your name, Jotaro merely nodded his head and turned away to continue smoking. You were left sitting there, half-drowning in your embarrassment. A tiny part of you had been hoping he would repeat your name at least once. It definitely did not wilt in slight disappointment when it didn’t happen. Nope.

Though it seemed insignificant from a social standard, getting to know more about Jotaro was something you were hellbent on achieving. You didn’t know exactly why since learning who was who wasn’t so much as a big deal for you. You regularly made friends and getting their names wasn’t anything major.

Was it that feeling of gratification that someone who would vehemently push others away in a second, was able to tolerate you for quite some time now? That you were able to keep his rude nature at bay when others couldn’t?

Don’t get yourself wrong, he was still rude to you as if the name calling and his ever-present aloofness wasn’t already obvious, but compared to the rest, it was tamer.

You were smug about that idea and pushing through with your interest in the delinquent, continued your days with the silent individual.

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As much as he hated admitting it to himself, Jotaro didn’t mind having you around.

If anything, his usual boring of an hour break became anything but that. You’d pop your head through the door with a huge smile and a wave, you’d sit close to him with the comfortable space intact between the two of you, and start eating.

At some point, even if he knew you didn’t mind it, he wondered if he should do something to replace the silence. Of course, he could always leave under the excuse of a lie like he did multiple times before, but the image of you sitting alone in the roof after the selfish move stirred up an ugly feeling in him. As if he couldn’t bear seeing you upset.

Damnit. Can’t even fucking follow my own protocols.

Or maybe he could… ask questions just for the sake that anything remotely interactive is happening between the two. Start conversations? The fuck- Since when were you good at that Kujo?

Though once you started to spout your life stories out in the open one day, the heavy weight of being expected to initiate communication lifted off of Jotaro’s shoulders. He remained nonchalant to your stories, but he was relieved that at least some excuse of a conversation was happening.

And he was somewhat flattered that you could share that much information about yourself to someone like him out of the blue. People don’t usually hand out details about their life to strangers. With you being able to do so with him, it implied he wasn’t just a reoccurring random bad boy to you.

But to make sure, he had to hear a verbal confirmation from you. He asked in the way he could and you answered with your typical snark and annoying cheeky smile.

He swore he was doing the most just to hold the urge to smile in return.

Of course, Jotaro couldn’t tell you that he was glad you made his day-to-day a bit interesting and found his presence comfortable to be with.

Instead, while you talked, he made sure to listen to everything you said even if his posture said otherwise- he noted that a human-sized plush bear caught your attention at Shinjuku, how you preferred chicken and R&B nowadays, and even how your rice cooker broke because you attempted to cook something else that wasn’t rice.

Unknowing to him, his body started to turn to you little by little with the intent of listening to you better, his lips would betray him every time you insulted him, and because of the slight change of position, you had caught sight of his emptied bento box. He’d hidden his face with the tip of his hat as a result:

“Oh! So, you do eat before you smoke!”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just glad you’re getting your daily meals and not just nicotine 24/7.”

“I said shut up bitch.”

When you asked questions that were about himself, Jotaro didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his past or current life (though it does look like it to those who see him), he just tended to overthink in a situation of casual, friendly talk that didn’t have any sort of threat, malice, or declarations of love laced with it.

Not much happened to me.

There’s nothing much to talk about aside from my appearance.

Shit. Am I this bad at talking to normal people?

As a result, he refused to answer your probing questions with his go-to phrases that remained meaningless when it came to you.

Once you wanted to know his name, his mind blanked for one second. A fairly simple request that didn’t need any thinking. Honestly, he’s surprised you hadn’t known his identity from the many discussions his admirers and the faculty staff had the past few weeks.

Though at second thought, you couldn’t have known it from them since they likely only ever addressed him as “JoJo” and “Kujo” respectively.

Hence, as Jotaro looked into your expectant eyes and pouty lip, he replied to you with his name. Simple and straightforward.

And you physically beamed- eyes sparkling and lips opening behind your hand to let out a small gasp of surprise. He raised his brow and glared at your exaggerated reaction out of sheer confusion. For a second, he thought you found his name funny and was ready to bark back with his usual vulgarness, but once you explained it was because he simply answered normally, he eased up.

However, when the unfamiliar honorific slipped next to his name added with the fact that it was habitual, he caught onto the error the second it was uttered. Together with your upfront personality, he couldn’t help but be more curious about you. And that included knowing your name.

When you didn’t catch the hint, he forced himself to ask for your name. Damnit, why’d you have to wait for me to ask woman?

“I’m Y/N,” you had said, bowing lightly. “Nice to meet you… though this phrase is way overdue for it to be used in this context.”

Y/N. Finally, a name he can call you by if he felt “nice”. Y/N. Jotaro nodded in return, turning away with a cig in-between his teeth to focus on compiling all his mental notes about you, now with your name added among the mix. Y/N. It was nice that it’s simple. Spared him the hassle of pronouncing your name properly.

He breathed in and let out one heavy sigh, leaning back against the fence with his arms behind his head. Admittedly, he couldn’t wait for more of your chatter and maybe he’d be prepared to talk and answer some questions you had for him.

He closed his eyes and your name constantly went on repeat in his mind.

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“Oi, you planning on starving today?”

“Aish.” You threw your empty hands in the air with mild frustration, shutting the door behind you with a gentle kick. You were 30 minutes late for the day and it was all due to your not-so minor morning inconvenience messing with your mood. “Not my fault the nearby shop was closed for the day. Granted, it’s not the first time but- ugh, an advanced notice would’ve been nice.”

“If you’re gonna whine about the inconvenience, then cook lunch yourself idiot.”

“I’ll have you know that I’d love to do that if I had the time to shop for quality ingredients.”

You’d always wanted to make a do-it-yourself lunch box with its contents coming straight from your home city’s signature recipes, but unfortunately you lived in an apartment that was far from a decent grocery and upon asking the locals about it, learned that the nearest location was at least 2 kilometers away. Oh, to have the luxury of having a driver’s license and a car right now.

Jotaro eyed at you for a few more solid seconds before directing his attention elsewhere. Even without the delicacy of shop-bought food, that didn’t stop you from visiting the rooftop to meet with the raven-haired delinquent. The mostly one-sided conversations were far more important than eating anyway.

You made a move to dust your skirt and took a seat at your usual spot, sitting with a crossed leg and your hands interlinked over your knee. With a hefty, acceptance-of-defeat sigh, you said, “I’m gonna tell you something really, really crazy, okay?”

He scoffed. “You tell crazy shit all the time. Why’s this any different?”

“You see, I’ve been venting about all about actual factual stuff in the real world, you know? Some technical issues here, an interesting fun detail about places there, and crap like that, but I’m gonna delve into some… supernatural territory here.”

No response.

“You’re going to judge anyways so I’ll just say it,” you took in a deep breath and continued. “I may have a ghost friend following me around-“ Your words halted mid-sentence when Jotaro’s attention went to you in almost an instant, those cerulean eyes of his suddenly piercing yours. “Hey listen, let me explain!”

“This ghost friend… she’s like this spooky hovering lady with a flowing dress, no legs, and a veil covering her head, and she’s been following me ever since I was a kid. Strangely though, she doesn’t harm me. She shields me,” you said, wringing your fingers together as you tried not to delve too deep into your memories. “She’s sort of a human spirit security blanket… if that’s a thing.”

“She hasn’t visited me in a while, so her just popping out of nowhere really caught me off guard and I’m afraid she’s gonna be hovering around yet again I assume.”

You’ve never opened her up to anyone, not even to your welcoming uncle who’d become your foster father for the past few years. You always thought of her as your secret imaginary friend who manifested to comfort you during your rough childhood despite her ominous look.

You avoided looking back at the past but you could always remember the soft fabric that wrapped around you like a blanket coming from the entity’s unraveled arm in an attempt to comfort you, and how the same fabric stretched taut in front of you countless times to block off and push the people who hurt you away.

It was only when you woke up from a familiar nightmare last night, gasping and sweating, did she make a prominent return, scanning you before wrapping your shivering frame with the fabric you were most fond off.

You thought the nightmares stopped after you moved to Japan, but with what just happened, you just hoped that it wouldn’t occur as frequent as it was back at your homeplace. As a way to cope with your newfound frustration, you decided to vent it out to your unruly acquaintance.

“Well,” you pursed your lips and shrugged. “That’s my vent of the day. The time for uncalled insults and creative phrases of what the fuckery is now open.”

“I have an evil sprit possessing me.”

You physically choked. Now… that was unexpected. “You’re telling me you have your own imaginary friend following you wherever you go?”

“Imaginary my ass. He’s an actual evil spirit that can deliver severe physical violence, and those who got to meet his fists are now in the hospital with several broken bones.”

You listened with full intent as your lips remained slightly agape at the idea and image of Jotaro’s supernatural companion beating up those who most likely crossed him. “Is he someone you can call out or-“

“I’m getting a hang of it, though the bastard acts on its own most of the time.”

“Can you call him now?” You asked, your head tilted out of curiosity. “I’d like to meet him myself so I’ll find relief that I’m not crazy after all.”

“People can’t see yours?”

“No apparently,” you sighed. “Whenever she appears to protect me, they don’t seem to react to her at all. In fact, they become super confused as to why they can’t get to me.”

“Well shit,” he cocked his head. “That makes 2 of us.”

“Ehem~” You cleared you throat, making the raven-haired student glance at you. “May I see him? I’ll call mine in return! Promise!”

You both stared at each other for a moment without the either doing anything, until Jotaro tipped his hat. “Good grief, you better not bullshit me with a fake surprised reaction.” He reached for his hidden empty bento box beside him and tossed it at you to which you caught. “Get up, walk there, and throw it at me as hard as you can.”

You arched a brow at the strange request but did what he asked, getting up to dust your skirt and walking over to the steel door with the box ready to be thrown in your grasp. The delinquent stood several meters away parallel to you with his hands in his pockets, his cigarette left forgotten on the ground.

“Just in case you cuss at me for this, I’ll have you know this was your idea!”

“Just fucking throw it.”

With no further confirmation, you took in a deep breath, held the box in one hand, and reared back into a baseball pitcher’s position. Just then, it just occurred to you that as much as you placed all your effort into it, the lunchbox won’t probably even reach Jotaro from this distance. Realistically, no teenage girl would have the arm power to do so.

But you had a plan.

A slight tingle crept up the hand that held the bento and as discreetly as possible from its position behind you, slender strips of fabric appeared and wrapped themselves around the container. “In the count of 3!” You called out. “1… 2…!” Without having to say the last number, you lurched forward and launched the box at the other with the speed of an expertly-kicked soccer ball.

At the same time the cloths withdrew back into your palm, you watched the speeding object close in toward his direction and for a second, your face readied to warp into a wince with the thought of the box smacking him square in the face.

But as the bento was a second away from doing so, a faint shimmer appeared beside the delinquent’s head and a purple, muscular arm manifested out of thin air just in time to punch the bento in a split second, reducing the box into tiny splinters raining down onto the concrete floor.

You gaped and let out a sound of awe. Well, there’s evidence to said violence. “What did you see?” Jotaro asked, tipping his hat down as he walked to you with casual gait. Involuntarily, you smiled and clapped in response.

“Oh my god! You do have a spirit companion like I do! I’m not crazy!”

“Not an answer,” he said gruffly.

“Ah yeah about that,” you cleared your throat. “To put it simply, an arm came out of nowhere and was what caused your lunchbox to devolve into tiny pieces- oh my god… you destroyed your bento!” You faux gasped in realization. “Money was spent on that!”

“So?” He stopped to stand a few meters away from you. “Have more at home.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, dubious with his choice of action. “Alright then rich boy. If you say so.”

“Your turn.”

“What do you…!” Within a split second, the same arm that demolished the food container headed straight to you in rapid speed before you could comprehend it.

Fortunately, your own spirit was as quick to respond to the attack.

A gush of wind blew strands of your hair back as a result of the impact the black-gloved fist made against the taut, rose gold fabric stretched in front of you. You stilled on the spot as a shot of adrenaline coursed through you, stunned at the sudden attempt.

From beyond the cloth, Jotaro stood there with what appeared to be a brief display of surprise. The cloth withdrew itself immediately into the back of your shoulder blades where it spawned from.

“You… you crazy fuck,” you cocked your head as a laugh of disbelief left you. “Can’t believe you just tried to punch me straight in the- do you know how fucked my face would be if my spirit didn’t shield me?!” At this point, you had every right to be thoroughly mad and yell at his face, though the delinquent remained aloof just as he always was.

Tipping the visor of his hat down, Jotaro cleared his throat. “Alright. I believe you. We both have evil spirits then.”

“Wha- are we gonna forget how you literally tried to punch me in the face?”

The sharp ring of the school bell interrupted the both of you and as much as you weren’t affected by it on a normal day, wringing out a concise apology from the couldn’t-care-less Jotaro was all that flooded your brain, and you couldn’t get that if you were in a class that he wasn’t in.

The other made a move to the door before you did, head slightly tilted down and a hand in his pocket. “Ya!” You grabbed his wrist just as he was about to turn the knob. “No sorry? I deserve one ass hat.”

“After class. Meet me at the gate.”

You blinked. After school meet-up… with Jotaro? Another first you wouldn’t expect from the school’s lone wolf. With your grip loosened, he took the opportunity to draw his arm away, open the door, and walk down the stairs.

With all that had happened for the past hour, your brain had yet to process it all- the visible ghosts, the closed bento shop, Jotaro’s smashed bento box, the thoughts of your past vaguely present in your mind, and the most recent offer of an after-school hangout.

You scoffed. Ah what an eventful lunch period.

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In all honesty, as you walked down the last flight of stairs and to the main entrance, you expected the delinquent to not be where he said he would be due to his uncaring nature.

But as you stepped outside, you could see a tall figure leaning against the gate walls with one hand holding his school bag and the other in his pocket, ignoring the handful of girls fawning over him as they pass him by. As if he sensed you coming, he glanced at you for a solid second and pushed himself off of the concrete.

“Ooh~” You remarked, mildly impressed at the commitment. “A man of his words, I see.”

Jotaro grumbled out words you couldn’t make out and with you now by his side, you two exited school grounds and made your way down the street. “Does it look like I’m the type to offer things at random?”

You hummed, your lips forming a tiny pout. “No, but you do look the type to get people’s hopes up with empty promises.”

The raven-haired teen didn’t respond immediately, though when he did, it came in the form of a scoff followed with a mumbling of “yeah right.”

5 minutes into your walk was filled with silence, neither party having nothing to share until you decided to play icebreaker as you always do in this type of scenario. “So…” You clapped your hands together once. “Mind telling me why you asked me to walk with you after school? No apologies were said so I see no other purpose of my presence here.”

“I’m going to buy some cigs.”

“Yeah? And I play into this how?” No response. An idea popped into mind and you couldn’t help but smirk a bit upon the thought of saying it. You bowed a bit with your arms behind you, turning your head to look at him beneath his hat. “You in the mood for a companion today Mr. Bad Boy?”

No one should have the balls of saying anything that was remotely taunting to Jotaro’s face, especially considering his massive hands were intimidating and looked like it lived up to violent expectations.

However, the latter’s face merely warped into a familiar scowl accompanied with the habit of tipping his hat.

You let out an airy laugh. “Okay okay, enough teasing from me. Since you’re not apologizing anytime soon, can I at least request something from you? Nothing too extreme don’t worry.” You said with your form back in an upright position. “Can I see him in entirety? His arm is quite thick and lovely and all, but a full body appearance is much appreciated.”

“You want another test run?”

“Is that a threat?” You said light heartedly, sending him a pointed look along with a finger pointed at him. “But in all seriousness, I’m really curious about your evil spirit. Plus, it’s not fair for me to give a detailed description of my spirit to you and for you to not return the favor.”

“Did not ask for it.”

“Your body did though don’t lie,” Jotaro was about to retort something in return, only for nothing to come out of his mouth. The lack of response helped spark that inner smugness in you and a smirk grew from it. “Aha. Guilty as charged.”

The delinquent looked away with a hand coming to hold the tip of his hat yet again. At closer look, you could spot a very faint red dusting his cheek. “Good grief. Just shut up bitch.”

You huffed, keeping the proud smug on your face intact even as you directed your attention back to the path ahead. “You still owe me an introduction to your spirit asshole.”

“Whatever.”

Banter through, you both found yourselves walking past few commercial buildings that included small business shops and convenience stores. Often times, when you walked past them on a regular afternoon, you were tempted to spend some money on what they offered just to quell that tiny explorer in you.

You let Jotaro walk ahead of you since it was his idea of wanting to buy a pack of cigarettes. He said nothing as he stepped into one of the stores by the street, leaving you standing by yourself outside with nothing but your wandering thoughts and school bag in hand to keep you occupied.

