#the scholarship crew is the best crew

[respectthepetty]

Just a reminder that I knew I would love Dangerous Romance when GMMTV revealed it in 2022.

This first episode had my blood pressure up because I HATE Kanghan, which only makes me love this more. He's the worst. He is spoiled. He is entitled. He is manipulative. He's a little bitch.

His friends SUCK!

Then, we have Sailom and his scholarship buddies. They are amazing. They are beautiful. They are perfect. They are Linda Evangelista.

And Sailom is the best boy. He is smart. He is hardworking. He is a tired gay. He is my everything.

I am THRILLED that these two HATE each other! Kanghan wants Sailom to beg him for forgiveness, and Sailom simply refuses.

Kanghan goes as far as holding court to publicly humiliate Sailom (while unbuttoning his shirt!).

Yet Sailom, the best boy, took a page out of The Eclipse's Ayan book and said "let's make this gay" and there was not one romantic thing about this kiss. This was hatred. This was aggressive.

THIS WAS DELICIOUS!

And these two are going to hatefuck too!

The enemies stage is set, and we have what I'm praying is our lesbian goddess.

So . . .

Welcome to my new personality for the next three months.

#dangerous romance #my sugar daddy and his baby #kanghan x sailom #the scholarship crew is the best crew #pimfah better be a lady lover! #a true enemies stage!

[inoreuct]

i just got a brainwave. ZOSAN DANCER AU.

zoro mainly does hip hop, sanji mostly does ballet, they’re both attending this prestigious dance academy; zoro’s a scholarship student and he thinks sanji’s an absolute fucking snob. he can’t stand the prissy rich boy three studios down, golden with all the money from his royal background— he’s a vinsmoke. he’s a prince. it’s right there on the student name list, clear as day.

he’s only seen sanji from afar and yeah, sure, maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge but the blond infuriates him with his stupid hair flips and his heart eyes and his mirror-hogging and the way he kneels down to retie the girls’ pointe shoe ribbons for them so that they don’t have to. he’s tall and willowy and strong and fucking talented and every time zoro sees him he wants to kick a hole through the drywall.

now, zoro doesn’t really practice in school often. he enjoys lessons well enough, but he and his crew dance their best in the streets. so when he signs up for a practice slot the one time and gets there (already fifteen minutes late, mind you) just to realise there’s a very familiar annoyance in his studio? he’s pissed. he slams the door open right as sanji executes a spinny jump thing that reaches a frankly ridiculous height, sinking to one knee with his head thrown back, the air ringing after the music’s final crescendo.

zoro doesn’t give a shit. he’s tired and hungry and needs to get his fucking step sequence clean before next week’s dance battle, and thus opens his mouth and shatters right through the thick quiet as he barks, “vinsmoke!”

and he doesn’t know why, but sanji’s gaze flicks to him and he freezes in place. the blond’s expression, just moments ago composed and focused, is dripping with something that zoro can’t quite name, but he has to stop himself from gulping when sanji gets up and beelines straight for him, jabbing a manicured finger right into his sternum without reserve.

“don’t. fucking. call me that,” the blond grits, damn near seething, jaw so tense zoro’s honestly afraid he’ll crack a tooth and it’s almost funny, but he suspects that he really did cross some sort of line, and he might be rough around the edges but he isn’t an ass.

“okay, i’m sorry,” he offers, cautious, hands up in the air. the words taste weird in his mouth, but sanji looks slightly less livid so he counts it as a win. “what do i call you, then?”

the other man looks torn between kicking zoro soundly in the shin (which zoro can already tell would hurt like a bitch) and storming out of the studio, but he huffs loudly and turns away. “black. sanji black.”

zoro hums carefully and slowly inches his way to the corner of the room, setting his duffel down much gentler than he normally does. he should really leave this alone. he has a solo he needs to practice for and dinner to catch after. so what if sanji renounced his supposedly royal last name? it didn't make him any better than every other stuck-up dancer with a superiority complex.

(he decidedly doesn’t leave it alone, because this is the first time that he’s seen cracks in the blond’s porcelain-doll facade, and he can’t help but want to dig his fingertips in and pry. he’s never claimed to have a sense of self-preservation.)

“so…” he starts, facing the barre that he’ll never use and watching sanji through the mirror. “your parents—”

“not my parents, i’m estranged,” sanji cuts in, blunt and terse, emotionless to the point where zoro knows he cares much, much more like he wants to seem like he does.

he watches sanji sit in the middle of the wooden floor and fiddle with the elastics on his weird sock shoe hybrids, going into splits with no apparent effort and pressing his torso flat to the ground. a bright blue eye meets his and zoro looks away sharply, yanking on the zipper of his duffel and grabbing his snapback to pop the closures just to look busy.

…god, fuck, zoro wants to ask so bad. estranged. that word is rapidly reshuffling his worldview regarding the man currently yanking off his knitted leg warmers behind him and tossing them to the side. he wants to know how much of all of it is real; the money, the rumours, the gleaming reputation that surrounds sanji like a shield. he’s their academy’s golden boy and a shoo-in for the principal position at its sister ballet company, once he graduates. zoro had thought of him as an absolute primadonna— put bluntly, a pompous brat. a classic silver spoon child. but even just sitting here and stewing in his thoughts, the ability to cling onto the image he’d admittedly half made up in his head is rapidly slipping away from him.

it’s painfully obvious that sanji can talk the talk and walk the walk. jump the jump? “hey, what was that spinny jump thing you did just now?” jesus christ. zoro winces; his voice is so loud against the silence that he nearly puts his head in his hands.

“mm?” sanji’s voice isn’t even strained as he sits up from where he’d had his face pressed to his knees, forearms around his feet. how a person could even fold that far forward, zoro would never understand.

“the— the jump thing. when i came in.”

“oh, the double entrelacé?”

zoro squints. “the fuck kind of name is ontrolassay?”

“it means interlace in french, you—” the blond seems to struggle with choosing an insult before he finally lands on, “—goonhead. although i wouldn’t expect you to be able to appreciate it.”

the KT tape on zoro’s calf rolls back at the edge as he rubs over it absentmindedly, and he quickly stops. that shit isn’t cheap. but he’s more concerned about why he'd been doing it in the first place, because he only does that when he thinks, and zoro has enough self-awareness to know that when he thinks too hard it usually doesn’t end well. he’s all instinct— and something in the back of his mind is telling him that sanji is tired.

the blond isn’t just a pretty boy with no bite, that much is obvious. but now, with the sky dark outside the full-length windows and the air still and silent, it’s easier for him to see the weariness that sanji hides with all his fawning and flirting and smiles. he eyes the other man in his peripheral and clocks it settled bone-deep in the weight of sanji’s eyelids, the parting of his hair, the curve of his back.

he turns around properly to look at sanji over his shoulder and thinks, ah, fuck it. he’d been late to begin with and he’s spent so long here fiddling with his fucking hat under the guise of doing something important that half of his hour-long slot is gone, anyway. “the crew and i are going for pizza. come with.” a smirk pulls at his mouth as he cocks his head. “or are you gonna die if you eat something other than rabbit food?”

the blond looks up with an arched brow and a scowl. “you fucking wish,” sanji scoffs, but after a moment he gets up and starts tossing things into his bag. “it better be makino’s. arlong’s pizza dough tastes like sardines no matter what you get.”

zoro would have been impressed if sanji knew any neighbourhood pizza places to begin with, but this sounds like he has experience. “of course it’s makino’s, curly. we have standards.”

“i wouldn’t have known,” sanji sniffs delicately. “and curly?”

“yeah.” zoro shrugs, the strap of his bag digging in over his baggy tee as he stands. “your hair, your brows, your spinny jump thing—”

“double entrelacé.”

zoro makes a like i said gesture with his hands, grinning broadly. “spinny jump thing.”

sanji sighs as he tosses his hair out of his face. zoro gets a glimpse of two sapphire eyes, blue as the heart of a flame. “you’re a barbarian.” the blond shoulders him aside and snaps the lights off, pulling the door shut as he fishes out the keys. “and you’re buying.”

zoro hums non-committally and deliberately neglects to mention that makino’s fond of both luffy, his best friend, and luffy’s godfather shanks— which means that the whole crew basically eats free on late weekdays like these. on a side note, shanks has a thing with his own dad, mihawk, but they refuse to admit it. it’s infuriating. maybe he’ll rope sanji into helping to get them together before christmas because he has a bet running with nami and it is not looking good for him.

they walk out into the brisk night air as he flips his snapback onto his head, picking up the pace when he sees sanji shiver. “i drove, c’mon.”

“oh, you’ve been driving,” sanji says airily, raising his brows again as he digs around in his well-loved canvas bag for his cardigan. it’s pink and it’s cashmere, because of course it is. “driving me crazy.”

zoro doesn’t even realise he laughs until after it’s left his mouth and sanji is looking at him with wide eyes, blue, blue and more blue. he clears his throat. “let’s hope i don’t crash, then. did i mention i’m half blind on the left side?”

he cackles as sanji squawks at that, half-terrified and disbelieving, and on the way to makino’s he explains how he’d gotten into a scooter accident with luffy as a kid. (“of course you did,” sanji mutters, rolling his eyes. there’s no malice to it.) his crew’s already waiting for him when they arrive; to his dismay (or is it?), sanji hits it off with them marvellously.

zoro finds out that sanji’s biological family is royal, sure. royal assholes. sanji had run away one day and the bastards hadn’t done a damn thing to make sure he was alright, which, he supposes, made sense considering sanji had literally run away. (he isn't given a reason. he doesn't push.) and yet vinsmoke judge still refuses to let sanji change his name, which means that sanji’s father zeff had never been able to legally adopt him. he pays his own school fees working at zeff’s restaurant; not as a waiter but as a chef, and at this point zoro resigns himself to seeing this guy around a lot more because luffy’s already vibrating with excitement and in this friend group, luffy somehow always gets what he wants. sanji’s in it for the long haul now.

but it doesn’t seem like such a horrible thing anymore. zoro almost feels bad for thinking that sanji had been some kind of spoiled brat the whole time, and isn’t that something? the blond is quick to laugh and hardworking and snarky and proud, yes, but it’s deserved solely based on how much he’s trained to get to where he is— he’s damn good and he knows it, and zoro can appreciate that.

