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wheels-of-despair · 5 months

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The First Lazy Thanksgiving Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days... but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to? Contains: Lazy plans gone awry, unscheduled visits from unwanted family, food prep, stolen moments, fast-forwarding through stressful things because it's my story and I can, cunty relatives, smokin' the reefer, a proposal, leftovers, lots of time spent with Team Evil Woman. (If you're not into the family fics, I won't hold it against you.) Words: 7.8k

Note: This one goes out to everyone who'd rather be spending today with Eddie.

"What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?"

Eddie looks over at you without missing a note in the song he's practicing in his chair. You're lying on your side on his bed, one hand propping up your head and the other still on the book you've abandoned in favor of watching him play Other Sweetheart.

He shrugs and looks back down at his flying fingers. "All tastes the same to me."

"What." It doesn't come out as a question, because it is an outrage. You know that Wayne works so much overtime during the holidays, he doesn't even bother coming home, and that the Munsons aren't big on family meals… but has no one ever invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner? Even for a round of leftovers? Or sent him a plate?!

"We usually grab a few Thanksgiving-y TV dinners for when he gets off work." Eddie holds his guitar upright and plays a more complicated tune to downplay his explanation.

You feel guilty for leaving him alone last year. You'd only been with him for a few months, but you'd gone back to the place you'd just escaped from to spend another stuffy Thanksgiving with your family. That's what he did while you were away? Ate a tasteless TV dinner?

"No, wait," he says quickly, "Jeff's mom made him bring me a plate last year. Stuffing was the best."

You try to mask the pity on your face, but he notices. His eyes turn to steel.

"I'm not a charity case. The Munsons don't need to celebrate meaningless shit whenever The Man tells them to." This sounds a little rehearsed. He holds your gaze, but his face soon softens. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, woman."

"How dare you. This cold black heart does not get mushy," you insist. He raises an eyebrow. He knows better. "Unless there are pictures of really cute baby animals," you continue. "But you tell anybody that, and this'll be your last Thanksgiving, Munson." You point a finger at him in warning.

He snorts and looks back to his guitar, starting a new song.

"I was merely doing as my mother instructed," you explain, rolling onto your back and looking up at his ceiling. "Because you're coming to Lazy Thanksgiving, and she wanted to make sure we had plenty of your favorite." You pause, waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. He stops playing. You've got him.

"…what's Lazy Thanksgiving?"

You smirk. "It's is our first Thanksgiving without all of my annoying-ass relatives, so we're doing it OUR way, all week long. Which means food we actually like, people we actually like, and pajamas all damn day. Just like we've always dreamed of. So pack your best sweats, Munson, 'cause you're staying with us 'til Wayne's off doubles."

You glance over to check for a response.

"Is that an invitation or an order?" He's fighting a smile. He's coming.

"That's up to you, babe." You bat your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, sets his guitar aside, and crosses the room to crawl on top of you. His chin rests in the valley between your breasts, and you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

"You really want me?"

"Like right now, or over Thanksgiving break?" you tease. Before his lips can even form a pout, you continue, "'Cause the answer to both is a definite yes."

There was only half a day of school on Tuesday, but it felt like longer than usual. You wanted to be OUT of there.

The groceries were bought, the turkey was thawing, your family was hours away, and Eddie was coming to stay for several days. It really was the Thanksgiving you'd always dreamed of. There would be no awkward catch-ups, no uncomfortable clothes, no arguments or hostility, and no weird dishes with undesirable or un-pronounceable ingredients. You couldn't wait.

You and Eddie were out of your seats and on the way to your shared locker before the final bell of the day finished ringing. You shoved all the crap you wouldn't need into the metal prison - rescuing Eddie's discarded history notebook with the intention of making him study, which earned you a whine - and slammed the door shut.

He hooked his arm around your neck and marched you through the hall and out the doors, where you took your first breath of free air.

No school for a week. Just what the doctor ordered.

You climbed into the van's passenger seat and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. On today's menu was band practice - in lieu of their usual Hideout gig, which had been called on account of the owner not wanting to scare off the home-for-the-holidays crowd with teenage metal - then breaking for family stuff 'til a special Hellfire session on Saturday. Other than that, everybody was on their own.

The boys chattered about their plans for the week until the van jerked to a stop in your driveway, and everyone piled out and headed into the garage. You went into the kitchen, to see what kind of snacks you could dig out. Nevermind that they'd just eaten lunch half an hour ago; you cannot practice metal without fuel. It's against the law. (According to Gareth, anyway, who would make a terrible lawyer.)

The look on your mother's face stopped you in your tracks.

She was holding the phone in a white-knuckle grip. Eyes narrowed. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

What have you done? You quickly scan a week's worth of Hawkins High shenanigans, but can't think of any mischief that would warrant a call home for you. Your brother, either. What the fuck?

She gestures for you to close the door, and you do… definitely not thinking about stepping on the other side of it before you do so.

"Alright. See you soon," she says through gritted teeth. She stands to hang up the phone on the kitchen wall, then knocks her head against it. You're still frozen to the spot.

Finally, she removes her head from the wall and turns to you. "Get your brother in here."

You reach for the door handle, point to Gareth, and crook your finger in a 'come here' motion. He comes in, stands next to you, and waits.

"Your grandparents have decided to grace us with their presence."

You both groan.

"They'll be here by dinnertime."

"Tonight?!" you both shriek.

"It's only for a day. They want to be back home in time for the real family Thanksgiving."

"So we're upending everything we've planned to accommodate them?" You can feel the rage swirling inside you.

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've gotta make a new grocery list, if there's even anything left at the store, find the recipe for that stupid pie, make something for dinner tonight, get that turkey thawed a day early, clean, drive my car into the quarry…"

"We can handle dinner and cleaning," you say at the same time Gareth asks, "Why do you need a new grocery list?"

"Can you imagine your grandmother's face if she found out I served her a dinner roll I didn't make from scratch?"

"She'll live." You roll your eyes.

"And she doesn't, that's one less thing we have to wor…" Gareth clears his throat, and you try not to smirk.

"Go practice, it's the last fun you'll have 'til they're gone."

He turns on his heel at her suggestion and disappears into the garage.

"Where do you want me, Coach?"

"Help me with this damn grocery list."

You made a list of all the foods you thought you were leaving behind, flipped through recipe cards until you found the things your grandparents expected, and checked the cabinets to see what you already had. So long, Lazy Thanksgiving. You were a nice thought.

When the page-long list was complete, your mother set off to the grocery store. Again.

You hid all the food your grandparents would disapprove of, then dug through the freezer and found pizza rolls for the boys and a forgotten lasagna for dinner. You popped the pizza rolls in the oven and tidied the kitchen to the sounds of Corroded Coffin. Possibly the last decent music you'd hear for the next 24 hours. Your grandparents would probably call for an exorcist if they saw your tape collection.

Your head was buried in a bottom cabinet when the oven timer dinged, catching you by surprise and making you bump your head. You back out on your hands and knees and grumble, rubbing your sore spot, when you feel a burst of hot air.

"Watch it, hot stuff." Eddie grins, pulling the pan of pizza rolls from the oven with a potholder shaped like a turkey.

You stand and lean against the counter, exhausted already.

"Told the jackals they couldn't eat 'til they cleaned the garage," he grins proudly.

"Thank you." You hadn't even thought about having to clean the garage.

"You want me to stick around, or just get lost 'til the coast is clear?"

"What?" You look up in confusion.

"I mean…" he gestures to his clothes and flips the end of his hair. He's a little sweaty and his hair's a little tangled, but you don't know what he's getting at… oh.

"You think we're uninviting you?"

"I'm not exactly grandparent material." He forces out an awkward chuckle that makes your heart sink. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close.

"You're not going anywhere unless you take me with you." You nuzzle your face into his chest, and he gives you a squeeze. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go anywhere unless I take Mom with me. Wait." You pull back, wide-eyed, and ask, "Can we all just hide out at your place until the old people give up and go away?"

"I wish," your mother grumbles, back from her grocery run. She drops a load of bags on the table, and the boys follow with more.

"Okay," she says, scanning the room. "Kitchen looks good. Garage looks good. Did you find something for dinner?"

"A frozen lasagna from your meal prep era."

"Okay. We have three hours to clean. Then I need you in a dress."

You groan, and Gareth snickers.

"And YOU," she turns to him, "in khakis." That wipes the grin off his face.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are absolutely still invited. But if you want to run and hide, we will not think less of you." He smiles. "Do you own a pair of pants without holes in them?" He nods. "Okay." And then she starts putting groceries away, and that was that.