Several minutes passed and the sky began its transition from orange to dark blue, you found yourself squatted in the same spot as you watched the windows from the buildings around you start to light up. Your bag was put down beside you while you had your cheek in the palm of your hand, contemplating whether to leave his tardy ass in the shop.

Probably after few more minutes, you had thought that perhaps the bad boy stayed true to his role and ultimately decided to leave you first after having his lowkey wish that was a friend fulfilled. Through a back door maybe? Do convenience stores even have back doors where customers can flee to?

A groan was about to leave you as you stood, only to be interrupted at the sound of the door opening and the rustle of plastic mixed with faint clanking of what would be drink cans. You crossed your arms and stared at Jotaro who exited the way he entered. Devoid of emotion.

“That took a crap load of minutes just for you to buy a pack of cigs,” your gaze trailed down to his hands where a plastic bag hung, obviously filled with more things than just one box of health hazards. “Also, damn. Should I keep note that ‘some’ equates to ‘dozen’? Because that’s not just one pack.”

He said nothing as he dumped the whole bag into your arms, having the audacity of reaching into it to fish for the newly bought cigarette pack and-

“You drink too?!” You exclaimed, watching the other open the beer can and chugging the liquid down. “Oh my god. Remind me to pray for your lungs and liver.” He sent you a look and you shrugged. “I know… mind your business bitch.”

Emptied of its contents, he crushed the can with one hand and tossed the plastic onto a nearby trash chute. “Address.”

“Excuse?”

“Your address.”

You spluttered. “Ah just straight ahead from here. Why?”

In typical fashion, he remained wordless and picked the bag off your arms as he strode ahead in the direction of your apartment. You sighed, cocking your head. “Aish. What’s up with him and not answering questions properly?” You muttered to no one as you caught up to him in a second.

The destination wasn’t too far from the store you both stopped by at. Coming from there, it was an easy 5-minute walk. From small commercial buildings to residential homes, you two only had a couple more steps until you arrived at your apartment and call it a day.

You skipped forward, past the towering teenager (whose eyes were too busy scanning his surroundings to pay attention to you), and stood by the apartment’s entrance. “I don’t know about you, but this is where I’ll be dropping off.”

Jotaro diverted his gaze back at you.

Another few seconds of awkward silence before you cleared the air with a sigh and a clap. “Well… I may not be getting that apology at any point in time, but since you kind of accompanied me home, I’ll take that as an alternative.” You let out a genuine smile and gave him a small bow. “Thanks for that I suppose.”

The delinquent stared at you for a moment with no response, though you could make out the slight widening of his eyes while he looked at you.

You waited for a couple of seconds just in case he needed to find whatever words he could formulate in this situation, and you took this opportunity to appreciate those cerulean eyes of his and how pretty they were in contrast to his rugged appearance.

Eventually, Jotaro turned away from you, tipped his hat for the last time within the day and muttered out his signature catchphrase, all while he reached into the plastic to pocket the pack of cigarettes. You were about to tease him a little bit about his mannerisms until he handed you the bag with a simple “hold it.”

You were about to ask why he kept using you as a living rack, but the raven-haired teen had already turned on his heels, walking the opposite direction. “Hey! Why’d you-“ Before your question was said, the bag opened itself in your grasp and you could recognize the sight of food inside.

Immediately, you lowered into a squat to shuffle through the plastic bag’s contents- 2 bento boxes with each having different meals, a water bottle, a couple of small snacks, and a single note attached to the uppermost bento:

This was for trying to punch you.

Sorry.

Your cheeks flushed instantly, flustered as a visceral feeling of flattery coursed through you, leaving your form stunned. No way… This- Wha-. “Ya!” Apparently, a yell to the retreating figure was your brain’s immediate response to the non-verbal apology. “This is- I mean thanks so much! I’m really hungry and all, but I’d be okay if you’d simply said sorry!”

A half-raised hand from the distance was all you got in return, which did not help calm the jittery sensation you felt at the moment. “But thanks a bunch!”

You gathered your bearings together and attempted to steel yourself into composure, picking the plastic bag up and entering the apartment building with a shy smile growing on your face. However, 10 steps in and all of a sudden, you realized something was missing in your possession.

School bag. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, doing the utmost possible to not explode in confusion and frustration. You left it at the convenience store dumbass. You swore today couldn’t get more overwhelming as it already was.

And then the door knocked. You answered it and you entered into a new level of dumbstruck.

Standing- no, hovering before you was a bulky, purple humanoid with long flowing black hair, red scarf, golden shoulder plates, white loincloth, and black shoes. “Uh…” You remained speechless as he offered you a school bag, which upon looking closer was yours due to the name found in the corner of the leather.

It took less than a second for you to recognize this entity- the fingerless black gloves, the thick purple arm, the blue-green eyes. Those damn eyes.

This was Jotaro’s so-called evil spirit… casually giving you your bag with a quiet “ora”, followed with him waving at you with a grin before closing the door for you.

What was happening? You blinked a couple of times and stared at your newly-received bag for a few more seconds. Today must be a fever dream. If it weren’t for your growling stomach, you could’ve ended up staying in the same spot for the rest of the evening.

Coming to your senses, you settled into your apartment space, freshened yourself up, and prepared the table along with the food that came from the delinquent’s money. Recalling it again, you cocked your head in disbelief, still reeling from the unexpected sorry note.

Just as you were about to dine, you thought about paying him back in some fashion and reached into the school bag beside you to pull out your wallet, just to check how you fared financially, only for you to feel the corner of paper underneath the bag’s lid.

Flipping it over, there was another sticky note with a message written in the same handwriting as the previous. Reading it, your cheeks grew warm the second time as you smiled to yourself and scoffed:

Thought it’d be fair.

Also, don’t leave your bag stupid.

You held your cheek against your palm, a dumb smile fixed on your face. “Ah this guy really…” On second thought, maybe this infamous bad boy was more than what he looked on the outside.

Your new life in Japan might not be as boring as you thought it would be after all.

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jjba #jotaro kujo #jotaro x y/n #jotaro x you #jojo part 3 #polaris au

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southelroydrive · 1 year

Text

my girl, my girl, my girl.

pairings: Robin Buckley x F!Reader summary: Since your Freshman year at Hawkins, you spent every lunch on the roof top, alone. You're now in your final year and the world seems to have different plans for you this October. Inspired by 'we fell in love in october' by girl in red. word count: 2.1k warnings: smoking, swearing, a/n: I can't write summaries?? i love writing fanfics based on sapphic songs????

Growing up in Hawkins was never easy for you. Every day was spent drowning in a pit of self-pity and loneliness whilst you tried to remain as invisible as possible. You blended into the shadows of your high-school corridors and that would never change.

You had gotten pretty good at it, the whole 'being invisible' thing. Some could argue that you were depressingly good at it. God, even some of your teachers wouldn't be able to recall your name or face, despite being in their classes for years.

Nobody at Hawkins High knew who you were and you wanted to keep it that way. With just one more school year till you could escape the hellhole they called Hawkins, nothing was going to stop you. But that all changed, that one day in October.

It was a cool autumn day; the bell had finally rung, signalling the start of your lunch period. You shoved your things into your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder. Students poured out of their classrooms, flowing into the cafeteria. The corridors filled with the buzz of teenagers and the drumming of footsteps. You sighed, dodging and weaving against the crowd. You were careful not to bump into anyone, not in the mood for some asshole with an inflated ego to yell at you for 'disrespecting' them. You whisked up the staircase to the second and then third floor, following the same route you did daily for the past three years. Eventually, you reach the door to the roof. The same one you entered every day, the same one that had a large 'DO NOT OPEN' sign that you ignored every day.

You weren't sure when this became your routine or when you figured out how to get onto the roof, but since then it had been your safe haven. Away from the passing glances from the 'popular kids' that seemed to judge every ounce of your existence and the sight of teenagers groping each other aggressively in the halls that made you want to vomit. It made your time at this school bearable, you weren't sure you would have survived if you hadn't found it. It was peaceful, serene and it's not like anyone else came up here... or so you thought.

It seemed the world had different plans for you that day. As you pushed the door open, feeling the bitter wind brush against your skin, your eyes fell onto the figure sitting a few metres away. Their back was to you, thick jacket covering their frame and fingers twirling the thin cord of what you could only assume to be a Walkman. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, accidentally letting the door slip from your fingers. The sound of the door slamming made the mysterious person snap their head towards you.

Your breath hitched as her eyes met yours. Of course, it had to be her.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realise anyone else came up here, I can leave if you want me to-" She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag off the floor and now was completely faced towards you. You were at a loss for words. Robin Buckley, the Robin Buckley was stood before you. Her light brown hair was slightly dishevelled from how quickly she ripped her headphones off her ears, strands of hair falling into her face that you had to stop yourself from tucking behind her ear. Her face had a twinge of red from the cold, making the constellations on her face disappear. She awkwardly shuffled on her feet as she rambled an apology, leading your gaze to her lips. You could probably write a thousand poetry books about Robin Buckley and every single little detail that made Robin, Robin but when it came to her lips, your brain short-circuited. The only thing you could think about was how soft they looked and how they would feel...

"Uh, are you okay?"

"Huh?" Fuck, you're an idiot. You tore your gaze away from her lips, hoping that the flush of your cheeks could just be excused from the cold air. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, parting them slightly so her pearly white teeth could just be seen and making it impossibly difficult to not look at her lips.

"I can leave if you want, I just came up here for some peace but if you want to be alone I totally get it. I didn't mean to intrude on your spot or anything-" She starts rambling again, voice raspy and occasionally cracking. God, did her voice make you weak.

"No, no! It's uhm- It's okay!" You spoke hurriedly. As much as you hated other people, the girl in front of you was different.

The truth was that you had an infuriating crush on Robin Buckley. A crush you had tried so desperately to push down but would only come back even stronger. You first saw her in your Freshman English class and you had been infatuated with her ever since. You couldn't exactly pinpoint what made you fall for Robin as hard as you did, maybe it was the way she doodled on her hand when she was bored, or how she picked at the skin of her lips when she was anxious. Maybe it was how her black nail polish was always chipped or the way her ring-clad fingers grasped the straps of her bag at the end of a class. All you knew was that you were hopelessly in love with Robin Buckley.

You had never talked to the girl. You thought that if you did, you wouldn't ever be able to contain your adoration for her. So, you just admired from afar, hoping one day your fondness for the freckled girl just disappeared. You knew you'd never be able to tell her how you felt, she definitely was not into girls and you didn't feel like living the rest of your time in Hawkins getting your ass kicked just because you loved someone of the same gender. Plus, she seemed to be dating that Harrington kid that graduated last year. Of course, the jealousy was tearing you apart inside but if Robin was happy with that guy, you needed to move on.

But moving on was so hard. It was even harder when she was currently smiling at you with a toothy grin, making you weak in the knees. She returns to her previous spot, this time with one leg tucked under the other, which dangled over the edge. She pats the space next to her, encouraging you to sit beside her. You did so, hesitantly.

"You're Y/N, right? We're in the same Chem class?" Her head tilted slightly as she looked at you and you squirmed slightly under her gaze.

"Y-yeah... Robin, right?" You silently cursed yourself for how much of an idiot you were making yourself look like. Of course, you knew her name, you had been obsessed with the girl for three years now. You could barely believe she was speaking to you right now, let alone the fact she knew your name or even noticed you at all!

She nods, offering a small hum in response. "So, do you come up here every day?" That stupidly adorable smile plastered on her face made it so hard to hold back the urge to kiss her.

"Oh, yeah. Great place to smoke as well, no prying eyes or anything." You mumble, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from your pocket and fishing one out from the box. You fumble with your lighter, bringing the cigarette to your lips and igniting the end. The smoke spills from your lips as you breathe out with a sigh.

"Can I try?" Her voice seemed hesitant, almost like she was second-guessing herself.

"Sure, if you really want to." Gently pushing the open pack towards her, watching her nimble fingers grab one. When you hand her your lighter, your fingers brush against each other. A touch that was so insignificant that you almost didn't notice it if it wasn't for the electricity that sparked from her fingertips. Your blush only darkens as you watch her bring the cigarette to her lips, mimicking the action you had done only a few seconds prior. She takes a deep breath, smoke filling her lungs.

Coughs and splutters spilt from her throat, a hand clutching her chest. You quickly grab a bottle of water from your bag, offering it to her. She swiftly grabs the bottle, chugging it and gasping for air when her lungs finally clear. You gently reach over, taking the cigarette from in between her fingers and extinguishing it.

"You okay, Buckley?" You look at her, genuine concern written across your face as your hand comfortingly rests on her shoulder. Once her coughing fit had ended, she offered you a weak nod.

"Shit, sorry." She laughs airily, a timid smile on her face. You just chuckle softly in response, bringing the cigarette to your lips and exhaling the sweet smoke once more before extinguishing yours as well. Your gaze meets hers. Both of you wordlessly stare into the other's eyes, the world disappearing around you. All that mattered to you at that moment was Robin.

"You have really pretty eyes."

A dark red blush coats your cheeks, mouth hanging open in shock at her words. Her hands clamped over her mouth, stopping herself from uttering any more words and hiding the blush creeping up her neck.

"I'm such an idiot! You probably think I'm so weird, I'm so sorry! I just think you're really cool and pretty and I notice you all the time and I've been too afraid to come up to you or anything but I saw you come up to the roof every day so I figured maybe I could meet you there but now I've just creeped you out! Shit, I'm so sorry. I should probably go, leave you alone." Her hands were flailing around nervously as she rambled, words fumbling out of her mouth so fast you almost can't comprehend what she's saying. Her eyes water with frustration as she hastily grabs her things, just as she had done earlier.

"Robin!" Your hands grab onto hers gently as she begins to stand, encouraging her to sit back down. She does so hesitantly, avoiding your gaze. You place her hands in your lap, rubbing circles on her palm with your thumb. Her hands are rigid as you try to soothe her.

"You think I'm pretty?" Your voice was soft and quiet like you didn't believe the words coming out of your mouth. She nods, still averting her eyes away from yours. You can't contain the smile that spreads across your face. You gingerly caress her cheek, wiping away stray tears with your thumb. She relaxes under your touch, head slowly turning to face you.

You're aware of how little of a gap there is between your faces. Her eyes watch your every move intently. You feel that familiar longing in your chest as your gaze flickers to her lips. Your body moves on its own, inching closer and closer until your lips press against hers.

Robin responds instantly, removing her hands from your lap to cup your face. Your eyes close, moving her lips against yours in harmony. Your hands come to rest on the sides of her neck, pulling her closer to you. Her lips are soft, just as you imagined, and taste of the cherry chapstick she always wore with a hint of the cigarettes from earlier. Your mind is muddled, only being able to think of how good it felt. The years of pining suddenly poured out, making your heart soar.

When you finally pulled away for air, her eyes were filled with unmistakable love. Her hands still cupped your cheeks, gently caressing the skin underneath.

" I really like you... no, I think I'm in love with you." She mumbled under her breath, almost as if she didn't want you to hear but you did. Those words made your heart slam against your chest, you couldn't believe this was real.

"I think I'm in love with you."

"Wait, really?!"

"I literally just kissed you."

"Oh..."

You laugh, pecking a sweet kiss onto her lips. You wish you could do that forever.

"What about Steve?"

"What about him?"

"Like half the school think you're dating."

Robin laughs, making you swoon. "God, no! Platonic soulmates with a capital P!"

You can't help but laugh with her, feeling slightly stupid about your previous dislike for the guy out of jealousy. Her eyes settle on you again, looking at you with such warmth and love. "Yeah, he's nothing compared to my girl."

"Your girl, Robbie?" You smirk, raising an eyebrow at her.

She hums, a blush reappearing on her face at the new nickname. She wraps her arms around you, making you sit on her lap as she buries her face into the crook of your neck.

"My girl."

We fell in love in October That's why I love fall Looking at the stars Admiring from afar

My girl, my girl, my girl You will be my girl

sobbing, why does tumblr not let me change the letters IGNORE IT PLEASE

#robin buckley #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader #robin stranger things #robin buckley imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #robin buckley fanfic

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providencepeakrp · 6 months

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CHARACTER INFORMATION:

Character Name: Matty Foster.

Type of Connection: High School Savior.

Connection Name: UTP, I'm calling her Ginny.

Connection Age: 29-31.

Suggested FCs: UTP, but some suggestions if ya need them are: Florence Pugh, Adria Arjona, Diane Guerrero, Pooja Hegde, Dilan Çiçek Deniz, Emma Watson, Jurnee Smollett.

CONNECTION DESCRIPTION:

trigger warning: abuse.

She was the quintessential ‘girl next door.’ She and Foster did not run in the same circles (she was much more straight-laced where as he was considered by many a no-good punk) but she was the only person who knew the truth about how Foster’s father treated him. She would often offer up her room as a safe haven for him when he needed a place to hide out, and made sure he had food and everything else he needed.

