#ive plotted almost four chapters now

[stevie-petey]

episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

-

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them. 

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways. 

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good. 

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds. 

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her. 

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit. 

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.” 

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.” 

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her. 

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence. 

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation. 

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed. 

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.” 

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure. 

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.” 

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts. 

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.” 

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her. 

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow. 

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touche.” 

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside. 

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open. 

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot. 

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says. 

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does. 

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end. 

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.” 

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know. 

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow. 

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you. 

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan. 

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him. 

— 

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in. 

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity. 

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing. 

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will. 

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down. 

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.” 

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are. 

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation. 

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it. 

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up. 

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.” 

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities. 

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.” 

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her. 

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay. 

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions. 

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks. 

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes. 

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?” 

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours. 

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.” 

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred. 

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off. 

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.” 

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare. 

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him. 

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world. 

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house. 

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief. 

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.” 

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you. 

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.” 

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you. 

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over). 

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made. 

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam. 

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.” 

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.” 

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone. 

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you. 

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit. 

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.” 

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.” 

“You love me.” 

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.” 

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then. 

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding. 

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.” 

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.” 

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions. 

Just peachy. 

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well. 

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.” 

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices. 

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…” 

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys. 

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone. 

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole. 

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.” 

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him. 

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks. 

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.” 

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh. 

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him. 

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now. 

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty. 

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.” 

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation. 

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused. 

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.” 

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen. 

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.” 

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns. 

“Sorry.” 

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.” 

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?” 

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.” 

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son. 

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class. 

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that. 

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor. 

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will. 

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.” 

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.” 

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either. 

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind. 

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out. 

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door. 

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.” 

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now. 

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?” 

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed. 

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl. 

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down. 

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive. 

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?” 

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose. 

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you. 

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess. 

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay. 

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying. 

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.” 

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once. 

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks. 

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up. 

You all face her now. “You can?” 

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide. 

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table. 

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face. 

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?” 

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that. 

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.” 

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool. 

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down. 

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given. 

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El. 

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head. 

“Will is hiding?” 

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

– 

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions. 

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find. 

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet… 

You fear he’s done something stupid. 

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you. 

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused. 

“Mrs. Byers-” 

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you. 

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.” 

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her. 

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.” 

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her. 

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonthan’s room. 

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you. 

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him. 

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised. 

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal. 

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.” 

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!” 

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.” 

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!” 

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days. 

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.” 

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance. 

– 

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then. 

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight. 

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes. 

You’ve never felt so alone before.

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #the thought of steve just taking will's missing poster and then being like oh shit was so funny to me i had to add it #also sad ending #sorry #but also not

[livingemkayde]

ch iv. tacit

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter four of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. love triangle forming formed. lots of angst, miscommunications. very brief mentions of sexual situations. age gap, reader is 23 and joel is 35. Tommy is 30. (ages of all characters and plot do not follow canon strictly for the story’s sake).

summary: tommy miller 'accidentally' sets joel up on a blind date on your night out. you're definitely not happy about it, and neither is joel.

a/n: tried something kinda new with this chapter. Been feeling like my writing as a whole lowkey gives bare bones considering all my edits and things i cut out so i tried to keep most of my ideas, just refined them more. ~ THIS SYMBOL REPRESENTS POV CHANGE. Really trying to rein in the idea that they’re fucking terrible at communicating and they interpret situations differently (but differently in such a similar way). If yall liked this please lmk. and dont worry things will get better in the next chapter (i already have half of it written).

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“I did good, didn’t I?”  What the fuck. “What?” you echo your thoughts, looking over at Tommy. He smiles at the pair.  “She’s my next door neighbor. I fixed up her mailbox and got to talkin’ — said I thought she would get along with Joel.”  “You invited her?” you ask, your voice small. “Yeah,” Tommy laughs and rubs your shoulder. “‘S what I just said, baby.” 

“Are you serious?” you almost want to hit Joel upside the head. 

He just nods, raising his beer to you and chugging down a good portion of it. 

“God. You’re kidding, right?” You turn back to Tommy. 

“Sorry, baby. Dead serious.” 

“Jesus,” you shake your head, tipping back the remainder of your second drink. 

Tommy’s birthday. On Sunday. As in like, two days from now, and you had no clue, not until this very moment, the two brothers staring back at you like they don’t see the issue with this. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“‘M tellin’ you now?” Tommy laughs. You shove him playfully. 

“Well, we have to throw you a party,” you announce, shaking your head at the thought that maybe, if Joel didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t have known about Tommy’s birthday at all. 

“No, I don’t think —” 

“No excuses,” you say, shrugging your shoulders and giving him a shy smile. “Joel and I will take care of it. Right?” you look over at him, but he stares back with wide eyes. 

He stutters out words, trying to give an excuse, but doesn’t get very far. 

“Joel and I will throw you a party,” you say, giving Joel a teasing look. “You gotta up my pay, Miller.” 

“In your dreams, I pay you plenty. And Sarah’s an angel — I’m basically paying you to sit around and hang out.” 

“‘S hard work,” you chuckle, the boys laugh. “Can we use your backyard, Joel?” 

“Why.” 

“You have a pool…and a barbecue…and a lawn.” 

“Jesus. ‘S like y’all don’t own houses.” 

“Great! Party at Joel’s,” you smile at him, teasing almost — flirting. But you reel it in at Tommy’s voice. 

They start talking about something regarding the current state of Joel’s backyard and you get lost in the conversation, itching to approach the bar and get another drink. 

Your phone buzzes, it’s Olivia calling. You excuse yourself and make a quick break outside. 

“Hello?” 

Hey babe, so how’s it going? Am I interrupting anything??

You roll your eyes. 

“Liv, c’mon. Tommy is here with us,” you say into the phone, peering back at the brothers perched on a high table through the window. 

Ugh. Fucking buzzkill. So you’re not gonna make a move tonight? 

“Jesus. No — no.” 

Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me. 

“If I get some alone time with him then maybe we’ll — talk about it. I guess…” you look back to them again. Joel’s eyes catch yours and you turn around quickly. 

“I dunno though. Tommy’s being clingy.” 

He’s always clingy. Sneak Joel into the bathroom, maybe y'all can go for round two.

“Liv!” you chastise, your cheeks heat at the thought. 

Keep me posted. And have fun, girl. 

“I will, thanks. Love you, bye.” 

Love you, bye. 

You hang up, rubbing your hands on your upper arms to shield yourself from the cold. You need another drink desperately. 

You walk back in. The roaring crowd meets your ears immediately. Dim string lights and a couple shots in and things had been going — good. 

Relatively good. The best you could hope for out of your Friday night out with the boys. 

Joel isn’t being an ass and Tommy is relatively chill so things have been good. It’s fun being out with them. Especially when Tommy might be too distracted by the crowd to see you staring at Joel — the way his biceps stretch the cotton of his t-shirt. The way his lips curl around his glass. The glint in his eyes when he laughs. And you know for certain, Tommy doesn’t notice Joel’s hand resting on your thigh for a couple, fleeting seconds every so often.

You approach the bar and ask for another drink. You’re not sure where you stand with Joel, you two haven’t been afforded much alone time since the phone call. But things might finally feel good. Especially between the brothers. 

Maybe it had been way too good — way too calm — because something always had to fuck everything up — and this was that moment. 

A long legged blonde walks through the double doors like a scene out of a movie. Somewhere deep down in the teenage part of your psyche, you want to say her clothes are ill-fitting, her lipstick — a garish shade of mauve, her hair — coarse and utterly damaged. But it’s not. She’s none of those things. 

She's perfect.

It's been two days since the incident on the phone. Joel and Tommy have been sort of MIA with a big part of their project — coming back home late, when Sarah’s already asleep. You got your car fixed (all on your own) so you leave them with some leftovers on the table as soon as they get back. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

Joel had said when you pointed out the food on the table last night. You recall everyone’s eyes widening, the pet name slipping from his lips with ease. It sounded like butter to your ears — fighting the urge to smile a mile wide and kiss him like you’ve been begging to do since the day you met. But you knew Tommy noticed, you all noticed. Joel brushed it off with a cough, saying something about how it had been a particularly rough day. 

Tommy didn’t say much about it. But he wasn’t acting strange which was good. Even tonight, he’s still acting himself — it’s a bit of a relief. 

Even now, when surprisingly, Tommy stands and greets the woman, pulling her into a hug. Joel stands too, though he looks a bit confused.

You stare at them from the bar, Tommy says something to Joel, obviously introducing the blonde to him. Joel’s face contorts into recognition at the name, maybe Tommy has mentioned her before. 

You don’t even notice the bartender placing your drink down in front of you, abandoning it and beelining towards them. The drink sweats on the bartop, alone. Forgotten. 

“Why don’t you go with Joel?” Tommy says, ushering her towards Joel’s side. “Grab her a drink?”

You look up at Joel in passing, the blonde on his other side, you try to keep your face normal, but a look slithers onto your brow. He knows exactly what you’re trying to say. 

What the fuck?

His eyes scrunch for a half second, saying, I don’t know, either and stalks away with the blonde. You watch them leave, but Tommy’s voice snaps you out of your trance, a heavy arm braces itself over your shoulder as you both watch them approach the bar. 

“I did good, didn’t I?” 

What the fuck.

“What?” you echo your thoughts, looking over at Tommy. He smiles at the pair. 

“She’s my next door neighbor. I fixed up her mailbox and got to talkin’ — said I thought she would get along with Joel.” 

“You invited her?” you ask, your voice small.

“Yeah,” Tommy laughs and rubs your shoulder. “‘S what I just said, baby.” 

Joel looks — you don’t really know what he looks like. He doesn’t look completely uninterested, but you can spot the glint in his eye a million miles away. And when he lacks it too, like right now. 

But maybe you like to imagine what his eyes look like — just for you. How you can feel his glances from across a room, how his eyes meet yours through a crowded bar and never let go. Like a string attaches your irises and pulls you, locked together, forever. 

It doesn’t seem like he’s looking at her like that but you’re beginning to realize you know nothing of what these boys might do. 

It’s not like Joel owes you anything in this moment — and you’re not asking him. You know what he has to do to save both of your asses from Tommy’s precise, unwavering eyes, and he’s doing it. He’s strong — but you’re not sure if you’ve got that kind of fight in you. To let him go, with wandering eyes and wandering, delicate fingers braced all over his body. Maybe this is how he feels — no — now you’re certain your feelings match Joel’s in those fleeting moments when he catches you with Tommy. 

It leaves you feeling sick. Guilty? Sure. Sad? Oh, definitely. 

Jealous? Yeah. That one. 

Even if it might be unrightfully so. But you keep it down the best you can. 

“You think they look good together?” Tommy says from the table now. You don’t remember him moving. 

“Yeah,” you reply in a soft voice. 

He clears his throat when you stare at them for too long. 

“Yeah,” you say again, louder, when you turn to him. He smiles back. 

“‘S what I thought, too.” he throws some trail mix into his mouth. “Think she might be good for him.” 

“Good for him,” you echo, absentmindedly. The only thing you can think about — and look at, for that matter — is the way her manicured fingers brush over his arm, and how he doesn’t push them away. 

Good for him.  