(he takes that last bit and shoves it into a box that he locks up tight and buries deep, deep down. he will Not be thinking about that tonight.)

he’s impressed all over again as he watches the sanji inhale an entire four cheese pizza and five garlic knots to boot, and he laughs when the blond gives him a petulant glare.

“fuck off, marimo, i’ve been training all day. m’fucking starving,” he groans through another mouthful of garlic and cheese, elegantly hiding his mouth behind his hand.

oh, hell no. “marimo?” zoro deadpans. “really?”

“not inaccurate,” nami hums from beside him, and he nearly smacks his forehead to the table. he cannot let these two get along. that would be the beginning of his own personal hell.

it’s too late. “small and green and fluffy,” sanji coos, faux-condescending as he reaches out to pet zoro on the head, and zoro snaps his teeth at slender fingers. he listens to sanji meld effortlessly into his friend group and wonders just what he's gotten himself into.

(there is warmth blooming between his ribs. he knows it will grow no matter what he does.)

they get closer as the weeks go by. zoro learns that sanji hates oregano with more vitriol than should be possible towards a herb. he learns the blond’s favourite brand of dance shoes (he knows that they’re suede slippers now, considering he got beaten over the head with them). he learns that sanji’s left arm never healed completely right from where his oldest brother snapped it when they were children, and he has to dig his nails into his palm so that he doesn’t punch something. sanji drags him into an empty studio one day and tells him to lift his leg as high as he can, which devolves into a stretching session that zoro is more inclined to call torture. sanji is adamant that having at least some degree of flexibility will help him dance more fluidly and loosen up his muscles. zoro tells him to eat shit.

(he goes home, and stretches, and he’s mad as hell because sanji’s right.)

the whole crew goes to the ballet course’s end-of-semester recital and nearly gets kicked out with how loudly they scream when sanji finishes his presentation. zoro throws a rose along with everyone else and pretends that he doesn’t.

(sanji pretends that he doesn’t find the exact one zoro tossed and press it to his nose as he sits in the dressing room backstage, his classmates bustling around him not enough to break his bubble of makeup mirror lighting and silky red petals and the memory of keen grey eyes, watching from the darkness of the audience seats.)

(zoro had been the first one to stand when he’d bowed. he’d cheered the loudest. sanji saw him. sanji heard him.)

zoro doesn't realise how much he talks about sanji until his sister threatens to peel the skin off his face if you don't ask him to come watch nationals, zoro, i swear to all that is unholy— and he shudders. perona is... terrifying. he also loves her terrifyingly much, but that won't stop her from peeling his face off, so he drops sanji a text with the details of the national finals of the dance battle that he was supposed to be training for that fateful day. he's too chickenshit to do anything else. too much of a coward to ask him face-to-face.

they win. their friends and family flood the stage. zoro looks for one face only. he feels a hand on his shoulder, whips around with his heart pounding and oh, he's here. radiant under the stadium lights, hair gleaming like brazened honey, eyes bluer than the sky and his smile even brighter. zoro opens his mouth to say something. anything.

sanji crashes into his arms and kisses him, and he feels like the fucking king of the world.

(the wolf-whistles only register when he realises sanji's legs are wrapped around his hips, his hands beneath strong thighs, but sanji is flushed so brilliantly pink and he looks so happy that zoro doesn't even care. luffy's elbow loops around his neck, nami crashing into his back, usopp coming in fast from the right, and sanji wiggles down to slide his arms around zoro's waist and tuck right up against his side. the trophy shines in his fist as he raises it high above the crowd and his nakama press in tight around him, and zoro screams and cheers with them until his throat goes hoarse.)

(mihawk and shanks get together three days later. sanji and zoro split the money nami begrudgingly forks over and then buy the whole crew pizza.)

#zosan #op zosan #zosan au #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #one piece sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #ino writes #GOD i love dancer aus #can yall tell i was obsessed with the step up franchise at one point

[powderblueblood]

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

CHAPTER FIVE — CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

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

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

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

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

But she’s got a point.  

You remember that day with perfect clarity. 

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

A cool older sister. 

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

You wanted to be just like that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me help you out here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bought their crabs lotion, in Tina’s case. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not there. He’s not there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snap.

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

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

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

“Hey! Asshole!”

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

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

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

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

“Go inside, you lunatic!”

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

“No! I don’t want to!” 

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

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

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

The trailer door swings back open. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know what you’d prefer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just barely,” you murmur. 

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pinch yourself, hard, just in case. 

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

Wait. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The very same.”

“Escándalo. What happened?”

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

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

“Hey!”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it’s go time. 

He has to formulate some kind of plan. 

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

Christ. 

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

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

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

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

That was not enough time to formulate a plan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is my trailer, y’know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Munson. The cheerleader shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

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

“Munson! Come on!” 

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

“That’s a child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t not say that, though.” 

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

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

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

A little stiff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you have this?”

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

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

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

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then. Hello there, handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Munson has a happy trail that curls like brushstrokes.

“You fucking trifler,” you grumble.

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

And see what he’ll do about that. 

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

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

“I’m only a little stupid.” 

“Debatable.” 

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

“Yes.”

“Like, perfect grades.”

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

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

“Artist formerly known as, but yes.”

“And you’re on the newspaper.” 

“Very perceptive, aren't we.”

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

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

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

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

You answer him half-straight this time. 

“Diet pills.”

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

“Diet pills,” he repeats. 

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

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

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

“That is fucked up, Lacy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the door slams.

Fuck.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

He totally forgot to formulate that plan.

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

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

[syrupfog]

Law thinks he has it figured out. 

That scrawny kid who just wandered into the university’s yearly flu vaccine clinic Law was manning and just DECIDED that Law was his new best friend— Luffy, he said his name was. Monkey D. Luffy, as if anyone could take that name seriously.

Law thinks he’s figured it out, though. How Luffy CHOOSES the people he does, and adds them to his group. 

(not that Law is IN his group, absolutely not). 

Sanji’s the most obvious one. He’s INCREDIBLY useful, no one could deny that. He cooks obscene amounts of food for everyone.

Nami, too, feels like a given. She has CONNECTIONS, knows how to use them, keeps records and receipts and organizes all the parties that Luffy spontaneously seems to decide on. She’s the brains. 

Zoro Law struggled with at first, the man seems to just think about swords—

but seeing them out in public, Law realizes he’s like a human guard dog, leering over Luffy’s shoulder at anyone who disagrees. Chopper seems a little young— is the kid even in undergrad?— but he’s first aid trained and Law’s seen him put it to use on numerous occasions already.

Now Nico Robin— how on EARTH Luffy managed to make friends with the youngest tenured professor GLU has ever had is beyond Law, but she has connections in academia the way Nami does on the streets. Law would bet money that Robin’s the only reason Luffy is still enrolled.

Usopp’s an odd one, but he’s… well, funny might not be exactly the right word. Entertaining. And more importantly can fix anyone’s computer or phone within an hour. He adds weird features when he does, but his work is solid.

Franky is a GIVEN, he’s the one with the converted old double decker bus — Law didn’t think they even HAD those here — and auto garage. Luffy says the word and he’ll fix anyone’s car free of charge. It’s ridiculous what Luffy can get people to do.

Brook is also obvious. Most famous musician this side of the East Blue, how on EARTH did Luffy meet him? Regardless, the man’s surely a millionaire slumming it with the rest of them for the chance to play what he wants to play and be appreciated for it

Jinbei was confusing until Law learned how they met — that protest that Luffy (along with half his crew) were arrested at last semester. Professor Emeritus in the law department, he was once famous for organizing protests around campus, and eagerly bailed them all out.

So, Law’s figured it out. As much as Luffy SEEMS like a carefree brainless soul, he’s been strategic from the very first step, surrounding himself with everyone he needs to stay on top. He’s incredibly devious, honestly, Law’s almost intimidated.

He also knows that this means he doesn’t have a place among them. 

As much as he’s always planned on being a surgeon, things just don’t work out sometimes. Like when your adopted uncle frames your adopted father for tax fraud and make it look like HE’S a millionaire—

Meaning you suddenly end up with a dad in jail AND getting rejected for FAFSA. No money, no loans, one single scholarship that Law’s about to be dropped from. Sorry Luffy, you’re going to have to find a surgeon somewhere else. Chopper will be good enough, surely.

He tries to separate himself from Luffy, but that’s easier said than done, as Luffy sticks to him like glue when they’re in the same place. The man’s incorrigible, impossible, guileless, brazen… 

Law ends up yelling at him in the middle of a party thrown at Jinbei’s house.

Shouts that he’s dropping out, failing, not going to live up to whatever role Luffy’s recruited him to fill. Tells him to find another surgeon, they’re a dime a dozen on med campus anyway. Storms out before he does something dumb like tear up.

Oddly enough it’s Usopp who follows him. 

He sits down next to Law, looking stiff and uncomfortable, and declares that he “knows what Law’s going through��, which feels, well, patently untrue. 

“I did this like a year ago,” Usopp says. “Tried to tell him to drop me.”

They’re sitting on the curb. Law scrunches grass between his fingers and stares at the road. 

“I had a car,” Usopp says. “She was BEAUTIFUL. Best car you’ve ever seen. Two hundred miles to the gallon and ran on French fry grease.” 