They were best friends, and probably something more — but always unspoken and in secret. She’s one of maybe 3 people in the entire world that is allowed to call him Matty. He left town the day he turned 18 and never looked back, abandoning all the plans they had made together for the future. In his mind, he was saving her from his dysfunction, but she probably felt pretty betrayed. Now he’s back and despite everything, they still know each other on a level few others do. And yes, you caught me, this connection is majorly inspired by the book ‘It Ends With Us’ by Colleen Hoover, but I’m always looking for ways to differentiate. Foster’s more accurately got shades of Pacey Witter and Jess Mariano, and the Rory/Jess vibes are REAL.

Do you need to be contacted before someone applies? Yes please!

#florence pugh #adria arjona #town rp #city rp #rpg #abuse tw #matty foster #takenconnection

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breathing-dystopia · 2 years

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I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet

Pairing: Eddie Munson × (female) OC

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Getting to know the real Eddie can be both the most exciting and inspiring experience. Mostly, he feels like home. We follow the protagonist as her relationship with Eddie transitions from being indifferent to one another to falling in love.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn, weed is mentioned once, a fire is mentioned, someone faints.

Available on AO3

A/N: This is my first fanfiction (and probably also my last). I've been thinking about Eddie 24/7 and needed to put those self-indulgent fake scenarios into words in order to move on. English isn't my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it ♡

gif credit @nowadayz

I could already smell the cigarette smoke and that unmistakable scent of cheap alcohol as I made my way through a dimly-lit corridor, pushing past people idly standing by and nodding along to the loud music coming from the next room. This Hawkins bar was a haven for anyone who appreciated fast and loud music, especially on Friday nights, when its basement welcomed up-and-coming heavy rock bands from around the area.

My friends and I had made a habit of coming here every week, to the point where it almost felt like an addiction. Every Friday morning we were buzzing in anticipation for this escape, the only place in this small town where we could reunite with like-minded people. Every time our van pulled up in the front and we’d see the rusty metal slabs on the bar’s façade, a weight was lifted off our chests; it felt like coming home.

The place was packed tonight. Reaching the counter felt like oaring in a sea of people. As I sat on one of the stools, I felt my studded leather belt digging into my ribs and I wondered what band could cause so many people to come. As I ordered cold beers for the group, I chanced upon a flyer on the mirror behind the bartender which indicated Corroded Coffin was playing tonight. I had never heard of them, but this turnout meant they had to be really good. When the beers arrived, I called over my friend Aileen to help me carry them to our booth.

Even though the show wouldn’t start until later, we knew that if we didn’t get to the basement early enough, we would have no place up front and be relegated to the back, where you could barely see the stage and the sound was muffled by the mass of sweaty bodies jumping and headbanging in unison. So we chugged our beers and went downstairs. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on one of the walls lining the narrow flight of stairs that led to the basement. I was wearing a miniskirt over black stockings, along with lace-up combat boots and my favorite Metallica T-shirt. It seems we had overestimated our chances of finding a good spot within the crowd. We ended up on the side, right behind a column that blocked our view of half the stage.

My friends and I had nothing to talk about as we all went to Hawkins High School and saw each other every day, so while we waited we observed the sound technician frantically carrying amps and cables from one end of the stage to the other, visibly nervous and eager to do a good job in front of so many people. After a while, the band finally walked onstage, and when the first strum of a heavily distorted guitar resonated in the room, the crowd went wild. I couldn’t quite see the guitarist or the drummer, though, as they were blocked by that annoying column.

Their songs were energetic and enthralling in a way I had never experienced with any other small band. I mean these were songs meant to fill arenas, not to be played in a tiny basement for a bunch of metalheads. They had already captivated a small legion of fans, and they would no doubt gain a lot more. I was especially interested in such an amazing guitarist, as I had started to play guitar a while back, but I was nowhere near as proficient as him. As they were reaching the end of their set, I grew tired of only seeing half the band and asked my friend Slater, who had a better spot, for a piggyback. He agreed, and as he lifted me, I banged my head against the ceiling, since it was so low. When I recovered from the hit, I looked at the stage and was immediately astounded to find out the guitarist was Eddie “The Freak” Munson from school.

“Hey, guys! Isn’t that Munson from school?” I shouted at my friends, trying to make myself heard over the loud sound coming from the speakers. “Satanic cult leader by day, prodigious guitar player by night!” Aileen yelled at the top of her voice, making all of us laugh. We all knew Hellfire was nothing more than a D&D club, but whenever a new paranoia whipped up Hawkins in mass hysteria, we always joked about it. Only after I saw Eddie did I realize the other members of the band were also students at Hawkins High School, I was sure I had seen them sitting at the so-called geeks' table in the cafeteria.

After the show, my friends and I went round the back of the bar to congratulate the band on a great show. We found the members of Corroded Coffin loading their gear onto the back of a van. Eddie caught my sight as he moved his long hair out of his face with a swift movement and bent down to pick up a guitar amp. I could tell it was really heavy by the way the muscles on his arms tensed and his veins swelled. “What. A. Performance. Guys, you were great,” Aileen said, applauding cheerfully. Eddie turned towards us with a beaming smile on his face, radiating confidence and charisma despite his exhaustion from the show. Drops of sweat were slowly running down his neck, and for some reason, I couldn’t look away. “You’re the best band that has ever played here,” I said. “Yeah, we always come here and we’ve never heard anything better,” Slater was quick to add. Eddie approached us with his hand extended in front of him “Thank you, I hope we can play here again soon, there was such a great crowd tonight!” he said, as he shook our hands. When he went to shake mine, though, he furrowed his brow, a bit confused. “Have we met before sweetheart? You look familiar,” he asked. “Well, I know you from high school, you’re the notorious Eddie Munson,” I replied. His confident mood seemed to wither, suddenly retracting within himself. “Oh right, yes, I know who you are… I’ve seen you around school. I didn’t know anyone from Hawkins High School frequented this bar. Um… well, glad you enjoyed the show, see you around”. As he said this, he turned around and quickly got on the band’s van, closing the door behind him. My friends hadn’t noticed the change in his attitude as they had distanced themselves a few paces to smoke.

When we got in Slater’s van, my friends and I silently looked at each other in disbelief. So, scary, intimidating, seemingly unapproachable Eddie Munson was the charismatic frontman of a heavy metal band. We joked about it being a case of multiple personality disorder but quickly moved on to other trivial things. However, his strange attitude stayed with me, not only for the rest of the drive home but for the rest of the weekend. Why had he suddenly become so flustered?

Monday morning. I was getting ready for school but still thinking about what had happened on Friday. I couldn’t get Eddie out of my mind, how he had looked playing guitar, how charismatic he’d been, the warmth of his hand when I shook it, his deep brown eyes staring confusedly at me. It felt exciting to think about him, as if I was an explorer who had made a paradigm-shifting discovery. Still, I didn’t understand why he put up an act at school, always showing himself as a tough guy, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with, an authority-defying freak; when in reality he kept hidden a completely different side to his personality.

Walking to class along the corridors at school, I noticed I was looking at everyone I found on my way, subconsciously expecting to meet Eddie if only to say hi to him. After the school day ended, I felt frustrated because I hadn’t seen him at all, which in turn made me feel appalled at how much my mood depended on seeing him or not. As a result, I resolved to forget about him. So, I wouldn’t be able to uncover the great mystery that is Munson’s personality. Big deal. We'd go back to being indifferent to one another.

That afternoon, my friends and I were going to a record store to find new albums to listen to. As soon as we arrived, I put on a pair of headphones and started browsing through the piles of records. I was completely entranced by the music when I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder. I thought it must be Aileen, so as I turned around I began to say “Aileen, look at these records I found-” but was interrupted by the sight of Eddie Munson standing there looking at me with a grin on his face. My eyes widened in embarrassment and I could feel I was blushing. I saw his mouth move but couldn’t hear a word he was saying. He motioned me to take off my headphones, which I did.

“Fancy seeing you here!” he said, with a slightly ironic undertone. “Hey, Munson”, I replied. “Oh,” he tsked, “everyone calls me Eddie”. “Okay, Eddie. It seemed like you ran off on Friday after learning we go to the same school. Were you just embarrassed you never noticed me before, yet I knew exactly who you were, or…?” “Well you can’t blame me for not having noticed you before darling”, the way he said darling made me tense my stomach, he went on: “I mean you look like you listen to, I don’t know, Phil Collins and Duran Duran, not…” he looked at the records I was holding to my chest. “Black Sabbath and Mötley Crüe. Those are great albums, by the way.” “I know, I picked them,” I said in a cocky manner.

I felt a bit offended because of his comment, but if I had to be honest he was right, the way I usually looked didn’t match my music taste or my personality at all, usually throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater and tying my hair neatly back to go to school. It was different at the bar on Friday nights, there I could actually express myself. But I knew my life at school would be much more difficult if I expressed individuality in any way, which is why I was so quick to comply and look as average as possible. Eddie is living proof that if you are different, you’ll be judged harshly and you need to have a strong personality to withstand the humiliation the popular kids make you feel. In that respect, I can say I am a coward, but conformity sure made my life at school easier.

“Listen, about Friday… you just caught me off-guard, as I said I didn't expect people from school to go there. And you guys were being so nice about our band! People from school are dicks about everything,” he said, apologetically. “It's OK, I think I understand,” I told him. “I mean, I know what it feels like having to act differently at school than around your friends. Don't worry though, your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone you're not intimidating, and mean, and scary, and angry all the time," I said playfully as I counted the items on my fingers. He laughed and jokingly thanked me. He spent the rest of the afternoon with me and my friends, picking out records and discussing our favorite bands.

I was surprised at how pleasant he was to be around. I often caught myself staring at him, lost in thought, a warmness filling my stomach. But it wasn’t a crush. I felt drawn to him because of mere curiosity, maybe because he felt like danger, a bad influence, someone my parents would warn me about. Or maybe, just maybe, I was actually into him and in denial about it.

On Thursday, as Slater and I were walking down one of the school’s corridors, I noticed people were acting a bit weird but decided to ignore it. Later, at the cafeteria, the geeks’ table was empty, so I asked my friends whether they knew what that was about. “Haven’t you heard? Yesterday during the game, a fire broke out in the theater room, where Hellfire was holding a meeting,” Slater told me. “Is everyone okay?” I said with slight desperation. “Yeah, they’re fine. They just got suspended”, he answered nonchalantly. Aileen started to ramble about how if our team had won the basketball game, people wouldn’t even care about the fire, but since we lost, the jocks were on a witch hunt to redirect everyone’s negative emotions towards the freaks from the ‘satanic cult’ instead of their perfect team. They succeeded, and Hellfire was banned. “Hold on, banned? Eddie must be devastated. We should invite him to the bar on Friday with us,” I said. “Can't they just get together at someone’s house to play D&D? Besides, why do you suddenly care about Munson?” Slater replied with a questioning look on his face. The tone of the question made me choke on my food, I started coughing and my eyes got watery. I quickly recovered, however. Aileen put her hand on my shoulder, giving Slater a menacing glance. “You’re right, it would be a nice gesture. Slater, since you’re the only one of us that owns a van, you’ll swing by his trailer after school and invite him. Won’t you, Slater?” He wouldn’t answer, so she kicked him in the shin under the table. “Okay, okay, jeez!” he blurted out. “I’ll go, no need to get aggressive about it.”

That Friday at the bar, we welcomed Eddie into our usual booth and drank beer. “How do you manage to get a booth every weekend? This place is always full,” Eddie asked. “Well, I guess one could say I have friends in high places,” Aileen said. The conversation eventually made its way toward the club’s abolition. “I mean, without Hellfire how am I supposed to bring fantasy into the mundane lives of a bunch of high school students? Why shan’t there be escapism for a poor, tortured soul like mine?” Eddie was drunkenly rambling on, clearly joking about the situation even though I could tell that deep down he was upset. He loved that club, and stupid small-town paranoia (and a little accidental fire) had taken it away from him. “By the way,” I said, “how did the fire get started?” “Uh, I don’t really wanna talk about it, let’s say someone did something stupid trying to show off and the whole group took the blame,” Eddie said, clearly implying it was one of the freshmen’s fault. “Look on the bright side, Munson,” Aileen said, “at least now you won’t be cataloged as a satanic cult leader, that’s gotta count for something.” Slater added: “You need to stop moping, man. Go listen to some heavy metal.” “Now that’s an idea!” Eddie practically shouted and stood up so fast that he almost fell.

He hadn’t drunk so many beers, but he clearly felt tipsy as he put an arm around Slater’s shoulders and the other around mine to steady himself. The smell of alcohol in his breath made me think he had already been drinking something stronger before even arriving at the bar. We went to the basement like that, though it was a bit hard to squeeze down the stairs. The place was packed and the music was good (though not as good as Corroded Coffin’s). The basement was always so dark you could see nothing except for the stage, but I knew Eddie was standing next to me as we jumped and shouted. He was so close I could feel his sweaty skin against mine, and some of his hair got into my mouth when he headbanged.

After a few songs, my face started getting hotter and hotter, my ears felt like they were on fire and I couldn’t hear a thing. Everything suddenly went black. When I woke up it took me a few moments to find my bearings, but as I started coming to my senses I realized I was laying on the curb in the parking lot with my back on the ground, and Eddie was holding my legs up, one to each side of his body, so the blood would flow to my head. Thank God I was wearing jeans and not a skirt, otherwise, this would have been awkward. “You woke up! Are you okay? Holy shit, you collapsed on the floor and we got you out here for some cool air. I was so scared, I mean, we were all scared, your friends went to find you some cold water. Are you feeling better?” I had never seen Eddie be so garrulous before. “I’m okay, you can let my legs down now,” I replied. He gently put them down and helped me sit up. He sat next to me. “You can rest your head on my shoulder if you want.” I took up his offer, immediately feeling a warm tingling in my stomach. “Does this happen often?” he asked. “Not really, but it’s happened enough times for me to know it’s nothing serious. There were probably too many people and too little oxygen in that basement. Thank you, by the way.” “Don’t thank me, sweetheart, I should have noticed you weren’t feeling well before you fainted.” Before I could reassure him, he continued: “Sometimes I let my problems swell up until they explode, and then I forget there are other people around me who are also dealing with their own shit.” We stayed like that, in silence, for a few minutes until Slater and Aileen returned with some water.

On the drive home, we had to make a stop along the way so Eddie could puke on the side of the road. When we dropped him off at the trailer park, he suggested we all watch a movie together on Sunday, which we agreed to. Once he was gone, Slater said: “So… I guess we’re friends with Munson now?”

“Don’t let her choose the film or we’ll end up bored to death watching some old silent Russian film or something” Slater told Eddie, as we browsed through the Family Video aisles for a film to watch that evening. “I would have never guessed you were a film snob,” Eddie turned to me, with a quizzical look. “I am not! Don’t listen to Slater. I just think we could all learn something from the classics, you know, Godard, Fellini, Eisenstein…” Slater pretended to fall asleep and Aileen laughed at his antics. “She’s not a film snob, more of a film dork,” Aileen said. “I mean she can go on and on about aspect ratios and focal lengths and a bunch of technical things I don’t understand.” Eddie turned to me: “So, I guess you wouldn’t enjoy popular films like Star Wars or Back to the Future?” “On the contrary, The Empire Strikes Back is one of my top ten films,” I replied. By the way in which he was smiling at me, I could tell he was a big science fiction fan, which made sense since he also enjoyed fantasy. “We could re-watch Pretty in Pink,” Aileen said, to which the rest of us immediately opposed. We ended up settling on a horror film with elements of science fiction none of us had heard of before, and which actually seemed terrible. Since we couldn’t reach a consensus on what would be a good film to watch, we decided to rent a really bad film which we could, at least, laugh at.

Eddie and I walked up to the counter to rent the film and were greeted by Steve Harrington. “I don’t think anyone’s rented this one before,” Steve told us. I frequented Family Video, as I tried to watch as many films as I possibly could, and knew Steve as he had attempted to flirt with me a few times, however, I was quick to shut him down. He simply wasn’t my type. Not that I have a type in particular, but if I did it would be far from Steve. Another employee, a shorthaired girl named Robin, had her legs propped up on the counter and was singing along to a Blondie song that was playing through the store. While Steve was ringing up the VHS, I asked Eddie what his favorite film was. “Is it a trick question? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong film and you’ll judge me.” “I would never judge you, especially not over something as trivial. Never mind,” I said. “No, wait, I was just joking,” Eddie laughed. “Hmm… I guess I can’t pick a favorite movie, but the one I’ve watched more times is Mean Streets. Heard of it?” I opened my mouth in astonishment “Heard of it? Scorsese is the greatest American director!” I replied. His eyes were shining excitedly at my words. If you asked me, it seemed as if my approval was important to him.