You catch Eddie's eye, then nod to the pan of now-edible pizza rolls. He picks it up and leads the boys back outside, where they descend on it like locusts, while you tackle the mountain of groceries.

When Eddie returns with the empty pan, he addresses your mother.

"I'm gonna go drop Jeff and Grant off. Are you sure you…" he trails off nervously, hovering near the door.

"Honey." Your mom places her hands on the table, leans forward, and stares into his soul. "I want you here more than I want them here."

He chuckles. " I'll go home and grab some clothes. Do you need me to pick up anything else?"

"Nope, I think we've got everything," she answers. "But I appreciate the offer."

He nods, gives you wink, and leaves to take the nerds home.

Your family whirls through the house like cyclones, dusting and scrubbing and straightening everything in view. Eddie joins in when he returns, which makes things move even faster.

The house is deemed acceptable with an hour to spare. You pop the lasagna into the oven, take rushed showers, and change into clothing acceptable to grandparents.

"Woah," Eddie says when he steps back into your room with dripping hair and a towel around his waist, seeing you in your modest (hideous) dress.

"Shut up."

"You never wear pretty things like that for me," he teases.

"Keep it up, Munson, and you're gonna be feasting on one of these stupid fucking shoulder pads."

He cackles and throws his towel at you. You catch it, and get a delightful idea when he turns around to get dressed.

You wind up the damp towel, and when he bends over to pull his boxers on… SNAP.

He yelps, jumps a foot in the air, and grabs his ass with both hands.

"YOU'RE THE DEVIL!"

You howl with laughter. Was it mean? Yes. Was it funny? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes.

"Look what you did to me!" he shrieks, rubbing at a red welt rising on his pale ass.

Your jaw drops.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you THAT bad." All traces of amusement are gone as you go to him and trace the mark.

"Guess you could always kiss it and make it better," he pouts, sticking his lip out and activating the dreaded Puppy Eyes.

You fall to your knees and plant a trail of light kisses around the raised mark on Eddie Munson's ass. When you look up, he's staring at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't really expected you to do it.

"What? Never had a girl kiss your ass before?"

You both dissolve into a fit of giggles until a knock interrupts.

"Are you decent?"

"Never," you answer together, grinning at each other.

You can hear your mother sigh through the door. You stand, and Eddie hastily continues getting dressed.

"Eddie, I need you to sleep in Gareth's room tonight. He's setting up his sleeping bag for you."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Best behavior."

"Yes, ma'am," Eddie says.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Eddie snorts.

"Yes, Mother," you call, giving him a shove. He loses his balance and falls onto your bed with a grin.

"Alright." She raps her knuckles against the door once more and walks away.

Eddie's lying back on your bed, feet on the floor and hands laced behind his head. He's in a plain white t-shirt and dark, unbuttoned jeans that reveal his plaid boxers… and just a liiittle bit of his happy trail. He smirks when he sees you looking.

"Quit dripping on my bed." You pick up his discarded towel and throw it at him, letting it hit him in the face. He sits up, unbothered, to rub his wet hair with it. At least he didn't shake it out like a dog. (Although you have seen him do that before.)

You give your room a once-over, straightening a few books and smoothing out the blankets on your bed. Eddie stuffs his things into a duffel bag and drops it on the floor of your brother's room, where he'll be sleeping tonight.

The plan had actually been for the three of you to camp out in the living room and watch movies all night, but that would have to wait. Your grandmother would probably pitch a fit about Eddie being allowed to sleep under the same roof as you. You'd love to see her face if she found out you'd slept in the same bed before.

You hear the oven timer ding again; dinner is ready. They'll be here soon. You get up to go set the table, but decide you want just one more minute alone with Eddie before the invasion. You go in for a hug and stand still in the middle of your bedroom, just enjoying the quiet.

"Should I button this?" he mumbles when you pull away, looking down at his flannel shirt and then back at you.

"Up to you. You'll look nice either way."

He bites his lip and pulls his shirt together, fingers fumbling. He gets three buttons done before realizing it's crooked. His face starts to turn red from frustration.

You put your hands on his, then move them to his sides. You calmly unbutton, and then re-button his shirt, straightening out his collar when you finish for good measure.

"Should I tuck it in?"

"Edward." You take his face in your hands. "You look perfect. Stop worrying. It's gonna be fine." You kiss the tip of his nose.

"What if they hate me?" he asks, his big brown eyes boring into your soul.

"Babe…" you begin gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "They will. But that's okay. Because I think they kinda hate me too. Smile, nod, don't mention anything fun or cool, and you'll survive. And next time I get you to myself, I will make this worth your while."

"Really?" he grins.

"Really." You lean in for a kiss… which is interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking twice. You groan. Gareth walks by your door, in his khakis and button-down, and announces: "They're heeere."

You peel yourselves apart. You straighten your stupid dress in the mirror, and Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Promise you won't stop loving me after you endure this torture?" you ask, reaching for his hand.

"Could it be any worse than the time you made me watch Grease?"

"Are you still pretending you didn't love that movie?"

"I absolutely did not," he lies.

"C'mon, stud, let's get this over with."

The reunion with your grandparents went about as expected. Thankfully, your mother took the brunt of their displeasure.

"Is this a store-bought lasagna?" "No, Mother, I made it from scratch."

"Are you seeing anyone?" "No, Dad." "That's the price of being a working girl, I suppose. Women these days think they can have it all!"

"When's the last time you had this carpet professionally cleaned?" "Last month, Mother."

And then, when your mom was properly worn down, they turned their focus to you.

"What grade are you in now, dear?" "12th." "Oh, you'll graduate this year! Where are you going to college?" "I don't know." "You really should be focusing on that. Can't have any… distractions."

And Gareth.

"I heard you're playing the drums now!" "…yeah." "Are you in a band?" "…yeah." "Well, what kind? Jazz? Symphony?" "…marching?" "That's exciting! And good exercise!"

And Eddie.

"What do your parents do, Edward?" "They're… gone." "What do you mean gone?" "Eddie lives with his uncle," your mother supplied. "He works at the power plant. He's the reason we're not eating in the dark." Your grandmother pursed her lips, but your grandfather nodded his head in approval.

Finally, after the longest dinner in the history of the world, your grandparents decided to turn in.

They retreated to the basement, where the pull-out couch had been made for them - and was probably re-made before they got into it - and you had the upstairs to yourselves again.

Which is when the real work began for everyone else.

Leftovers were put away, dishes were washed, potatoes and carrots were peeled, ingredients were measured, and everything that could be prepped for Wednesday's pre-Thanksgiving meal was prepped. You finished around midnight. Your mother would get up in a few hours to put the turkey in the oven, but the rest of you were off the hook until breakfast.

You kissed Eddie goodnight and went to bed alone.

At nearly five in the morning, the door creaked open and someone entered your bedroom. You cracked an eye open, hoping it was Eddie coming to crawl under the covers with you and steal a snuggle before everyone else woke up. But it was your grandmother, checking to make sure you were alone in your bed. Bitch.

She crept back out, and you glared at the door for half an hour before finally going back to sleep.

The next time you woke, it was because two bodies dropped on either side of you. You kept your eyes closed.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." That one's Eddie.

"Please. Have you ever tried waking her up? She's more like the dragon." Shut up, Gareth.

"Right. Good thing we've got pinned under the covers. She'd probably claw us to shreds."

"Dragon breath is probably the bigger concern right now." You can hear the smirk in Gareth's voice.

"Fuck you both," you grumble. They laugh. "What time is it?"

Eddie looks at his watch. "Almost eight."

"How long you think we can stall before they come get us and drag us into the kitchen for another thrilling conversation over breakfast?"

The three of you sigh, just before your mother peeks her head in.

"Why are you in here? Whatever, I don't care. Get dressed and come eat before she starts in on the 'young people sleeping all day' crap again." She closes the door without waiting for a response.

"Alright, you heard the lady, be gone." You try to stretch, but you don't have much room to move, being pinned beneath your own blankets and all. You lay there, defenseless, until Eddie kisses your cheek and rolls off the bed. Gareth follows.

You grumble your way into another dress you hate, fix your face, and wait in the hallway for them. No way you're going in there alone.

The three of you appear in the kitchen doorway together.

"There they are! I thought they were going to sleep all day!" It's 7:58 on a day when there's no school, you old bat.

"When I was your age, I was awake at 4:30 every morning!" Good for you, gramps.

"Why don't you grab plates and eat in the living room?" Finally, someone speaking sense. Thanks, Mom.