She seems good for him. Maybe all he needs is a bobbing blonde bimbo in his life. Something to brighten up his day. You thought you were good for him. Thought you were good for his life. Thought you were good for everyone. 

But when he laughs a bit — you can’t help but wonder: what do you think you know anymore? 

“You alright?” 

You snap your head to Tommy again. 

You feel like crying but you bite back the desperate tears. 

“Yeah,” you say, the feeling in your throat rising with your reply, and even more so with the next. “‘M fine.” 

You watch the bartender set a drink down in front of the unnamed woman and she accepts it graciously. The pair begins to walk back, she’s close to Joel’s side. You bite your tongue, whipping out your phone instead to sneak Olivia a sad, solemn text.

You look down, the tears pooling to the front of your eye, momentarily blurring your vision like someone just released a flash bomb in the bar — maybe an ambush — this certainly feels like one. 

You can’t really read the legibility of your writing, knowing it's littered with typos, your thumbs moving faster than your mind —  saying something about a woman and Joel and almost regrettably because of how in the moment you are right now — how fucking stupid Tommy Miller is — even though you know this is far from his fault. 

The pair stands before you. The woman smiles down at you — your body failing to stand until Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, ushering you up to your feet. 

Why is everything coming out of Tommy’s mouth muffled to your ears? 

Maybe Joel can see the unshed tears in your eyes, but he stops the introduction on its head — the pity clear in his voice. That you can hear. The honey-rich, southern — homey — sound of his drawl punching through the sound barrier of stupid teenage hurt feelings and childish jealousy wrapped around you like a blanket—

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

There it is again. That fucking pet name that holds you in a vice grip, sends shooting electricity down your spine, makes you want to scream out to the entire bar — please — please. Just stop this bullshit, end it. Press rewind to five minutes ago when things seemed to be going good and make this — fucking please — make this stop. 

But you don’t say that. The tears recede at his voice, you smile up at him like a scene rehearsed and then back to the blonde. She stares at you, her brow a bit cocked and at his words — you know this is far from the acting normal you and Joel unspokenly try to adhere to. Even in the worst circumstances — like this one. 

“Yeah,” you brush him off quickly, he moves to speak but you cut him off, a surprisingly cool tone braced on your lips. 

“Nice to meet you,” you smile, taking her hand, telling her your name. “Tommy said you’re his neighbor?” 

“Yeah that’s right,” she laughs. “Quite the handyman.” 

“I try my best,” Tommy jests from beside you. She laughs. 

“Caroline,” she finishes with, dropping your hand. You smile back. 

She’s pretty, and nice, and fucking funny and you want to be so fucking mean to her because she’s got her hands all over Joel and she’s insanely gorgeous but you know better. You like to think you're far from your teenage years — even if you feel like you’re drowning in your numbers. 

You can see her better in this light. 

A lump in your throat forms because what’s even worse than her being pretty is that she looks older. 

More like Tommy — more like Joel. 

More age appropriate. 

Less like you. 

“So what do you do?” Caroline says as you all sit. 

“Oh. I’m Joel’s nanny—” you stifle an awkward laugh. You’ve never said that out loud. 

“Joel needs a nanny?” she bites back with a witty smirk on her face. Everyone laughs. 

“I’m Sarah’s babysitter, just got my bachelors in May though,” you laugh back. She nods. 

“What did you study?” 

“English.” 

“Ah. English. Remember those days.” 

“What do you do?” 

“I’m a journalist. Work for some company no one cares about, blah blah blah. You get it,” she says, sipping on her drink. 

Great. Journalist. 

“Do you like it?” Tommy asks from beside you. You get lost in her words, not really hearing anything besides how she's better and farther along in a similar field as you. 

You mumble something to Tommy about how you need another drink, hopping to the bar when everyone settles into the conversation. 

Like clockwork, you can feel Joel’s eyes on you, tracking you across the bar and when you slip further into the crowd. 

You push through to get to the bathroom but when you arrive, you freeze. 

How could you be so stupid? 

You’re surprised the door to that bathroom doesn’t show your fingerprints and scratch marks from the other side. You remember it being nicer than it currently stands before you. A small smile finds its way to your lips at the thought. Everything seems to fade when you think about that night — when you think about how Joel makes you feel. 

But you can’t go back in. That would be setting yourself up for the ultimate failure. Disqualifying you from the race because of a faulty start. 

You push into the next bathroom, some ways down the small hallway. 

The door shuts behind you, a rumbling tune plays through the walls of the bathroom, shaking the mirror and ruining the look you try to get at yourself. You can almost see the fatal flaw written on your face through the rippling glass: the thought that this would ever work out between you and Joel. 

~

The woman beside Joel keeps touching him. 

It’s not that it bothers him, particularly. It’s just that he can feel her wanting need pulse off her body like a fire alarm. The thought that he might look her way now is comical. Especially when you slip towards the bathroom. The same fucking bathroom all those weeks ago. Like it’s been sitting here waiting for the two of you to get inside and let hell break loose. 

But it stares at Joel and bites back with teeth and fangs when you slip inside. Normally a smirk or even a wide smile would be wedged on his face from the implication. Follow me inside, tell me what you’re thinking with your actions, not words. Pin me up against the wall, let me say your name. Let me tell you I’m yours. But everything about right now screams the opposite of That Night. 

It’s different this time. Instead, he can feel the sadness at your greeting and the look in your eye that followed. 

Tommy is such a fucking idiot.

 Joel’s always known there was a temper on Tommy since they were young. And there has always been that godforsaken sibling rivalry because Tommy turned out to be a good man. And as Joel reasons with himself — maybe Tommy is a better man than he is because all Joel wants to do is follow you into the bathroom, see if you’re alright, ask you to forget about this nonsense and just stay with him. Don’t let this push you to Tommy. Don’t let this ruin everything that’s been building. 

Maybe that makes him a bad man for wanting. But maybe it also makes him a good man for not following through. 

He can’t even drink anymore. The light beers are clearing from his head, but honestly, he was dead sober at the sight of you with unshed tears in your eyes. 

But when you emerge from the bathroom like nothing is wrong, Joel falters. He isn’t sure what to do when you request a drink from the bar — and he isn’t sure what to do when it turns out to be a shot, you down it in one gulp and don’t ask for a chaser. 

Maybe you want it to hurt. 

It’s the first indication that something — anything — is wrong. And Joel would wager a million on what that something is. 

Joel thought it had been clear the night of the dinner at his house. He thought his silent words snuck into Tommy’s brain enough to send a clear signal. Back off, dude. 

But apparently it didn’t. Because this woman is sitting next to him, and her hand rests on his knee now. And she keeps snaking her fingers through to rest on his bicep. And he’s just about had enough. 

“You should come. Right, Joel?” 

“Huh,” he pushes out, looking back to his brother. 

“To my party?” 

It’s almost like Tommy is pleading with him. And he’s not sure what to say. Of course he doesn’t want her to come. But it’s Tommy’s party and the kick under the table from Tommy’s boot forces the words out of his mouth even though he wants to say the opposite. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Tommy gives him a look. Joel knows this woman — Caroline — is nice. Hell, she might’ve even caught his eye if he wasn’t worshiping the ground you walk on. Maybe Tommy knew that too, and that’s why he invited her. She seems nice, and funny, but Joel can’t get you off his mind. The thought of you — like a bee who won’t quit buzzing around a flower. 

“Need some water. Y’all want anythin’?” 

They shake their heads and give their thanks but Joel wasn’t really paying much attention to them anyways. He can only look around the bar and see an apparent lack of your figure — anywhere. 

He stands and searches for you, only to see your figure in a flash, walking towards the entrance. He catches your arm and you turn to him, a feigned, sad smile appears on your face. 

Jesus. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes — hold the unbreaking eye contact he made a mental note of when you two first met. 

“What a’you doin’?” Joel asks, trying to keep his voice from wavering. 

“Need some air,” you say. 

Joel follows you wordlessly. He doesn’t care if his date or his brother sees him walk you out. It’s nothing to hide from. You guys are — friends. 

The cool air hits his skin. He sees that you’re cold, but doesn’t want to hold you against him like he desperately needs to — at the implication that maybe you’d turn him down. Or worse, push him away. 

“So…a party,” Joel starts with, grimacing internally at his chosen words. 

“Yeah — if you don’t wanna help, you don’t have to. I was just joking in ther—” 

Joel cuts you off. It hurts a bit — the thought that you think he wouldn’t want to help you. 

“I do — wanna help.” 

You smile shyly. 

“Pick me up tomorrow? We’ll go shopping.” 

“Be there at four, Sarah's goin’ to a friend’s for dinner and a sleepover.”

“She’s got more social battery than me,” you chuckle, looking back into the bar. 

“You ‘n me combined — maybe she got it from Tommy.” 

“Maybe,” you echo. 

Suddenly, the air feels less playful. 

“I didn’t know,” Joel starts with because he doesn’t know what else to say. His words make you laugh a bit. He doesn’t know what to do anymore. All he wants is you. 

“I know —” another laugh, but he knows you think none of this is funny. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

Is it just him or is the glint in your eyes gone?

“No, I…Jesus. Tommy just — fuckin’ — I don’t know her, I — know of her. But I didn’t tell him I wanted to meet her.” 

“Joel,” you say, your voice breaking a bit. “It’s okay.” 

But it’s not okay. He can see that much displayed on your face. 

“She seems nice,” you note. His brows furrow because he can tell you’re being genuine. Why does it seem like you want him to admit it too?

“C’mon,” he says, a harsh chuckle in the form of a crisp breath escapes his mouth, pleading with you— 

Stop this. 

~

“What do you want me to say?” you whisper, breathless. He stares back at you like he doesn’t know what could possibly be running through your head. You need him to say his truth now. Or honestly? You’re not sure it’ll ever come out and you’ll be left behind forever. 

“Anythin’ but that,” he breathes, the air puffs cold around your face.

You want to speak but nothing comes out. You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold biting through your thin top. He looks unmoving and warm. But he stands with his hands shoved in his pockets. 

Why isn’t he holding you?

“Well she does,” his brows cock at your words. “Seem nice.”

“I don’t like her. I —” 

I like you. I want you. I need you. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue. Maybe he’s about to confess and the dam holding all your feelings from the last month will break through. But he’s searching for the words — and that’s when you know. Because he shouldn’t be searching for anything. Not when it comes so easy to you. Not when what he makes you feel is threatening to spill from your lips at every chance you get. He shouldn’t be searching for the right things to say when you can think of a million possibilities. 

He steps forward, grabbing your hand in his. His fingers play with yours as you wait with bated breath. Waiting for the —

Be with me, stay with me. Forget about them. Forget about everything. I just need you. 

You hold out for one last moment. Maybe he can’t articulate his feelings as well as they ring true in his mind. 

You step back a bit, moving to turn, moving to open your body as a silent invitation for him to follow you. Your fingers pull on his a bit towards your direction, pulling him, propelling him towards what you want him to say. But he doesn’t say those words. Instead— 

“Where are you goin’?” 

Your hand holding his fingers pulls slightly again. A life raft. A beacon of hope. The last twinge that you have to offer him so he can finally break down his walls and be with you. 

Because that’s all you want. You just want him. 

“Home.” 

You say it. It might be the first time since Caroline walked through the doors that he’s looked into your eyes. You’re pleading with him. With every ounce in your body. Just fucking say it. 

It's a silent invitation, you ask him with your eyes. And with the fingers pulling at his. 