When we arrived at Eddie’s trailer, he welcomed us by saying: “This is where I live. If you find a cockroach, please kill it,” which I thought was very in character. Aileen opened the fridge, claiming she was starving, only to find a jar of mayo and some rancid butter. She eventually found a packet of crackers in one of the cupboards, though. While Eddie was putting the film on, we all sat down; Slater and Aileen on the loveseat in front of the tv, and me on an armchair next to them, with my legs crossed and without my feet touching the ground. As there was nowhere left for Eddie to sit, he simply plopped down in front of my armchair, resting his back against it.

The movie, which was supposed to be scary, was so terribly done that it had us laughing on the verge of tears and mocking every bad decision the characters made. The monsters were the highlight of the film: they were the cheapest, most atrocious puppets we’d ever seen. By the second act, the film was dragging and I could tell we were all bored. I think Slater had fallen asleep and was snoring faintly. My eyes wandered away from the screen and down towards Eddie’s head, which was right in front of me. His curls looked incredibly soft by the glow of the TV. I bet they felt just as soft as they looked. One thought entered my head and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t think about anything else: if I simply extended my arm, I could play with his hair. My cheeks immediately reddened, though nobody apart from me could tell, as it was very dark. Without realizing what I was doing, I reached out and placed my hand on his head, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers. Eddie tensed his shoulders nervously at first, as he probably wasn’t expecting me to do that, but proceeded to relax. I kept playing with his hair for a while longer, during which time my heart beat incredibly fast. When I removed my hand, he turned his head to look at me, grinning, and immediately turned to look at the TV again.

After the movie ended, we ordered a pizza and smoked some weed, courtesy of Eddie. I felt I had never laughed so much in my life. Afterward, Slater dropped me off at home and I went to bed, however, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Eddie, about his eyes, and his hair, and the way he smells, and his smile, and his stupid jokes. I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I think I have a crush on Eddie Munson.

After what happened on Sunday during the movie, I was a bit scared things would be awkward between Eddie and me. However, I was relieved when he greeted me as usual at school on Monday. “I was thinking you could sit at our table for lunch, I mean, if you want to, of course. Invite Slater and Aileen too,” Eddie suggested. I took him up on his offer, and we started sitting together at lunch. It was nice to meet his friends, a few of them members of Corroded Coffin, most of them former members of Hellfire. Eddie’s behavior at the cafeteria was very different from how he acted when we hung out outside of school. He’d provoke the jocks and, at times, pretend to be deranged just to incite a reaction from onlookers. I could tell it was all just a big game to him; he lived for these dramatics. He either didn’t realize that it would be reasonable for people who didn’t know the real Eddie Munson to consider him a freak, or he simply didn’t care.

A few weeks later, one Wednesday right after lunch, I was walking to class along a corridor when Eddie ran out of the cafeteria to catch up with me and tapped my shoulder. I turned to look at him and he held his index finger up, indicating he had something to say as soon as he could catch his breath; he was bent over and panting exhaustedly. “I… am… never… running again,” he said, drawing breath between words. “I’d tell you to take your time, but I really can’t be late to class,” I said. “Okay, hear me out sweetheart, it’s just a minute. As you may or may not know, Hellfire has been meeting secretly at Wheeler’s basement since it was banned. We’re short a player for today’s game because Sinclair has something to do with his basketball friends I think, so… what do you say, wanna join us?” he must have sensed I would refuse from the apologetic look I gave him, so he quickly added: “It’s okay if you don’t know how to play D&D, I’ll teach you the basics before we start. Please join us, do it for me?” I couldn’t resist his stupid puppy eyes and so I agreed. He jumped and waved his arms in excitement, and he had the brightest smile as he thanked me.

I rang the bell at Mike’s house and Nancy opened the door. She looked surprised to see me there. “Hi, I’m here to play D&D,” I said, a bit unsure. “Eddie invited me.” “Oh, I didn’t know you were part of the club. Come in,” she said in a confused manner and stepped out of the doorway to let me through. Eddie came out of the kitchen to greet me “Hey, I heard you arrive!” He gave me the warmest hug. “By the way, what was that about with Wheeler’s sister?” “Oh um… we’re both at the school paper, you know, The Weekly Streak. I mean, she’s an editor and I’m a photographer. It’s a bit awkward being here since she’s sort of my boss.” “You never told me you were a photographer! Of course, it makes sense, with your passion for cinematography.” I helped Eddie carry some food into the basement.

“Everyone, let’s welcome our new player,” Eddie said, making me feel embarrassed. He walked me through the basics of the game while the rest of the guys were setting everything up. “I almost forgot!” Eddie jumped from his seat and returned with a paper bag. “Open it, it’s for you,” he said, handing me the bag. Inside was a Hellfire T-shirt. He started explaining: “look, this was all very last minute and I didn’t have time to make one your size, that’s just one of my T-shirts, but it’s clean. Uh, I understand if you don’t want to wear it though.” I answered him by putting the T-shirt on over my own clothes. It was a bit big for me but it didn’t matter. It smelled of laundry detergent mixed with Eddie’s own characteristic yet indescribable scent. It drove me wild with yearning.

I tried to play as best as I could, though I didn’t understand much of the game. Eddie was dungeon master, and I often found myself staring at him, in particular at his hands and the rings on his fingers. I had never actually focused on them, but now I did, taking in every curve and fold of the skin, the shape of his fingernails, his knuckles whitening as he made fists, indicating concentration. It was a lot of fun being let into this world of fantasy, and by the end of the game I was a bit sad it was over.

We had played for quite a long time, which I hadn’t realized as it went by so fast. Eddie offered to walk me home so he could make sure I arrived safely, and even though I didn’t want to inconvenience him, he insisted. My house was just a few blocks over. We walked in silence, taking in the cold air of the night. “I had a lot of fun tonight, thanks for inviting me,” I said, as we got to my front porch. “Thanks for being there, sweetheart. Actually, I wanted to tell you that if you ever want to join Hellfire, our doors are open. You were amazing today,” “Beginner’s luck,” I said. He chuckled and said: “and, if you join, you’d have a T-shirt your size” “Oh I forgot to give you your T-shirt back, sorry” As I was about to take it off, he interrupted me. “It’s okay, keep it. Looks better on you than it does on me anyway.” We were both smiling and staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Eddie took a step forward. He was very close. His eyes wandered from my eyes to my lips, and back to my eyes. My heart was beating so fast it was about to explode and I was breathing short nervous breaths. He took my face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. I nodded. He moved his face closer to mine very slowly, and planted a soft and tender kiss on my lips. I felt warmth pass through my whole body. We looked at each other and smiled like a pair of idiots. I had never felt such bliss. This was the beginning of something new and exciting for us.

Epilogue

Two months later

So… Eddie and I are together now. It was a bit awkward at first because of how many people would stare at us at school, but now people’s attention has moved on to the next piece of gossip, we can finally be ourselves and feel comfortable when we’re together in public. I became Corroded Coffin’s official photographer, I go with them to every gig they manage to get (even a couple out of state!) and take a few photographs of the guys looking cool and playing with their characteristic explosive energy, which helps a lot with the publicity for the band. They’ve even had some discussions with a possible future manager, which Eddie is very excited about. I really think they’re gonna hit the big time. Also, I’ve joined Hellfire. I’m having a lot of fun just learning to play D&D.

Right now I’m laying in Eddie’s bed and he’s next to me playing his guitar, preparing for a gig they have tomorrow. Admiring him while he plays has become my favorite pastime. I wish this moment could last forever.

#eddie munson #stranger things #st4 #st eddie munson #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #st fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things spoilers #st4 spoilers

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aindreisblythe · 8 months

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{Aindreis Self-Para}

"My god, my god, whose performance am I watching? How many people am I? Who am I? What is this space between myself and myself?" -F. Pessoa.

For many years, ever since he'd left his very first rehab, Aindreis had felt like he'd failed. He'd failed at everything. He didn't have a degree and the idea of trying to go back to school terrifies him to this day. He wasn't able to stay sober, and he honestly didn't see a point to it. And keeping a job was impossible. When he'd gone to the very first interview at Gemini, he was hired because he was essentially a "swiss army knife" in human form. He'd done so many jobs, in so many countries, in so many cities, that the only skill he hadn't acquired was staying. Sure, he got fired a few times. Because of one mistake too many. Because he was late. Because he showed up drunk. Because he'd ended up losing it on someone. But he'd also quit his fair amount of jobs. He didn't know if it was his ADHD, mostly untreated for a number of those years, or if it was his alcoholism, or his imposter syndrome or simply that he couldn't stand being there anymore; the thing was he often quit out of nowhere. Some times, that even came with leaving the country. Running at become a past time. When he came back to North Berwick and he'd taken a job at a fast food, while working for his parents as a fisherman part time, he'd never thought this would last. It didn't. 6 months in and he'd already quit the fast food job.

But then came Gemini. They believed in him and his capacities more than any job before and for once, he loved it. He was good at this job and he had no intention of quitting. Which led to East Haven. Never would Andy have thought that any company would give him the responsibility of managing a branch, especially not overseas. Between the need to prove himself and the excitement of novelty, Aindreis took a deep dive thinking he knew how to swim. Turns out drowning happens faster than he could have imagined, and screaming to yourself to learn to swim leaves you with nothing but water in your lungs.

Drowning was indeed the best way Aindreis could've described what was happening to him. Something had been wrong for a while and he refused to see it. It all culminated to that day when he just bailed on work. Going back after that had been too difficult. He'd tried but he'd lost the shield of pretending everything was fine. Maybe stopping therapy hadn't been the best idea. Last of time he said and look where that got him. He should go back is what the psychiatrist said when he went... "Close to burning out" was the other takeaway from that appointment. Aindreis wished he could've been surprised.

So there had been a video call after that, explaining the situation Sam, the CEO of Gemini, and while doing this added an enormous amount of stress of Aindreis' already high levels, he knew this had to happen. The conclusion had been that he would have to take time off. Sam didn't let him have too much choice in the decision. He would eventually come back of course, but they'd still make some changes in the meantime so it would not happen again. Aindreis knew this probably meant hiring someone to fill-in for him that would stay on after he came back. He did try to protest but Sam ended the call by telling him he would be fired if he tried to come back earlier than recommended. Even just to check in. Message was clear.

“So, you fled?”

“That sounded judgy, Jeremy.”

“Did it feel like fleeing?”

“It was fleeing in its simplest form, don’t you think, Doc?”

Aindreis had conversations about fleeing with about every therapist he's had, even the one he never told the whole truth. In retrospect, that also had been a form of fleeing. While that specific conversation wasn't about our present situation, it came to his mind anyway. He felt like he was giving up.Ali had told him he shouldn't try to play the hero, to try to fix everything because he couldn't, but he had tried anyway. How was he supposed to tell Ali about all of this? He'd been right. Not only were the past few months not good for their relationship, but Aindreis hadn't followed Ali's advice. He'd seen that it had started to lead to coming home to an empty flat and an Ali drunkenly getting into bed late. What would Ali say now that they had the confirmation that it almost went too far?

He wanted to go home and cry. He wanted Ali to hug him so he feel the relief of not having to hold on, of pretending, pretending, pretending. He's been drowning for so long, so deeply that he felt wary of taking a breath. Was he really out? For someone who loved the water so deeply, it wasn't a habit of his to be scared of it. He'd been forcing himself to swim deeper and deeper, leaving Ali behind and now that he'd stopped swimming, he wasn't sure how to ask him for help.

So he got home after a long walk to gather his thoughts. He was going to tell him. He had to, right? Ali would be happy to have him back at home, right? Well, the issue was that when Ali got home, he'd sure been happy to see Aindreis, but he was also really excited about something at work and Andy simply didn't have the heart to cut him off with his news. He'd tell him eventually. For now, he was home and it's all that mattered.

#self para #aindreis blythe #tw: rehab #tw: alcoholism #tw: burn out #tw: mental health #tw: drowning metaphors

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reveuni · 1 year

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I turtley love you

Synopsis: After leaving her home at the family ran turtle sanctuary and moving into the city for some years for work. She gets burnt out from work, she wants to take a break and go back home. She has to travel back to the sanctuary that her parents has been owning since her birth. When she comes back to her childhood home, she also meets her childhood friend Jungwon who has started working at the santuary. Will their friendship turn to love?

Pairing: Jungwon x fem! reader

Genre: fluff,romance,slice of life,wildlife rescue au: turtle sanctuary, childhood friends to lovers

Notes: oof my first oneshot ff it’s probably very bad and boring

Wc: 1,4 k

After y/n was done with school, she moved into the city for work. The office work was so stressful, and she made high expectations on herself, so she ended up burnt out. She has decided to go on vacation and go home to her family home and recover from the stress in her life.

“Home” was actually a haven for all kinds of wild turtles. A beach house at the beach with a sapphire colored ocean and when she jumps out of the car, the smell of salt water and seaweed hits her nose, the smell makes her feel that she is finally at home.

”y/n!” a couple comes with quick steps towards her.

”Mom, dad!”

”Welcome home, our daughter.” The two parents hug her, they have missed her a lot, and they are happy that she is back in the small sea town. The city that she loved as a child, she has missed the beach and the sunset and sunrise that she could watch every day from her bedroom. She also misses all the turtles she took care of, but she has also missed Jung…

“Jungwon come here!” her mother called.

Further by the actual turtle pools where the injured turtles and those soon to be rehabilitated into the ocean live in, a boy comes towards them with a big smile. Y/n freezes on the spot.

"y/n hi it's been a long time" he waves at y/n.

It was Jungwon her neighbour and a old classmate and her crush, a childhood friend that she had missed a lot.

In the neighbourhood where she was raised, her life revolved around the sanctuary and nothing else until she meet jungwon when they were 7 years old. She was at the beach a late night, sad after a fight with her parents, waiting for a turtle to come up from the water to lay eggs and to her surprise a green turtle comes crawling up to the beach shore and starts digging in the moist sand to make a nest for her eggs. She sits there under the full moon looking intently at the turtle until someone approaches her, and she loses her focus on the reptile.

“Who are you and what are you doing out so late?” a boy asks her looking at her with his feline-like eyes in the dark.

“I ran away from home” she looks at him with surprised eyes after he came up to her.

“Why, has something happened at home?” the boy asks.

"My parents got mad at me for not doing my homework”.

"I also usually argue about homework with my parents”

The boy sits down next to y/n on the wet sand.

"My name is Jungwon let's be friends"

He held out his hand to shake hands with the girl.

The girl accepts his handshake.

"My name is y/n I would love to be your friend”. Jungwon turns his gaze towards the shore and sees the female turtle.

“Wow is that a turtle, I've never seen one!”.

“Shh don't scream, she will get scared” y/n said holding jungwon’s mouth to keep it shut.

“Sorry, have you been sitting here watching the turtle all this time? I just came out to look for a turtle, actually I have never seen one when it’s daytime”.

y/n nods.

“Why is there a box on it’s shell?” Jungwon asks, looking towards the little girl with wide eyes.

”It’s a satellite transmitter, so we can track the turtle every time it comes up to the surfaces for air, it sends signals to researchers like my parents”

”Wow, is that why you know because your parents work with turtles?”

Y/n answers with a hum.

"We have a turtle sanctuary at our house”

“huh, you have to show me one day” Jungwon says with excitement In his voice.

After that meeting each day brought new adventures with the boy, you showed him the place he wanted to see, and he was over at your place every day to look after the turtles. They went to the same school and class but later in 7th grade they changed the class and went to different classes, but at every lunchtime they meet outside at the school yard to eat a good homemade meal. Jungwon would always bring cookies for dessert for the two.

Time went by, and you were both going to graduate, and you moved from the small sea town to the big city to do a trial job at a company which later got you permanent employment. You promised jungwon that you would be back soon again in a year, but time passed, and you stay there for years, and you lose contact after a while because you got so much work to do that you never thought to answer his text back. The only thing he had left that reminds of y/n was the sanctuary and the cuddly stuffed turtle you gave him when you were both nine years old that he cherish.

But now the both were face to face with each other again. Jungwon runs up to her to give her a hug.

“It's so nice to see you again” and hugs her tighter.

“It's really been a long time Jungwon" she looks up at him.

"Y/n and Jungwon you can talk if you want until it's lunch time you probably have a lot to talk about" y/n's mom said.

The both agree and decides to walk down to the beach. They look out over the blue sparkling sea the west wind blew behind them the rhythm of the waves was music for both of them that they could listen to for hours. Y/n turns to Jungwon and takes in his features, he hasn't changed since she left except he had grown a head taller since you graduated. Before there was only a cm difference between them and Jungwon would always check each other's height back to back, so she wouldn't outgrow him.

In the middle of y/n admiring him, he interrupts.

“Have you forgotten me and lost interest in me” Jungwon looks down at the sand and starts playing around with a rock.

Neither of them could control the emotions running through their bodies as they just met with each other. They felt that they were like strangers to each other.