The three of you grab plates and start filling them with sausage, eggs, and silver dollar pancakes.

You look down at the silverware drawer while you retrieve a trio of forks, and when you look up again, your grandmother is staring at you. And then at your plate.

"Remember, dearie: A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"

Your face flushes. Your blood boils.

"Perhaps you'd like a piece of fruit instead?"

As soon as you're able to move again, you're going to stab her.

"Mother, does this say teaspoon or tablespoon?" your mom asks, holding out a hand-written recipe on an index card. "Go," she mouths when your grandmother turns her attention to the card.

You hurry into the living room and sit on the couch with the boys, staring down at the plate in front of you, still shaking with rage.

Eddie takes the forks and rests his chin on your shoulder. Did he hear it? Oh god, you're going to burst into flames right here.

"Hate to tell you this, but uh…" his voice drops to a whisper. "Your grandma's a real bitch."

You snort. He kisses your cheek and straightens.

"I'll drink to that," Gareth raises his orange juice and takes a swig. He puts his glass down and digs into his breakfast, but you hesitate.

"Stop."

You glance at Eddie. He stabs a piece of his scrambled egg and lifts his fork to your mouth. "You're fucking perfect. And you need fuel to survive today. C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you snapping any little old ladies in half 'cause you're hungry."

You laugh and lean forward to take his offering, then dig into your own plate. Just a few more hours. You can do this.

You let your empty plates sit on the coffee table as you stall, not wanting to go back into the kitchen and remind your grandparents that you're here. You rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, wishing your Lazy Thanksgiving hadn't been derailed.

"What are you just sitting around for when there's work to be done?" Your head snaps up off of Eddie's shoulder when your grandfather enters the room. Busted. The three of you begrudgingly pick up your plates while he settles into an armchair.

"Boys! Tell me about the local team!" he booms.

Oh. Cool. It's just you who needs to be working. You collect the plates without a word and leave the room with mouthed "I'm sorry" to Eddie. He and Gareth look at each other in panic; like they know anything about ANY local team.

"There you are! Did you think this cranberry sauce was going to make itself?"

You think the only person invited to this dinner who actually likes cranberry sauce bought a can of it that's been pushed to the back of the cabinet, but you don't say a word as you drop your breakfast dishes in the sink and fetch the bag of cranberries.

"How long have you been seeing that boy?"

The way she says "that boy" makes you bristle.

"It was a year in September."

"Oh, he didn't waste any time, did he?" You rip open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending a few berries flying. She tuts from her place at the table, mixing something you wouldn't be eating, as you pick them up.

You take the bag of cranberries to the sink and dump them into a bowl.

"You should be using a strainer for that," she says, after you've already stuck the bowl beneath the faucet. You clench your jaw and start digging for the fucking strainer.

"Do you really think he's the kind of boy you want to be spending so much time with? I'd be ashamed to be seen with him in public. You know, dear," she turns her attention to your mother. "Gareth's getting a little shaggy too. Aren't there any barbers in town?"

This is it. Your last Thanksgiving. You're going to spend the next one in jail. You turn slowly, but before you can face her…

"Don't you have to be at church soon?" You whip your head toward your mother in confusion. Church? You? Has her own mother officially driven her insane?

Her eyes widen and say "get with the program, dummy."

"Oh! Right!" You say cluelessly.

"The kids volunteered to help with the church's Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless," your mother explains to both your grandmother and you. "The youth group is supposed to be at church in a little bit to start cleaning and setting up tables for tomorrow."

"I can't believe I almost forgot," you say, putting the cranberries aside and drying your hands on a towel. "I better go get the boys."

"Yes, you better," your mother nods knowingly. Whatever you were planning to get her for Christmas is no longer enough.

You dart past your grandmother's narrowed eyes and enter the living room. Your grandfather is droning on about defense, and the boys' eyes have glazed over.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," no you're not, "but we better get going soon, if we're going to get to church on time."

Both boys raise an eyebrow, and you mimic your mother's "get with the program" look.

"Church? Today? While your grandparents are in town?"

He doesn't bother to turn, so you're able to smirk at the back of his head as you remind him, "Well, Grandpa, we didn't know you were coming until the last minute, or else we would've made time for you."

He grunts, not daring to argue further about commitments to a church, and you all disappear to "get ready." AKA reconvene in your bedroom to explain how your heroic mother is allowing you to escape, grab your jackets, and flee.

Two minutes later, Eddie's van leaves your driveway, and you all heave a sigh of relief.

"Where to?" Eddie asks.

"Literally anywhere but here," you answer.

"Think anything's open?"

You run through a list of options in your head before your brother chimes in, "I'm not going out in public dressed like this."

Right. Grandparent Clothes.

"My place?"

Eddie's place.

It's chilly when you walk in. "Sorry," Eddie mumbles, turning the heat on. "Set the heat back before I left."

"It's fine," you smile, pulling him close. "Body heat is better anyway."

"Why's it so cold if I'm in Hell?" Gareth grumbles.

"Would you like to go back home and talk sports with gramps?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

Eddie grabs a stack of blankets, and you all pile onto the couch and cover up. The next several hours are spent watching re-runs of game shows and shouting at contestants on the tiny TV.

This is the kind of Thanksgiving break you'd planned on.

When it begins to approach the two o'clock dinner-time your mom had shouted at your backs as you fled, you turn off the TV and fold the blankets and Eddie turns the heat back down.

Your spirits begin to dampen again as you pull back into your driveway.

"Two hours, tops," you remind them. "They'll be outta here before we know it. Then we can get back to Lazy Thanksgiving."

"Just like the pilgrims intended," Eddie jokes. You grin.

You drag yourselves back into the house. Your grandfather looks like he's spent most of the morning napping, your grandmother looks smug, and your mother looks like she's about to snap.

Your very early Thanksgiving dinner went by without major incident. Forced conversation, food you didn't really like, and your grandma complaining that she could've made it better. Things to be expected.

The food was the same kind of food you'd always had on Thanksgiving, and exactly what you were hoping to avoid this year. The dressing with mysterious chunks in it. Greasy gravy. The controversial casserole that once caused a screaming match between your parents. The pie that two competing aunts once brought on the same year, which made them stop speaking to each other until Easter. The made-from-scratch rolls that your cousins used to mash into little balls and throw at you when the grown-ups weren't looking. The fancy dishes that only came out on special occasions; God help the fool who scraped a metal utensil across it. Police interrogations were less brutal than the year your aunt noticed a crack in her best gravy boat.

And then, the happiest part of the day: their departure. You gave them awkward hugs, wished them a safe trip, and watched them pull out of the driveway. All four people standing in the garage held their breaths until the car was out of sight, and let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Thank GOD!" your mother exclaims. You and Gareth scrub the greasy lipstick marks off your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.

"Gimme one," your mom insists. You haven't seen her smoke since the divorce. But seconds later, she's blowing a puff of smoke and looking more relaxed than she has in the last 24 hours.

You stand in the garage in silence, enjoying being back to a foursome, and thinking about all the leftovers you didn't want.

"Eddie?" your mother asks, slowly blowing out her smoke and gazing into the distance.

"Yeah?" he answers, stubbing out the cigarette he'd burned through at twice her speed.

"If I were to leave a crisp $20 bill on the kitchen table and go take a nap, is there any chance it could turn into something greener by the time I wake up?"

He looks at you. You look at him. All of your eyes eventually land on her.

She glances toward you and scoffs. "Children, please. I went to college in the '60s. Can you make it happen or not?"

"Uh…" he chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah?"

"Good."

"You uh… you want anything specific?"

"I would like to be calm and happy for the rest of the week."

"Okay."

Your eyes dart between them during the strangest conversation you've ever witnessed.

"Okay," she repeats, flicking her cigarette like an expert and walking into the house.

After a moment of silence, you have to ask: "What the fuck just happened?"

"Our mother just bought weed from your boyfriend."

The three of you laugh in disbelief. This is officially the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

"I gotta cruise by Rick's real quick, wanna ride?"

"Sure… you think he'd want a plate?"

Eddie gives you a strange look.

"We've got plenty of leftovers. And we're making the good shit tomorrow, so there'll be even more. Wayne's getting a heap too."

"Kay."

You're piling food onto a styrofoam plate - well, two, for reinforcement - when the phone rings. Gareth answers, rolls his eyes, and mouths "Dad."

You cover Rick's plate with aluminum foil and hand it to Eddie. "Go on, tell Rick I said hi and Happy Thanksgiving. When you get back, all of the annoying relative shit should be over."