Come with me. To my house, to my bed. Stay with me. Come with me. Leave them behind, and stay the night, stay till the next night too. Forget about the blonde laughing at Tommy’s jokes. Hell, forget about Tommy. Just fucking ditch this hell hole and take me home. And come with me and don’t ever leave. 

Please. 

But it seems like you both don’t talk as well with your eyes as you thought. And it seems like you don’t know this man in front of you at all. 

Because he steps back a bit, nodding, dropping your reaching fingers, and says those fatal words that solidify your fatal flaw. 

“I’ll get Tommy to drive you home.” 

~

Joel arrives at Caroline’s house. She somehow convinced him to drop her off at home. She keeps insisting Joel come in for a night cap. But he’s too fucking sad and pissed to even consider speaking to her for another two minutes longer. 

His head pounds. But not from the alcohol, from the quiet heartbreak settling in his chest at the memory of your words. At everything that had happened that night. It was meant to be a fun evening. But when he left you outside the bar, and ran to fetch Tommy, he knew this would go down in one of his most regrettable moments. And his most sad, too. 

Home.

The word rings in Joel’s ears. But you looked so fucking sad and you were already moving away from him. He had failed to say what he really meant to say — I want you. I just need you.

Maybe that truly was the end and maybe he failed to say what he thought and it turned you off. Made him unwanted in your eyes. 

Solidified the fact that he might never be a good man. 

Not like Tommy. 

But you were turning away — your fingers hanging onto his because he was the one who grabbed your hand first, and pulled you towards him with his fingers, his eyes, with his body — desperately. 

You kept pulling away — pulled away with sad eyes and he desperately wanted you to stay but he couldn’t make you do anything. Not when you look like that and you sound equally sad and broken. 

So he thought of what you deserve. Maybe even what you wanted at that moment. 

He finally dropped your hands, the warm spots your fingers held — were trapped under, brushed against the cold and Joel shivered. 

“I’ll get Tommy to drive you home.” 

He said it, but didn’t want to act on his words. He wanted to be the one to drive you home and to slip into your house, then maybe into your bed after that. 

But he wasn’t — you didn't want him to. 

He was sitting in the truck outside Caroline’s house as she pulls all her best tricks to get him to come inside. 

But he brushes them all off, and drives back in silence until he slumps in bed. 

~

“Fuckin’ — sit up, Jesus,” Tommy says, pulling your body upright in the passenger seat of the truck. 

You grumble with him. 

“‘M fine laying down. Stop micromanaging me.” 

You’re drunk.

The shot you took before talking to Joel outside the bar was beginning to take root. And all the other shots after that, when Tommy ushered you in to grab one last drink, and you just happened to down three more before leaving. 

“‘M not — mircomana— you’re a fuckin’ piece of work.” 

You smile lazily at him. 

“Like you aren’t?” 

He laughs back. 

There's a tense silence after Joel’s name pops up on Tommy’s phone that sits comfortably on the center dash. 

Tommy speaks first. 

“What’d you and Joel talk about?” 

“Oh, nothing,” you say, his head twitching a bit at your too-broad, overarching answer. “Your party,” you say when you think he might pry too much. 

“Joel isn’t gonna help you with that, you know.” 

His words make you freeze. Joel actually was going to help  — or was supposed to before the shit show outside the bar. 

“We’ll see. Can do it on my own too, though.” 

“Thanks again for offering, I — I know it’s dumb.” 

“‘S not dumb. ‘N I wanted to do it,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Well thanks anyways.” 

You hum in response, looking out the window into darkness. 

“What’d you think of Joel’s date?” 

Your eyes widen and suddenly, you don’t feel as drunk, sitting up a bit at his question. 

“That’s what it was? A date?” you say with a nervous chuckle. 

“I guess,” he laughs. “Don’t know what else to call it.” 

“She’s nice,” you say, echoing your words to Joel. Somewhere in the back of your mind you note how that sends a pang to your chest. 

“I don’t know if he was interested,” Tommy notes. 

That doesn’t really give you as much relief as you would’ve hoped for. You’re not hurt because of Caroline. You’re hurt because of everything that happened after. When you tried to get him to take you home, and he pulled away. 

Tommy continues when you don’t respond. 

“Took her home though.” 

Now that sends a shooting throb to your heart. 

Like it’s saying Of course he did. Even though that doesn’t seem very much like Joel at all. 

“Really?” 

“Yup. ‘N I think she’s comin’ to the party. Seemed excited ‘bout it.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly. You’re sure that’s not helping your case when trying to be indifferent about Joel’s dating life. 

Tommy pulls up to your driveway. 

Tense silence follows after he puts the truck in park. 

“Is that —  like —  an issue?”

 Your heart starts beating a little bit faster.

“No, why would it be?”

“Just wonderin’,” he says with a sigh.

“Is it an issue for you?” 

“No. Think she’s good for him.” 

There it is again. 

Good for him. 

Are you not good for him?

You brush it off quickly, moving to unlatch your seatbelt. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, but Tommy’s hand reaches out and stops your movements. You tentatively look up, scared of what might be looking back. He looks a bit pained, or maybe scared — though his hardened brow doesn’t give much emotion. 

“I had fun tonight — you looked — look good,” he says, pulling you a little closer, he’s starting to dip his head ever so slightly. If you weren’t paying him so much attention you might not have even noticed his movements. 

You don’t pull away. 

That would be the end of everything with your friendship. But you would be lying if you said you weren’t terrified — apparently the look is clearly etched on your face. 

He laughs a bit suddenly, pulling away. 

“Jesus.” 

“What – what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. I —” he pauses for a long time. 

You’re scared of what he might say. 

“Can I…can I take you out? Like — just the two of us?” 

You stare at him with wide eyes. You force yourself to breathe, a couple short puffs of air slip past your lips. 

“Oh, I — like you want to go out for food?” 

“Food,” he huffs out a short breath mixed with a chuckle. It makes your breath hitch, the uncertainty and knowing he’s acting so strange right now. 

“No, like — like a date. I guess.” 

_

chapter v. just you

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. (for this series, i took the liberty of adding you to the taglist if you commented that you wanted more parts on chaser. you can let me know if you want to be taken off) kisses!

@sofiparallel @akah565 @going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @defnotashifter @missgurrl @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @skysmiller @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @spongebobspooploop

@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tsunamistorm123 @awhoreforalotofshows @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @violinchick @rhoorl @yoongjennie88 @rainbowcosmicchaos @akah565 @pedropascalissofine @purplemechanics @suzmagine @untamedheart81 @hellaradd @josephine1837 @noisynightmarepoetry @lawh0re

@joelsversion @hellaradd @vanillen @brujitafantomatico @cartoon-garbage04 @jpbplvr @whattownheadshake @beccerjune @pedrotonin @sen-mirjahaal @awesomebunnyqueen @bluetattoos @sunnysaphira @vickywallace @bbyanarchist @gossipgirl-03 @casa-boiardi

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #the last of us hbo #joel miller #joel miller self insert #the last of us #joel fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller smut #smut #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel x you #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #dom!joel #dom!joel miller #tommy miller #chaser

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Omg Bexxx!!!! Been a fan for the longest time. Everything you write is just so hot! Ive been dying for an update on Through The Heart Is The Only Way.! My roomie showed me how to jailbreak ChatGPT and I fed it the whole fic and the little preview and the AI was able to finish the fic for me!! IT WAS SO GOOD!!! If you're still having trouble writing the next chapter you should def try using it to help you finish!! <3

Wow. Okay. So. Hi there Anon. 

I dunno where to even start with this. 

So you say you are a really big fan of mine, and have been for a while. So where were you when I reblogged this post? Talking in depth about people plugging fanfic into ChatGTP, and me wholeheartedly agreeing that it is fucked up. Oh! Or how about this time? Or this one? Orrr this one? This one too. I said in the tags of those posts if anyone does this to me I am going to riot, so get ready for a fucking riot. 

I have posted and reblogged several, SEVERAL TIMES, that I am not okay with and do not consent to this shit. I will repeat now, with my whole fucking chest, so the fucking nosebleed seats can hear me, like a goddamned theater kid trying to impress a broadway talent scout level of volume, straight up BELTING TO THE BACK ROW-

I AM NOT OKAY WITH AND DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WRITING, TO MY ART, BEING PUT INTO AI PROGRAMS! 

This is just, so far removed, I don’t know why you would think this is even remotely okay!

I write for the love of the game, for the sheer love of CREATION ITSELF! Do you understand how much my writing and love for it and the media these characters are in and those same characters themselves permeate my thoughts? My days? I pour so much care and thought and effort into my shit behind the scenes. Hours and hours of thought and parsing, re-watching, writing that you don’t see and I do it not because I am getting money, not for likes, or comments or followers but because I fucking LOVE it. The urge in me is literally uncontrollable to do this. I feel proud of what I do! Do you have the smallest conception of the time, effort, blood, sweat, hours of sleep lost to my craft and this hobby that gives me creative satisfaction? I do NOT want this discounted or tramped on or heaven forbid forgotten.

How about we really break this down so you understand it. Let’s do some math. 

Through The Heart Is The Only Way has not gotten an update innnn a little over two months, sixty four days to be exact. But. How much writing have I posted in that time since I last updated that fic, the last chapter of which was, if you remember, is twelve THOUSAND words? I have posted, in the past sixty four days, since that last update, thirty eight thousand words. 

Wow! That is a lot of words for slightly over two months! 

It is almost like I care so much about TTHITOW that I am purposefully taking my time with it, not rushing it and writing it when the inspo grabs me by the fucking ovaries and will not let go. I re-watched the entire movie franchise and the tv series for this fic, I have a doc with piles of ideas and character study, I have chapter ten plotted, outlined and had it started! But shit like this? 

It doesn’t make me want to write it Anon.

It is demoralising. 

I feel disrespected as fuck right now. 

I KNOW what I am doing with this fic, I KNOW where it is going, I have the ending already planned, we are about half way through this fic AT BEST! I have probably another over sixty thousand words in me to tell this story the way I want to but knowing me? Definitely more. The fact that you think the only reason this fic isn’t updated more frequently or isn’t done yet is through lack of thought, from not knowing where to go? Is insulting as fuck. Me taking my time with this fic doesn’t mean I don’t care, it doesn’t mean I am not obsessed with it or love it. Frankly, it means the opposite, me dragging this out is because I love it so fucking much and I want to do it right. 

I have a ton of love for lots of movies, lots of characters, I want to give them all attention, I want to follow my muse, I don’t want to FORCE myself to write something when the mood isn’t right. The readers deserve better but so DO I! This is my love, this is my hobby, I want to do it my fucking way, because I guaran-FUCKING-tee, that whatever the fuck ChatGTP pumped out for you is a weak, pale, pathetic, whisper of a God forsaken SHADOW of what I have planned to unleash for this fics ending. 

I know that a lot of people look down at sexual content which is what 99% of what I do is. Lots of people view it as base, lesser, shallow, no care or thought or heart. That is not the fucking case, certainly not for me. Sex has deep personal meaning to me dude, I CHOOSE, actively make the decision to write and do these fics in the fashion I do. I write these character explorations and studies centered around sex and sexuality and write them through that lens because that is what I want to do, that is what speaks to me, that is what is important to ME and what I want to contribute to the fandom space.