Ah, this is one of those stories.

Usopp deflates. “Then she died,” he says. “We’d just met Franky and he told me she was beyond repair. Then he offered up that bus he has, replacing her before she was even in the ground yet! And like, I’m not going to say he was replacing ME, but like—“

Law nods. 

“It’s not like I had a lot going for me anyway,” Usopp says. “Not compared to Nami or Sanji or Chopper. I thought I was just lucky Luffy found me early, when his standards were lower.” He laughs, but there’s no joy behind it.

“Anyway,” he picks at the laces of his shoes. “That car’s at the bottom of a lake now, may she rest in peace. And after I tried to pull what you just pulled, Luffy really fucking let me have it.” He ducks his head. “Told me I was being fucking stupid, and he was right.”

He glances up at the sky and Law watches, a queasy feeling in the base of his stomach. 

“Turns out,” Usopp says after a long pause, “Luffy really does just choose people he likes.” He sighs. “You’re just lucky, actually, because I don’t think he’s liked anyone as much as you.”

Law grimaces. He doesn’t FEEL lucky. 

Usopp, taking his queue, stands up. “The sooner you admit what you’re dealing with, though, the more he’s able to help.” 

Then he leaves Law alone. 

And Law… finds he doesn’t want to BE alone.

He slinks back into the party maybe twenty minutes later. It’s chill. Brook is taking song requests. Sanji is handing out grilled halloumi. 

Luffy immediately walks up to him. “Why didn’t you TELL ME,” he asks, indignant. 

“What, that my life is a mess?”

“Everyone’s life is a mess, silly,” Luffy says. “But we can HELP, duh.” 

“I think even YOU can’t keep me from getting kicked out of GLU,” Law says. 

“No,” Luffy agrees. “But HE can.” 

He points to Jinbei, sitting at an old yellowed desktop computer in the corner.

“I have friends in the law department who haven’t retired yet,” Jinbei says. He has small spectacles perched on his nose. “They know people. Sending a few emails now.” 

Chopper walks up to the two of them, looking shy. “I can help you study,” he says. “N-not that you need it!”

Nico Robin comes over, cocktails in each hand, pushing one of them into his. “Student services is accommodating,” she says. “If you know who to ask.” 

“YOW!” Shouts Franky from the couch. “And I just hacked their system and changed your grades!” 

Law chokes on his drink.

“SEE?” Luffy huffs, crossing his arms. “It’s FINE. You freaked out for nothing!” 

Law squints at him. “And if it’s not fine, Luffy-ya? If none of this helps and I still fail out of school?” 

Luffy purses his lips. “Duh, then you can just come live with me.“

He looks incredibly petulant. “It’s not like I like you BECAUSE you’re a surgeon. I like you because I asked for two of every shot and you said I’d have to choose a fake name instead of telling me no!” 

Ah. He did do that, didn’t he.

“And anyway, *i* don’t have a degree and I’m fine!” 

“You’re GETTING one,” Law points out. 

Luffy looks at him like he’s lost it. “I attend classes because they’re fun,” he says. “I don’t even have a high school degree, I don’t care about that stuff.” 

…huh.

“Now come on,” Luffy says, wrapping small boney fingers around Law’s wrist. Zoro’s going to play snooker with me and I need you to watch to make sure he doesn’t cheat, because I don’t know the rules.” 

And Law follows him. 

And follows him. 

And follows him.

And when he starts his next semester with his dad out of jail because Jinbei’s connections are honestly a little scary, and when he doesn’t sleep for three days in a row during finals week, and when he gets into the exact fellowship he wants, working under Marco himself—

Law follows Luffy. 

Because nothing else makes sense. 

Law hasn’t figured Luffy out at all But he’s figured everyone else out. Understands the magnetism they’re all drawn to. 

And when he falls into bed with Luffy at the end of long days and weeks, He knows he’s the lucky one.

#lulaw #lawlu #my writing

[a-little-nerdy-dude-with-wings]

Why High School Musical 2 and Revenge Of The Sith are almost the same film

Okay so we have the main character

who is a part of a community

But he's worried about his future e.g Anakin is worried about Padme dying, Troy is worried about going to college and knowing what to do with his life.

He has a best friend who's got his back

and a love interest

We then have a villain/girlboss

who really admires the main character and will do anything to have them join them.

So Palpatine/Sharpay offers Anakin/ Troy what they want. Anakin wants Padme to be safe and rank of master. Troy wants a college scholarship.

Over time Anakin/Troy loses his morals and begins to enjoy this new power, driving him away from the Jedi/wildcats.

We see this with Anakin giving into the dark side, and Troy loving his italian shoes and new golf job and being rude when his friends are serving him food. Also ditching his friends to play basketball with the scholarship people.

There is also a side plot where Anakin gets false suspicions of Obi-Wan and Padme being a thing, and Troy gets sus about Ryan and Gabriella being a thing.

Anyways now that palpatine/sharpay has Anakin/Troy, they no longer need their original partner/apprentice

Obi-Wan/Chad confronts Anakin/ Troy and have a big falling out

 And Padme/Gabriella are so heartbroken that they have a really dramatic goodbye scene.

Padme dies/Gabriella leaves and everyone is mourning their leaving

Palpatine/sharpay commits the worst offence. Palpatine executes order 66

Sharpay makes the east high crew work during the talent show.

The main difference is that Troy realises his errors and fixes everything, whilst Anakin continues on into the dark side.

Oh and that there’s no singing in Revenge of the sith but you CAN’T tell me that Anakin wasn’t singing Bet On It whilst he was alone on mustafar.

The end.

#bringing my iconic twitter thread to tumblr #anakin skywalker #star wars #Revenge of the Sith #rots #troy bolton #hsm #hsm 2 #high school musical #high school musical 2 #palpatine #sharpay evans #obi wan kenobi #chad danforth #padme amidala #gabriella montez #ryan evans #count dooku #dashboard #dash #welcome to tumblr #twitter #elon musk

[the-badger-mole]

The Volunteer: Part 3

The next time Zuko went to volunteer, he took his own car. When his sister demanded to know why, Zuko made up some excuse about going to the library afterwards to work on his midterm paper. It was enough to keep Azula from asking him for a ride, thankfully. Zuko arrived a few minutes early, hoping to be able to check in with Hakoda before his sister and her friends showed up.

"Don't tell me your friends dropped out," Hakoda said when Zuko walked in alone.

"No, we just came in separate cars," Zuko explained. "They should be here soon." Hakoda nodded and gave him his assignment for the day, then Zuko went to find Due and the rest of the maintenance crew to paint stairs again.

"Hey! Splotchy!" the men greeted him. Zuko smiled slightly and said his hellos. They handed him a paintbrush and set to work.

The men were far more talkative than Zuko, but none of them seemed to hold it against him. He answered questions politely when asked, steering away from anything too personal. The men were content to tell him all about themselves. Two of them had attended the school before it shut down.

"It was a shame, too," said Due. "Spent some of the best years of my life causing a ruckus in this school. Me and Tho here." Due jabbed his thumb in the direction of the short, stocky man holding the base of the ladder Zuko was standing on.

"Oh we wasn't so bad," Tho insisted. "Only caused a little mischief. And mostly to impress the ladies." He looked up at Zuko and wriggled his brows. "Bet you don't have to work nearly as hard and Due and I did."

"Sure," Zuko scoffed. He turned back to his work and scrambled to find a change of topic. He looked at the third man on the team, a younger guy named Kuyan. "You went to this school, too?"

"How old do you think I am?" Kuyan laughed. "I'm only 23. I was a toddler when this school shut down."

"Sorry," Zuko said. "I didn't mean to offend." Kuyan just waved him off.

"Forget about it." Then he sighed and looked around the stairwell with a distant look. "I do have history with this place, though. I lived here for a year with my mom and sisters when I was in high school. She had left my dad and the people here...they were great. They helped my mom find a job so she could afford to move us. They had counselors for me and my sisters. They helped me find scholarships for college. We would've been just another statistic if it wasn't for this place."

"Wow...that's, great," Zuko said awkwardly, uncertain of what else to say to that. "It-it's great your mom was able to find help getting out of..." He gestured stiffly at nothing in particular.

"It is," Kuyan agreed with a chuckle. "Everyone is thriving, too. My sisters and I have volunteered here for years, but this is going to be my last year."

"Why?" Zuko looked down at Kuyan curiously.

"Kuyan just got accepted to law school," Tho laughed, ruffling Kuyan's hair. "We're all real proud of ya, boy!"

"The school I'm going to is ten hours away," Kuyan told Zuko. "My sisters are at schools that are pretty far, too."

"But you'll stop in to see us from time to time," Due said. "We'll make sure we'll have some work for ya, too. Just for old time's sake."

"You'd better," Kuyan laughed. Zuko found himself smiling with the rest of them.

The door opened a few doors down, and Katara leaned into the stairwell. She was grinning, the first time Zuko had seen looking happy since he'd walked into Hama's Haven.

"Hey, guys!" She called up to them. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good!" Due called back. "We might actually get this done by the end of Splotchy's shift."

"Splotchy?" Katara repeated raising her eyebrow.

"He means Zuko," Kuyan told her.

"Oh. Well, just letting you know, Dad ordered pizza for the staff. It's in the community room. Better hurry up. Sokka's here today."

"I don't need telling twice," Tho said, tossing his paint brush into bucket of water. Everyone dunked their brushes and rollers in and trampled down the stairs to the ground floor. Katara held the door open for them, and she watched Zuko in particular with an impossible to read expression.

Ty Lee was in the community room getting pizza with some of the other workers, and was having what seemed to be a lively talk with boy with long hair and an unfortunate mustache. She spotted Zuko and waved him over.