You send him away with a peck and pick up the phone in the hallway to join the conversation with yet another relative you didn't want to talk to. How thoughtful of him, to call the day before Thanksgiving so he could spend the real holiday with his new family.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, looking through Black Friday ads from the newspaper when Eddie returned. He quietly closes the door and plops into the seat across from you.

"Rick's in love with you now."

"Oh yeah?" you grin.

In a pretty decent imitation of his reefer-loving friend, Eddie drawls, "Thanksgiving food on a Wednesday? It's like Christmas came early, man… except it's Thanksgiving. Are those real mashed potatoes? And pie too?! You tell your girl and her mama that I really appreciate this."

You try to muffle your laughter as he plops the requested bag of green on the table, exactly where the $20 had been an hour before.

"Think I should roll those for her?"

You shrug. "I just found out she smokes like an hour ago, don't ask me about her drug preferences."

He contemplates for a second, then pulls the bag toward him and reaches into his pocket for rolling papers.

"You wanna hit the mall Friday morning?" you ask, flipping the brightly colored pages. "Ought to be some decent sales."

"Mhm," he hums, tongue poking out of his mouth, trying not to break his concentration.

"Are you trying to impress my mother with your joint-rolling abilities?"

"Maybe," he grins, finishing another.

Gareth wanders in the kitchen and sits at the table hesitantly, watching Eddie work. He's smoked with you a few times - better to keep an eye on him that let him go off with people you don't trust, you figure - but he's never rolled on his own before.

"You wanna try one?" Eddie asks. Gareth looks to you nervously. He's still not entirely convinced the DEA isn't going to bust down the door every time he touches the stuff. You crook half a smile, and he gets up to sit next to Eddie.

He's more patient here than he is at school. No jocks to unsettle. No reputation to maintain. No need to rule with an iron fist. He wasn't Eddie the Freak or Eddie the DM or Eddie the third-time senior here. His guard was down, and he was just Eddie. You love all the Eddies, but this one's your favorite.

You watch him teach proper rolling techniques out of the corner of your eye while you pretend to browse ads. They'd finished almost half the bag when you hear your mother coming. Eddie slides the rolled joints into the bag and puts it back where he was supposed to.

Gareth grabs the ad on top of the stack of papers and opens it to a random page, blushing crimson when he's greeted by Sears lingerie models. Flip, flip, flip. He becomes very interested in power tools, and you and Eddie try not to make eye contact, because you know you'll laugh.

Your mother enters the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch and spots her loot.

"Well, what do you know, looks like the Cannabis Fairy paid me a visit."

You snort. Eddie tries to hide a smile.

She looks down at the bag, and then at him.

"What, you think an old lady can't roll her own joints?"

"Just trying to save you some time." He smiles and bats his eyelashes. Moron.

"Riiiight," she says, pulling on her coat and picking up the bag. She steps into the garage… and leaves the door open. You look from it to Eddie, until she pokes her head back in. "Are you coming, or are you still pretending to be good kids?"

The three of you exchange glances, rooted in place until finally you shrug and get up. The boys follow. You grab jackets and step down into the garage.

She's sitting in a lawn chair, arms crossed like she's waiting to bust you for breaking curfew… with a lit joint in her hand.

"Et tu, Gareth?" she sighs when he steps down and closes the door.

"Uh… peer pressure?"

Everyone laughs.

You and Eddie drag the battered loveseat that the previous owners abandoned closer, and drop into it. Gareth unfolds another lawn chair and sits uneasily.

And that was how you found yourself passing around illegal substances in your garage, on the eve of Thanksgiving, with your boyfriend, little brother… and your mother.

You melt into Eddie once you begin to feel the effects. You lean your head on his shoulder and wish you'd thought to bring blankets out. His hand rests on your leg, radiating warmth into your skin, and you wish you were small enough so that you could fit your whole body in his hand. He could just carry you around and keep you in his pocket and let you attack people who irritated him. They'd never know what bit them. (You. You'd be what bit them.)

"Alright, what'd we miss?" Gareth asks.

"Let's see…" your mother ponders. "I'm a terrible mother who's raising disrespectful delinquents. My marriage failed because I emasculated my perfect bread-winning husband by insisting on working outside the home. He is blameless. The new church I selected must not be much of a church, to let in such shaggy youths. My son will become a devil-worshipping drug addict. My daughter will become impregnated before she graduates because I let that boy sleep in my house. Good news though: If you get knocked up, they probably won't come down for graduation, because they'll die of shame. Oh, and my turkey was dry."

You take a moment to process all this. Where do you even start?

"Dude…" Gareth begins. "Grandma's a cunt."

After a moment of stunned silence, your mother starts to laugh. And then you all join in. Minutes later, tears are streaming down your face, and you still can't stop laughing. You're clinging to Eddie, shaking together, finally feeling warm and happy and comfortable after a day of hell.

"Oh, man," your mom finally gets out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What do you say we go finish up their leftovers so we can start over tomorrow?"

"That is the best idea in the history of Earth," Gareth says with genuine awe. Which sets you and Eddie off again. Your mom and Gareth go inside, and you and Eddie eventually pull yourselves together and off the loveseat.

Your mom has decided not to bother with individual plates; she's thrown all the grandparent-specific leftovers onto a glass pan and stuck it in the oven to reheat. You gather around the table and wait. When it comes out, you each grab a fork and go to town.

That's one way to get rid of leftovers you don't want.

"I'm going to bed," your mother finally says, getting up with a stretch. "I cooked all day today. Tomorrow's your problem. Wake me up when dinner's ready."

"Kay," you mumble through the last mouthful of the casserole you weren't generally fond of, but tonight found pretty good.

You left the dish in the sink and retreated to the living room to finish off the night with a movie.

"Ugh," Eddie groans, leaning back into the couch and sticking out his belly. "Why did you make me eat so much?"

"Yeah, that was definitely my doing," you laugh, pulling a blanket across your lap. Gareth puts in a tape and settles into his favorite spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.

"I can't even breathe," Eddie whines.

You roll your eyes, reach over, and pop the button on his jeans. He falls silent as the previews begin, but you can feel him staring at you.

"What?" you finally ask, turning your head when you can't stand it anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"That was like the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me."

A laugh escapes you. "You are such a dweeb."

"But you love me," he grins.

"…yeah, I guess," you sigh, pretending to be defeated.

His jaw drops in mock offense.

"You two are gonna make me puke up all that old person food if you keep on," Gareth chimes in from across the room.

You laugh and snuggle into Eddie's side, pulling the blanket over both of you.

"Love you," you whisper.

"Lots?"

"Lots and lots," you confirm, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder.

You woke when the screen turned to static, shook the boys awake, and dragged your corpses to bed.

"Best Thanksgiving ever," Eddie mumbled when you crawled under the covers beside him.

"Babe?"

"Hm?"

"That was Grandparent Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Lazy Thanksgiving. It ain't over 'til the last piece of turkey's gone."

He chuckles. "So what exactly are we doing tomorrow?"

"We'll make the food, since Mom did everything yesterday. Turkey's done, so we just need sides. It'll be easy, pretty much everything has instructions on the box. There's rolls and a pie hiding in a cooler in the garage. So we'll make food, eat food, lay in front of the TV and watch old Thanksgiving specials I recorded and whine about how much food we ate… until it's time to eat more food."

"I think Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday."

"Mine too, now." You smile a sleepy smile, not wanting to say goodnight and go to sleep just yet. "Still wanna hit Starcourt Friday morning? Lots of stuff on sale. If we strike out, we can always go back to your place… if you don't mind being alone with me for a little while… I'm sure we could find something to do…"

"You know, Black Friday's sounding pretty good too."

You chuckle and lean in for a kiss.

"I'm so happy you're here with me," you breathe.

"I'm happy you wanted me here," he says, giving you another kiss.

"Sorry about the grandparents," you wince.

"It's alright… we'll have it at our place next year." Your heart soars at the thought of getting to be like this with him every night. "And we won't tell them where we live."

You laugh and snuggle closer. "Sounds good to me, Eds."

He sighs happily and kisses your forehead, and you both drift to sleep in a comfortable silence.

You woke up so warm and comfortable, you almost didn't want to get out of bed, even though it's nearly eleven.

But today is Lazy Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you've always dreamed of. No unwanted guests. No hard labor. No stuffy clothes. You turn over to look at the clock, and Eddie pounces.

"Where you think you're goin'?" he mumbles into the back of your neck, holding you in place with an arm around your waist.

"Food," you yawn.

"This is all I wanna eat." He nibbles at the back of your neck, and you shrink away from him with a laugh.