“I haven't forgotten you, it just happened that after all the work it was too much, and I left you on read and never answered because I completely forgot to, I’m sorry. That doesn’t mean that I completely forgot you”.

”It's okay, I was scared that you have completely forgotten me”.

After a quiet moment, y/n speak up.

“Are you still volunteering at our sanctuary?”

“Yeah, actually I work here now”.

Now he works at the sanctuary as well, so he could visit more often to check on the sea turtles he loved. Y/n smiles at the sight of Jungwon who is smiling towards her.

He walks closer, not breaking eye contact and tucks some of y/n hair behind her right ear.

”You still look so beautiful”

Y/n blushes, as he stands there smiling like an idiot, watching the sun’s ray spill over her face. His eyes dart down to her lips before skittering up. She notices his actions. She really wants to take his hands and kiss him, but she doesn’t dare to move or make any sudden movements. Jungwon then at that moment ask her if it is okay to kiss her. She only nods and reaches for him. Jungwon hands immediately grab her waist and pulls her against his body, y/n’s hands travels up to his shoulders, so she can hold on to him. They kissed in the open space under the sun, on the warm sand.

“I like you a lot y/n”.

“Jungwon” the name that comes out from her lips is soft and small with a slight temble in her voice.

“I do like you a lot too“

Jungwon hands slowly travel up to rest on her cheeks softly caressing them, he can feel how warm they are in his touch.

A loud voice could be heard up on from the house.

“Its food time!”.

With disappointment in his voice.

“We should go back to the house” he takes her hand in his, they both walk away from the shore towards the house. Maybe taking over the sanctuary wasn't such a bad idea after all when she now has Jungwon by her side.

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fandomsareforlife · 1 year

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[Begin Image ID

Yes, I am back at it again! I finally finished another fic for @badthingshappenbingo ! It’s a Ninjago fanfic, and it features Gravis with Bolobo and Shade as background characters!

This will feature underage characters doing drugs, and getting caught with them. I have not personally done drugs in my own life, so please know that this is not a completely factual account of what someone who does might go through.

Summary is below the cut.

Gravis was not a very good student. He was not even a good student. His grades were just barely above passing. It was only the fact that Gravis did not want to repeat his senior year that kept his grades above passing.

It was not always like this, but things had gotten rough in the past few years. There was not really any way that Gravis could keep his grades up for very long.

But that wouldn’t matter to Gravis for much longer. Gravis was getting something that was for sure going to help for a bit. All Gravis needed to do was get to the back lot.

Pulling his hat down over his ears, Gravis walked into the backlot of the high school. It was a decently sheltered area from the snow, but it was still freezing. That didn’t mean much to Gravis, though. He wouldn’t be able to feel it in a few minutes.

Glancing around, Gravis found who he was.

Bolobo Forst. He was a fellow senior, an avid gardener, and the school’s best drug dealer. Of course, most people had no idea about him, or Gravis for that matter. He was sitting on a pile of boxes with a book in his hand. Somehow, Bolobo still managed to be a good student completely stoned.

Bolobo looked up from his book when Gravis got close enough. “Yo, mate. What ya here for?” Bolobo slurred. His eyes were wide awake but hazy. It was obvious that Bolobo clearly was on something, most likely alcohol. Thankfully, Bolobo somehow had the ability to be clear minded enough to do some high level thinking and transactions.

“My usual,” Gravis responded. Bolobo nodded and pulled out a box.

“That would be $40, thank you very much.” Bolobo held out an unsuspecting plastic container that was filled with pot-infused sweets, Adderall, and xanax and exchanged it with the money in Gravis’s hand. Gravis stood there, waiting for Bolobo to acknowledge him again.

Bolobo looked back up at Gravis. “Wanna stay here or no?”

Gravis allowed a smile to escape his face. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I want to sit here with you?”

Bolobo chuckled. “Fair enough. I am pretty awesome, you know.”

Gravis raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Who says that?”

“All the people who come to me for their fix. You called me that a while ago actually.”

Gravis sputtered. “I-I didn’t. I’m sure most people who did were probably on something.”

Bolobo smirked. “Actually, most of them were sober. And you called me awesome when you were completely sober. It was after the time when you were forced to quit for a few weeks.”

Gravis rolled his eyes as he struggled to open the container. “That doesn’t count. I was probably desperate and wanted a fix. Anyway, I barely remember all the way back then. So that doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Bolobo questioned cheekily. “We always make fun of people for what they do when they are drunk, so why can’t I make fun of you about things you did when you were high?”

Gravis couldn’t think of a clever comeback to that.

“Fine,” Gravis scoffed. “I guess you win. Happy now?”

“Very,” assured Bolobo.

The two descended into comfortable silence. The backlot had become a safe haven to the two, and they didn’t need to have words to communicate with each other. They could just be in the same place without having any word exchanged between them. All that was exchanged was money and drugs.

Part of that could also be the fuzziness of Gravis’s head. The chemicals that were infused in the brownie made Gravis’s head fuzzy in a good way. Gravis couldn’t make himself care so much about everything. The overwhelming pressure Gravis usually faced wasn’t as relevant anymore. It was lit.

Eventually, it became dark, and the two had to part ways. Gravis had to be back before curfew. Gravis stuffed the plastic container back into his backpack. It wouldn’t do to get caught with its contents.

“See you later,” Gravis stated as he left. Bolobo just nodded with his headphones firmly on his ears.

Gravis left the backlot with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to leave the atmosphere of it, and his head wasn’t as fuzzy as he liked. The chemicals were wearing off. Gravis still had some things that could help that issue, but that was irritating.

Gravis simply hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.

—-

Gravis should have seen this coming.

His mom was home for once. While that might seem like a good thing for some people, Gravis hated it when his mom was home.

Samantha Kemp was Gravis’s mom, and she was not winning any awards for being a good mom anytime soon. She had done as well as expected, with being a drug addict and a single mom for about 6 years at this point.

But she wasn’t by any means kind or supportive of Gravis. Gravis had often gone hungry after his dad left until he learned how to cook for himself. He also had learned to tend to his injuries himself after it became clear that his mom wouldn’t take him to any medical facilities for any of them.

Gravis could understand why she hadn’t taken the best care of him. His dad had just left them when Gravis was twelve, and it basically destroyed his home life. His dad was the glue of the family. When he left, Gravis’s mom didn’t know how to connect with her son, and Gravis felt the same towards his mom.

But that all made it so when his mom was home and awake, Gravis just wanted to curl up.

“Hi, mom,” Gravis greeted. His mom was on the sofa in the living room, and she had a bottle of whiskey in her hand.

Gravis’s mom gave him a lazy smile. That was good. She was in a floaty state, so she probably wouldn’t yell too much.

“Hey, kid,” Gravis’s mom slurred. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

“Yeah.” Gravis made sure to keep his distance.

Gravis’s mom asked, “So how was your day? Was it good? Still keeping your promise?” Her words progressively became more and more slurred, and Gravis had to strain to figure out what she was asking.

Oh, the promise. The promise was to not do drugs. Gravis had been breaking the promise since he was 14.

“Yeah, it was good. And yes mom, I have been keeping my promise,” Gravis lied. His day was only good because of the drugs flowing in his system. At least he had only stuck to poisoning his brain outside of school hours.

Gravis’s mom gave Gravis a strained smile. “That’s good.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Gravis was motioned to leave. Gravis gratefully took the opportunity to do so. He did not want to stay with his mom for a moment longer.

Retreating into his room, Gravis dug into his backpack. Under his books was the plastic container with the drugs.

Popping an adderall into his mouth, Gravis decided to tackle the pile of his homework. While he technically could just not do it, it would be easier to do some of it. It probably would be helpful if he actually did some of the homework he was supposed to turn in by the end of the year if he wanted to graduate.

Gravis worked all throughout the night, and managed to finish almost half of his work.

Gravis’s mom didn’t call Gravis down for dinner at all. Gravis pretended not to care.

Gravis didn’t need his mom to care about him. He was used to this.

Gravis could bury the hurt deep down in his heart and he could learn to not care.

—--

High school wasn’t a great place for anyone, but Gravis thought he was doing a pretty good job with keeping himself happy.

Gravis made sure to take the easiest classes he could get away with. This meant that he and Bolobo only had gym together, but Gravis could see some other kids he was acquaintances with through the backlot.

Like Nightshade ‘Shade’ Darkley-Oppenheimer He was an underclassman to Gravis, but he was both surprisingly mature. He also happened to be in his math class.

Walking into the school, Gravis popped a Xanax and Adderall. He was taking a risk, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to take anything yet.

Scanning the halls, Gravis noticed Shade standing by one of the classroom doors.

“Hey,” greeted Gravis. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Shade looked up at Gravis’s voice.

“Hi,” Shade whispered. “How are you?” It was clear that something was up with him.

“Good. How are you?” Gravis responded.

Shade shrugged. “Not doing great. Head’s been fuzzy.”

A frown made its way to Gravis’s face. “Why is it fuzzy? I thought you had ways of dealing with it?” Those ways being drugs went unsaid.

Shade shook his head. “Got caught with everything by gramps.Even my blockers. You know how he is. He took all of my stash for himself and took almost all of my money. Now I have to wait to get more funds.”

Gravis couldn’t believe it. Shade was probably one of the most subtle drug user there was. He only took hormone blockers and Xanax, and he desperately needed them. Without them, he was apparently an anxious mess who could barely function.

Gravis asked softly, “Do you mind if I ask you something in private?” Shade shook his head, and Gravis walked towards a fairly abandoned hallway. It only led towards the trophy room, so no one went there.

“Can I give you some Xanax?” Gravis inquired. He didn’t really want to part with his stash, but he did not want Shade getting hurt.

Shade looked regretful when he replied, “No. I have to take drug tests everyday now, and they last for another two months. Thanks, though.”

Gravis wanted to punch Shade’s grandfather. The fact that he would take something away from Shade that helped him so much was almost deplorable.

Gravis took a deep breath. “Are you going to be okay?”

Shade mumbled, “Probably. I can survive.”

The warning bell rang, informing the two they only had 5 minutes to get to class.

“See you in math,” Shade stated.

Gravis forced the anger in him down and headed to his first period class.

Hopefully, this was not a sign of things to come.

—---------

Gravis should have really known that this lifestyle wouldn’t last forever. He should have realized that he would eventually get caught.

Apparently the goddamn varsity club or something like that wanted to use the backlot for a club meet. When they got there, they immediately noticed the smokers and drinkers. Even though Gravis and Bolobo weren’t, they also had to take a drug test.

While Gravis had taken drug tests before without getting caught, he had time to prepare for them. This one he had no time to.

The drug test came back positive.

Now Gravis was forced to sit outside the principal’s office while they tried to get in contact with his mom.

Gravis knew that his mom wasn’t going to pick up her phone. She was completely and utterly stoned by the time he left for school, and she was probably passed out by now.

But he wasn’t going to say anything. No one but Bolobo knew that Gravis’s mom had a drug addiction. At least until now.

Gravis couldn’t help but feel a very strong urge to have a Xanax or a smoke. He knew he should not want to, but he was feeling on edge. A Xanax would probably help that, but he couldn’t have one.

Thankfully, some box breathing helped a bit. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it made sure Gravis didn’t go into a panic attack.

Eventually, Gravis was called into the principal’s office. Inside the office, there was the principal and the counselor. Gravis couldn’t remember their names for the life of him.

“Sit down, Gravis,” commanded the principal. “I hope you understand why you are here.”

Taking a seat, Gravis nodded. The counselor’s face pinched up.

“If you understand why, then why don't you explain what is wrong with the situation?” challenged the counselor.

Gravis pretended to take a few moments to think on the answer, before responding, “Is it because doing drugs will damage my chances for having a good life?”

The principal shook his head. “No, I am talking about the situation with your mother. Although the fact that you did drugs illegally is also a very big issue.”

Gravis couldn’t think of a good lie. What was he supposed to say that wouldn’t raise suspicions almost immediately?

“My mom is probably at work,” Gravis lied. Although, doing drugs was almost like a job in a weird way.

“Do you know what she does that is so important that she refuses to answer her phone?” the counselor interrogated.

Gravis shrugged. “Not sure. My mom does a bunch of different jobs, and she’s really strict about not using her phone at work. Apparently, it distracts her.”

If possible, the counselor's face became more irritated. “Are you sure you have no way to contact your mother?”

“No, not that I am aware of. I have not needed to do so.” Gravis wasn’t lying when he said this. He had always managed to get away with only having help from his meager friend group and never needed to rely on his mom.

The principal sighed. “Well, until your mother can get into contact with us, we have no option but to allow you to go home. Please inform your mother that we want to have a conversation with her as soon as she is available.”

Gravis nodded slowly. “I will. Anything else?”

“No,” the counselor stated. “You may go.”

Gravis didn’t think he had ever left a room as fast as he did that moment.

This was so messed up. Gravis needed to figure out a way to make sure that he wouldn’t get in trouble.

Gravis was completely and utterly messed up.

—------------------------------

Telling his mom was the scariest thing that Gravis ever had to do. Of course, delaying it for days probably didn’t help. But Gravis was nothing if not a procrastinator.

His mom was surprisingly sober when Gravis told her what had happened. And just like he predicted, she flew into a hot rage. Gravis was just thankful that she hadn’t had any glass near her. Otherwise, he would have ended up in the hospital.

She had marched right into his school the next morning. The principal and the counselor were very irritated at the fact that Gravis had delayed telling her for so long, but they had gotten right down to business.

Gravis was officially suspended for one week, and he would be forced to go into therapy. The school would have to conduct a home investigation about Gravis’s home life.

It was going to suck royally. Gravis didn’t want anything to change. He liked his life and changing it would suck.

But there was a small part of him that wanted to change his life. He didn’t want to just live his life with his head fuzzy and his body sluggish. Gravis wanted to see how the other side lived. He wanted to see if getting clean would make him feel the same as he did when he was a kid.

Gravis didn’t want to quit, but he had to at least try. If he didn’t, he had a sinking feeling he would regret not doing so for a long time.

—-

Gravis hated recovery. He hated it.

He always felt an itch inside of him, searching for something. His mind was still fuzzy, but it wasn’t a good kind of fuzzy. This fuzzy made him want to curl up in bed, and it made him want to not do anything at all for days on end.

Gravis also actually had to try at his classwork, for he didn’t have anything that would help him speed up the process. He went from just doing almost 3 weeks of assignments in one night to only doing 2 or 3 days. Still more than some people, but it was so slow for Gravis.

The therapist that was supposed to help Gravis also was not the kind of person he would willing seek out himself. The therapist, Rachel, was way too peppy for Gravis’s taste, and she always tried to rationalize his feelings. She also tried to get Gravis to open up about his dad, but Gravis wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

Gravis’s dad had been gone from his son’s life for a long time. Gravis had come to terms with that fact for a long time by then.

But Rachel still wouldn’t believe Gravis when he told her that he was not torn up on his dad anymore. She kept insisting that his dad leaving led Gravis to doing drugs.

Gravis’s mom also was still as unbearable as ever. She kept drinking and smoking everywhere in the house, but she was also a huge hypocrite as well. She kept digging through Gravis’s backpack as soon as he came home, and she kept yelling at him about lying to her. Gravis’s mom also made it a point to keep tabs on Gravis at all times, and she pretended that she was worried for Gravis’s safety. But they both knew it was to make sure Gravis didn’t lie to her again.

Gravis had to endure her for an hour three times a week.

But the worst part was that Gravis was prohibited from talking to Bolobo anymore. While they rarely saw each other outside of the backlot, they were pretty good friends. But now they were forced to not contact the other for anything. Something about ‘being bad influences on each other’ and ‘enabling the other’ and ‘codependency.’

So not only did Gravis need to go cold turkey, and he had to talk to the worst therapist ever, but he couldn’t even talk to his best friend.

Gravis knew that once he turned eighteen, he would be allowed to change this, but that was almost 6 months away.

So Gravis had to endure this. He could do that.

—---

Eventually, life became a bit easier. It took over 4 months, but it became easier.

Gravis finally wasn’t feeling so fuzzy and sluggish all the time. Now, he could at least find the strength to get out of bed most days. Even if he could barely stay standing after that.

His therapist appointments have been reduced to only one time a week, although they were still an hour each. They had gotten a bit better, since Rachel decided to stop going on and on about Gravis’s dad. Now, the two usually talked about what was going on in Gravis’s life.

Gravis also had finally gotten back into the habit of actually doing his school work again. It wasn’t a big deal really, but at the very least Gravis didn’t have to keep scrambling to keep up.

However, there were still some things that were still not the best.

Gravis’s mom was still drinking and smoking. While she could pretend all she wanted, she still was not doing anything to help herself.

Gravis wanted to scream at her. She was a hypocrite, and Gravis hated how much power she had over him.