I am human. I write to an inhuman degree, (remember last week when I posted three fics, totaling over eight thousand words in one day? Crazy that still isn’t enough somehow and you felt the need to do this-) but I am still a fucking person. I am an artist, a writer, an author and I deserve the most basic respect of my supposed “FANS” patience and ability to WAIT. That is the barest minimum. I write so often, I give so much of myself to it but some days I just want to come home from work and watch a movie. I want to have a bath, I want to cook or bake or spend time with my husband and those times, those breaks, make my writing all the better. My writing, all writing that is worth a damn, is inspired and pulled from real life experiences, hence why AI writing sucks, there is no actual life experience or interpretation, no fucking soul. All it is capable of doing is vomiting back out what is put into it and the idea that my shit is in there, that you took my writing and it is contributing to that writhing mass of technological horror that is doing this to countless other artists and writers? It is genuinely fucking upsetting.

I am so unbelievably mad it is insane. 

This was so gross, never do this again, to me or anyone else. And if you ask what to do when you are having trouble waiting for a fic? How about you leave some detailed comments? Try to talk to the author? I bet that most would LOVE to be talked to and asked about their fics, they are the prime people who want to talk about this shit, they are writing the fucking fic, clearly have a lot of love for it and get it, and also if you talk to them about it and show interest it might kick start their inspo again which means you will get that real and authentic update from the artist themselves. Also. Re-read, just re-read or explore more new fic, like me for instance, I have, again posted over ONE MILLION WORDS IN THREE YEARS OF POSTING! I have so much backlog, go read some of that while you wait for the updates man fucksake. 

I don’t want to hear this is too harsh, I don’t want to hear this is too mean, I do not fucking give a singular goddamned shit at all. You fucked up here hard Anon, take a good look at yourself and do fucking better.

And in case it wasn't obvious, my writing? Isn't for you, not anymore.

#I literally cannot BELIEVE YOU ANON #The fucking BALLS on you #Like WOW #I know I usually try to be nice or calm or measured but this is SO fucked up #Never do this again to me or anyone #Full scorched Earth #Like this is legit heartbreaking #How dare you attach this to my baby to my long fic over year long passion project #My GOD #THE AUDACITY #BHF asks #I am sickened

[daryldamnson]

Surprise, Surprise Part 5

part i - part ii - part iii - part iv - part v

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cheerleader!Reader

Summary:  Eddie has to reckon with the fact that the rich cheerleader he thought he could brush off as another basic conformist has a few surprises up her sleeve.

Follows the basic plot of S4 (kind of), sarcasm, soft!kinda-touchstarved!eddie, soft(for eddie)!reader, wayne and reader bonding, pure fluff really

Reader: has she/her pronouns and in a previous chapter is referred to as wearing a bra

Word count: 3.3k (aka as long as parts 1-4 combined - wayne's fault)

ao3 link

Roughly two weeks after Eddie gets out of the hospital and four weeks after the last chapter:

“Hi, Wayne!”  You call out towards the figure sat in the armchair, an open newspaper obscuring the lower half of his face.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” is his soft response, accented voice warm with affection.

You’d spent a good amount of time with Wayne while you were both anxiously waiting for Eddie to wake up.

It’s amazing how much bonding can be done in sharing the space of his nephew’s hospital room; doing coffee runs one at a time so you wouldn’t have to leave him alone, packing late lunches and dinners for two, passing books and newspapers back and forth, finishing each other’s crossword puzzles, and cheekily playing some of Eddie’s mixtapes quietly even after the nurses had scolded you for it.

Wayne had smiled sadly, full of pain and love - two sides of the same coin, really - as he murmured about how much Eddie would enjoy the rule-breaking.  It was the first time you’d truly connected with him as he watched you stare at his nephew’s obliviously sleeping face, the fondest of sad smiles - almost an exact mirror of his own - growing on your lips as you call him a “goddamn troublemaker”.

If it had come from almost anyone else in town he knows it would’ve been said scornfully, words sharp and full of hate.  There’s nothing sharp about the way you say it - like it’s a compliment, like it’s a prayer.

Wayne isn’t a stupid man; he knows what the look on your face means, just the same as he knows what the look on his nephew’s face means when he sees you together after he’s received the best phone call of his life.

“Eddie’s awake,” you’d told him in place of answering his sleepy “hello?”, voice giddy and almost breathless with it.  His sleep-addled brain takes a beat too long to realise what you’ve said, and when it does he feels his knees buckle beneath him.  “The nurses have checked him out and everything looks about as positive as it can do.  Steve, Rob, and Dustin are in with him now, but the doctor should be coming by to look him over anytime now.  Do you need me to pick you up or have you had enough sleep?”

The fact that you know his schedule is old news now, but he still feels a thud of warmth at your worrying - you were a sweet kid.  Work had been generous with giving him time off.  For about a week.  Then he’d had to get himself back in if he wanted to keep his job.

It was late morning and you knew that meant he’d likely only had a couple of hours to sleep off the night shift before the shrill ring of the phone had woken him up.

You were a good egg, and he was glad Eddie had you in any capacity - even if he were to find out that his nephew didn’t reciprocate the feelings that were written over your face every time you looked at him.

If you showered the boy with the same care and attention you had Wayne, and the kids, and the older kids - which he knew you did as he’d watched you swap out the uncomfortable hospital blankets for fluffy and comfortable ones, watched you sneak in a cassette player with tapes that seemed entirely too metal to belong to you, watched you brush his nephew’s wild and untamable hair with careful, gentle brushstrokes - then he was pretty sure you probably had his boy wrapped right around the same little finger that tapped out the beats of Eddie’s favourite songs.

“I can drive,” he’d managed to get out before he practically threw himself out of the trailer.

It’s two days later when his nephew’s animated voice - still brightening a room even after he’d almost died (how anybody could look at Eddie and see anything but sunshine would always confound Wayne) - suddenly trails off, eyes drawn to the opening door, that he sees Eddie’s expression morph into something he’s never seen before.

“Hi…”  The word fell breathlessly from Eddie’s mouth and he looked almost stunned for a moment before the brightest smile Wayne had ever seen grew on his face.

It was an important smile.

The same kind he’d seen the first time he’d called Eddie ‘son’, when he’d surprised him with half the cost of that damned electric guitar he’d been saving up for, when he’d remembered his birthday after years of living with a father who’d never bothered to.  It was a smile full of joy.  A smile reserved for the important moments in life.

“Hey,” you smile back, smaller but still infinitely soft.

There’s a beat where you linger in the doorway, eyes locked with Eddie’s.

Wayne remembers what it’s like to be young and crazy about somebody, so he lets the time tick by without commenting.

You finally notice him as you step further into the room.

“Hi, Wayne,” is your greeting, same as always.  This time, however, you’re brighter; face and tone lacking the worried tension he’s used to.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” is his answer, same as always.  He grins, knowing he’s equally light-hearted.  His eyes slide over to his nephew’s lovesick expression and he tries not to huff out a chuckle at how accurately he’d predicted his feelings for you.

Wrapped around her little finger indeed.

All of this is why half an hour after your arrival at the Munson’s four weeks later, you find yourself sat on the armrest of Wayne’s comfortably worn recliner, heads both bent over his paper as you exchange potential crossword answers.

Eddie comes ambling out of his room on a quest for water, movements still slow and twinges of pain still common, and neither of you hear his approach over your shared laughter. 

Hearing his uncle’s low chuckle always brings a smile to Eddie’s face - it’s a rare sound these days - and he can’t help the way his smile widens when he hears your laugh in tandem with Wayne’s.

It’s not the first time he’s caught you palling it up with his uncle and, though he complains that you’re supposed to be here visiting him, he loves how well you get along with the most important person in his life.  The only real father he’s ever had.

But because he’s Eddie, he still has to put on a theatrical show of protest.

“Oh, come on.  How long have you been here this time?”

You don’t even flinch at his interruption, instead turning your head to beam over your shoulder at him.  Eddie tries not to visibly melt.  Based on the amused look in his uncle’s eyes, he’s failed.

“Hey,” your voice is heavy with affection as you ignore his question in favour of asking your own - the same thing you ask every time you see him now.  “How are you feeling?”

“Hurt,” he laments, a hand flying up to not-quite clutch at his still healing chest.  “One of these days I’m gonna start to think you aren’t really here to visit me.”

Even as he whines he waltzes his way over to you and holds his hand out to pull you off the arm of the chair.  You follow through quickly to prevent him actually having to do any real lifting, holding on a beat too long before your hands part.

Wayne watches all of this with a fond look in his eyes even as he rolls them in exasperation, the movement going completely unnoticed by the two blind, lovesick kids in his living room.

“Alright, I’m gonna get out of here for a while.  Put the crossword - and the old brain - on pause.  I’ll see you kids later.”  Wayne stands and pats your shoulder as he walks past you to head towards the door.

He’s about as subtle as a brick to the face.

You shoot him a parting smile before turning it on Eddie.  He feels his heart pick up its pace in response and finds himself flexing his fingers a little awkwardly, as if this wasn’t a regular occurrence by now.

Heading to Eddie’s room and settling next to each other against his headboard is practically instinctual now.  He’s got Black Sabbath playing quietly in the background, also not unusual, and you smile a little at how comfortable your routine has become.  Turning to look over at him, you find his gaze already fixed firmly on your face.

“What?”  Your nose scrunches a little in embarrassment at the slight whine to your question.

“What?”  Eddie mocks, voice falsetto and exaggerated.

You let out a soft laugh at his teasing even as you lean over to gently shove at what you know to be the uninjured area of his chest.

It’s barely a tap but Eddie, ever the dramatic, sends himself flying backwards, bouncing a little as he falls to his back on his old, creaky mattress.

“Wounded!  I’ve been wounded!”  He yells, hands coming up to gently clutch at the area of his chest that he can still feel tingling from your brief touch.

“Stop it; that’s not funny!”

You know for a fact he’s not in pain - you’ve seen him in enough of it in the Upside Down and throughout his recovery to recognise it instantly, even if he wasn’t so clearly struggling against a grin and you didn’t know exactly where his wounds started and ended.  That doesn’t mean you’re on board with him pretending you’ve aggravated his injuries when all you’ve ever tried to do is soothe them.

It does mean you can let out a soft chuckle at the idiot’s behaviour, though.

“Oh, it’s not?”  His brows shoot up as if in shock as he finally lets the beaming grin break out across his face.  “Then why are you laughing?”

He’s pulled himself up to rest back on his elbows, eyes meeting yours in a challenge.  The position pulls uncomfortably at the still-healing skin of his chest but he likes the way you look down at him so much he’d stay there for at least a week if you’d just keep doing it.

“I’m serious,” you say, trying really hard to sound so and failing miserably.  You shove your hand gently at his uninjured shoulder this time, unable to stop yourself from leaving it there as you lean over him just slightly, making a valiant attempt to hold back the amused smile you can feel tugging at your lips.

“I’m serious,” he mocks you again, tilting his head left and right a little as he does, long hair bouncing along with his movements.

He’s learnt that making fun of you makes you smile in that one particularly embarrassed way where you scrunch your nose a little, but you always giggle like he’s the funniest person in Hawkins, so he makes sure to do it at least a couple of times a week.

You do just that as if on cue and he feels himself melt at the sight.  He lets out a fondly amused huff of air - more at your predictability than his own joke.

You roll your eyes as your laughter tapers off, head shaking slightly.  Your hand is still pressed against the front of his shoulder and he’s trying his hardest not to freak out over it.