"Not on the menu today, I'm afraid."

"Hmph." He lets you go and flops onto his back. You turn to look at him. Arms crossed. Pouty. Hair a mess. Perfect.

You slide closer and sling a leg over his. You put your arm across his middle and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He doesn't budge.

"Tomorrow, however…" you whisper with a soft kiss to his neck. He finally uncrosses his arms to run a hand up your thigh.

"Tell me more."

"Hmmm…" you hum, nuzzling into him. You can feel him melt. "Nope." You nip at his neck and haul yourself out of bed. He growls, but you're already out of the room before he makes a move.

Your mom is drinking coffee and watching the parade in the living room. "You sure you've got this?" she asks.

"We got this," you confirm. "We'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Like anyone could sleep through this thrilling display!" she says with mock-offense, gesturing to a high school marching band. You smile and return to the kitchen, hoping she enjoys her first uninterrupted parade in years.

Both boys wander into the kitchen a few minutes later, while you're pulling things from the cabinets and moving them to the table.

"Eddie, you're on stuffing. Gareth, you've got mashed potatoes."

"And what about you, Your Highness?" Gareth grumbles.

"Everything else, Prince Ass."

Eddie snorts and picks up one of the four boxes of Stove Top to read the instructions. He looks at you apprehensively.

"I have faith in you." He smirks and reads the box again.

"How many potatoes?" Gareth asks, skimming the instructions. Potato flakes from a flimsy cardboard box. If that didn't finish your grandmother off, the packets of gravy mix would.

"A buttload."

"That's not on the box."

"Then whatever the biggest batch is."

"Kay," he shrugs, reaching for the measuring cup you've left in the middle of the table.

The three of you work together in a shockingly harmonious manner. Pots on the stove, dishes in the oven, bowls in and out of the microwave, and nearly an hour later, the table is as set as it's gonna be. No serving dishes saved for special occasions; everything remains on the stove and counter, in whatever vessel it was cooked in. You were all fully capable of getting up and fixing your own plates.

And that's exactly what you did.

"Are we gonna hold hands and say what we're thankful for?" your mom teases.

"I'm thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are gone," Gareth says quickly, causing a laugh to spread around the table.

Screw it. "I'm thankful that all my favorite people are here."

"Awww," Gareth mocks, causing you and Eddie to both kick him under the table. You smirk at each other when he hisses.

"I'm thankful for the invite," Eddie smiles, making your heart soften.

"And I'm thankful for brown-and-serve rolls," your mom says, ripping hers open and slathering it with butter. "Okay, you little dorks, raise a roll."

You each pick up your roll and raise it, as instructed.

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!"

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!" you all echo, then take a bite out of your perfectly adequate rolls that took 8 minutes to prepare. (A great improvement from the traditional 4-hour ordeal.)

Lazy Thanksgiving really was the holiday you'd always dreamed of.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #thanksgiving fic

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passivenovember · 1 year

Text

Happy Valentines Day!

Dedicated to my babies over in the smut cave. Thanks for making everyday so saturated in horniness that I can’t feel anything but love. You’re the best.

And to @cherrydreamer , who is so good I’m pretty sure God could learn a thing or two.

Steve’s not his boyfriend. Billy ties honesty around each wrist to keep himself in place whenever things start to feel a little too much like a roll of party balloons.

And they always do, with Steve. Because Steve’s an idiot.

He’s full of shining romance. He parks the Beemer outside Billy’s house every morning before school even though Billy’s got a car because Steve hopes, against all hope, that Billy will roll over and be his girlfriend.

That he’ll let Steve hold his hand and carry his books and allow Steve to drive them to school. Billy and Max, fighting over the radio station and tracking mud onto the floors while Steve grins like a moron.

Harrington has a death wish disguised as chivalry.

Because even though Billy aims to chew his head off and Neil would probably bury them both alive if he ever caught on, Steve climbs through bedroom windows and tucks notes onto mattress pillows and in between the slots of lockers because he’s got flowers growing out his ass.

Love’s gonna win out, for him.

Billy doesn’t get it.

The hope. The peppery, love-sick gestures. He could pick them by the handful, each colored for a different moronic display of Steve’s lingering affection.

And it’s not that Billy hates flowers, it’s just.

It’s spring.

It’s the promise of the days getting longer and air gusting warmer and the hope that even though he’s still living like a stoned crab under the ever-present weight of his father, Billy could relax into Steve’s attention and summer will drape itself over the land.

If he just gave in, July would burn hot on his shoulder blades.

–

Billy doesn’t give in.

He can’t.

He could lie and say it’s all part of some rude awakening. He’ll take Steve’s dick up his ass, down his throat, blooming like cactus blossoms between both hands, but he doesn’t love him.

But, turns out, as January melts into six more weeks of winter and Heather’s warning that this thing between Billy and Steve’ll vanish as soon as the ground starts to thaw, Steve gets restless.

Billy can’t blame him. Knows they’ve both got a lesbian ear-worm chewing their confidence to shit.

Heather urges Billy to stop being such a piranha and Robin tells Steve he’s gonna get his heart smashed and tossed like a new penny into the ocean. Lost. Forgotten on its descent to the bottom of the hapless sea.

And to be honest, no one’s ever been able to guess why Steve chose this. Billy, in all his pathetic glory.

But he did. He picked Billy like a thorn from his side.

And they hammer themselves into something like the mockery of a relationship because that’s what people do. They fuck. They smoke pot and dry hump and fuck again, each chewing on the idea that maybe this won’t last.

Billy’s good at ignoring it and Heather and himself until the weekend before Valentines Day.

Steve pulls out of him. Rolls onto his back and says, “You never gaze at me,” even though his spunk is cooling the sheets under Billy’s naked thighs.

Billy shifts on the pillow, blowing smoke at the ceiling so it won’t end up in Steve’s eyes.

Steve won’t look at him.

He’s got the sheets tucked up around his chest, arms crossed over their slick face like he’s ashamed of himself, maybe, for the first time ever. Regretful of Billy. Of this thing between them.

Billy frowns. “I don’t do what?”

“You don’t gaze at me,” Steve tells him, Adam’s Apple bobbing like he needs a cool drink. “Y’know. Like when you see a pretty girl–”

“Don’t like girls, remember?”

“Okay, then,” Steve rolls onto his side, propping himself seriously on one elbow. “Say it’s a cute guy. Handsome.”

“Alright.”

“When you see a handsome guy, you know? In a nice car, do you ever–”

“Is it a fast car?”

Steve blinks. “Does it matter?”

“‘Course it does,” Billy sucks on his smoke again, teasing, “Fast car’s a sign of taste. And to be able to afford that kinda car you’ve gotta have money. And in my experience, any guy with money’s got a cock on him.”

“Every guy’s got a cock.”

“Yeah, but not every cock’s a good one,” Billy winks, “Ain’t that right, Rolls Royce?”

Steve turns red, all the way down his chest. Billy has the familiar urge to pin him to the mattress and lick at his nipples, see if they taste like strawberry jam when he blushes like that.

But Steve’s eyebrows are threaded together. Serious, when he says, “You’re saying the only thing that’d trap you in a gaze is a nice car?”

Billy shrugs. “I don’t gaze.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I could, though,” Billy looks over at him, guilty for the thrill that rolls through him at the sight of Steve, naked and pissed off. “If we’re talking about a fast car, and a rich guy, and a nice cock–”

“Forget it,” Steve snaps, sitting until the sheets pool around his waist. “Forget I said anything, alright?” Harrington jostles the bed, swinging his legs over one side. He reaches for his pants, tugging them on so roughly Billy’s worried he’ll give himself rug burn.

Billy puffs on his cigarette. “Where you going, pretty boy?”

“Gotta piss.”

“You’re putting clothes on for that?”

Steve drops his pants as if they’ve caught fire. “Maybe I’ll leave.”

Billy snorts. “You live here.”

“Well, I’m not gonna kick you out,” Steve snaps. Annoyed. He’s never been this irritated with Billy before. So pressed he won’t even look at him.

Steve always looks at him.

Gazes.

It’s not a great feeling.

Billy props himself against the headboard, trying to backtrack whatever landmine he ate shit over. Steve’s seething on the edge of the mattress, so far away he might as well be in Asia. So close Billy can map the constellations between his shoulder blades. “Come here,” Billy says softly.

Steve shakes his head.

“Steve.”

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“I know,” Billy pinches the butt between his teeth. “Come here anyway.”

One moment yawns into the next and then Steve’s toes follow each other back onto the mattress. He tucks under the sheets, eyes tacked to the ceiling.