"Hey, Zuko!" she said cheerily. "This is Haru. He's in the kitchen today, too! Haru, this is Zuko, one of my oldest friends." Zuko smirked to himself. Calling him and Ty Lee friends was a bit of a stretch, but he would never dare tell her that.

"Nice to meet you," Zuko said, shaking Haru's hand.

"Same! So, you and Ty are friends? That's great! She's been amazing in the kitchen."

Zuko kept a polite smile on his face and he blinked. Ty?

"Yep," Zuko "Ty here is a master chef. And she's great with desserts. You should try her cheesecake sometime." Ty Lee preened under Zuko's praise.

"I'll have to," Haru agreed enthusiastically. "Very soon." Ty Lee blushed and giggled, turning her focus on Haru in a way that Zuko interpreted as a polite request that he make himself scarce.

"I'm going to go grab some pizza," he said. "Good talk."

Katara was standing by the table where the food was set out, talking with Due. They stopped when Zuko approached, and Due waved him over warmly.

"Come on over, Splotch!" he said. "I was just telling Kata what a great addition to the team you've been. Ah, he's such a good sport this one. Not much of a talker, but every group needs a good listener, too."

"Thanks," Zuko mumbled. He looked at Katara and was surprised to find her smiling at him.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

"No, I was talking with Ty Lee." Zuko gestured over to where Ty Lee and Haru were deep in conversation.

"Oh!" Due chortled. "I think Haru likes her." He waved his hand trying to get Haru's attention, but Katara jabbed him with her elbow.

"Mind your business, Due," she chided him, jokingly. "He's got it."

"I'm just having some fun," Due said. "Oh! Hey, there's Bato! I need to catch him real quick. I'll see you back on the stairs, Splotch." When he was gone, Katara turned back to Zuko and smirked.

"You should grab some lunch before it's gone...Splotch."

"Please don't spread that around school," Zuko groaned.

"No worries," Katara promised. "Your Haven nickname stays at Haven." She paused a moment while Zuko got his pizza. She grabbed a can of soda and offered one to Zuko.

"Thanks."

"So," Katara cleared her throat. "You...made a pretty good impression on the guys."

"I like them," Zuko said, shrugging. "They've been really nice." Katara was watching him again, with that same inscrutable look on her face, as if she were studying him.

"They're usually pretty good judges of character." There was something about the way she said usually that set Zuko on edge. She looked away to open her soda, releasing Zuko from the hold of her unnerving gaze.

"The painting is almost done," Katara observed after a long stretch of silence. "We'll have to find you another job next week, I think. Do you know what else you want to do here?"

"I'll go wherever you need me to," Zuko shrugged. "I'm not picky." He took a bite of pizza. It was good, and Zuko made a note to get the name of the restaurant from one of the boxes. "What do you do around here?"

"Me?" Katara glanced up at Zuko, as if surprised he would ask. "I do a lot of stuff, but I mostly work with the kids. On the weekends we try to keep them entertained with movies and crafts and classes. Once a month we take them on a field trip." She swirled her soda around the can. "The next trip is coming up in a couple of weeks. We could use a few more volunteers, if you're interested. We're going to the planetarium, and then for food afterwards. It'll knock a solid four or five hours off of your sentence." She smirked again, but it felt more like she was sharing an inside joke than laughing at Zuko.

"Um...sure," Zuko agreed nodding. "That sounds alright."

"Great," Katara said. "You can see if Ty Lee would be interested, too." Zuko pretended not to notice how pointedly Katara mentioned Ty Lee and no one else.

"I think she'd like it," Zuko nodded. "She's really into astrology, and she loves kids, so this should be right up her alley."

"That's good news for Haru, then."

Azula and Mai skulked in some time later. Zuko noted, cringing inwardly, how the atmosphere changed when they entered. Ty Lee had stopped laughing with Haru, and was trying to avoid Azula's thunderous scowl. She said something to Haru and scampered across the room to Azula. Mai didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were narrowed in Zuko's direction. It took a moment for him to realize that she was actually glowering at Katara. Zuko glanced back at his companion just in time to see her roll her eyes at the latecomers.

"I have to head out," she told Zuko. "I'll send you the details for the field trip." Katara drained the rest of her soda and tossed the can in the recycling bin on the way out, watching Azula and Mai smugly as she did. After she left, the rest of the staff began filtering out, too. The low cheerful hum of the room quieted as they went.

Haru paused at the door waving good-bye to Ty Lee, who returned it nervously. Haru frowned, clearly confused and hurt, but Ty Lee was looking down at her shoes as she stood next to Azula.

"They just left the pizza out for anyone to put their grubby fingers on?" Mai looked at the table distastefully. Zuko pointed to the stack of napkins next to the plates.

"Most people were using the napkins to grab their slices," he told her. Mai rolled her eyes and took a slice without a napkin or a plate. She bit into the slice and made a face.

"It's cold," she complained. It had been nearly an hour since word had gone around about the pizza, but Zuko knew better than to point that out. He just shrugged instead.

"What were you talking to Katara about?" Mai asked.

"Nothing," Zuko replied a bit too quickly. "She was letting me know that the painting project is almost over, and she wanted to know if I had any preferences for what I'd be assigned to next."

"Sure," Azula snorted. "I bet she cares so much what you want. People like her- like her dad- just love feeling more powerful than people who better than they are." A lot of responses ran through Zuko's head at that, but he settled on tossing his plate and empty soda can.

"I've got to get back," he said. "My break's over."

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

#atla #zutara #ask box prompt #volunteer work au #part 3 #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

[littlemissfiore]

King of Freaks & The Class President. | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader

summary: being class president and dating eddie munson proves to be much harder than expected. but one thing was for sure, whoever messes with eddie, messes with you.

content/warning: class president!reader, mentions of weed usage, bullying, mentions of fighting, cussing, pet names, mentions of bruises

You and Eddie together?

It was supposed to be a recipe for disaster. Who in their right mind decides to date Eddie Munson - willingly - while being class president?

Only you, of course.

Many thought you were making a big mistake. You had your whole life ahead of you. Good grades, a scholarship, you were the class president and everyone knew who you were. For you to mix yourself with someone like Eddie was seen as the worst thing you could've ever done.

Eddie thought the same as everyone. You had such a perfect life ahead of you, why waste it on someone like him? He was a repeated senior who sold drugs and constantly rambled about D&D, what good did he have to offer?

Even then, you still didn't seem to be bothered by that fact. Every time Eddie brought it up you would always shake your head and reassure him he was the best thing in your life.

"Listen, I'm living my best life out here," you said, giving him a big smile. "I'm class president and I have a handsome boyfriend who lets me get high for free." You threw him a wink, making Eddie laugh. You hopped on the bed right next to him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "Look, don't worry about me. As long as nobody is picking on you, we are a-okay!"

You gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek before rambling about what movie to watch for the night. You didn't catch Eddie's smile faltering as he repeated what you said over and over in his head.

Right, as long as he wasn't getting picked on.

Eddie wasn't going to lie and say that being with you didn't offer him a lot of advantages. One of those perks was finally being left alone and not getting constantly picked by Jason and his crew.

Well, sorta.

Yeah they have stopped pestering him and making fun of him, but that was only in front of you. The only reason being was because Jason had to be in good terms with the class president. Now, Jason had resorted to bullying Eddie whenever you weren't around or after school when you were busy with after school activities.

You had always told Eddie if Jason ever bothered him, you wouldn't hesitate in defending him. While it was nice and all that you were ready to defend Eddie at any given moment, he didn't think you would go as far as to ruin your own future in doing so.

Eddie was a self proclaimed coward. Violence was not something he was equipped in facing unless he was backed into a corner. Interactions with Jason never went beyond just meaningless words thrown at each other.

There were those rare occasions Jason would try to physically beat up Eddie, but all that came to a full stop. Once you were assigned position as class president it was hands off Eddie, at least while you were around. Nobody wanted the class president being up their ass for picking on your boyfriend.

"You're lucky your girlfriend is class president," sneered Jason, as he passed by Eddie in the hallways.

Eddie was not dumb. Even if he had failed his senior year many times, Eddie knew when he was at an advantage. He could've easily made his way to you and tell you how Jason was on his ass again. Eddie did not have a problem asking for your help, what he did have a problem with was how reckless you could get.

"What!?" you exclaimed, fuming.

Eddie bit his nails nervously as he watched you become angrier by the second. He had forgotten all about keeping up his persona in front of the new Hellfire members, too afraid to say anything that would set you off even more.

"Baby-" tried Eddie.

"Don't 'baby' me, Eddie!" you yelled back at your boyfriend unintentionally. "Why didn't you tell me this was happening!?" You then turn to look at the new kids, Mike and Dustin. "And you guys! Why didn't you guys mention anything!"

Dustin gasped, offended at your accusation. "In our defense your boyfriend told us to be quiet-!" Dustin started but Eddie shot him a menacing look, indicating he shouldn't speak any further. You glared at Eddie as he gave you a toothy grin to try and calm the waters down.

"So you deliberately hid the fact you guys were getting picked on by the Basketball team!?" you asked, incredulously. You stared at the pages on your hand filled with mean names and notes directed at the boys who were part of the Hellfire club. "I am going to beat those sons of bit-!"

You started making your exit but Eddie held you back before you could do irreversible damage. This hadn't been the first time you reacted badly to news like these. Eddie knew you weren't lying when you meant you wanted to beat up Jason and his little group of friends.

You had been in physical altercations before with other people for picking on you. It was almost a wonder to Eddie how you even managed to get the position of class president. He could not take the risk though, regardless of whether you meant your threats or not. Eddie felt like he already ruined some part of your senior year simply for being with him. He would not let you throw away your scholarships and position just so that you could knock some sense into Jason.