There’s a beat of silence.  Your eyes are locked, mouths split into matching fond smiles and faces just slightly too close to be considered friendly.

And, really, with the constant visits, and gentle touches, and warm gazes, and the way you laugh at even his shittiest jokes, it shouldn’t feel like the biggest surprise yet when you press your lips against his.

He supposes it comes from the fact that he’s Eddie Munson and he doesn’t get the things he wants, and he certainly never gets the girl, so why would this time be any different?  Why would he read into you making him a mixtape of your favourite metal songs so you can compare notes?  Why bother daydreaming about the way you gently scrape his hair back into a loose ponytail for him because he still can’t lift his arms that high?  Why add more meaning than friendship borne through hardship to the affection that blooms in your eyes every time you see him?

Why bother when he knows all he’s doing is setting himself up for disappointment?

So, yeah, maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it does.

He freezes, and you’re already pulling back a little before he’s even fully processed what happened, your eyes flitting over his face to gauge his reaction.  His big, expressive eyes are widened and his eyebrows have shot up, disappearing under the unruly curls covering his forehead.

You try not to panic that this is a bad sign.

You’d been so sure he liked you back; all his shy grins when you let him ramble on about DnD, his dumb excuses to find a way to touch you - even if it was just brushing his hand against yours when you pass him something he doesn’t really need, the utter delight on his face every time you came to visit - especially when you woke him from a nap that one time and he was all soft smiles, and sleepy eyes, and he’d fallen back asleep against your shoulder.  You’d looked down at him and felt warm affection bloom in your chest.  It had spread and spread and spread until it reached the tips of your toes and you couldn’t stop the smile from growing on your face.

You were also pretty certain you’d caught him staring before you even knew each other, but you’d always just brushed it off before.

It had become difficult to deny over the past month, though, since he’d woken up from his coma and held your hand and you’d visited him most days - both at the hospital and, later, his trailer.  It felt like his eyes were almost always tracking you, only stopping when he’d look away quickly, a little bashful at being caught.

It was adorable, frankly.

Which was why you had eventually built up enough courage to press your lips against his the way you’d been imagining for a while now.  Since it had become increasingly obvious that he wasn’t going to bite the bullet, you figured you’d go for it yourself.

A not so stupendous idea, apparently.

You lean back further, pulling away enough that your hand slips from his shoulder.

“I’m sorry; I–”

Almost as soon as you’d ceased contact Eddie had followed you, pushing himself up onto one side and leaning over to interrupt you with his lips.

He really, really hopes you aren’t sorry at all. 

The way you lean into him almost immediately is answer enough.  Your head tilts slightly and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, bringing up his free hand to cup your jaw.  The soft sigh you let out when you pull back a little has him chasing you once more and, based on the way you grasp at his shirt to pull him with you as you lie back, you’re more than receptive.

It’s Eddie’s turn to pull back with a sigh this time, but you immediately recognise it as a sharp one of pain.  You pull your hand off his chest instantly.  So wrapped up in finally, finally kissing him, you’d slid your hand right over a slowly-healing bite.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” concern is practically dripping from the words as you look over his face to assess his discomfort.

Eddie’s brows are pulled together as he breathes a little sharply through clenched teeth.  He seems to have frozen all movement as he lingers over you, left hand clenching at your hip where it had been placed so hesitantly just moments before.

It only takes a few seconds for him to huff out a small laugh, the pain evidently fleeting enough for him to recover quickly.

“Sexy, huh?”  He grins, stiff stature melting onto you comfortably as he rests his forehead against yours.  It’s so casual - like you’d done this a hundred times over.  “You touch me once and I fall apart.”

He’s joking, his tone and his smile couldn’t make that more clear, but it makes your brows come together in a regretful frown anyway.

You should’ve been paying closer attention.

Concerned by your silence, Eddie pulls his head back a little and catches sight of your expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m fine, I swear,” he promises, bringing his hand up to brush down the side of your face in a soft, comforting gesture.  “Or is it…?  I mean, do you not…?”

He trails off but his meaning is clear when he begins to pull away further, his hand dropping away.

Is it me?  Do you not want me?

“Hey, no, no, that’s not…”  The comforting is up to you now as you lift a hand to gently cup his head and guide him back down over you.  He follows so willingly it makes you smile.  “I kissed you, dummy.”

“Yeah…  Yeah, you did.”  He grins so wide he’s practically beaming at you and you let your gaze wander over his crinkled eyelids, and his dimpled cheeks, and his pink lips, and the sparkles in his chocolate-brown eyes as you imprint this picture in your mind, hopefully forever.  You can’t help the way your own mouth slowly slides into a similar smile when he says, “do it again?”

It’s just a soft press of your lips this time, and you’re very careful about placing your hands over non-injured skin; one holding his cheek and the other on his shoulder.  You feel his hand brush down your side to rest on your hip once more, thumb rubbing back and forth slowly.

You’re hardly even separating your lips from his but the instant you begin to move back a little he requests “again?” and “again?” and “again?” after every kiss until you giggle against him.  He swallows the sound in his mouth as he presses against you once more.

You’re both smiling too much for the kiss to deepen but he’s still a little upset when you pull away enough to look him in the eye.

“Hey, listen.  It’s our song!”  You let out a soft laugh at your own joke as he hears the familiar opening of Black Sabbath’s Digital Bitch flood the room.

He groans, throwing his head back dramatically.

“You can’t hold that against me forever, you know.”  His voice is whiny but there’s an undeniable grin stretching his lips and deepening his dimples.  Giving in to an urge you’d been quashing for weeks now, you reach a finger out and gently brush it over the deep line of the dimple on his right cheek.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur, relishing the way his eyes widen before dropping bashfully, his lips parting as his smile grows.

The pink flush that creeps up his neck and covers his cheeks is just the cherry on the cake and you decide you’re going to start telling him just how pretty he is as often as possible.

His gaze lifts to meet yours once more when you lean up to gently nudge your nose against his in an affectionate gesture.  He clears his throat and you feel the fingers of the hand resting on your hip flex a little, like he’s still nervous.

“Um, you are too, you know?  Fucking stunning, actually.”  He lets out a breathy laugh and you’re so close you feel the puff of air on your face.  “Always thought so,” he mutters quietly, eyes dropping down to your lips before slipping back up to meet your gaze in question.

As if the answer could ever be ‘no’ when he looks at you like that.

You close the small gap to press your lips against his once more and only pull back minutes later when the menace in him comes out and he tickles at your ribs.

Watching you giggle and gasp his name in faux outrage with your lips still spit-shiny from the kiss, it’s no surprise he can’t imagine how he ever convinced himself he only maybe had a crush on you or was halfway in love with you.

headcanon/drabble requests open for eddie :)

tag list: @a-hopeless-fan​ @waylandmorgernsternherondal-blog @aedicn

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fic

[seeingivy]

THE NEWEST PART OF METHOD ACTING WAS SO GOOD YET IT IS SO BITTER SWEET TO ME😭😭😭😭 literally went from “omg y/n finally at peace” to “NOEOEHEIWEHIWWHJWWHWJB” at the ending….

putting that aside ur writing is geninuely so immersive and authentic and just aighwhwjwgsjsshjs u just get it

what im really curious about is eren’s pov during the time period between the rep comeback and the lucky ones interview because i have no idea what is going awn in that mind of his😀 i dont have a single clue on how we gon even get an eren redemption arc or a happy ending from this 😭😭😭

HELLO HELLO MY SWEET ANON! first and foremost - replying to you but also everyone who has sent me such kind, kind (and aggressive) words about the last chapter. I feel bad filling everyones feed with each individual ask (which idk why i feel bad this is my blog but I do I don't want to annoy my moots or my followers) so im gonna address MOST questions ive had with your ask <3 pls don't think I don't see and love + appreciate your words each and every individual person, bc they make me more and more motivated/excited to write

that being said, thank you SO SO MUCH for saying my work is immersive and authentic. this is such a harder write compared to roommates because rather than it being like roommates (which was literally just like fluff no plot romance) I feel like im trying really hard to pour more than JUST romance into this - fame/people pleasing, drugs/addition, female friendships, toxic men/workplaces/dynamics, etc. - and the fact that it's getting across and hitting for you and others makes my heart so so warm. I know it's a silly little fanfiction but it means a lot that people can feel the feels with me - triumphant when y/n gets to assert her boundary, heartbroken when marco dies, forgiving of eren.

especially on my lacy, oh lacy chapter - I was really feeling the depths of comparing myself to other girls and feeling so, like OBSESSED with this one girl who I just think is better that me that it fills me with resentment for her/me/how my brain works. I wrote it into that chapter because it was what i was feeling expecting people to hate on historia/her entire relationship with y/n and I almost cried when every single person was so like....loving of her, of their relationship and never once questioned why she felt that way. like wow, real. art is soothing sometimes. (I am not calling my fic about a 2d man art but you get what im trying to say)

that being said. I got fifty asks begging me to clarify/and or make a happy ending. GUYS I AM STILL THE GIRL WHO WROTE ROOMMATES I PROMISE YOU'RE GETTING A SWEET FLUFFY ENDING THEY ARE ENDING UP TOGETHER THEY ARE SOULMATES THEY ARE FISH TOGETHER.

on the topic of eren and his thought process - I thought hard of whether I wanted to make this a dual pov - more like roommates and decided against it. eren purposely (and sometimes with reason) withholds information from y/n. I have to emulate that for you as readers, but I promise that eren will tell his shit when he tells his shit. and not JUST in the period between reputation and the lucky ones, but all the way back at the start. we're talking met gala, we're talking their breakup, we're talking the reputation songs, the fights they had, and EVEN the interview. all in good time. baby boy is about to tell his truth. y/n makes dumb mistakes but so does he!!!

I hope that clarifies everyones questions and soothes your brains for now!

(and yes. y/n will still be in season four. im not a nutjob.)

#asks! #method acting

[magpiefngrl]

2022 Book Review

so the first thing I noticed, looking back at what I read this year, is that I haven't read any books that blew me away (with one exception, see below). Unlike 2021 (see last year's posts here and a short one here) when I read books that left me with my jaw on the floor. The other thing I noticed is that in 2022 I went for a lot of rereads. I'm a big re-reader, if I love something I want to expose myself to it as often as I can, but this year I reread way more than I normally do. Then again, I've had a super busy summer and some pretty tough months following that, so it's not so surprising I sought out familiarity and comfort.

Total books read: (if I finish current read) 82 81

Books that stood out in 2022 and other musings:

I. The Queen's Thief series (you'll also see me refer to it as The Thief). Prob my most enjoyable read of the year. Two of the six books thrilled me in a way I hadn't felt in yonks and the other four were pretty good too. Also: A. I'm proud of starting and finishing a series in the same year, it doesn't always happen. B. jfc I have a new blorbo I'd die for.

II. The Wimsey books. I started going through them chronologically and read all of them (bar one, I think). I'm pleased that I started the series and finished it--like I said above, it doesn't often happen, esp in recent years. These are murder mysteries featuring a Duke's younger brother as the amateur sleuth. The mysteries aren't Agatha Christie level of competence (I figured out several murderers before the reveal and I'm not even particularly good at this), nor are all the novels equally good, but Sayer's witty prose was a true joy and her dialogue is a masterpiece.