“What,” Steve says. Taught and fragile. Bitchy.

Billy chokes on a swell of something. Swallows it down. “You don’t wanna cuddle?” He asks, exactly how Steve always does. Batting his eyelashes where he knows Harrington can see.

But Steve won’t budge. He crosses his arms. “Tell me what you want and I’ll consider it.”

And Billy.

He’s a pro at flipping the script. At hiding in plain sight. He’s been pretending to want this and nothing more if it means he’ll get Steve. A couple nights a week fucking in a bed he never sleeps in, watching every flash of desperate pleasure on Harrington’s face because there’s no chance he’ll run into the weight of anything when he’s caught in orgasm land.

Billy doesn’t say the only time he feels good is when Steve comes. Doesn’t own up to the way it gets him through the swell of night, the memory of being so close to someone who’s good because it’s his nature.

Steve never has to try. He’s perfect.

And Billy isn’t ready to admit anything. That he recognizes it. Feels Steve’s brilliance like a twisting knife in the back; Tell me what you want–

Billy clears his throat. “Do you want me to leave?”

The possibility makes him nauseous. Steve takes the cigarette that’s handed to him, perfect plush lips closing around the butt of the thing.

“Tell me, baby. I’ll go right now. You’ll never have to see me again–”

“God, you’re a dumbass, too, you know that?” Steve hands the cigarette over, jaw tense. “If I wanted you gone I would’ve kicked you out forever ago.”

“You. You mean tonight, or–”

“Yeah,” Steve tells him softly. “Months before that. Before I fell in love with you.”

Billy chews on their cigarette and watches Steve in between puffs. The way his lashes flutter when he’s trying not to give the side eye.

Billy feels haunted. By everything. His future. The way Steve’s so free with his words and his truth, tossing them at Billy like red roses and rotting tomatoes. Steve says he loves him, and Billy’s heard it before. Steve’s sentiment gets lost in the roiling anger that makes Billy who he is.

But tonight, it’s silenced.

Steve’s I love you’s have that effect on him. Cutting all the noise from the sky as his attention drapes over Billy like the lid of a coffin. Like sunlight, too.

Daylight.

Billy turns to face him, his wrist cracking under the weight of his head. “Do you want me to gaze at you more?” He asks.

Steve chews on a mouthful of smoke and then blows it at the ceiling until it looks like a cloud.

A bunny or an anvil. Something.

“I could,” Billy says. “You’ve got everything that grabs my attention, you know?”

“What? Money and cars and–”

“Yeah, but. It’s not only that shit, I was. I was kidding.”

Steve blinks. “You were kidding?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Steve says, as if tasting the caramel drop word on his tongue. He shifts on the mattress, glancing over and away again. Teasing. “Alright. What else about me grabs your attention?”

“You’re really gonna make me spell it out for you? Itemized list style?”

Steve’s demeanor falls flat again. A punctured balloon trickling from the sky. “Never mind,” He says, “Forget it. You obviously don’t feel the same about me as I do about you–”

“You make me laugh, okay?” Billy spits.

He swallows thickly. Fiddles with the lip of the sheets. His words burn like acid. He’s cut to the bone.

“I like the way you drum on your knee when there’s a song you dig. You have passions. You read, but you’re not very good at it. You help me study even though you mispronounce everything. You’re kind.”

And suddenly, Steve’s looking at him. Through him, too, past every swirling atom, toggling layers of bullshit and titanium walls meant to keep everyone out.

But under the cosmic starfall of Steve’s gaze and his attention and his love–

Billy’s walls never stood a chance.

“I like you,” Billy grits.

There.

He said it. He told the truth and now Harrington can out a lid on those eyes and stop looking at Billy like he ran over the family dog–

“You mean it?” Steve asks.

As if Billy’s saying something else. Like he’s admitting to a crime, or accepting a ticket to go anywhere in the universe.

Billy frowns, not understanding. “I guess so.”

Steve watches him for another endless, yawning moment. “Prove it.” He says, and finishes the cigarette.

–

It’s kind of how Max was, in that weird space between Billy’s first I’m Sorry and where they are now.

Billy had to work for it because Billy has to work for everything. It’s like purgatory. Paying out of pocket for all the shit he’s done wrong in his life.

Steve says, “prove it,” and Billy doesn’t really believe him at first.

They aren’t together. Billy isn’t his fucking girlfriend, and Steve’s old enough that he’s supposed to have stopped wishing for grand gestures.

Doesn’t he know that shit isn’t real? That husbands get their wives flowers because they got caught fucking their secretaries, and boyfriends only tuck fuzzy animals into their girlfriends arms to apologize for getting drunk and covering her in bruises?

But the more Billy turns it over in his hands, the more he realizes he should’ve seen this coming.

Steve’s got a pension for anything sappy and romantic.

He goes hog wild for John Huges and sets money aside for February 15th, when all the Valentine’s candy is on sale. He sings the Ronettes at the top of his lungs when Billy’s pissed off, wiggling his hips and begging Billy to be his little baby.

Steve pretends not to trace love hearts on storefront windows. He ignores thoughts of dinner reservations and avoids all conversation of expensive springtime bouquets until someone asks his opinion, and suddenly Steve’s a florist.

Last year he even helped Max and her Nerdy friends plan a romantic double date night, complaining all the while even though he made Billy hide with him in the back room so they could spy–

And.

It hits Billy like a freight train.

“No,” Billy tells himself. He shakes his head, curls catching obnoxiously on the pillow beneath him. “No way–”

He’s not asking the Nerd Squad for help/

He’d never hear the end of it. They’d roast him alive and it would cost him every cent in his California fund. Curly top would accuse him, all over again, of not being suave or good or smart enough for someone like Steve, and the rest would co-sign without ever saying a word, and–

No.

Billy isn’t going to put himself through that type of ego-death all for a pair of legs, and that’s final.

But just as he starts to doze off, dreams lapping at his toes like warm ocean water, Billy settles with the fact that he has no other choice.

It’s his ego or Steve, and if Billy doesn’t play this right he’ll never love again.

–

“He says you never gaze at him?”

Billy digs his nails into his palm. “That’s what I said.”

“Steve’s kind of confusing.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I mean, it’s so weird,” Max’s shoes thump against the base of the couch, filling their empty house on Cherry lane with music. “You throw plenty of gaze at him.”

“I know, right?”

“You are gay-ze,” Max teases.

And if Billy were any less desperate, he might stick a wet thumb in her ear for that one. But he’s on his last leg. He’s tearing his curls out by the root. He’s climbing the walls, he’s–

Max frowns. “Tough crowd.”

“It was funny,” Billy tries, smile stiff and unnatural. “I was gonna laugh, but–”

“But you’re worried if you don’t do something grand and rom-com perfect Steve’ll dump you.”

Billy glares at her. “There’s nothing to dump. We aren’t dating.”

“Sure,” Max says slyly.

She’s such a little shit. She’s the worst.

Billy bites against the urge to bully her. To pinch her arm and revert back to his old self to get what he wants out of the situation.

Max shrugs her knobby little shoulders and admits, “Steve’s not that hard to romance.”

Billy drops the act entirely. “How the fuck would you know that?”

“When he helped Lucas and Mike plan our double-date last year he gave this obnoxious speech about how girls pretend like we want diamonds and flashy declarations, but really it’s the thought that counts.”

But. “Steve’s not a girl,” Billy thunks his head on the back of the couch, exhausted.

This is bullshit.

This is so difficult–

“It’s not like you could afford to do anything obnoxious even if you wanted to,” Max tells him.

And Billy gets that it’s meant to be reassuring.

Steve was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Anything he wants he can get for himself, including expensive bouquets and five-star dinners. Hell, he could get himself off, too. Doesn’t need Billy for anything. Not really.

But that’s half the trouble.

If Billy can’t live up to the Valentine's Steve can plan for himself, he doesn’t know why he’s trying.

Why he’s losing sleep, sick to his stomach over the thought that this might be it.

“Stop spiraling,” Max sits on the coffee table in front of him, knocking their toes together until Billy pins her with a heat-less glare. “When you imagine a perfect day with Steve–”

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Why? Max demands, “Because it involves a lot of open mouthed kisses?”

“Just tell me what you think he would like.”

“A handjob, probably.”

Billy sits ramrod straight. “Max, let’s watch the mouth.”

“Don’t take it out on me. I’m pretty sure that’s what every guy wants.”