"No, no, no, no, no, love," said Eddie, struggling to keep you in his grip. The Hellfire members watched as Eddie tried to keep his you at bay, surprised at the strength you possessed. You tried getting Eddie off you without harming him but to no avail. "You're staying here, you're not going anywhere."

"I told you guys if any of those idiots were picking on you to tell me!" you exclaimed, frustrated. "I'm part of this club too and it is my job as class president to defend you guys!"

Eddie felt his heart flutter seeing at how you took your position so seriously. No one deserved that spot more than you and you always proved it to him, but the way you were acting would not fly well with the school. With his face alone, Eddie signaled his friends to get away from the room. The Hellfire club quickly gathered their things before leaving the room. There, Eddie let you go of you as you unleashed your anger at the empty boxes that were on a corner.

For someone who always portrayed herself as friendly and outgoing, you were intimidating when you were angry. Eddie did not believe how feisty you could get when pushed to the absolute edge until he himself witnessed it one time. He still remembered how his legs shook, feeling both scared and proud.

'My girlfriend is a badass,' Eddie came to that conclusion that night.

You were now in his trailer, holding an ice pack on your shins to try and calm the swelling down. You had bruised your feet kicking the boxes as hard as you could, trying to get rid of your anger. You felt ashamed at how you reacted in front of the young freshman but all you could see was red at the time.

You refused to look at Eddie as he sat right beside you, watching you hiss in pain as you soothed your bruises. You felt like you had failed your boyfriend. You swore up and down to Eddie that no harm would come to him as long as you were around. All of the teasing and abuse Eddie would endure would all come down to a stop.

Jason and his popular clique had to begrudgingly comply if they ever wanted extra funds for their sporting events. Instead, they figured out a loophole, as long as you weren't around they could make fun of Eddie.

"Why didn't you tell me..." you muttered, sadly. Eddie sighed, fidgeting with his rings as he tried coming up with the proper words.

"I did - well - I tried..." started Eddie, avoiding your stare. "But... I didn't want you to ruin the good things you have in life right now, sweetheart."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Well, for starters, I know you've been getting flack from your friends ever since you started dating me," Eddie laughed softly but you had the opposite reaction, staring at him intensely. "What I mean is, you have all of these things! You have a future! A scholarship to whichever college you want to go to."

Eddie sighed. "I don't know why - or how I even managed to land such an amazing hot girlfriend like you." You suddenly felt shy at the sudden compliments. "I'm the freak. The lowlife who doesn't deserve you and is only good for bringing you down."

You tried to retaliate but Eddie shushed you, it was his time to open up to you. "Point is, you could've gone with anyone that wasn't me. You could've gone for someone like Jason, for christ's sake."

"I don't like Jason," you responded. Eddie smiled, leaning forward to give you a kiss.

"I just didn't want you freaking out and acting irrationally like you did earlier," said Eddie, scooting forward next to you. "You worked so hard just to be class president and for that scholarship. You can't let those pricks get to you. Although, I would've love to see you beat Jason."

You chuckle as you light shake your head. "But what about the kids? I promised Mike and Dustin of they ever got picked on, I would deal with it," you said, staring up at Eddie with innocent eyes. Eddie felt his heart flutter, you were always worried about others besides yourself.

"We'll be able to deal with it just fine, love" reassured Eddie, resting your head on his chest. "I was handling shit like this way before you came into the picture. And those boys, by next year they won't have to ever see Jason again. Just promise me you won't do anything reckless."

You sighed. "Okay..." you gave in. Eddie was relief that you finally decided to drop the conversation. He didn't want the rest of his weekend to be about that idiot Jason.

In reality, you were not over the situation quite yet. Words could not describe how angry you were and how little you could do to help Eddie and the Hellfire club. You had tried talking to your teachers and the principals about Jason's behavior but all they could do was shrug their shoulders and say 'they're just having light hearted fun'. Light hearted fun your ass, you were ready to confront Jason now.

But Eddie was right. You couldn't act the way you wanted to, you had big responsibilities now with equally serious consequences if you ever fought someone from the Basketball team. Especially Jason. It didn't make you feel any happier knowing you both had a project to present Monday.

Wait-

That's right! The english project you two had worked on.

"What movie do you wanna watch tonight, sweetheart," asked Eddie, smiling at you.

"Wait a second, Eddie," you said, getting up from his bed and going straight to your backpack. You rummaged through your stuff, hoping that the paper both you and Jason had worked on was inside your bag. "I hope I didn't leave it at home..."

"Leave what at home?" asked Eddie.

"This!" You exclaimed, holding the sheets of paper proudly. Eddie rolled his eyes, annoyed that you were still thinking about Jason.

"Seriously? You're thinking about that stupid english pro-" Eddie stopped his babbling, watching as you ripped your papers into tiny little pieces. "What are you doing?!"

"Ripping the project I had with Jason," you said, shrugging it off. You picked up the pieces of paper that were on the floor. "He's going to get an F now as revenge."

"But so are you!"

You once again shrugged it off. "Oh well. I do great in that class, anyways. I don't know about Carver though."

Eddie stared at you in amazement. You always went above and beyond to show him how much you cared for him. You joined his Hellfire club despite your friends telling you to do the opposite. You went out of your way to go and watch him and his band practice, aside from your busy schedule. Plus, you went out of your way to try and help him with his grade so he could graduate on time.

Not many would go that far for their boyfriend. You truly were a blessing in disguise.

"You down to watch The Evil Dead?" asked Eddie, holding a copy of the movie.

#reader insert #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things headcanons #jason carver

[rainbinni]

Published books recommendations 📚

Here are some of the best books I’ve read so far. I have a lot more to read so I’ll probably made other posts. Let me know your favorite books so I can read it ;)

!! All of those books content strong and mature language !!

Off campus serie - Elle Kennedy [5 books] (Young adult)

The deal (Garett & Hannah) [400 pages] The mistake (Logan & Grace) [336 pages] The score (Dean & Ally) [384 pages] The goal (Tuck & Sabrina) [384 pages] The legacy (everyone) [337 pages]

Follow the stories of four hockey players roommates and their sex/love life. Each books are about one of the roommates except the last who reunited everyone.

Briar university series - Elle Kennedy [4 books] (young adults)

The chase (Fitz & Summer) [368 pages] The risk (Brenna & Jake) [408 pages] The play (Hunter & Demi) [400 pages] The dare (Conor & Taylor) [336 pages]

This four books are the following stories of the off campus series. It’s about four roommates (2 girls 2 boys) who moved in the house of the off campus roommates (who leaved after graduation)

Twisted serie - Ana Huang [4 books] (young adults)

Twisted love (Ava & Alex) [343 pages] Twisted game (Bridget & Rhys) [438 pages] Twisted hate (Jules & Josh) [504 pages] Twisted lies (Stella & Christian) [558 pages]

Those books follow the stories of four best friend and their love life. You can find tropes like e2l, s2l, best friend brother/ brother best friend, bodyguard…

Devil’s night serie - Penelope Douglas [6 books] (Dark romance)

Corrupt (Micheal & Rika) [499 pages] Hideaway (Kai & Banks) [522 pages] Kill switch (Damon & Winter) [638 pages] Conclave [100 pages] Nightfall (Will & Emory) [727 pages] Fire night [95 pages]

30th October. Devil’s night. Their night. Every year the four horsemen put their masks on and pull the best prank on the city without fearing any consequences. Having rich family make them untouchable. Or at least that’s what they thought…

A million kisses in your life time - Monica Murphy [554 pages] (young adults)

At Lancaster Prep, the girls love her. They all want to be her friend. Only Crew see Wren for who she really is. A repressed little virgin who keeps her feelings locked up so tight she’s probably close to bursting. She thinks she’s above us all. Even him. She’s not his type. Until they’re forced to work together in class and realize they might have more things in common than they originally thought. Soon enough he find himself completely obsessed. He will do anything for this girl to make her fall in love with him.

Icebreaker - Hanna Grace [414 pages] (young adults)

Anastasia Allen is a competitive figure skater since she was five years old, a full college scholarship thanks to her place on the Maple Hills skating team, and a schedule that would make even the most driven person weep, Stassie comes to win. No exceptions. Nathan Hawkins has never had a problem he couldn’t solve. As captain of the Maple Hills Titans, he knows the responsibility of keeping the hockey team on the ice rests on his shoulders. When a misunderstanding results in the two teams sharing a rink, and Anastasia’s partner gets hurt in the aftermath, Nate finds himself swapping his stick for tights, and one scary coach for an even scarier one. The pair find themselves stuck together in more ways than one, but it’s fine, because Anastasia doesn’t even like hockey players…right?

#booksbooksbooks #books recommendations #devils night series #off campus #briar u #icebreaker #a million kisses in your lifetime #twisted series #smut #fluff #angts #e2l #fake dating #fwb dating #there’s only one bed #and a lot more but I’m too lazy too right everything

[novankenn]

Cherry Pie - Ten -

(Master Chapter List)

Jaune: Seems like a nice person, but a bit too tightly wound. She needs a hobby or something.

Yang: (muttering under her breath)Or someone.

Jaune: Did you say something?

Yang: Nope.

Jaune: So, what did you think of her? You talked to her more than I did.

Yang: Pretty much the same as you. She needs to relax, but I understand she's under a lot of pressure.

Jaune: Pressure?

Yang: Wait? Do you not know who she is?

Jaune: Should I?

Yang: She's a track and field star. Won the Mistral regionals like four-times in a row. I think she also won some accolades in gymnastics, and maybe cheer as well.

Jaune: Okay. Well, never heard of her.

Yang: Do you live under a rock? Wait, don't answer that, I already know the answer... and it's yes.