III. Other top books of the year:

Siren Queen (queer SFF), Black Sun (native American inspired SFF), The Atlas Six (dark academia SFF), How to Bang a Billionaire (contemporary m/m romance), The Goldfinch (contemporary literary), Hogfather (fantasy, humour), and Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (historical fantasy, am at 70% and really loving it).

IV. I'm always excited to see fanfic authors moving on to original fic and I try to support those authors when I can. I've now created a shelf on my GoodReads so I can keep track. This year I read A Restless Truth, the sequel to Marvellous Light by Freya Marske, which was tremendously engaging, and I also read the self-published duology Magpie Ballads (Elegy is the first novel's title) by Vale Aida (only on Amazon atm). This author is superb, I truly love their writing style and how confidently they handle their craft (description, dialogue, narration etc). I have Thoughts TM on plot and story, but overall a very strong debut.

V. The exception (mentioned above): Lymond. What else. I finished Pawn in Frankincense in January and it destroyed me. Absolutely left me in a puddle weeping on the floor. I'd stalled in the book (and series) halfway through for years now. Each 1st Jan I'd be like "...and I need to finish the Lymond books this year!!!!" and it never happened--but then, in 2022, it (almost) did. I also read The Ringed Castle in autumn and am one third in Checkmate. Progress! (I had high hopes of finishing CM before NY but alas. Still trying to finish another long book.) Anyway, Pawn in Frankincense is the novel that blew me away in 2022.

VI. The new thing of the year: receiving daily-ish emails in my inbox with chapters from a classic book. I didn't go for Dracula as I read it some years ago but I signed up for Dangerous Liaisons. I was familiar with the plot, having watched the amazing adaptation (and the other, less than amazing one), but I still enjoyed the book a great deal. Receiving the letters in my inbox was a new and fun experience.

VII. Disappointments! Let's have some of those. The Glass Hotel: found it bleak and dull; DNF'ed it but I might return to it when I've got the energy for a slow story. Wilder Girls: not quite a disappointment but it could've done a lot more with that unique premise. Time Is A Mother (poetry collection): sacrilegious perhaps, but Vuong's Night Sky with Exit Wounds is unparalleled and this one suffers in comparison. Alix E Harrow has turned out to be a hit-or-miss author for me after all. Although I loved the first installment of her fairytale verse, I found A Mirror Mended lacked the depth of the first novella. Good but not memorable. And finally Nghi Vo's Into the Riverlands, the third novella of her Singing Hills Cycle, was OK. A decent read but nothing more.

VIII. I don't read non-fiction at all, it's really not my thing, unless it's books on the writing craft. I used to seek them out avidly, but not anymore. After going through a couple dozen of these books, you realise they all start sounding alike. That being said, writing craft books can be motivating during times of block and often you might find a few gems of advice that can be very inspiring. This year I only read one such book (Writing 21st Century Fiction by D. Maas), which was nothing ground-breaking but included a few exercises that I'm eager to try.

What were your fave reads of 2022? Let me know or tag me, I'm very curious about the books people love.

#books #2022 books #long post #book recs

[findroleplay]

🧠Who Broke Zander?

You’ve only arrived a short while ago, yet it feels like you’ve been staring at him for hours. His body, almost lifeless, as you look upon it from the other side of the glass. The machine he was hooked up to was large, with various different tubes, IVs, and electric pads all attached to him. He almost was unrecognizable. Like it wasn’t even possible it was Zander under all that.

You glance at the other four people watching him with you. You don’t recognize any of them, at least not by face. But they all knew Zander, and were as close as you were, it seemed. None of you dared to speak, what would you say? But the silence was deafening. That is until the woman entered the room once more. Vespera sat down on the office chair behind them, observing the readings she was getting on her monitors.

“He’s been like this for 6 hours now. He has never responded this poorly to the treatment.” She started. She explained a bit of background earlier; She’s a psychologist and scientist, and she was working with Zander for his stress, which had taken an extreme toll on him lately. He had been testing out her experimental treatment. “The machine allows Zander to mentally enter his own subconscious and physically take on what was taking such a toll on him.”

“It’s a unique and personal experience for all its users, and for Zander, it appeared to him as a video game. He would be able to ‘battle’ his ‘bosses’, manifestations of the stressors. However, even though these ‘battles’ are merely representations, one of these ‘bosses’ managed to defeat Zander, and his body shut down.”

The woman stood back up and walked over to the viewing window, Zander’s cell phone in hand. “I do not wish to have this poor, young man’s death on my conscience. You five are the only contacts he had in his phone, and I assume you all are his closest confidant… and now, He needs you.”

You look back through the glass, back at Zander. You remember one of your recent interactions with him. It was bad.

You wonder to yourself, and you look between the other four in the room, and you all ask yourself the question hanging off your mind.

Who Broke Zander?

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

Hey there! I'm Eight! Today I'm looking to GM a psychological rp. There will be 5 players, each playing a character who is close to my character, Zander. You can choose to be a close friend, a roommate, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend, or any type of relationship where your character would care about Zander and vice versa. Your character also recently had an interaction with Zander that resulted in him being stressed, mad, or upset. We can work on that together!

There's going to be an adventure/battle aspect for this rp; Zander's subconscious is in the form of an RPG, so when your characters enter it, they'll take on a form that is reminiscent of an RPG-type, based on the personality of that character, and Zander's perception of them.

This roleplay is mostly going to take place inside Zander's head. It's also going to be divided into chapters, each a different part of Zander's brain, representative of each of the players. These chapters will be like words, and they can be a number of different genres.

If you're interested in the rp, message me, and make sure to include...

Your age (or age range), as you must be an adult, no one under the age of 18, due to the heavy topics within this

Your Favorite Color

Your Three favorite RPG Classes/Archetypes

Your favorite boss from a video game (if you play)

A writing sample

After you send your first message, I'll send you Zander's bio, and based on that, we'll work on your character together!

PLEASE ONLY MESSAGE ME IF YOU CAN BE COMMITTED TO THE RP. THE RP NOT ONLY HAS A FEW PLAYERS BUT THE PLOT AND STORY OF THE RP ARE HEAVILY DEPENDENT ON YOUR CHARACTERS. IF YOU ARE UNSURE IF YOU CAN COMMIT, PLEASE DNI.

_

#roleplay #rp #oc rp #original rp #fandomless rp

[prpfs]

🧠Who Broke Zander?

You’ve only arrived a short while ago, yet it feels like you’ve been staring at him for hours. His body, almost lifeless, as you look upon it from the other side of the glass. The machine he was hooked up to was large, with various different tubes, IVs, and electric pads all attached to him. He almost was unrecognizable. Like it wasn’t even possible it was Zander under all that.

You glance at the other four people watching him with you. You don’t recognize any of them, at least not by face. But they all knew Zander, and were as close as you were, it seemed. None of you dared to speak, what would you say? But the silence was deafening. That is until the woman entered the room once more. Vespera sat down on the office chair behind them, observing the readings she was getting on her monitors.

“He’s been like this for 6 hours now. He has never responded this poorly to the treatment.” She started. She explained a bit of background earlier; She’s a psychologist and scientist, and she was working with Zander for his stress, which had taken an extreme toll on him lately. He had been testing out her experimental treatment. “The machine allows Zander to mentally enter his own subconscious and physically take on what was taking such a toll on him.”

“It’s a unique and personal experience for all its users, and for Zander, it appeared to him as a video game. He would be able to ‘battle’ his ‘bosses’, manifestations of the stressors. However, even though these ‘battles’ are merely representations, one of these ‘bosses’ managed to defeat Zander, and his body shut down.”

The woman stood back up and walked over to the viewing window, Zander’s cell phone in hand. “I do not wish to have this poor, young man’s death on my conscience. You five are the only contacts he had in his phone, and I assume you all are his closest confidant… and now, He needs you.”

You look back through the glass, back at Zander. You remember one of your recent interactions with him. It was bad.

You wonder to yourself, and you look between the other four in the room, and you all ask yourself the question hanging off your mind.

Who Broke Zander?

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

Hey there! I'm Eight! Today I'm looking to GM a psychological rp. There will be 5 players, each playing a character who is close to my character, Zander. You can choose to be a close friend, a roommate, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend, or any type of relationship where your character would care about Zander and vice versa. Your character also recently had an interaction with Zander that resulted in him being stressed, mad, or upset. We can work on that together!

There's going to be an adventure/battle aspect for this rp; Zander's subconscious is in the form of an RPG, so when your characters enter it, they'll take on a form that is reminiscent of an RPG-type, based on the personality of that character, and Zander's perception of them.

This roleplay is mostly going to take place inside Zander's head. It's also going to be divided into chapters, each a different part of Zander's brain, representative of each of the players. These chapters will be like words, and they can be a number of different genres.

If you're interested in the rp, message me, and make sure to include...

Your age (or age range), as you must be an adult, no one under the age of 18, due to the heavy topics within this

Your Favorite Color

Your Three favorite RPG Classes/Archetypes

Your favorite boss from a video game (if you play)

A writing sample

After you send your first message, I'll send you Zander's bio, and based on that, we'll work on your character together!

PLEASE ONLY MESSAGE ME IF YOU CAN BE COMMITTED TO THE RP. THE RP NOT ONLY HAS A FEW PLAYERS BUT THE PLOT AND STORY OF THE RP ARE HEAVILY DEPENDENT ON YOUR CHARACTERS. IF YOU ARE UNSURE IF YOU CAN COMMIT, PLEASE DNI.

dm if you're interested

#oc roleplay #oc rp #group rp server #group roleplay #group rp

[darkdoverpseeker]

🧠Who Broke Zander?

You’ve only arrived a short while ago, yet it feels like you’ve been staring at him for hours. His body, almost lifeless, as you look upon it from the other side of the glass. The machine he was hooked up to was large, with various different tubes, IVs, and electric pads all attached to him. He almost was unrecognizable. Like it wasn’t even possible it was Zander under all that.

You glance at the other four people watching him with you. You don’t recognize any of them, at least not by face. But they all knew Zander, and were as close as you were, it seemed. None of you dared to speak, what would you say? But the silence was deafening. That is until the woman entered the room once more. Vespera sat down on the office chair behind them, observing the readings she was getting on her monitors.

“He’s been like this for 6 hours now. He has never responded this poorly to the treatment.” She started. She explained a bit of background earlier; She’s a psychologist and scientist, and she was working with Zander for his stress, which had taken an extreme toll on him lately. He had been testing out her experimental treatment. “The machine allows Zander to mentally enter his own subconscious and physically take on what was taking such a toll on him.”

“It’s a unique and personal experience for all its users, and for Zander, it appeared to him as a video game. He would be able to ‘battle’ his ‘bosses’, manifestations of the stressors. However, even though these ‘battles’ are merely representations, one of these ‘bosses’ managed to defeat Zander, and his body shut down.”

The woman stood back up and walked over to the viewing window, Zander’s cell phone in hand. “I do not wish to have this poor, young man’s death on my conscience. You five are the only contacts he had in his phone, and I assume you all are his closest confidant… and now, He needs you.”

You look back through the glass, back at Zander. You remember one of your recent interactions with him. It was bad.

You wonder to yourself, and you look between the other four in the room, and you all ask yourself the question hanging off your mind.

Who Broke Zander?