“Steve’s not every guy, he’s. He’s fucking perfect and he was born in a castle and he’s always had anything he’s ever wanted and I’m a piece of shit–”

“Billy, you’re fine,” Max tells him. Because, of course, she sees right through Billy’s vitriol.

He’s made of glass.

He’s a window. A crystal slipper, plummeting to its brain-shattered death.

Max knocks their toes together again. “Even if you served him a burnt pot of macaroni on a dirty plate, tucked over a sticky dining room table, he’d love it.”

“Why,” Billy snaps, “Because it’s me.”

“Because it’s you,” She says, eyes blue and earnest. “Now, walk me through your perfect date.”

–

In the end, mop top and the wheeler kid think it’s sweet that Billy’s trying in the first place.

They give him his blessing.

On February 14th, a day that’s so cloud-covered and rain drenched that Billy almost wants to call the whole parade off and stay in bed until the sun rises red and new, Steve’s dorks manage to get him out of the house.

His parents are in Rome, because.

Of course they’re in Rome. The city of love.

And Billy’s been shaking hard enough to cause an Earthquake since the second he got into the shower this morning, but Max smiles and says, “Tonight, Hawkins is the most romantic place in the world.”

So Billy chooses hope.

They light candles. They decorate. Billy orders heart-shaped pizza because he’d probably give them food poisoning if he tried to cook, and suddenly it’s 5:00.

The dorks clear out.

When the front door opens, Steve runs headfirst into a hallway covered in wilting daisy petals. He’s immediately tangled in the strings of four stubborn Get Well balloons because Max tried her best.

He drops his shopping bags when he sees the candles.

He almost brains it on the stairs, because Billy’s waiting in a suit, collar uncomfortably tight around the knob of his throat.

“Billy–” He says, with tears in his eyes.

But Billy’s gotta spit it out, before the words choke him to death. He takes the stairs two at a time, arriving at the bottom.

“Steve,” He says, kind of breathless. “I don’t just like you. I love you, and. Max helped me plan this because I’m an idiot. And the balloons are all wrong and I didn’t cook you anything, not even macaroni, but I love you, and--”

“It’s perfect,” Steve tells him.

And Billy doesn’t want to brag, but.

He proves it. Seals the deal with a kiss.

#harringrove #valentines day #and I did get lazy at the end!#sorry!

279 notes · View notes

amelee23 · 8 months

Text

Special | Lee Know Fluff

Pairing: Lee Know x Gender neutral reader

Genre: Romance, poetic prose, first person

Word count: 1k

Warnings: this is disgustingly romantic, reader is worshiping their love for lino basically, talks about mythology and gods

A/n: Please let me know if you liked this, since I do know this is a kind of writing that isn't really done around here (?) but I am a hopeless romantic so here goes nothing lmao

Synopsis: One day, you began to wonder: what makes your love story with Minho so special? As you struggle to find an answer, you only find more love.

Millions of people fall in love every single day, but what makes my story special?

My story, by all normal means, is not in any way special. I'm sure history has heard of stories like mine countless of times.

What could I say to make it sound special? That it was love at first sight?

Well, it was. But that's also cliche. I don't believe it to be as rare as it sounds.

That he thawed my cold heart and made it beat again? Even though he did - my ex made me feel oh so special, and when he walked out of my life, every wall he had knocked down were built right back up.

But then I met another boy, and he spoke to me with a sparkle in his eye, with hidden kindness and sensitivity beyond every word. And I fell in love hopelessly, on the spot.

What else could I say -? That he has a heart of gold? He does, this boy of mine has helped countless animals find shelter, fed starving children across the world and offered every little ounce of him towards the happiness of those around him. But does that make our story special enough?

He's not a king of ancient kingdoms, although secretly, when he sits down at his desk I imagine he could be. A heavy crown on his head, the garments of nobility, an aura around him that demands respect. Plus, he's never taken a selfish decision in his life, he's always looked after me and stirred me in the right direction.

He's not a knight in shining armor, although when we're together I feel so powerful - that we could indeed be slaying dragons! Both of us, clad in armor, standing back to back with wide swords ready to charge into battle, the background forgotten in a mist of smoke and ashes. There is no foe that could stand in our way.

Perhaps you could say, this story is special because he is special. But he would kill me if he heard me say that, that he's special and I'm not.

Because if you ask him, I've got it all backwards. He's just Minho, and I'm the star.

The star of his world.

He swears I must be famous, because although I don't see it (or refuse to admit it) everyone around me adores me. Or so he says. He always says I'm loved, oh so loved, and not just by him. He's merely my biggest fan, and sometimes-! Sometimes he acts like my manager. Marketing me to others, telling stories of how great I am. How cute.

But let's get back to talking about him. Since he's my favorite topic to talk about.

So he's not a king, nor a knight. Perhaps he's a seer, since he does seem to posses the ability to foresee the future! He always talks about such distant destinies, the names of our children, the color of our shared bedroom, the furniture of our kitchen, all these memories we're yet to have... Hmm, maybe he can predict the future. I doubt it's all wishful thinking!

Or maybe he's a magician? A healer, a witch, a mage - he must be able to perform some sort of healing magic, because once, when I had a headache, he kissed my forehead and the pain went away. That couldn't have been a coincidence-!

What else could I compare him to, to make this seem more magical? An Egyptian deity...? No, let's not do that, it sounds somewhat blasphemous to compare a mere mortal to an ancient God... although he should definitely try dressing as one for Halloween! Gold would look great on his honey-like skin, surrounded by his tightly protected kittens... From what I have read he'd fit Anubis the most, for he's such a good listener, so supportive, it's like he has the ability to bring people back to life, breathe motivation back into them when they feel they're at the end of their road - just like Anubis used to help in the process of reincarnation. It doesn't even have to be Egyptian, I could say he reminds me of Prometheus, the man who stole fire from the gods, to give it to humanity in an absolute tragic and noble sacrifice... (I did compare him to gods even though I said I wouldn't, right?)

Maybe he's a forest fairy? No, this one I am a certain about. He blends into nature, it's the place where he most belongs. What else could he be, other than a magical sprite of nature? Animals adore him, I'm sure he can communicate with them in languages only they can understand. And whenever we go camping, and he lies down on the grass, on our old and stained picnic blanket, it seems as though the grass grows; flowers sprout around his body and the sun seeps into his skin, making him glow. And then he smiles and beckons me over, to share with him of his fruit, and I'm sure it's actually ambrosia.

Yes, this should be the one. Being a human, being my lover, it's all just a cover for something so deeply mysterious, ancient and magical, living inside of him, running through his veins... I hope he doesn't lose his magic by settling for someone as simple as me, who could only admire, but barely comprehend the history of his existence...

If he were to read this, he would think I'm very funny. And probably check my temperature for a fever. But one thing's for sure - we could be anything if we tried to be, a supernatural story, a Greek tragedy, a new York besteller... But we don't need to. Because what we have is enough.

There's a million people who fall in love every single day. But there's a million reasons why my lover is made out of pure magic - and while this might not be the most special love story of all time, it is the most special story of my life.

A/n: Just a thousand words my game weak this time around I am sTRugGLINg

If you like my work, consider donating so I can continue writing!

©amelee23 do not copy or repost

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lilithliliam · 8 months

Text

Between two lovers

Shoto Todoroki v Bakugo Katsuki

Tags: fluffy, soft Love/Jealousy

please do not copy or modify my work. Thank you and enjoy reading 😌💜

You have been friends with Izuku for a long time, and therefore, when Shoto signed up for your team, you accepted him with all your friendliness. Of course, your best friend's friend is your new friend. At first, Shoto looked at you very strangely when you laughed, told jokes that everyone laughed at for some reason, although they did not seem funny to Shoto. You always seemed to glow like the sun. And you liked making people happier. And mistaking Shoto for a new friend, you wanted to make this gloomy boy happier too. But he didn't seem to be amused either by your jokes, or by your smile and your laughter, which everyone called infectious. He always looked at you as if you were crazy. But you did not lose heart. You took care of all your friends, including Shoto. Shared lunch. She hugged him when we met. She shared an umbrella with him if for some reason he did not take it, or forgot to take it with him. She took care of his minor injuries, showed funny pictures. And one day he seemed to thaw out, and became much more willing to take your attention and even said how he likes to communicate with you. He even bought you snacks, justifying it with the fact that "you always eat such snacks, and I thought you would like this too." You finally became friends, because there is nothing impossible in friendship, right? Then why do you feel like his touch is getting hotter? More often. And as if ... intimate?