Jaune: Sue me. I don't pay much attention to that type of stuff.

Yang: Even though you DID have a cheer and dance scholarship for Beacon? You'd think you'd keep tabs on your competition.

Jaune: Why worry about how well someone else is doing, when you can focus on making yourself the best you can be. Besides, it's a moot point now. Beacon yanked the scholarship after head-hunting someone and giving them my spot on the team.

Yang: Is that why you're sore at Beacon?

Jaune: Wouldn't you be?

Yang: Yeah, I guess I would if that happened to me. Wait, they yanked your scholarship? How can they do that?

Jaune: Apparently I wasn't "Beacon" worthy material.

Yang: The dancing.

Jaune: No, the stripping. Someone outed me for it, and bye-bye went my chances for Beacon. Probably for the best anyway.

Yang: Why?

Jaune: Just is.

The pair sat in silence, both sipping on their cooling mugs of coffee, before tired of the uneasy silence, Yang spoke up, changing the topic in the process.

Yang: Are you doing routines tonight or working?

Jaune: Working. Blue Oyster.

Yang: I wish you would quit that gig. That place is in a bad part of town, Jaune. Why won't you take the tending job at the Valean?

Jaune: I can make a grand and some in tips at the Valean on Ladies Nights, but I can make twice to three times that at the Blue Oyster. It's simple math. I need the lien, and this is the fastest way I can do it.

Yang: Well, I still don't like you being down near the waterfront at night. It's not safe.

Jaune: (Chuckles and then sighs) Don't worry about it, sis. The crew at the Oyster would never let anything happen to their beloved "Cherry Pie".

Jaune stood up, collected both their empty mugs and deposited them into the sink, before stretching and rolling his shoulders.

Yang: So what's next? Are you going to the studio or the gym?

Jaune: Gym. You?

Yang: Same. Head out in ten minutes?

Jaune: Ten sounds good.

#Cherry Pie AU #rwby #no grimm #Beacon is a University #pyrrha nikos #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #jaune arc #bumbleby #arkos

[richincolor]

Bunt!: Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert First Second

Publisher Summary: Molly Bauer's first year of college is not the picture-perfect piece of art she'd always envisioned. On day one at PICA, Molly discovers that—through some horrible twist of fate—her full-ride scholarship has vanished! But the ancient texts (PICA's dusty financial aid documents) reveal a loophole. If Molly and 9 other art students win a single game of softball, they'll receive a massive athletic scholarship. Can Molly's crew of ragtag artists succeed in softball without dropping the ball?

My Thoughts: When I cast around to get my thoughts about Bunt! the word that pops up is fun. Molly and the rest of the crew are stressed out art folks, but there is a lot of humor winding through their days. I love the bright cover that really gives a good hint of what's to come.

There's a lot going on in the pages with so many characters, art, softball, and navigating the payment of tuition. Though so much is happening around them, there is still a steady stream of reasons to chuckle especially in the conversations between Molly and Ryan. He's one of the people in her life that she can rely on along with her moms, but she also draws in an interesting assortment of students for the team. They each have their unique interests and personalities.

Molly is so full of enthusiasm about architecture and the history of her community that you can't help but hope the best for her in both art and the softball that could solve her financial issues. Those issues are greatly related to the art school. It's definitely a sore point that they use Molly to advertise their school while simultaneously jerking the rug out from under her.

As someone who needed loans, grants, and scholarships and sometimes couldn't cover tuition, I had a difficult time suspending my disbelief around some of the financial situations. Eventually I decided that I would just forget the realities about the mechanics of it and enjoy this in the spirit of playfulness that the authors created.

Recommendation: Get it soon if you are looking for a fun read related to art or sports. It's quirky and enjoyable. The vibrant art is cheerful and reading the emotions of the characters is quite entertaining. They are all feeling so much and expressing a lot.

Extras:

Author interview at The Beat

Author Event with Books Are Magic

#young adult books #ya lit #book review

[doomrichards]

Doctor Doom and Mister Fantastic in Marvel Multiverse Role-Playing Game: Core Rulebook (2023)

DOCTOR DOOM Art by Gabriele Dell'Otto

Rank: 5 / Karma: -- / Health: 90 / Damage Reduction: -2 / Focus: 120 / Damage Reduction: -2 / Speed: Run: 5 Climb: 3 Swim: 3 Jump: 3 / Initiative Modifier: +4 Abilities Ability Score Melee: 2 / Agility: 3 / Resilience: 3 / Vigilance: 4 / Ego: 7 / Logic: 6 Defense Score 12 / 13 / 13 / 14 / 17 / 16 Non-Combat Checks +3 / +3 / +3 / +4 / +9 / +7 Damage Melee Marvel x 6 Multiplier + 2 Ability Agility Marvel x 5 Multiplier + 3 Ability Ego Marvel x 7 Multiplier + 7 Ability Logic Marvel x 6 Multiplier + 6 Ability

BIOGRAPHY Real Name: Victor Von Doom Height: 6' 2" Weight: 225 Ibs. Gender: Male Eyes: Brown Hair: Brown Size: Average Distinguishing Features: Heavily scarred face, suit of armor Occupation: Leader Origin: Magic: Sorcery Teams: Intergalactic Council, Savage Avengers, Terrible Trio Base: Latveria HISTORY Born to a poor Romani family in the far-flung country of Latveria, Victor Von Doom first encountered Reed Richards while in college on scholarship. The two were instantly bonded as intellectual rivals and compatriots. However, Doom quickly grew tired of Richards upstaging him, purposefully ignoring a mistake in his experimental calculations just because Richards pointed it out. Doom's experiment blew up in his face, permanently scarring him. Bent on revenge, Victor quit college and obtained a powerful suit of Tibetan armor, becoming the dreaded Doctor Doom. He conquered his homeland of Latveria, declaring himself king. Ever since, he's been a monstrous threat to Reed Richards, the Fantastic Four and the world at large. PERSONALITY Doom's defining feature is his ego. Be it science or sorcery, he wishes to believe that he is the best at everything he does, and he is deeply angered by any evidence which would point to the contrary.

TRAITS & TAGS TRAITS • Combat Expert • Font of Information • Inventor • Iron Will • Piloting • Presence • Tech Reliance TAGS • Authority • Extreme Appearance • Lab Access • Linguist: English, German, Hungarian, Latverian, Romani • Powerful • Public Identity • Sorcerous • Supernatural • Villainous POWERS BASIC • Brilliance 1 • Discipline 2 • Flight 1 • Mighty 1 • Sturdy 2 • Uncanny 2 ELEMENTAL CONTROL (ENERGY) • Elemental Barrier • Elemental Blast • Elemental Burst MAGIC (SORCERY SET) • Astral Form • Crimson Bands of Cyttorak • Dispel Spell • Flames of the Faltine • Summon Portal MARTIAL ARTS • Attack Stance • Defense Stance TELEPATHY • Machine Telepathy • Telepathic Link

MISTER FANTASTIC Art by Chris Samnee

Rank: 4 / Karma: -4 / Health: 120 / Damage Reduction: -2 / Focus: 60 / Damage Reduction: -- / Speed: Run: 10 Climb: 6 Swim: 5 Glide: 20 / Initiative Modifier: +2 Abilities Ability Score Melee: 2 / Agility: 4 / Resilience: 4 / Vigilance: 2 / Ego: 2 / Logic: 7 Defense Score 12 / 14 / 14 / 12 / 12 / 17 Non-Combat Checks +2 / +4 / +4 / +2 / +2 / +11 Damage Melee Marvel x 4 Multiplier + 2 Ability Agility Marvel x 4 Multiplier + 4 Ability Ego Marvel x 4 Multiplier + 2 Ability Logic Marvel x 8 Multiplier + 7 Ability

BIOGRAPHY Real Name: Reed Richards Height: 6'1" Weight: 180 Ibs. Gender: Male Eyes: Brown Hair: Brown, gray Size: Average Distinguishing Features: None Occupation: Scientist Origin: Weird Science Teams: Fantastic Four. Future Foundation Base: New York City

HISTORY Brilliant young physicist Reed Richards gambled his family's considerable fortune on an experimental space mission, during which he and his crew were bombarded by cosmic rays, giving them super-powers. Back on Earth, with Richards as their leader, the crew formed the Fantastic Four.

Richards' intellect is just as critical a component of his heroism as his powers. With eighteen separate doctorates, he is arguably the most brilliant scientist on the planet. Richards later married one of the crew--Susan Storm (Invisible Woman)-- with whom he has two kids, and nothing is more important to him than his family and friends. PERSONALITY Richards' intense and calculating nature occasionally puts him at odds with his more outwardly emotional teammates, but at heart, he is a humanitarian. He believes that science has the potential to solve all of humanity's problems, and nothing frustrates him more than an unsolvable problem. TRAITS & TAGS TRAITS • Combat Reflexes • Famous • Font of Information • Gearhead • Inventor • Scientific Expertise • Weird TAGS • Enemy: Doctor Doom • Headquarters: 4 Yancy Street • Heroic • Lab Access • Public Identity POWERS BASIC • Brilliance 4 • Combat Trickery PLASTICITY • Body Sheet • Body Sphere • Bounce Back • Coiling Crush • Extended Reach 2 • Flexible Bones 2 • Flexible Fingers • Reverse Punch • Rubberneck • Slip Free • Stilt Steps

#victor von doom #reed richards #doctor doom #mister fantastic #doomreed #very happy to see doom's fluency in romani separate from latverian #according to tiger division doom is also fluent in korean.. so polyglot king #'compatriots' in addition to rivals for his relationship with reed is also interesting; it was always implied in their intellects as equals #this is basic information and people who are not fans just don't get there's heart behind reed's intellect. anyway love this. #marvel comics #marvel rpg

[yunverse]

── REALITY CHECK❕️ PROFILES ONE

LOVE OPERATION CREW!