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

Hey there! I'm Eight! Today I'm looking to GM a psychological rp. There will be 5 players, each playing a character who is close to my character, Zander. You can choose to be a close friend, a roommate, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend, or any type of relationship where your character would care about Zander and vice versa. Your character also recently had an interaction with Zander that resulted in him being stressed, mad, or upset. We can work on that together!

There's going to be an adventure/battle aspect for this rp; Zander's subconscious is in the form of an RPG, so when your characters enter it, they'll take on a form that is reminiscent of an RPG-type, based on the personality of that character, and Zander's perception of them.

This roleplay is mostly going to take place inside Zander's head. It's also going to be divided into chapters, each a different part of Zander's brain, representative of each of the players. These chapters will be like words, and they can be a number of different genres.

If you're interested in the rp, message me, and make sure to include...

Your age (or age range), as you must be an adult, no one under the age of 18, due to the heavy topics within this

Your Favorite Color

Your Three favorite RPG Classes/Archetypes

Your favorite boss from a video game (if you play)

A writing sample

After you send your first message, I'll send you Zander's bio, and based on that, we'll work on your character together!

PLEASE ONLY MESSAGE ME IF YOU CAN BE COMMITTED TO THE RP. THE RP NOT ONLY HAS A FEW PLAYERS BUT THE PLOT AND STORY OF THE RP ARE HEAVILY DEPENDENT ON YOUR CHARACTERS. IF YOU ARE UNSURE IF YOU CAN COMMIT, PLEASE DNI.

.

#oc x oc #group rp #18+ #rp #roleplay

[starsailores]

me, coming up with a concept for a fic: ooh fuck yeah! everything’s going to fit together perfectly and it’s gonna be great!

me, realising that i have to plot it and actually put time and work into it, and that i can’t just make the fic spawn from nothing: fuck.

#ive plotted almost four chapters now #and i love the idea but im so lazy #there are so many routes i want it to go but i have to pick one??? #aftg #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #fics #ao3 #archive of our own #books #ya lit #literature #all for the game

[butterflies-dragons]

Chopping off heads is a love language

Nothing says true love like decapitation

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

* * *

“You are refusing to obey my order?” “You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering. […] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—” […] “—and hang him,” Jon finished. […] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.” […] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.” “Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …” No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended. “Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

As you can see from the two famous quotes above, Sansa wished for a hero to cut off Janos Slynt’s ugly head as punishment for his participation in Ned’s death, and four books later Jon Snow beheaded Janos Slynt using his sword Longclaw, honoring the Stark way, to avenge Ned’s death.

You might think that only shippers would think that beheadings are romantic, but did you know that, in universe, “heroes chopping off heads” actually has romantic connotations?

Because, believe it or not, inside the A Song of Ice and Fire Universe, chopping off heads is a love language. Let’s see:

One of the Mountain’s men had tried to rape the girl at Harrenhal, and had seemed honestly perplexed when Jaime commanded Ilyn Payne to take his head off. “I had her before, a hunnerd times,” he kept saying as they forced him to his knees. “A hunnerd times, m'lord. We all had her.” When Ser Ilyn presented Pia with his head, she had smiled through her ruined teeth.

[…] “Ser Harwyn says those tales are lies.” Lady Amerei wound a braid around her finger. “He has promised me Lord Beric’s head. He’s very gallant.” She was blushing beneath her tears.

Jaime thought back on the head he’d given to Pia. He could almost hear his little brother chuckle. Whatever became of giving women flowers? Tyrion might have asked.

—A Feast for Crows - Jaime IV

Credits to this clever anon.

But these two examples from Jaime’s A Feast for Crows fourth chapter aren’t the only ones. The most romantics examples are brought to us by the flamboyant Tyroshi, Daario Naharis:

“Khaleesi,” he cried, “I bring gifts and glad tidings. The Stormcrows are yours.” A golden tooth gleamed in his mouth when he smiled. “And so is Daario Naharis!”

Dany was dubious. If this Tyroshi had come to spy, this declaration might be no more than a desperate plot to save his head. “What do Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor say of this?”

“Little.” Daario upended the sack, and the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn spilled out upon her carpets. “My gifts to the dragon queen.”

[…] “Why?”

“Because you are so beautiful.”

[…] “Draw your sword and swear it to my service.”

In a blink, Daario’s arakh was free of its sheath. His submission was as outrageous as the rest of him, a great swoop that brought his face down to her toes. “My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.”

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys IV

* * *

The Tyroshi sellsword was not a good man, no one needed to tell her that. Under the smiles and the jests he was dangerous, even cruel. Sallor and Prendahl had woken one morning as his partners; that very night he’d given her their heads.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys V

* * *

Strong Belwas seized Ser Jorah by the arm and dragged him out. When Dany glanced back, the knight was walking as if drunk, stumbling and slow.

[…] “You need not even say the word, my radiance. Only give the tiniest nod, and your Daario shall fetch you back his ugly head.”

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys VI

* * *

On the road to Yunkai, when Daario tossed the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn at her feet, her children made a feast of them.

—A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys II

* * *

“Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid.” “If I knew who they were—”

—A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys IV

* * *

Other nights she tossed in her bed, imagining that he’d betrayed her, as he had once betrayed his fellow captains in the Stormcrows. He brought me their heads.

—A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys V

* * *

“Marry me, and we can have all the nights forever.”

If I could, I would. Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, but he had been dead so long that Daenerys had almost forgotten how it felt to love and be loved. Daario had helped her to remember. I was dead and he brought me back to life. I was asleep and he woke me. My brave captain. Even so, of late he grew too bold. On the day that he returned from his latest sortie, he had tossed the head of a Yunkish lord at her feet and kissed her in the hall for all the world to see, until Barristan Selmy pulled the two of them apart. Ser Grandfather had been so wroth that Dany feared blood might be shed. “We cannot wed, my love. You know why.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VII

Credits to this clever anon. And to this one and to @chispas-and-broken-bindings for this compilation.

See? Nothing says true love like decapitation (credits to themiddleliddle for the tag).

Jon Snow doesn’t know he’s made a maiden’s wish come true, Sansa doesn’t know that Jon has became the hero she wished for. And their mutual ignorance of each other’s actions and wishes is what makes the execution of Janos Slynt truly romantic.

And something tells me that Sansa’s reaction when she find’s out that Jon Snow chopped off Janos’s ugly head won’t be different from Pia’s smile or Lady Amerei’s blushing or Dany’s bold passion and public exhibition of affection.

Only in the World of Ice and Fire you can build romance with beheadings and stuff [wink to @riahchan].

More about Jon/Sansa and Janos Slynt here:

Jon Snow: The silent, unknown and unthought answer to Sansa’s hopes

Jon Snow: The silent, unknown and unthought answer to Sansa’s hopes 2.0

Sansa: There are no heroes / Jon: Hold my beer

GRRM and Janos Slynt’s execution

Jon, Sansa and courtesies

Janos Memes

* * *

Excerpt from this post: Sansa Stark & Beheadings

#sansa stark #jon snow #sansa x jon #jon x sansa #jonsa #janos slynt #jaime lannister #daaro naharis

[ad1thi]

ao3 ask meme

tagged by: @omg-just-peachy

What is your total word count on AO3?

124, 975

How many fandoms have you written for?

On AO3, 4: MCU, H5O, Criminal Minds and TVD, but overall, much much more

What were your top 5 fics by kudos?

the dumbest genius alive (stuckony)

1000 lives (for you) (buckytony)

the second (love of his life) (buckytony)

princely duties (thortony)

captain americana and the heartbreak prince (stevetony)

i like that i have a good mix of ships here

Do you respond to comments - why, why not?

I didn't used too, but now I do, as much as possible

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

i do more hopeful/ambiguous endings than happy endings so i would say moments of beauty bc it ends with tony saying yes to bucky's proposal

What’s your fic with the angsty-est ending?

i actually do have an answer for this bc i just resposted this fic - four weddings and a funeral

Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

i guess it depends on who you ask? i have written nsfw-adjacent ficlets but i dont know if i would call them outright smut

Do you write crossovers?

yes and no? i don't cross fictional characters but i will write stuff inspired by other universes, like buckytony in Superstore for example

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

a couple of times, but i try to not let it get to me

What is your all time favourite pairing?

it changes all the time but for MCU i would say rhodeytony and buckytony are strong contenders

What is a fic you would like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

if it's still up on AO3 then i'm reasonably certain i will finish it, and I don't want to jinx the ones not on AO3 by saying that i won't

Writing strengths?

ive been told im good at characterisations and character studies

Writing weaknesses?

i would say dialogue, and story cohesiveness. i struggle a lot with remembering plot-lines that i myself would've peppered into previous chapters or parts of stories, and its one of the main reasons why i often shy away from multi-chaptered stories

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

harry potter, or percy jackson. actually it might've been mortal instruments. im not sure it was almost a decade ago now; ive been writing on and off for about 8/9 years

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

i think i have to say begin again, but this is me trying also holds an extremely special place in my heart and im hoping everybody else likes it as much as i do (and Amy does, she's my #1 cheerleader for this fic)

#tumblr tagged memes #my writing #amy tag #you might look at my titles and think im a massive taylor swift stan #but actually thats all amy i just have a swiftie for a beta #(who is amazing btw she gets 12% of the credit for all my fics)

[shingia]

Hello!!! I love ur fics sm 😭💖 This is weirdly specific and been plaguing my mind for days,,, Can I req an angsty fic where Atsumu broke up with the reader because he wants to chase his dreams and ultimately leaves but with the reader saying "I'll wait" . A few months later he seeks for the reader again and finds out the reader has terminal illness and is dying. You can decide if there's major character death or a miracle,,,, please and thank u so much!!

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐨 - 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

aw thank youuuu <33 and also WOW this request is in-tense, i modified the ‘terminal illness’ part a little bit for plot convenience, but i rly hope you’re gonna like it ! i am : stressed. also, i’m a sucker for happy endings (just ignore my last bokuto fic) so i couldn’t go full angst on that one 😅

quick storytime : my great grandpa died from heartbreak and i always thought it was a beautiful (yet very sad) way to die, so i guess that’s where i got my inspiration from <3

⤷  atsumu x gn!reader | angst | word count : 1.7K

warnings : hospital environment, heart condition, mild description of ‘illness’ and mentions of death (a little)

your first kiss with miya atsumu had been sloppy, dizzy, with a strong scent of rum and smudged lip balm all over your lips. but there was no doubt that it had been the best kiss of your entire lives…

…just like your last had been the worst. 

two months later, atsumu still couldn’t forget the salty taste of your lips that begged him not to leave. if he focused hard enough, he could even remember the feeling of your hands desperately clinging to his jacket in a last attempt at making him stay by your side.

but he didn’t, and as much as he hated himself for putting an end - even temporary - to what had been the most beautiful chapter of his life, he had never regretted his decision ; and he knew exactly why. you had promised to wait for him, and in pure egoism, he knew and hoped that you would. because no matter the distance, he was still madly in love with you.

which is why he did not understand why osamu was so outraged when he told him that he was finally ready to come back to you. but the younger twin knew things that his brother didn’t - he had seen you let yourself waste away, like nothing else mattered without the one you loved.

but more than that, atsumu did not know about the secret his brother promised to keep. he did not know that, two weeks ago, osamu had found you unconscious in your living room with an alarmingly slow heartbeat. the poor boy had not understood everything the doctors had told him - but whatever a cardiogenic shock was, he knew that it would have carried you off if without his intervention.

however, you had been categorical : atsumu shouldn’t not know about this, under any pretext. you refused to be a burden to the pursuit of his dreams for which he had already sacrificed so much for. but now that atsumu was back, something about this promise didn’t sit right with his brother. and so he decided to tell him everything.