It was even made worse by the fact that Bolobo and Gravis couldn’t see each other anymore. Gravis was under such strict restrictions as to who he was allowed to interact with by his mom, so he just straight up never talked to anyone.

Of course, Gravis should be okay with this. After all, he was doing better. He was not in danger of dying.

So why did he still feel so hollow? There was no one in the world who could answer that question for Gravis.

Gravis just had to survive.

He could become happier with his life.

He knew that he was just lying to himself.

He would be able to pass his classes.

If one ignored the fact that his grades were all Cs.

Eventually, he would be able to leave his mom’s grasp.

That was if there was a way for him to get out.

Gravis would have to just hold onto his hope.

Even though that seemed like it was a daunting task.

Everything was not going to be alright. There was many no reasons to worry.

#bad things happen bingo #ninjago #ninjago shade #Ninjago Gravis #ninjago bolobo #I accidentally posted this #so I will edit it later #tw drugs

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natashaashleymarvelromanoff · 2 years

Text

The Freak and his Princess

Eddie Munson x Reader

summary | you and Eddie have been best friends since freshman year, then one night at your place things change, changing your relationship forever.

word count | 5.8k

Warnings | Smut (18+ only) NSFW. minors DNI. penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex. praise kink. pet names. slight choking. riding. missionary. creampie.

You and Eddie have been best friends since freshman year, it was your first day at Hawkins high after moving in the summer. You were so nervous, especially as the new kid no one knew but you were a regular kid, you figured eventually you'd find some friends but it was still as nerve-wracking as ever.

You walked in trying to be as confident as you could and within 10 seconds you crashed into someone, your bag fell off your shoulder and their books fell on the floor. You scrambled to help, already embarrassed before you noticed it was a book about D+D. He introduced himself as Eddie, and it wasn't long before you started to talk about how you both loved dungeons and dragons. Turns out he was in the same homeroom and a few of your classes.

He seemed just as excited to talk to you as you did about finally gaining a friend. And over the years you learned why. Whilst you were still into some of the same things as other kids, dressing in pinks, dresses and skirts and your cheer uniform, Eddie was his own person, a standout, what others deemed to be an outcast. He liked metal music, got his first tattoo at 15, dressed in black, had his ripped jeans and grew his hair out like the rockstars he listened to. This was Indiana in the 80s, people didn't exactly see him as normal and labelled him Eddie ‘The freak’ Munson.

You were one of the only ‘normal’ people who treated him like a person. Sure over the years you both made other friends and had clubs and extracurricular activities but it never stopped you from hanging out or going to play D+D with the Hellfire club. People judged but you never cared too much, you were still one of Hawkins's cheerleaders, a straight-A student and so nice to everyone that people kinda let it slide, but it still never stopped them from calling Eddie.

You always defended him whenever you could, even when Eddie would insist you didn't need to. He could take it, it rarely ever phased him and you always admired that about him. He’d insist he didn't want everyone to hate you just because of him but he was your friend, practically your best friend. No, he was your best friend. And if he wouldn't take shit from anyone then you could too. Although that didn't stop Jason fucking carver and his basketball idiots.

Thankfully your parents didn't buy into the rumours or town gossip about him, they had known him since you first became friends and knew he was a decent boy. Hell, your dad liked him even more since he liked the same kind of music, that was probably why you both got along so well. Your parents were definitely more chill than others and let you pursue whatever interests came up without judging you, they just wanted you to be yourself.

That's why your home became a kind of safe haven for Eddie, he lived with his uncle at the trailer park after his parents had died a few years ago. Your mom would always insist that Eddie came for dinner or your dad would invite him to come back to talk about music and bands. They just wanted to make sure he felt comfortable around them like he had somewhere to go. It could be easy for a kid like Eddie to fall onto the wrong tracks but you were always there to make sure he didn't.

This weekend your parents were going out of town for some convention for your mom's work, they always went together and turned it into a little getaway for themselves. Even though they liked Eddie and let him stay over when you were both a bit younger, since you got older it happened less and less. But what they don't know won't hurt them right?

You invited Eddie to come round so you could watch a movie so that Friday after school you both headed to his van, headed to Family Video and intensely debated over which movie to pick, your choice of ‘Star Wars Empire Strikes Back or Eddie's choice, Poltergiest, obviously, he loves good horror.

You ended up getting both.

You stopped at a gas station for snacks before getting back to your house. On the drive home, Eddie was trying to convince you to screw studying all together nonstop, but you of course insisted. Eddie was always a bit of a pushover when it came to you.

“Pleeeeeaaaaaassseeeeee y/n?? It's one night! Your GPA will hardly hurt.”

“No, but yours will! Eddie, I get if you don't want to go to college but I want you to at least pass senior year, who else am I going to go to prom with?”

Your comment about prom made Eddie catch a breath in his throat. He didn't even think about prom, he didn't realise you would have wanted to go with him. His eyes widened ever so slightly at the realisation in the car.

“You okay?” You asked, this was probably the longest he had been quiet since you finished school.

“Oh absolutely grand, princess.” he snapped back to reality, turning to show off his big grin, You smiled at him playfully.

“Fine, we can study buuuuuuuut, I want the tv on in the back.” Rolling your eyes you agreed, at least that's one way to get him to study for finals.

Pulling up to your drive, you both jump out heading inside. You ran upstairs to grab your notes whilst Eddie set up the living room, quickly pouring the bag of snacks onto the table and even quicker to turn on the tv and change the channel to something with cartoons.

You probably manage about an hour of studying, and Eddie manages to pay attention a total of 3 minutes before you hear his extremely over-exaggerated sigh of boredom. Looking up at him from your notes you see him barely entranced in the tv, stuffing handfuls of chips into his mouth. It almost physically hurts you to see him this bored, his constant spark of ADHD subdued by homework.

Taking pity on him you sigh and put your notes down.

“Okay i'm practically done, you wa nna put a film on now?”

God, you love seeing that giant toothy smile of his.

He jumps up excitedly, hopping over the coffee table and making you laugh. You toss your notes on the table before falling down on the couch.

Once eddies finished putting the video in the VCR he runs over giddy to you, dropping next to you on the couch so that your bodies are pressed up against each other, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, a habit that became so natural to the both of you.

“What?! Hey, you put poltergeist on? That's not fair this is my place Eddie.”

His mouth opens almost offended. “You’re the one who decided to torture me with homework on a Friday night princess!” you huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes before digging your arm into him, making him feign injury and pretending to choke to death.

It wasn't the most unusual thing for you and Eddie to snuggle into each other, you’d been doing it for years, but over the last few months, things had changed, with you at least.

You found yourself looking a little too long at him. Noticed how his hair got longer and curlier, and god they were soft. You forced him to buy some better conditioner that just made his hair look and smell amazing. And his hands… God his hands. They were so much bigger than yours, adorned with his giant rings. In fact, you got him one of them once, it was years ago but felt like yesterday you only saw that he placed it on his left ring finger.

You shook your head of your thoughts. It was stupid to read too much into that one, if only Eddie could hear you, he'd probably laugh. He was your best friend and yet you were sitting here listing off the things that you found attractive about him. He didn't think of you in that way, you were just his friend that happened to be a girl, who had similar interests. You knew eddies type, and it was certainly not you.

You were all girly, prim and pink, the girls Eddie liked, or his celebrity crushes were punk and fierce and not afraid to express themselves. Not that you didn't, you liked the way you were but you knew it wasn't eddies type.

You liked him. Maybe you even loved him, were In love with him. It's all just so confusing, but all you know is that you wanted him… bad.

But you could never tell him, you were afraid it would ruin your friendship. And that was the most important thing. You never wanted to lose Eddie, and if hiding this secret would protect that, then so be it.

As the movie goes on, you start feeling nervous, his closeness and even his usual scent of weed and that fucking conditioner were getting to you. Not to mention the fact he put fucking poltergeist on. You didn't mind horror films honestly but it wasn't your first pick since they made you a little jumpy.

And Eddie always noticed. He huffed a little laugh, glancing down at you before pulling you in a bit closer. He thought it was adorable. But when he glanced down, he could tell there was something off, you weren't looking at the tv but down into nothing, lost in your mind. There's something bothering you.

“What’s wrong princess?”

You snap back to reality. His voice coaxing you out.

“Nothin, nothings wrong. Just.. the film got to me a little.”

Frowning, he lifts his other hand, bringing it to your chin, he pulls gently, making you turn to look at him. You're still laying against him and this new position makes you seem even closer to him. You glance at his lips, gulping. How have you never noticed how big and plump they were?

“Princess talk to me. I know you and I can tell something on your mind.”

That fucking nickname, you used to think of it as innocent, him joking at you for being friends with everyone, because everyone liked you. But now when it comes from him, it's all you ever wanna hear him call you. You want to be his princess and his princess only.

“Eddie it's nothing, im fine.”

“Well, I don't believe you.”

“I don't need you to believe me eds.” you snapped at him, looking back at the tv and in an instant, you feel guilty.

He pulls his head back slightly, his brows furrowing together. This frustrates him, he's not used to you talking to him like this. He reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. His face looked stern and confused now.

“y/n, what's going on? You never keep anything from me, whats happened, are you okay? Is this about that dick Jason again?” you sigh shaking your head.

“No it's not about Jason, no more than his usual douchebag shenanigans.”

“Then what? Is it me? Have I done something wrong?”

His voice quietened down, You whip your head around, he almost looked like a kicked puppy the way his big brown eyes were concerned about you, his voice sounds sad and hurts like he genuinely thinks he could have done something wrong.

“What? no Eddie no you haven't done anything wrong. The opposite really.”

“Then talk to me princess, tell me what's troubling that beautiful mind of yours and ill make it go away.” He's stroking your cheekbone now. Back and forth, caressing it, sending shivers down your spine with every movement.

“I can't.” you whisper.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I cant.”

He gets up disrupting your sitting, the space beside you now cold and empty. You miss his presence instantly.

“Goddammit y/n why can't you just tell me, do you have any idea what's going through my messed up brain right now?”

You go to speak but he starts to ramble, trailing off when his brain is working too fast for his mouth to catch up.

“Is it school? Your friends? Did someone pick on you, or worse did someone hurt you? My mind won't stop princess, all these thoughts going through my head, and the worst part is you can't tell me?”

He's pacing back and forth in front of you, your eyes are building with tears, this wasn't how you thought tonight would go. You can feel all the tension building up, you can feel yourself itching to confess just to get him to stop.

When he catches a glance at you, he stops on the carpet, and walks over, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands slide up your arms, gently rubbing the exposed skin. Even when he's annoyed and angry he still cares for you and can't stand to see you upset.

“Princess please don't cry. Just tell me what's wrong and I’ll fix it.”

You take a breath, looking into his big chocolate eyes that are just aching with worry,

“You can't fix it Eddie”

“Maybe I can if you tell me what it is.”

You breathe out defeated, you can't take it any longer, the way he looks at you makes you melt, and the fact you can see him hurting from this makes your chest heavy.

“It's you Eddie.”

He's visibly taken aback. Mouth dropping open. His grip falters slightly at your confession.

“But you said… “

“I know what I said. Eddie, you didn't do anything wrong, if anything it's me.”

Now he's confused, you wiggle out of his grip to stand up, you face him and he also stands, you're a few feet apart, he stands there waiting and watching you. Waiting for you to explain what the hell you mean.

“I don't want you to hate me.”

“Why would I ever hate you y/n?”

Here goes nothing. You think to yourself. And at this moment you knew. It was never just a maybe. It never had been.

“Because im in love with you.”

“I have been for.. God I don't even know. I only realised a few weeks ago but it goes so much deeper than that. You're my best friend Eddie, you always have been and I don't want to ruin that between us, because if I lose you then I lose everything. I don't want you out of my life and I know that's selfish but i–”

You’re cut off by Eddie, when you were rambling he made his way over to you, hands reaching out to cup your face, his lips silencing yours with a kiss. You melt into it instantly. Kissing back with just as much passion as you received it. And Jesus Christ it felt as good as you thought it would be.

A few seconds felt like eternity before you both pull away breathless. You look up at him dumbfounded and speechless.

“Princess, I've been in love with you since freshman year.”

What? Did you hear that right? Your eyes widened, his large hands sliding down to your jaw onto your neck. The cool surface of his rings gives you goosebumps.

“What?” is all you squeaked out

“That day you knocked into me, your first day, you apologised for walking into me and smiled, god it was like id never known what a smile was before that day. You had pathetic 14-year-old me whipped the second he lay eyes on you. I just… you were the only person who got me, talked to me with no judgement. How could I not fall for you?

You said you didn't wanna ruin this, us, I didn't want to ruin it either, I didn't want to risk the chance of losing you because i fucked this all up. And then you’d truly think I was the freak everyone says I am.”

“I would never think that.” your hand goes up to his shoulder, holding onto him, his hand now having made their way down from your neck to your waist. Holding and gripping you close to him.

“But I didn't know that. I ran through every single scenario like I would a game of d+d, the anxiety just took over and I always pictured the worst.”

“So did i.” huffing out a laugh, you finally let a tear fall, he moves in quick to kiss the tear away. His lips feather-light. As you rest in his arms as he hugs you,

You had never felt safer, more loved and happier than you did right now.

Shifting your head up to look at him, you reached behind his neck and pull him down to kiss you. He's a bit surprised at your eagerness but happily returns the kiss. But neither of you can seem to pull away. Eddie has been dreaming of this since freshman year.

Things get a little heated fast, both of you lost in this new feeling, Eddie pulls at your waist, his hands slipping down your thighs to feel the skin there before moving to the back of your legs to cup the crease between your ass and thigh. You let out a gasp at the touches you’d only ever dreamed about.

He reluctantly let go of your lips, resting his head against yours.

“I can stop, we can stop”

“No”

You pull him down once again, attacking his lips to engage in battle with yours. Just as if you’d rolled a 20 on the d+d dice.

As you keep on making out, Eddie pulls you with him towards the couch, before falling on it to sit down now he's sat and you're still standing. He looks you up and down, biting his lip.

“I cannot get enough of you.” he confesses, his teeth releasing his lip before smiling and grabbing your hip, pulling you to make you sit on his lap facing him, your legs widening to straddle him.

He throws his head forward, capturing your lips again, you start to move almost out of natural instinct in his lap, grinding yourself down onto him, you could feel the ache and heartbeat in your pussy. But he pulls away annoyingly too soon.

“y/n, tell me to stop. An- and ill go home, I can take you on a proper date, something disgusting normal and cheesy, ill pick you up. Go for dinner and a movie, drop you off before curfew so your dad doesn't hate me. Hell ill even bring you a bouquet of flowers, ill get you 5 or however many you want.”

You sit in his lap listening, in awe at his attempt at a normal date, describing the perfect cheesy first date that any girl would dream about. But you don't need that, you never did. Because you've had 4 years' worth of him, you've had movie nights, dinners, and even the odd flower he's picked up from someone's garden because it reminded him of you.

All you need is him. Right now. You've both waited long enough for this.

“Eddie, don't stop, I never want you to stop.”

you breathe out in a whisper so close to his ear that it makes him shiver all the way down his spine.

In an instant, he reaches for your lower back, pulling you even closer to him, chest to chest. you're wearing your favourite skirt with only panties underneath, you can feel everything underneath you, you can feel the hardness in his jeans. You could have been nice but now isn't the time.

You press down harder with the help of his grip and moan, he captures your lips again, his hands now moving to your hips before one traces down your leg, slipping under your skirt to feel the bare skin underneath. Your hands make their way to eddies shoulders and hair, pulling on it as you feel his big soft hands make their way up further and further until you feel his thumb graze against your panties, and when he does he pulls away moaning.

“Really princess? Only panties? What are you doing to me?”

You giggle and kiss him again, his lips an intoxicating taste.

“I love it when you call me that.” you confess shyly. But he just flashes you a cheeky smirk.

“Princess?” he almost sounds like he's teasing you.

You kiss him, you can feel his smile against your mouth

“Princess.”

Definitely teasing you. Goddammit.

You kiss again.

“My princess”

Another one

“Only mine”

“Only yours.”

With his other hand, he places it at your back urging you to fall forwards against him so all of your weight is laid against him, he wants you as close as possible, to feel all of you against him.

Your makeout session gets hotter and heavier as you start to roll your hips, his hard cock under his thick jeans hitting your clit in just the right spot as you grind against him. You moan into his mouth, the combination of your clit rocking against him, his hand grazing your panties and his kisses completely absorbing you.

Suddenly the room is feeling too hot and you need some kind of release. You take your hands back and reach down for your top, pulling it up over your head, the kiss being cut off as you feel the chill of the room hit your back, goosebumps showing up all over your body. Eddie can only look on in amazement, you're topless except for your bra, sat in his lap with only your skirt and panties.

He instantly goes for your neck, kissing up from your collarbones to your jaw, quickly pecking you under your ear.

“You are the most amazing and beautiful being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my unworthy eyes on.”