▸ YN (@/ynsgallery) is a senior at her local highschool. However after being pulled into "Love Operation," she's instead a junior at Decelis academy. Her in-novel character is Yui's bestfiend and also the youngest daughter of her family’s corporation (irl yn getting to live her rich era slay) In the original novel, she is known to despise the four main-leads, who she personally thinks are just cringy men. Contrary to the novel, real life yn is whipped for the four boys, especially Sim Jaeyun and Park Jongseong.

▸ LEE HEESEUNG (@/heeseung_l) the captain of the star football team is a senior at Decelis academy. He's known to be a big flirt, however, he hasn't dated anyone ever since entering school and is also quite secretive when it comes to his feelings. In the novel, he met Yui when he saved her from being hit by a ball. (Ugh cliché)

▸ PARK JONGSEONG (@/p_jongseong) is a senior at Decelis Academy who is recognized as the star player on the football team. He is also the eldest son and heir to his family's company "Park corporations." The boy is often seen as intimidating and carries himself with an aloof attitude. However, in the novel, he slowly warms up to Yui who shows him nothing but kindness.

▸ PARK SUNGHOON (@/prk_hoon) the visual of Decelis academy is a junior and also a member of the school's football team. Along with Jay, he's seen as someone with a cold attitude. However, that doesn't stop students from confessing their love to him. He first noticed Yui during his first year orientation.

▸ SIM JAEYUN (@/jaeyuns) is the school’s representative for academics. The insanely smart third-year is also a player on the football team. Jaeyun received many opportunities to study abroad ever since a young age so he prefers when people call him "Jake." The boy is admired by every passing student and was given the nickname "Decelis's eyecandy" ever since first year.

▸ YUI (@/loveyuri) is the main lead of the novel "Love Operation," and is a junior at Decelis Academy. She doesn't come from a wealthy background and is only able to attend the academy due to her special scholarship. She is oblivious to the war the four boys have going on to win her heart.

▸ TOP SECRET (@/ynssecrets) a private account yn made after getting pulled into the "Love Operation" world. Please save her, she's very much confused 😭🤕

✰. PREVIOUS / MASTERLIST / NEXT

SYNOPSIS › Shocked by the sudden revelations, yn realizes that she has been pulled into another world belonging to her favourite reverse-harem novel as the female lead’s best friend. Content with her new life, she excitedly watches from the sidelines knowing every single encounter in the novel would be unravelling right in front of her. However, as time goes on, she slowly comes to the horrifying realization that the characters she seemingly idolized are not who they seem to be.

TAGLIST (open)

@msxflower @dearhee @95fxcks @ahnneyong @enhasolace @navsnct @hyukabean @chocolate-peachcandy

[☆] — author's note: yes, the character profiles for the main novel characters are supposed to be a little bland to fit the overall "typical fairy tale main lead + love interest vibe" (after all, they are technically novel characters) but the other profiles will be more entertaining I promise :)

#enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen imagines #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen heeseung #heeseung smau #heeseung imagines #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #enhypen social media au #heeseung fluff #enhypen ff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fake texts #enhypen jay #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen jake #enhypen niki #enhypen sunoo #enhypen x female reader #enha #smau #enhypen socmed au #enhypen headcanons #enhypen drabbles #heeseung fanfic

[asknickduvalx]

wait, is that NICHOLAS ‘NICK’ DUVAL? they kinda look a lot like JOSHUA BASSETT, don’t they? i heard the TWENTY year old is known as the HUMANIST around mckinley. it seems like they auditioned to be in NO GLEE CLUB which is so lame? people at campus have said they’re +BENEVOLENT, but don’t be fooled since they’re also -RESERVED. rumor has it, you can find them at BASEBALL, CHEERIOS, DRAMA, FIGHT CLUB when they aren’t belting show tunes. their entire vibe revolves around A GUITAR, NOTEBOOK, AND MULTIPLE PAIRS OF DANCE SHOES - OUT OF SIGHT IN YOUR CLOSET BUT NEVER OUT OF YOUR MIND, MISSING FOR SOMETHING - OR SOMEONE - NO LONGER THERE, SHARING AN AFFECTION AMONGST FRIENDS but no one pays attention to that here in ohio.

🎤 auditioning with: nothing. "i can't sing." a little white lie to conceal the true reason and allow him an easy escape to continue on his way.

(MORE BELOW THE CUT)

TRIGGER FOR PARENTAL DEATH - for as long as nick can remember, he loved performing. in his younger years, he was a frequent participant in community theatre and talent shows as part of a band with either his older siblings or a group of friends. there was nothing like the adrenaline rush following a successful show, the camaraderie with cast and crew mates or friendly competition amongst other people showing off their talents, or the electricity in the air that came from connection with an audience. then the summer before nick’s freshman year of high school, his dad suddenly passed away and seemed to take his love of performing with him. to this day, nick hasn’t uttered a note in public nor has he touched an instrument and he usually serves as a crew member in the drama club.

so, how did nick end up at an arts college considering his unofficial and seemingly permanent retirement from performing? easy. the first factor came in the form of his scholarships, one for academics and the others from the various sports he participated in whilst in high school. the second factor comes from a desire for stability. one day nick will be ready for adventures and to see what the wider world has to offer, but right now, it is an incredible comfort to know that his family is nearby and ready to provide aid while he steps into proper adult life. plus, who says that one needs to attend a more traditional college in order to gain useful skills and a fulfilling education?

being a class clown and prankster comes as easily as breathing to nick. he has loved making people laugh and smile since he was young which has only grown as he has gotten older. however, this particular trait is simultaneously akin to being a suit of armor for nick. not only is he able to verbally spar with the best of them, being one of the resident comedians can obscure signs of something being wrong to untrained eyes. there are people who need the attention and aid more during their times of need, plus nick does not wish to be a reason someone he cares about is worried.

nick is pansexual! only thing that matters to him is positive vibes and fun times with his current romantic interest! however, he is also known to err on the side of caution when it comes to dating due to his familiarity with heartache in the form of either break ups or by death coming along and parting couples way on down the road. so he tends to stick with occasional one night stands or friends with benefits types of situations nowadays.

the duval family is comfortably wealthy thanks to their old money roots. nick has never been the sort of person to flaunt these riches, but will never pass up an opportunity to send funds in support of a good cause or to treat his friends with delicious meals or gifts. he doesn’t view it as charity and would never force it on someone. nick is simply a guy who is happy to help however he can, treat his friends, and utilize his resources for worthy reasons.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

best friend

crush

friends with benefits / secret hook ups

confidant

exes on good terms

exes on bad terms

someone nick is protective of

enemies

#wmacintro #tw parental death

[group-oc-tournament]

Round 1 - Match 19

Cursed Crew

(@redwineflowers)

Consisting of Alchemy Matheus Iritolva, Frenchie Lurette Delvado, Elanor Verna Alindis, Jack Wilfred Brevin and Callum Runar Mornicavi.

Who are They?

In a fantasy/steampunk esque world, 5 various flavors of criminals are forced to work together as a team, because they were all hired for an impossible heist. The heist goes horribly wrong, they realize the person who hired them is screwy and then they all decide to overthrow the government :) and despite being very different and untrusting of eachother, they grow very close and become best friends. They are also very messed up in one way or another. Now it's time to meet the crew ! Frenchie - 23 - she/they : A very good seamstress who works for nobles, incredibly sneaky. She is always listening in on conversation and is able to spy extremely well. She's seen way to much. A girlboss and probably the most level headed of the bunch. She used to date Alchemy, but they broke up due to the fact they had literally no romantic tension. The best thief, she can pickpocket almost anything, gathers info, tells everyone to shut up, and she makes sure they don't fall apart. Alchemy - 23 - she/he/they : A wizard, but not really, she just scammed her way into being apart of a council of magic by doing illusions and literally putting on "magic" shows. he can't actually do magic. He however can shoot guns and is also very good at working with magic and building things. They make their own guns and also bombs. Sharpshooter, demolitions expert, and professional charmer. Elanor - 22 - they/them : A very skilled fighter, especially with battleaxes. They were kicked out of their academy due to many accidental violent incidents. They don't blink much. They have a head in the clouds look to them and always sorta look like they're up to something, even if they aren't, it's just their face, I promise they're nice. The muscle, also is very good at scheming, even if their plans backfire sometimes, specifically they are good at coming up with combat plans. Jack - 19 - he/him : A student who got into a prestigious academy on a scholarship, but himself and his ideas weren't very well received and he ended up dropping out because of constant mockery. He's perceived as very timid and soft spoken. He has social anixety, but he's actually one of the most unhinged and enjoyable people to be around. He's very good at picking locks and breaking into places, aswell as disarming things. He also is very good with chemicals and poisons and has killed a room full of people with toxic gas... Callum - 24 - he/they/it : An ex agent of light, which is basically a secret service that works for the council that oversees the kingdom. He deserted because the council sucked and he disagreed with almost everything they did. Can kill you, but probably won't because it's very tired. They have an office job now, but left it to join this impossible heist. Office jobs are boring, heists are fun. The mastermind, knows how to have get each members strength to work with the others, he gets mad easily, but it's that calm terrifying rage. He's very protective of his crew, but he wont tell them that.

The Owl Gang

(@cliban, @radioactive-dragonlover, @wiz4rdtower, @citruslllad)

Consisting of Morise, Superbia, Somnus and Illuvies.

Who are They?