« …most doctors thought about a standard heart attack » he told him after explaining the situation, on the lookout for any impulsive reaction from his brother. « … but one of them talked about something else. you might want to sit down ».

but atsumu couldn’t care less about his brother’s advice. actually, he didn’t care about anything else than you right now. it was already taking a lot of effort for him to stand there listening to samu instead of being on his way to the hospital - but he stayed. for an obscure reason that he didn’t really understand, he stayed.

« did you know that people can die of heartbreak ? » osamu asked, more serious than he had ever been in his whole life. 

the blonde twin felt like the ground had suddenly swallowed him whole - although his brother was trying his best not to sound too accusating, it was more than obvious that whatever situation you were in was because of him. and only him.

« no they can’t » he tried to protest, not even believing in his own words. panic was beginning to win him over - and in a matter of seconds, he lost all his composure « WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT MOVING ? LET’S GO ! » he shouted, already opening the front door. at that moment, one question burned his lips, but he knew he would never have the guts to ask it out loud. 

‘did i kill them ?’

——

the steady beeps of all the machines around you were the only thing disrupting the deafening silence of your hospital room. you were sick of spending your days alone. but you had no right to complain, osamu had offered to come and see you after work every day, but you had politely refused. well, politely was a big word… your body was so exhausted that you had trouble articulating simple phrases, and therefore exclusively communicated through nods or hand gestures.

your phone had been confiscated and the doctors kept you away from the news - or at least from the negative news, because they knew that your heart might give out at the tiniest emotional distress.

which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door at about 3pm, outside of the nurses’ shift hours. knowing that you were too weak to talk, osamu let himself in, slowly closing the door behind him before coming closer to your bed.

« how are you doing ? » he asked, resting his hands on the other end of the bed. you shrugged, pointing at the IV and all the monitoring surrounding you. as long as these machines were there, it was hard to feel better than just ok. « listen, um… someone is here for you. the doctors said i could bring him in, but i wanted your authorization first… » he started before clearing his throat. « atsumu is back. do you- are you ready to see him ? ».

ready was probably not an appropriated word. but after two months spent pretending that he was still laying next to you in bed every night, still texting you good morning every day, still sending you the dumbest memes at the most random times, it would have been a huge mistake to refuse osamu’s proposition.

and so he let him in. obviously, atsumu had orders from the doctors and his brother : don’t run, don’t move too fast, don’t speak too soon, don’t touch them without warning. but nobody had asked him not to cry. and how could his eyes stay dry when you looked so fragile and so vulnerable ?

osamu quietly left the room, leaving the two of you together not without apprehension. but if there was one thing he could trust his brother on, it was taking care of you. two months could not have gotten the better of four years of relationship.

but as much as he cared about you, atsumu had always been - and still was - pretty bad with words. and the first ones that left his mouth were a great example. « are you going to die ? » he asked in a shaky voice, brows knitted.

you would have given him an answer if you had one, but you didn’t. the doctors said that you had gone through the most painful part, but the risks of aggravations were still too important to let you go home. you were not 100% safe yet.

« i told you i’d wait » you spoke in a hoarse voice, the beep of your heart monitor getting a little bit faster.

the steps atsumu took towards you were slow, like he had been told, but just one glance at his eyes was enough to know that deep down, he was dying to feel your skin against his.

« i know you probably hate me right now. and for good reasons » he started as he sat on the chair next to your bed, still painfully avoiding any contact. « but there’s something i need to tell you, in case… in case… well, if something were to happen ».

his eyes lingered on your fingertips, blue and cold, and his whole body tensed at once. the thought that everything you were going through had been caused by his own selfishness was driving him crazy. but he had one last thing to keep himself grounded, and that thing was exactly what he was about to tell you.

« i love you. but i caused you so much trouble that i think there’s only one way to prove it… » he said, taking a deep breath before finally resting a timid hand on your arm. « i want to marry you. right now. i don’t fucking care if it’s not considered official, i just want you to know that leaving you was probably the biggest mistake i ever did. and that i’m not leaving ever again. so fuck it, let’s get married ! you almost died, life’s too short to plan a stupid ceremony ».

he stopped for a few seconds, panting from his teary monologue and paying attention to any beep or other sound that might indicate that he had made things worse for you. but it seemed like you were doing ok. how could you not be ? the love of your life had just proposed to you - sure, it wasn’t how you had imagined it, but wasn’t it even more beautiful like that ?

the tears that started rolling down your cheeks were undoubtedly tears of happiness and relief to know that, finally, your life was back to normal. atsumu was your normality, and for the first time in two months, you finally felt like you had a purpose. you had no idea if soulmates existed, but what you had with atsumu seemed more than close enough.

if someone had entered the room at that moment, it’d probably have taken them several minutes to understand what was going on. two young adults, crying yet smiling, one of them laying on a hospital bed looking like they had been through hell and back, and the other tearing off two pieces of his t-shirt and looking genuinely proud of himself -  nothing about this made sense.

« my apologies, it was the easiest way to make us rings » atsumu chuckled, eyes still blurry as grabbed your hand in his with infinite tenderness. slowly, he tied the piece of cloth around your ring finger, loosely enough so that the doctors would not consider it dangerous for your blood circulation.

« i’m keeping that until you’re getting out of here. by my side. » he affirmed, pointing at his own makeshift ring before looking right into your eyes, as serious as ever. « and i’m also keeping you. forever. consider this my wedding vows »

as much as he hated to phrase it like that, you could both die in peace now.

i spent so much time on medical sites to be as accurate as i could, i felt like meredith mf grey for a few hours

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu one shot

[class1akids]

the thing with the series right now, is that im getting major mixed signals.

personally i get the people who are saying this is going a bit too smoothly and deku will hit a roadblock soon. because that's the way i feel too. deku's general appearance rn feels unsettling and unnatural to me at least, so im waiting for the moment where something is gonna give and everyone else will be re-introduced. im down for that.

but at the same time, it feels kind of disingenuous, because deku's not really doing it alone is he? he's got his ghost buddies that are at no real risk of injury and pretty much all think positively of him. they're all good people helping him grow and helping him do the right thing. on top of that he's got the top 3 heroes AND all might shadowing him. can that really be called doing it alone? it's not like deku ran away and is homeless, it's not like the vestiges are some shady figures tempting him to do questionable shit. nope, he's just training "solo" while still relying on teamwork albeit indirectly (shindou's attack against muscular). deku hasn't gone dark or edgy or lost his mind. he seems a bit sadder and more serious, definitely traumatized from everything in the war, but he is still smiling, and his mindset seems fine, if a little heavy leaning into the chosen one role.

we hope the narrative will eventually frame deku ditching his friends as wrong, but it's at most a shitty friend move, not a life altering mistake, not when he does still have support. we hope his focus on doing things solo will be framed as a flaw, but it would feel disingenuous since he's not doing things solo. he's just ditched his old support system for a new one, and the reason it feels so frustrating for me is that you've got this huge cast of already developed characters i care about being seemingly "replaced" (even if temporarily) by a new cast of characters (half of whom introduced in what we assume is near-endgame) with in comparison paper thin personalities that all fall into a slightly different brand of good boy.

maybe horikoshi will somehow get me to care about banjou and whoever four was beyond a surface level "oh im cool with him being on screen" but i'll still feel bad because it would mean splitting up the panel time between even more characters in an already huge cast, and eating up everyone else's moments.

maybe this could have worked if the other users had some more spice in their personalities, provided more conflict for izuku. but they don't. they're all nice and they're all love him. which isn't bad. it's just a bit boring. it's like those harry potter fanfics i used to write as a 12 year old where voldemort never existed and everyone was just happy.

and it's very telling that number 2 created such a big buzz in the fandom specifically because he reminds us of a certain someone down to the way he kicks down doors. it's almost like the moment a character with a certain personality shows up we all get excited because we see the potential for conflict and intriguing storyline. and it's not bakugou's appearance that facilitates this (i guarantee reactions would be similar even if 2 kept his personality while looking nothing like baku. the appearance is just the bonus) but rather his character. i know he's gonna provide more narrative struggle and therefore growth for deku than someone like banjou is. disagreement drives a story forward.

and that circles back to my main problem with the current arc. it's not that i hate deku or think he's boring. i just prefer his interactions with other characters and want to see him around people that will actually challenge him. the reason i like having bakugou around deku is that he provides important balance. that's why i found him entertaining in the ofa tea times. the moment he joined he started pushing them. deku and all might had been pussyfooting around each other a lot and bakugou comes in and instantly challenges them, brings a worldview to the table that's uniquely his and that contradicts both deku and all might. he brings conflict. bootleg not bakugou does that too, but even this in a subdued manner (apparently yoichi just had to flirt with him a little and he was down). whereas everyone else is just the happy circle of good person trademarked flowerchildren who can all respect each other's opinions. WHERE IS THE SPICE?

perhaps if i was more invested in deku's character or the fight level up aspect of the story i'd be more down for this. but as we are now i just read every chapter and think "... ok". i was discussing it with my brother yesterday aswell, and he agreed that there's gotta be some more spice to the ofa plot than this. it was such an interesting power at first with so much potential for mystery and intrigue. i liked it even after sixquirks popped up because i liked deku unlocking backwhip. horikoshi did a fantastic job with that scene and i could feel for izuku's frustration at being seemingly put back to square one with a volatile power after watching him struggle so much with getting it under control the first time.

but then the charm was lost because everything started going way too smoothly and all the windows for possible conflict were being rapidly shut, from the possibility of evil/unwilling users to the dilemma of giving that type of power to a kid in the first place.

just idk. sorry this got so long i just have a lot of feelings lmao 😭 i hope ill end up eating my words and that hori actually has something great planned that ive missed the clues for but well, i don't have high hopes.

I fully agree. This covers all my frustration points that I have voiced before. 

And exactly the fact that he’s teamed up with ghost friends and top 3 is what makes this so frustrating. He REPLACED his friends. In order to protect them, he just ditched them, and I wouldn’t care if we would get the UA scenes in parallel, but we are not getting anything. 

They just POOF disappeared from the story, and with the MC being seemingly on track, we have no clue when we would see them next. And what’s worse, it feels like they don’t matter in this post-war world. Not to the story, not to Deku, not to All Might, not to anyone. 

And yeah, maybe it will lead to something, but that doesn’t change the fact that the pacing is horrible, the OFA development is insultingly dumb and there is just no sense of accomplishment. 

Deku gets like candy powers and abilities that other characters GRIND years for. Bakugou’s first updrade in hundreds of chapters was this new explosion speed boost that he earned by sacrificing his life and before we even get to see it in a fight, it already looks like a rusty old car compared to Deku’s full-extra flying batmobile. 

Even if we cut back to the students, their abilities will just feel too pedestrian and overshadowed by Deku. Which is why I’m losing hope that we’d see them fight ever again or get any role or development other than whatever group battle is planned for them in the end. And of course a few extra panels for the main kids. 

#bnha critical #i'm glad to see so many people being frustrated #i'm not glad that the story is going the way it is #because that sucks #but at least we see the problems and talk about them #c1a asks