He never fails to make you giggle. He sits up slightly, holding onto you so you don't fall backwards. And starts to pull at his own top, his favourite and your favourite, the hellfire club t-shirt. After pulling it over his head he throws it somewhere across the room, your bare skin pressed up against his.

Your hands drift down, feeling along his chest and stomach, taking in the feeling of it.

You glance up to see Eddie staring at you, you can feel his hand still under your skirt, slowly caressing the small space between panties and skin.

“I love you.” He breathes out desperately.

Your hands cup his face, stroking his cheek.

“I love you.” You lean forward to kiss him.

“Now take me upstairs and make me yours.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, he lurches forward, his hands moving to grab you at your ass, holding you in his arms against him as he stands, walking towards the stairs to carry you up, never breaking eye contact until he reaches your room.

He sets you down on your carpet, his hands snaking around your waist, not letting you go too far without him, your hands are around his neck again, he's going in for a kiss immediately, walking you backwards toward your girly pink bed, covered in pillows and your favourite stuffed animals. Your legs hit the edge of your bed causing you to fall back, Eddie doesn't waste a second before crawling on top of you as you scoot up farther, he grabs at your legs, pushing them apart to allow him room to lay between them, it makes you shudder when you feel his hands push them farther apart. Not to mention the way his hips slot against yours perfectly, allowing you to feel the hardness in his jeans against your soaking clothed pussy.

His lips land on yours again before pulling away to kiss down your neck and your chest going over your bra and then stomach until finally, he reaches your skirt, He stops, glancing up at you slightly with a smirk on his face, Before running his hands up your thighs until he reaches your panties once again, his thumbs hooking underneath the sides pulling at them slightly until they give way and he pulls them down your thighs.

Your head falls back as you moan at the sensation knowing that in no little time at all Eddie would be down there doing god knows what to you.

To your surprise when you look back down at him he's still looking at you, His eyes never leaving you once even as he's pulling your panties down your legs, It's your reaction he wants to see, he wants to see you squirm and moan at what he's doing to you. To know that he's the one making you react like this and that he's the only one that gets to do this to you.

You can feel your panties getting further down your legs until they eventually reach your ankles knowing that the inevitable is not far off, He hasn't glanced down once, Waiting until you're bare before him, Your skirt is the only thing left between him and your pussy. You can feel your wetness already starting to drip down into the crease of your cheeks, You can only imagine the site Eddie will see when he eventually lifts back your skirt.

But before he does he pulls back, Climbing over you to Tower over you once more his lips capturing your own in a sweet kiss.

“Is this what you want? Tell me, princess? If you want me to stop I will. But I need you to tell me now, not in 30 seconds or 5 minutes, it needs to be now. I want you to be sure.”

“Eddie I told you. I never want you to stop.”

He shuffles back down between your legs, His hands gathering the material of your skirt, pulling it up to your legs until it's resting on your stomach, Your legs spread wide to accommodate him as he rests between them, finally looking at your bare pussy, Glistening for him.

He's breathtaken at the site, Knowing this is all for Him.

His hands graze up your thighs once again pushing them even further apart if that was possible, You can feel his breath getting hotter as he moves closer, He places gentle kisses on your thighs, Leading up towards your dripping pussy. Before you know it you feel eddies Lips instantly devouring your pussy, No more teasing he goes straight in for it. If you had the capacity to feel embarrassed right now, the moan you let out would have made you die of embarrassment. But all you can feel is the pure pleasure of eddies tongue lapping up at your juices and arousal.

Eddie feels like he's in heaven, In his entire life he's never tasted something so Perfect, So good and sweet that he doesn't think he could live his life without ever tasting this again.

He doesn't hold back as he continuously laps and kisses and licks at your pussy, Pulling out all the moans and whimpers from you, He swears he's never heard a more beautiful sound.

As if egging you on he stops for a second. Kissing the space between your pussy and thighs.

“God woman, all those pretty sounds just for me?”

“Just for you” you're a mess, you can hardly speak without having to think of every word, without sounding like you're about to fall apart.

“That's my good girl.”

He dives back in, not even starting slow, he goes all in like it's the air he breathes.

His hands tighten around your thighs, even he can't get enough that he's literally gripping into you, no doubt leaving future bruises in the shape of his hands behind.

His tongue is licking up stripes, circling your clit, teasing it within an inch of its life. This tiny bundle of nerves he's playing with breaks you into this moaning mess and you build further and further up to your climax. You try to squeeze your thighs together but he doesn't let you, his hands pushing them down to make sure you're spread for him so he can take as much as he can.

In a rush of a few seconds, your vision blurs and the most beautiful sound falls from your lips, screaming out from Your orgasm as it ripples through you, your whole body shaking, You arch your back as you moan out loud, His tongue not letting up until he's satisfied.

As you come down from your high all sweaty and breathless, your vision starts to come back and you look down to see his head peak up, His beautiful smile beaming up at you and his chin glistening with your juices, evidence of your orgasm covering his face.

You reach your hand down to caress his jaw your thumb running over his bottom lip feeling the slickness. Pushing up from the bed you lean forward and Eddie lifts himself up at the same time, You capture his lips in a kiss tasting your own juices on his mouth.

After a few moments of making out, you reach down for eddies belt, unbuckling it, before undoing his zipper. All you can hear is the jangle of loose change and his belt as you push his jeans down, including his boxers until his legs are bare, at the same time his hands are feeling up your back before reaching your bra to undo the clasps, when he does your bra falls down your arms, revealing your tits to him, he pulls back from the kiss to look down at them before smiling and licking his lips and then diving down to capture one of your nipples between his lips, even now they're overly sensitive, but he somehow manages to make anything he does feel good.

Leaning over you again, he wraps his arms around you before flipping you over until your sat on top of him once more. He's sat against the headboard of your bed, Your legs on either side of his. There's nothing between you anymore. You're both breathing heavily, knowing what comes next.

He reaches down and grabs his dick, lining himself up with your pussy. You can feel the tip gently stretching you open at your entrance.

He stops briefly and reminds you about a condom, but neither of you have one, you shake your head.

“I don't care. I need you Eddie.”

You lower yourself down, taking him inch by inch. His hands are holding you at your hips, giving you some leverage to help you as you lower down. His eyes are looking down between your legs, watching as he disappears deeper and deeper inside of your pussy.

“Are you okay?”

You nod silently, kissing his lips.

“Take what you need princess, You're doing so well baby”

You whimper at his praise easing further down until you reach the hilt. your pelvises skin to skin. He was bigger than you expected, slowly stretching you open to accommodate him, you can practically feel him in your stomach, it makes you ache and moan.

you hear his little whimpers and moans at your tightness, he can't believe how unbelievably tight you are. When your settled, he reaches for your face, pulling you in for a kiss.

“Whenever your ready princess.” he whispers into your ear.

You start to move, your hips rolling back and forth, your clit bumping against Eddie as you rock. You let out sweet little moans every time you rub against him.

It gets faster and a little rougher, he grabs onto your neck, his rings cool against the skin of your neck, he can practically feel your racing pulse beneath his fingers as his hold tightens squeezing slightly as you both thrust and rock.

As both of you breathe helplessly, your strength lessens, Eddie can feel you slowing so picks up the slack to thrust up underneath you. Bringing you closer and closer to release. With his added effort it doesn't take much longer for you to finally reach climax.

You wrap your arms around eddies head, pulling him into your chest, he looks up at you in awe, breathing in each other. His legs go off your hip to reach down between you, he's so close but he won't cum until you do. His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing and pressing small circles into it, you yell out at the sensation, your climax coming fast until you finally scream out, your release taking over you as your pussy clenches down on eddies dick.

Eddie is moaning into your chest, feeling your walls tighten around him as he cums deep inside of you. The sound he makes is feral.

You can feel the heat inside you as you both come down, it was risky but you needed to feel him inside of you. You stay sat in his lap for a while, both of you just soaking in what happened. Your arms are wrapped around him, holding on tightly, after a few moments he pulls you off and down to his side, finally slipping out of you, you both lay side by side, his cum leaking out of you and onto your pristine pink bed sheets, evidence of his claim on you.

You're both exhausted and sleepy, cumming together had taken it out of the both of you.

you look up at him, gazing lazily at him, smiling, your hand going to stroke his chin back and forth as he looks back at you, not once breaking eye contact. He's completely enveloped in you. Like your the only person in the world.

“You did so good princess, such a good girl.” He leans in to steal a quick kiss, a cheeky smile adorning his lips.

You bite your lip as you smile up at him, his praise going straight to your head. You could get used to this.

“I love you Eddie”

“I love you too princess. But you know what I love more?”

You furrow ur eyebrows smiling. What?

“The fact your parents aren't home for another 3 days, snd there's nothing else for us to do until then.”

You smile and wack him on the chest. He grabs at your sides moving up to tickle you. Gasping out a quick laugh you grab his hands to get him to stop, he gives in and just wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest so your head is laid on him, You both settle eventually, sleepy pillow talk getting quieter and mumbly and sleep finally takes you both.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fluff #slight dom eddie munson #friends to lovers #best friends #eddie munson x reader insert #reader #female!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine

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sarahpetersonruiz · 1 year

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BIRTH NAME : Sarah Sofía Ruíz

ALIAS / NICKNAME : S, Sunshine (by Andrew), Dream Girl (by Gale)

AGE : 36

DATE OF BIRTH : 25th October 1986

PLACE OF BIRTH : East Haven, VT

HOMETOWN : East Haven, VT

TIME IN EAST HAVEN : 36 years. Born and raised, baby.

RESIDENCE : Sutherland Park

Bio TW : alcohol, drug addiction, death, violence

EDUCATION : BA (Hons) in American Literature & Creative Writing

OCCUPATION : Manager at Book Haven

GENDER : Female

PRONOUNS : She/Her

SEXUALITY : Bisexual

FACECLAIM : Aubrey Plaza

HAIR COLOR : Brunette

EYE COLOR : Brown

HEIGHT : 5'5

LANGUAGES : English, Spanish, ASL, Latin, Ancient Greek

TATTOOS : A quote from her favourite poet, Dorothy Parker, inside her wrist - “To hell, my love, with you”

PIERCINGS : Ears

POSITIVE TRAITS : Intelligent, fiercely loyal, honest

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Reclusive, intimidating, sarcastic

PHOBIAS : Water, public speaking

FEARS : Losing her siblings, dying alone, losing Gale and Klaus

HOBBIES : Reading, writing poetry, drinking, listening to music

HABITS : Drumming her fingers, smoking, rolling her eyes

FATHER : Mateo Ruiz

MOTHER : Lucía Lopez

SIBLINGS : Three sisters

PARTNERS : Gale Peterson

EXES: Andrew Jackson Gale Peterson (period of five years)

CHILDREN : Klaus Peterson (adopted)

PETS : None

BIOGRAPHY

Early Life

When Sarah was a child, her teachers used to call her Matilda. She wasn’t magical, and she didn’t have a principal who would throw her around by her pigtails, but she had a love for education that even the adults thought was peculiar. At the age of six, she was received an autism diagnosis, which seemed to make sense to everyone but Sarah. Some teachers spoke to her like she was hard of hearing, when she understood things probably better than they did. Eventually, Sarah tried her best to mask her autism by copying the social cues of her younger sister and her peers, blending in as much as she possibly could. Finding this exhausting, Sarah often sat at the side with a book in her hand, creating a new world for herself where she could just be her.

Her home life could, at times, be compared to Matilda’s. Her father left when Sarah was four. Like most things, she remembered it vividly, because he had taken her to the park and hesitated to make conversation over a melting ice cream cone. It was the first time they had properly spent time together - she just didn’t realise it would be the last. Sarah’s mother, Lucía, didn’t deal with it well. She drank, cried, and drank some more. The drink eventually turned to other narcotics, and then eventually a cocktail of Class A drugs. At first, Sarah tried to help her, but she knew when she wasn’t wanted. Instead, she just fell back into the books. At least the words would never leave her.

Sarah’s mom eventually got over her father the way most women do - by getting under another man. And another. And another. It was like a revolving door of men with loose ties, reddening cheeks and tousled hair leaving their small apartment. Occasionally, Sarah would end up eating breakfast with one, staring blankly at them across a plate of eggs.

It wasn’t a complete loss, however. Sarah eventually gained three siblings. Penelope was first - who she shared a father with. Dana and Marnie came after, during her mom's rambunctious periods which resulted in them having different fathers, but it didn’t matter to her. Sarah was fiercely protective over her siblings, and she felt it was her duty to protect them from harm.

Teenage Years

It was strange how someone could go from being a Matilda in elementary school to being “uncooperative and unkind” in high school, according to her teachers. Her English teacher, however, was fascinated with how Sarah had a striking ability to remember and recall all different types of information, prompting her school to believe she had an eidetic memory. Doing some research, she learned that this was rare, and would probably require a home visit, so she covered this up as well as she could, too - dumbing herself down to a 'normal' level and becoming even quieter in school. As Sarah got older, she became more and more disillusioned with the world of East Haven. It didn’t help that Sarah was known as a freak in school due to her intelligence and shy nature. Kids would pick on her, often tripping her up in the corridor or stealing her books and ripping pages out, knowing that she wouldn't respond. Her younger and fiercer sister Penelope would often deal with the bullies for her. She didn’t let it bother her - she just went back to her fantasies about finally getting out of East Haven and leaving the shit-for-brains in high school. However, she did have some friends. Daisy Levitt was her best friend, to be exact, despite the fact that they came from different worlds. Daisy was beautiful, popular and kind. People loved her, and Sarah always wondered why she had chosen to be her friend. Of course, they were similar in more unfortunate ways than Sarah had ever considered, but they didn't know about this until later in their friendship. She opened up to her, and was surprised with how Daisy never seemed to think she was weird for being different.

Sarah had another best friend - if he could be called that. Andrew Jackson. It was like a sad teen movie from the early-2000s. Sarah was head over heels from the moment she laid eyes on him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who didn’t pick on her. Maybe it was because he smiled at her in the hallway when everyone else looked through her. Whatever the reason, she struck up some sort of alliance with him, although she wanted so much more. Eventually, the two began what she thought was a relationship, and he became her first everything. He dominated all of her thoughts, and she couldn’t wait for the day that he told his friends and they could finally be open about their relationship. Only, of course, that day never came. Instead, Andrew unceremoniously broke up with her on a random Thursday and he never looked at her in the hallways again. It was Sarah's first, but unfortunately not the last, experience of heartbreak.

College Days

Sarah had been accepted at a variety of colleges which included Brown and NYU. She had been anxiously debating which to go with, when she got the news - her mom was pregnant again. Her second-eldest sister, Nel, was only fifteen, and Dana was only ten. She wasn't going to leave her to raise a baby alone as she knew her mom would be incapable. Instead of fulfilling her wishes of moving to a different state and finally becoming the person she knew she was supposed to become, Sarah stayed in East Haven and went to the Heywood University so she could help her family. She was used to making sacrifices for her family, and she would continue to do so for as long as they needed her, including Penelope's accident.

Gale Peterson

Sarah eventually got a job in Book Haven, which turned out to be like her second home. She loved being surrounded by the things she loved the most, even if she had to tear herself away from the literature to serve customers. Every day was monotonously the same, until a young deaf boy got lost in the store. Sarah, being fluent in ASL, was able to help him find his father. They got to talking, and soon Sarah found out his name was Gale, and they exchanged numbers. After date one, Sarah knew she was in love. The two became inseparable after that, and Sarah soon moved in with Gale and Klaus and they became their own version of a family. Five years later, and Sarah truly believed that she had found her happily ever after. That was, until, Gale was attacked on duty and he almost lost his life. After that, he was never the same. He became more aggressive, and they started fighting more than they ever had. Eventually, Gale could see that they weren't happy anymore and he broke up with Sarah. She went from having her perfect family to having something broken. Just like before.

Present Day

Sarah never ended up leaving East Haven, but that ended up becoming a blessing rather than a curse. She rekindled with Gale after he took some time to figure out what he needed, and the two quickly got engaged. She became Klaus's legal mother through adoption, and they are on their way to becoming a truly happy family. She has hopes of returning to college to complete a Masters in Greek Classics and extend their family. Sarah constantly has a voice in the back of her head telling her that it is too good to be true, and she is waiting for something to come along and ruin her dreams, just like it always does. Until that moment, she's just going to enjoy it.

One day at a time.

TLDR:

Born and raised in East Haven

Father left when she was 4. Raised by a drug addicted mother.

Has 3 sisters - Penelope, Dana and Marnie

Is incredibly intelligent, but never had the opportunity to get tested or evaluated. Got accepted to many colleges across the country and beyond, but ultimately stayed in EH to look after her siblings, including her newborn sister.

Fell in love with Gale Peterson and helped to raise his son. They broke up after five years, but rekindled recently and got engaged.