Imagine a sinister alien oligarchy but they're also the most toxic gay friend group you've ever met! Morise (they/them) is a ruthless dictator more interested in evil science than overseeing their outpost. They're a closeted theatre kid dragged into the friend group by virtue of everyone else being a theatre kid - They feel severely annoyed by interacting with the Owl Gang (But secretly will Always commit to the bit). Superbia's malewife (genderneutral). Superbia (she/her) is a bombastic and egotistical woman who does whatever she pleases with little to no regards for others. The kind of woman who calls you "darling" with a tone so sweet it feels like honey dripping from her mouth, but in a bad way. She adores messing with people and manipulating them with her charm and wits. She's surprisingly a tender, kind, and passionate lover, especially when it comes to her partner Morise, who she loves very much. Somnus (she/it) is a drowsy has-been who can only be dragged out of her lair by the promise of novelty. She's motivated solely by boredom, malice, or hunger, and hangs out with her friend Illuvies because of their shared love for doing bits. Depending on the day, her energy levels generally hover somewhere between "cat taking a nap in a sunbeam" and "sloth on half a Valium" Illuvies (he/him) is gay but in a misogynistic way. Tormented a toddler, severed numerous limbs and betrayed both sides of a war multiple times. A mole, a rat and a bitch all in one.

#poll #round 1 #match 19 #The Owl Gang #Cursed Crew

[fizzigigsimmer]

i wanna hear about all your fics!! so bachelor au, blinding baby like city lights, news paper au and love aint fair at all!!

Ahh bless you nonny. Some of these are still just outlines but a few have chapters posted.

Starting with OUTLINES

The Bachelor Au: This is still one of my favorite ideas lol, born of my love of the insanity that is the bachelor franchise and the poorly concealed producer plants who are clearly just there for the drama. You can't tell me Billy wouldn't make a perfect Chad. The gist is Steve is the first Bisexual bachelor contestant. An icon, An American sweetheart looking for love. Robin and The Party are crew members and all the stranger things teens are contestants (Nancy, Chrissy, Eddie, Jason, Argyle, Heather) vying for his hand and represent various types of typical bachelor contestants. The funny ones, the good guys, the people there for clout, the people who somehow think they can get away with going on a dating show while still involved in a situationship back home, and the people who decide to do a reality show instead of go to therapy for their bag of issues. Billy is an instagram model hired by producers to be the seasons 'villian' and be hated by the audience. It's just supposed to be a free vacation where he gets to make some extra cash to be his most extra before he's finally sent home. But oops, they fall in love. Leaving them to figure out how they build a life together after the show when there are NDA's involved and they are the most hated ship in America.

Newspaper Club Au: This is a no upside down college fic featuring Billy/Nancy friendship, nerd!billy and jock!Steve. I haven't decided yet whether it's modern, 80s, or an ambiguous setting but the basic gist is the boys meet in college. Steve is there on a sports scholarship and chose California to follow Nancy, now his ex-girlfriend. Billy's an English major who works on the school paper with Nancy (one of his electives). He's pissed when she puts him on the sports column as it means he actually has to attend the games. He starts using the column to flirt with/aka harass swimmer Steve through increasingly ridiculous and suggestive commentary. The campus thinks it's a riot. Steve thinks Billy's an asshole and making him the butt of a joke just because he's a "dumb jock". Nancy plays matchmaker and also saves the integrity of her paper by finagling Billy into helping Steve write an essay for his English literature elective. Billy takes the opportunity to show him he was 1000 percent serious about wanting to know if his dick is even bigger out of the speedo.

Onto the POSTED fics

Blinding Baby Like City Lights: Is a dom/sub au where everyone is either a dominant, submissive, or switch. Basically some people need to dominate to stay balanced and others need to submit, or some mix of the two. And everyone responds differently to different things, creating many different 'types.' Naturally not all types are good for each other. Billy is a masochistic sub, has known it for a long time but wasn't safe to explore it growing up with an abusive sadist for a father. He's managed to claw his way out of his abusive home and become a successful business man who is often mistaken for a dom. He found family in Heather & Chrissy, but never a dominant he can trust enough to handle him and give him exactly what he needs. Steve's a recovering sadist. Too much privilege and neglectful parents lead him to some pretty unhealthy and toxic tendencies in his relationship with his first love Nancy. Losing his sub nearly broke him, but he broke good and has been rebuilding his life with his best friend Robin for the last few years. He just wants to take care of people by making good food, and find someone he can take care of always, without having to be afraid of his own desires. Steve might just be perfect for Billy, and Billy might just be what Steve needs to finally embrace who he is.

*** EDIT

When you have so many WIPs you confuse two of them.

Love Aint Fair At All: Werewolf au + a/b/o dynamics. This is a retelling of Snow White that takes place in an alternate version of Hawkins where magic exists. Some peoples magic makes them Wolf Shifters (people who are born with the ability to turn into wolves) and others use their magic to bend the external elements, these people are called Hags. Steve lives in the Cold Zone, a portion of the country that is suffering under a powerful Hags curse. Billy is a Wolf Shifter, exiled from their former pack in California, he and Neil make their way as huntsmen for hire. But everything goes to shit wen Neil brings the family to Hawkins to serve Steve's cousin Elsie, a powerful and mysterious Hag whose obsession with beauty and power threatens to cover the world in ice. The only thing holding her at bay is an old curse that limits her powers and a prophecy that promised one day an omega child would be born who was fairer than her. Good thing Steve is a perfectly normal bland beta boy - until he isn't.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #answered asks #FWF

[charcadett]

just compiling the little quest blurbs you get for the titans, star bosses, and gym leaders at the beginning of the game. i wish they didn’t disappear when you completed them

GYMS

Cortondo Gym Leader: Katy

(AKA: the Sugarbug)

This Bug-type user is a recommended first stop for anyone considering taking on the Pokemon League. Though sweet as a treat, this baker of bug-themed pastries shows a bold streak in battle.

Artazon Gym Leader: Brassius

(AKA the Verdant Virtuoso)

This Grass-type user and artist is a first stop for many fledgling Trainers. His sculptures of Grass-type Pokemon are as famous as the way he chooses to appear before challengers to his Gym.

Levincia Gym Leader: Iono

(AKA the Supercharged Streamer)

This Electric-type user and hit streamer is adored by the young. Her viewers’ reactions are more important to her than victory in battle, and her Gym Test is one-of-a-kind. Be ready for anything!

Cascarrafa’s Gym Leader: Kofu

(AKA the Surging Chef)

This Water-type user is a good fit for those with battle experience. He is the chef and owner of the Kofu Lounge, and his zeal for helping trainers grow has led him to craft a taxing Gym Test.

Medali Gym Leader: Larry

(AKA the Exceptional Everyman)

This Normal-type user is the middle of the pack when it comes to Gym Leaders. He has a day job helping run the Pokemon League, where he is not the best rated worker. He loves to eat.

Montenerva Gym Leader: Ryme

(AKA the MC of RIP)

This Ghost-type user is among the very greatest. She is a legendary rapper who has performed around the world, and her thrilling live shows rattle the bones with devilish beats and Double Battles.

Alfornada Gym Leader: Tulip

(AKA the Bewitching Beautician)

This Psychic-type user is a real force, even among Gym Leaders. She runs a cosmetics brand, which she also models for, and she aims to be the very best in everything she does- including battle.

Glaseado Gym Leader: Grusha

(AKA the Sub-zero Shredder)

This Ice-type user, once a renowned snowboarder, was forced to retire from the sport due to a grievous injury. His formerly fiery passion now remains locked away behind a thick, icy shell.

TEAM STAR

Giacomo of the Segin Squad

(Boss of Team Star’s Dark crew)

Since he only recently began training Dark-type Pokemon, he’s not too much challenge in battle. He used to be a straitlaced star student, but certain events set him on a very different path.

Mela of the Schedar Squad

(Boss of Team Star’s Fire crew)

Mela believes in solving every problem with force, and she is scarier to face than her Pokemon. But she has charisma and always keeps her word, which has earned her the trust of her allies.

Atticus of the Navi Squad

(Boss of Team Star’s Poison crew)

Atticus is of middling strength among the Team Star bosses. A descendant of ninjas - or so he believes - he likes to dress the part and use fancy speech and poison skills to toy with foes.

Ortega of the Ruchbach Squad

(Boss of Team Star’s Fairy crew)

Said to be the second strongest of Team Star’s bosses. His family owns an apparel brand famed even in Paldea. He constantly looks down on others, perhaps due to his cushy up bringing.

Eri of the Caph Squad

(Boss of Team Star’s Fightung crew)

An extremely dangerous opponent, even among the Team Star bosses. She entered the academy on a sports scholarship. Her towering height helps her unleash powerful wrestling moves.

TITANS

The Stony Cliff Titan

Witnesses claim they’ve seen a giant stone moving on its own in Area Three of the South Providence. And the stone has big swiveling eyestalks?!? Perhaps it’s a Titan camouflaging itself to catch prey.

The Open Sky Titan

Boulders are tumbling down from a mountain in the West Providence’s Area One. Perhaps a Titan wanting to keep the sky all to itself? The climb may be more challenging than the battle.

The Lurking Steel Titan

Miners working in Area Three of the East Providence say something huge burrowing under the ground is the cause of frequent landslides. Whispers abound whether it could be a Titan.

The Quaking Earth Titan

Mysterious quakes keep shaking the Asado Desert. Porto Marinada locals claim they’ve caught glimpses of an unknown creature raging about through the obscuring clouds of sand and dust.

The False Dragon Titan

A highly dangerous Pokemon said to lurk in Casseroya Lake, luring other creatures close and then feeding on them. Appearance unknown, but mouth likely large. Use extreme caution.

#pokemon sv #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv spoilers #if theres one thing i love it sure is compiling #i started a new game to write this down because i didnt think to my first playthrough #sorry for any typos its four am and typed haphazardly into my notes app #i also fully read these in nemona arven and pennys voices respectively