INSPIRATIONS: Robin Scherbatsky (How I Met Your Mother); Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99); Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds); Emily Prentiss (Criminal Minds); Nina Riva (Malibu Rising); April Ludgate (Parks and Recreation); Harper Spiller (White Lotus).

#about #biography #intro

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happysadyoyo · 2 years

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Wait you’re writing a twilight knockoff?? Any spoilers? 👀

(Also I realize this might seem weird since this blog is new; I followed you on my old one lol)

It's not weird. I basically never check lol.

And yeah, it's one of those stories I'm juggling in my head and maybe after this first 500 words a day experiment is done, I'll start writing that next.

Anyway, spoilers, all the spoilers.

First off, I'm genderswapping them. Bella's the vampire, Edward's the human, and they're both competent in their own way. Edward LARPs as an emo fuckboy or whatever they're called these days? E-boys?

He'd wear this though side note. Don't zoomers make fun of millenials for wearing skinny jeans? Idk whatever this isn't important.

He's still got the "I play piano and care about music that came out in the 1990's and 2000's" thing he had going on before, but he's not really got any family period.

Oh yeah btw they're in college now, not high school. This is Ed's first chance to not be in foster care, so he's super isolated himself and is dedicated to his piano, studying biology and philosophy, and wondering if it'd be worth jumping into the POV trend on tiktok.

I'm gonna have to research tiktok to write this :|

Anyway, Bella is fun. You know her whole love of that big ole truck and knowing about her dad's hobbies. She's 100% WA's version of a redneck and not exactly cis, though she won't explain how.

Annoyed I can't find the sheer level of chaos I imagine her clothes are at any given moment. This girl gives vibes though

Basically handmade overall shorts with waders and a stupidly large hat that'll keep her out of the sun.

Oh and a mullet. An overgrown mullet she keeps out of her eyes probably through the strength of dust alone.

There's a lot of the same shit as before, mostly character building, figuring out wtf is going on. But Edward more or less gets adopted by Bella's vamp siblings before she gets to know him because she's not going to college. Why should she when she's already gone to college ten times over and would rather teach herself how to build a house DIY style? But she ends up meeting Edward, thinks her family is insane, then begins to bond with him despite her best interests.

She literally introduces color into Edward's life.

And he learns she's a vampire and there's a lot of political upset. He gets brought to the New Haven underground, which is like a huge fictional city that used to be a place for magical creatures before they were forced underground. And Ed sees all this shit and sees how tired and hungry and frustrated all these creatures are and is like, "Hey Bella. What if we talk to the fae about starting a war to overthrow humans?"

It ties into the romance novel I'm supposed to be writing and the hp knock off I'm also supposed to be writing.

They're on a brief pause because I'm behind on writing my shorts, but I did finish the first chapter for both of them!

#twilight knock off

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vawsculturecorner · 1 month

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PLATFORMING WITHOUT A PLATFORM - AN UNNECESSARY PREAMBLE

Hi! This is a long post about a lot of things but the short of it is I am working on some projects that are nowhere near completion and I wanted to post about them publicly to make sure I finish them. You can not read this megalith of text now unless you want some information or context. Otherwise, strap in!

Identity construction is one of those things I have practised relentlessly as a half human half internet shapeshifter, and whilst a lot of you probably know me as this pretentious fuck-about who is kinda chill sometimes, I figured I wanted to have on record a bit of an explanation/premise for why I do it and why I think it is something we should all practice and think about.

People who know me now know me as a serial yapper and for good reason - I never fucking shut up. However, surprising all one of you this has not always been the case! I was a super quiet and repressed kid, mainly born out of what I now recognise to be severe anxiety and difficulty understanding social norms and etiquette (ie, partially diagnosed neuro divergence). As a result, I grew up and befriended people I didn’t feel entirely myself around, and when I did “just do me”, I ended up freaking people out, pushing them away or burdening them with just too much emotional labour. What this also resulted in for me was this unshakeable sense that no one really knew who I was and that all these people were just friends with something that was, in essence, a simulacrum of me (i'm sorry Baudrillard I hope that I am using this correctly).

This happened my entire life but like most things, was super intense around the time I was in high school. At the same time, I had found the internet and specifically “weird facebook”. There are papers on it now but at the time, radicalisation and internet subcultures were a severely under-explored nook of academia, and even now I don’t know how much of it protrudes past the surface of memes and marketing trends and into the very real societies that were erected in the rubble. Being a 12-year-old who didn’t feel heard in real life when they voiced very real criticisms of the world, the media, and the treatment of people considered “non-normative”, virtual societies provided a haven for people like me (and people not so like me) to bond, congregate and create.

Not all of this creation was good - quite a lot of it was very terrible. I’m quite lucky that I didn’t end up worse than I did, but I remember being told by 28-year-olds from Michigan how “mature I was for my age” and how much they would love to meet me in person. I also distinctly remember the prevalence of racism, bigotry and general hatred that were presented as “edgy humour” and how it eventuated in a bitter and distorted explanation for our collective social exile. People who in real life would get the shit kicked out of them and shoved in a locker for breathing wrong all of a sudden had the confidence to call everyone a racial slur and complain about how trans people were tricking young men into being gay.

Whilst these are almost tepid reflections of people’s bigotry now, they likely started as gross exaggerations of the half-hearted beliefs that people vaguely subscribed to at the time, mutating over the years by an echo chamber of uncritical non-evaluation. I was unable to distinguish this then, as I assumed that everyone was being their one hundred per cent authentic selves online - why wouldn’t you? In this new world, you don’t need to adhere to the conventions set out in the physical world that were tricky and difficult to navigate, you could just exist and live in a way that felt natural to you.

Years pass, and I de-radicalise because no matter how many times I heard it, the idea that people with different skin, genitals, gender identity etc were somehow less human than me was always ridiculous and cruel, and I stop seeing myself as a weak person needing this type of hateful ideology to be strong and seize the strength in my empathy and love of people. Coming to this conclusion, I decided to nuke a lot of my social media presence. I was a very naive kid, but I will always think highly of the foresight of 12-year-old me who thought “maybe one day when I’m older and wiser I might disagree with all of this shit” and installed what was as close as possible to a “self-destruct button” on my digital footprint.

So there I am, starting from scratch (or as close as I could be to it) and it is just me and the void. I have a few people on Facebook that I know in real life, a bunch of high school people that I forgot I had on there (whoops), and some holdover internet friends who weren’t complete psychopaths (shouts out wrestle-chat I love y'all forever). So in my mind, anything I'm posting and saying is not being seen or heard and I can say and do whatever I want. Which makes me think - what do I want to do?

Like I said, in physical society, I already felt like people didn’t know the real me and that the me that inhabited virtual space reflected a more accurate (albeit, highly exaggerated) version of who I am. Being emotionally volatile and feeling incredibly isolated, I thought it would be interesting to subvert the traditional interfacing of social media (create a character or facade similar to how one would in real life when meeting new people) and go to the polar opposite. I wanted to create a virtual character that reflected the truer, more intimate and emotionally dense smorgasbord of who I was as a person. How else was anyone else going to see it right? As someone who didn’t see themselves making it to 25, I wanted some sort of documentation of who the real me was.

This isn’t to say I was playing 5D chess the whole time - I was a stupid kid who didn’t understand boundaries and was putting way too much of their dirty laundry on blast like a lot of other silly internet kids. But there was deliberate intention and some architecture behind it. I behaved impulsively but directed that impulsive energy into particular forms and shapes. I kept this up for the attention of no one - I wasn’t performing for a captive audience, I was sculpting a foreign body I assumed to be left to gather dust in the attic as it was only to be interacted with post-humorously/retrospectively. The framing of my internet presence as a “conversation with the void” would shape the majority of my online behaviour for the coming years. Consequentially, I spoke a lot (like a fucking lot) about my mental health and was unapologetically, disgustingly honest about messy feelings, hard truths, and confused angst and suffering. I let the isolation I was experiencing in real life bleed onto the screen in the hopes this foreign virtual body would engender some sense of understanding or relatability from others. Important to note - whilst I obviously hoped this would lead to understanding for me as a person, the main focus was always to create a character people related to, an idea of a person that someone might feel a type of way about. Maybe after enough exposure, they might gain an understanding of the thoughts and feelings people like me don’t talk about, especially not in real life, especially not to strangers on the internet.

I know what you are thinking (I am projecting) - oversharing on the internet? That’s not special nor unique, you are over-intellectualising a bad coping mechanism. And yeah, you are right, it isn’t special and I am doing that thing you said, but I think what makes it interesting for me was the transparency of the whole thing. Yeah, I was oversharing on the internet, I knew I was doing that, and I was doing that with a genuine, authentic desire for people to learn, understand, and relate to something that they may not have come into contact with before. I grew up around people who to this day know less about me now than they did the day they met me - I wasn’t doing this to fit in, I was doing this so that this parasocially constructed archetype stood out. I wanted people to look at the shit I did and go “Hey, I don’t feel so bad about that drunk text I sent, look at what this idiot did and then they thought it was a good idea to put it online”. I wanted people to see me talking about another situationship I fucked up and go “yknow if they just didn’t be so straight up about how they felt they would probably be fine”. I wanted this because at that point, they are engaging with that character enough to make a judgement about them and in turn, means they feel (at least to some degree) intimate with the character that they are engaging with.

I have been officially diagnosed with ADHD and Clinical Anxiety, and I have been unofficially diagnosed with BPD, Severe Clinical Anxiety, and Autism. I point this out to lend credence to my claim that I have borderline (hehe) severe (hehe) issues with emotional regulation and intimacy. Part of my struggles interacting with people in real life is lacking the understanding to tell which chalk lines are the handball court and which are the corpse outlines. A lot of this emotional isolation was the result of not understanding boundaries, being perpetually unsure how my actions were affecting people, and never being able to trust that people were communicating truthfully with me. Over the years, especially 2018-2022, a few tr(aumatic)oublesome situations made these issues exponentially worse to the point where they can be functionally debilitating. A lot of the ammo sourced for the proverbial digital character assassination of neurotypical people was what I observed to be a broad discomfort with transparent, pure intimacy. Life is incredibly short - if you and I are on the same wavelength and we vibe, why should we do up the top button that chokes us? I eventually assumed people saw the relief when they unbuttoned their collars more gratifying the closer they got to asphyxiation. Anyway, the character I wanted to create and the space I wanted to create around them was one where that authentic intimacy was encouraged and considered the default. I wanted to transform my little piece of virtual space and rewrite the laws of physics, reconfiguring social etiquette into something my brain understood. Ultimately, I wanted people to feel like they knew me, and feel toward me a kinship and affection that I felt so strongly for other people, one that was often unrequited and unidentified in a lot of the relationships I held.

Another fun piece of contextual relevance - I’m gender non-conforming/compliant! You knew that already because I never shut up about it. When I was talking to my dear friend Valerie about these ideas recently, they asked a really good question; if this obsession with identity construction was a response to feeling disconnected from my gender presentation? Whilst I think subconsciously that was definitely part of it (I like every other trans girl alive made their Fallout: New Vegas character a girl), I do think that this was more a response to the general isolation and feelings of not being understood than it was purely my relationship with gender. That said, I intentionally incorporated more femme-coded idiosyncrasies and mannerisms to my text, so I do think this was also a response to that internal disconnect that I wasn’t really able to name. I noticed I was a lot more comfortable and identified a lot more with that GNC character than I did with my physical self pre-transition, whereas now I think I identify with both about the same. Neat!

Eventually, I joined Twitter, and kept going full steam ahead with the identity construction stuff. It turned out some people did find this virtual me interesting enough to interact with! Enough time passes and I find groups of people with shared interests and start interacting with them. More time passes, and I find out that I live in the same country, state, and area code as them. I start running into these people at gigs, and all of a sudden something really weird has happened - My virtual and physical identities are intersecting and coming into conflict with each other. I am no longer in (almost) complete control of the way my identity is constructive and perceived by my onlookers, they are having natural and human deductions on my character in person as well.

This was a bit of a head fuck for me for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being my severe anxiety which provided additional (unwanted) context and framing for a lot of the (sometimes insane) shit I would say online. I start feeling like I owe people explanations, overthink what people think of my mannerisms, quirks, and offhanded statements, and start essentially breaking down completely.

There is another dimension to this as well - a lot of these people I was meeting in person were creatives. Specifically, creatives who made art that I enjoyed immensely and had already started to develop a relationship with that was independent of who they are as people. This is not unique - odds are, you do not know Will Toledo or billy woods or underscores, you know an idea of them, a character you have created in your own head and parasocially connected to them (see I like Twin Fantasy for original reasons its not just because I'm a furry). All of a sudden, here are these virtual characters revealing their physical dimensions and I had to wrestle with the comfortable intimacy I had developed and displace it in favour of the social uniforms I tossed aside when starting conversations at the digital agora. As a result, both these people I knew online and people that I would meet through them became victims to a duality of etiquettes - standard social convention, and the convention I had created myself that they were completely unaware of. As you can imagine, this is a lot going on for someone who also had just moved out/was juggling a lot of really toxic relationships/having a bit of an existential crisis.

This parasocial virtual character that I identified previously was the exact identity that I had essentially wished to create, and if you are reading this you are the judge of whether or not it worked! A lot of you reading this have now met me in person and I’m sure most of you can attest to the fact that, whilst it very much depends on the type of me that you get that day, I am a completely different ballgame irl than url. Interestingly though, people did start associating certain things with me - my taste in music and specifically my good ear for it, my sense of humour, my being generally entertaining and a somewhat trustworthy source when it came to values, ethics, politics (even if I wasn’t always agreeable). As a result, I started being taken kinda seriously for some things and started getting access to spaces and realms of discourse that I never would have if I had just replicated my physical self onto my virtual self. I had effectively constructed a virtual body that was able to speak a language and bridge a medium of communication that I, a severely anxious and atypically cognitive person, was unable to surmount otherwise.

I understand this is essentially an exercise in lampooning the very basic idea that identities are socially constructed, but I feel like there is a lot more to explore here - if we truly get behind the wheel of these systems and processes we can create in new ways that lead to more empathetic, ethical, positive and progressive results for people. The throughline here is distance; distance from identity and as a result a distance from one of the many machines that manufactures desire and discontent that the maw of capital is trying to decode and imprison.

If you have seen my ramblings lately you may have seen me talking about schizo-analysis, and rather than attempt to define that or any of the cursed glyphs that have left the tongues of Deleuze and Guattari, I will simply say that I use that terms to talk about “tracing free desire” (you academics who take issue with my use of the terms can suck my fucking dick A thousand plateaus is bullshit enough without your nitpicking). One of the things this involves is partially reclaiming areas of life that we have previously given over to professionals and experts so that our desire can travel freely through them, and make it harder to be identified by agents who would seek to capture and hold our desire (and force feed it with capital and material items until we can’t move). To me, the internet (decreasingly, as we move into its tyrannically regulated dark age) or more specifically minimally regulated virtual technologies provide a strong foundation for us to guide freer travelling desire and to construct paths of communication for us as a species that thrive guerilla style away from this death spiral we call late-stage capitalism.

And so we arrive at Platforming Without a Platform! This is an umbrella name for a series of projects that I have started the absolute bare minimum of working on and hope to continue to work on indefinitely - most likely as a hobby in my spare time or as the bulk of my attention when I am inevitably unemployable due to health reasons. I want to create “things” that draw attention to how we can create identities on the virtual and physical level, and the global narratives that we create with them. I want to reclaim the space given to what has been labelled “influencer” or “celebrity”, and highlight the beautiful complexity and intricacy of our individual relationships. I want to explore how the lore and canon of that one friend you see every couple of weeks is just as rich and interesting and soul-affirming as whatever stupid shit Kanye said this week. Most importantly, I want to create things that emphasise the value of these connections in building fluid identities and relationships, as a possible escape from the hegemony of imperialism currently crushing our backs and hopefully provide some radical hope that we can shift that boulder even a little bit.

Thanks for reading! I wrote this because I was inspired by a conversation my beautiful friend Valerie and I had the other day, and also (much like the JSV piece and the music wrap-ups) is a way to force myself to commit to things that I think have a lot of potential. Posting this means I have to follow through out of spite for myself, cause I refuse to not follow through on something i mention publicly (even if I only follow through a little bit). The first project that will be coming out under this “entity” is something I am working on with my friends Alex and Raymond which is crazy cause this year marks 20 years of us knowing each other. Given that we haven’t even made the first episode yet it is still fucking ages away but we have been working on it pretty consistently over the last few weeks (and I am hoping the first piece will be done within the next couple of months) so more information when it is closer to completion (probably the end of the year or early next year). We are calling it “Controller Abuse” and honestly, it's the most excited I have ever been for a project. Outside of that, I am hoping to do a couple more write-ups this year - one on an Eora-based artist that I have been fucking with lately, and another on the roles and responsibilities of audiences.

Thanks again!

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