Katsuki has known you almost since kindergarten. Always so friendly, sweet and kind, even with this useless Deku trash. But it didn't suit him. And he said then that a tough girl like you shouldn't waste time on this quirky loser when you have him. But for some reason you preferred Deku. And his humiliation towards Izuku became more frequent from that moment on. Once when he hurt Izuku a lot, you wanted to protect him and used your quirk on Katsuki. Back then, of course, she was still weak, and Katsuki escaped with only a small bruise, but damn it, who else in his life spoke out against him so openly? (Not counting his mom🌚) You protected this "idiot" from him, from Katsuki. She always waited for him after school, although she herself studied at another school so that other boys would not offend him, supported him and instilled in him faith in himself. You thought then that Katsuki was just a damn egoist who just needed to mock someone, you were angry at Katsuki, called him names in response, but ... You still didn’t understand that he did it all for your attention. For words of encouragement from you. For a drop of your love. One day he got tired of everything, he gave up everything, from stupid insults in childhood, from idiot friends from school to ... the first, stupid love for you. Now he will focus entirely on becoming a hero. But, god, and after so many years you reappear and again prevent him from focusing on his studies and his goals. All so, so, so ... annoying, nasty, so ...cute. Damn cute. So charming. And you became even more beautiful than he remembers as a child, even more in line with his taste. And when you saw him, you did not get angry, as he expected, you ... smiled. For the first time in so many years. That smile that Deku used to give. Aaah, you're such a damn... Then something clicked in his head. No, no, no. Not again. But as you understand...again.

It took a lot of effort for Shoto to overcome some of his fears, but Izuku helped him. They became friends. And along with Izuku was... you. Really a strange girl. He had never met such a person in his life. Seeing your smile, laughter and undying optimism, he wondered if you had been dropped in childhood. What he asked by the way, and you seem not at all offended by his words, you laughed and laughed even more. Did he say something funny? He really meant it. Oh, he got it. You were so friendly and nice to him because of his father. It must have been his father who told you to be friends with him, or you yourself wanted it for the sake of his father's influence. It doesn't matter. How hypocritical. Shoto didn't like you. But as it turned out later, you were not a fan of the Endeavor. And in general, among the heroes, you had no idols. You communicated well with everyone, without any reason. This attracted Shoto. And also the fact that such a daring girl during serious dangers changed dramatically and became serious, helping civilians and heroes in any way she could. He saw how versatile you were. And Shoto increasingly began to catch himself thinking about you. And his gaze at the lesson was always looking for you. Shoto, to his own surprise, was in a hurry to get to class to see you as soon as possible. Talking with you on various topics and marveling at your broad outlook. Helping with lessons, in training, or if you need to open something, get it. Anything he can help. He wanted to be alone with you more and more often, so that you would communicate and joke only with him. Always asked to have lunch with him. And he even learned from you to share food. Mochi that his sister made, especially for you, because Shoto has been saying for several days in a row how much you love them. He liked to look at you, at your profile. On this beautiful face, kind look, sensual lips that always smiled and he thought how soft and sweet they must taste. Damn. When did he have time? Shoto is not stupid, although it took him so long to realize and accept his feelings. But the answer was obvious. Shoto liked you. Very, very strongly.

Bakugo looked at you and Todoroki and fumed. But this anger was not the usual anger that Katsuki usually experienced 24/7, but something else. Quiet, seething from the inside, but more dangerous. Even the air around him seemed to become much heavier. Even Kirishima, who was the most immune to Katsuki's explosive nature, was afraid to anger him and just sat quietly by his side. Katsuki saw the half and half looking at you, instinctively felt that a new opponent was nearby. And this rival is not as simple as it seems. Although Izuku pissed him off because of your attention, he understood that you had a different relationship. But the way Shoto treats you is different from how Deku treats you. Shoto treats you with love, just like Katsuki. Along with anger, pure excitement played in his soul. He accepted the terms of the game and was ready not just to defeat the opponent, to destroy. So that he will only have to swallow the dust behind the two of you when Katsuki takes his prize (you) and proves to everyone again that he is the best man, he is the winner. However, do not assume that for Katsuki your love is a game. He is very serious about everything that concerns you. But Katsuki loves to win, and if you will a win, then the victory will be much sweeter. He lost to Izuku in this regard over and over again but this time he will win. And Todoroki, for whom everything was always easy, by right of birth, because you yourself know who his dad is (only Bakugo thought so) will have to know the true bitterness of defeat. Just wait, his princess, he will certainly make you his.

"Hey, little one. Let's train together today like in the good old days?" Katsuki asks to spend some time together, because you are almost never alone with him. And to his surprise, you agree, giving him one of your smiles .

It just so happened that you injured your hand in training, nothing serious really. Iida's technique didn't go according to plan, as a result of which he hit you. But you put your hand in time and everything worked out. But Shoto treated this as a real tragedy. He sat in the living room next to you all the time looking at the floor. And he looked like a guilty kitten.

–I'm sorry, it's all because of me. I couldn't protect you.

–What are you talking about,Shoto? It's not your fault and you see everything is all right with me - you answer him, taking his cheeks. When you smile at him, he shudders. This does not lessen the fear that one day he will fail you again, that he will not be able to save you, that he may lose you, but it brings the mind into a slight ecstasy of love. He enjoys your touch and smile.

–Listen, I am- Shoto begins, but he is abruptly interrupted by another voice.

–Hey little one, how's your hand? It was with great difficulty that I didn't kill that bespectacled nerd. To see what he's doing. Tch.

- Oh, Katsuki. Everything is fine. Please don't worry and... don't get mad at Iida, okay?

- Pf, whatever you say. You love to defend all sorts of idiots. Katsuki says as he puts his hand on your head. Your hair felt so good on his hands. As well as the anger engulfing Shoto. No way Katsuki will leave you alone, because not only half and half lost his head from you.

–You bark but don’t bite, right, Bakugo? Empty talk is your calling,-Shoto says. It is difficult to resist anger, the fiery side makes itself felt. Shoto senses the danger that comes from Katsuki. He sees that the explosive guy is not indifferent to you. Always seen. The way he calms down at the sight of you, the way he screams at everyone but not you. He can't let Bakugo take you. Not in this life, and not in any life at all. He loves you. Because he never loved anyone like this.You are the only happiness in his life, and be damned if he misses his happiness.

Katsuki looks at Shoto, hums. And taking you by the chin with a hungry bite-kiss kisses your lips. He kisses you as if he has the last oxygen on earth and he is in a hurry to share it with you. It's like he'd been starving for you all his life, because it really is.

–Only you make me so weak and crazy, little one. Made me this way all my life. So take responsibility for this. Be with me, be fucking mine.

Your flushed cheeks from the kiss and Bakugou's confession hurt Shoto in the heart. He doesn't want to lose, he doesn't want to give in. He won't back down. Shoto abruptly but gently grabs your good hand and pulls you towards him. And then also gently kisses you on the lips. His kiss is much softer, but no less insistent. He hums and moans into your mouth with pleasure. His body trembles weakly.

–I'm glad to be your friend, really. But I'm also a man. I want to be something more for you. I love you, much more than a friend.

There is a distinct smell of rivalry in the air. Two guys passionately in love with you, ready for anything for you, look at you with all love and adoration. But neither is going to give in to the other. You better hurry up and make a choice, otherwise they will drag you into this. They will do anything for your consent, even forbidden things, because in war all means are good. It's hard not to be with you, not to be yours. It drives them crazy. And even if you choose someone, it’s not a fact that the other will accept the loss.

#bnha x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #shoto todoroki #yandere shoto x reader #shoto torodoki #shoto x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha #bnha reader insert #lovers #jealousy #jealosy

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chokchokk · 9 months

Text

𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 | park seonghwa x gn!reader

a summer romance!seonghwa drabble

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Warmth painted by your lips, heat expelling from your eyes, tears drying on Seonghwa's skin. He'll get over it.

now playing : " yellow " ▸ pity party (girls club)

soundcloud link | series link

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: angst, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1.2k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): post break-up depression, one sided (?) attraction, sad kisses, hickeys, implied blowjob; seonghwa is trying to get over his ex, reader has a summer crush on him

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: wrote this in one sitting so there might be some errors but how i know myself i would added so many more things if i re-read it too often LMAO my first ever drabble!!!!! yuhyuh i hope the story makes sense? it’s just a collection of feels, but i tried my best to get the scene across!!! <33 hope you enjoy xoxo

(this doesn’t hurt as bad as it used to!)

You were smitten, but with some strange luck, Seonghwa might have been, too.

How had you gotten there with him, with the guy that had been crying about his ex?

He didn’t have to tell you he’d been sobbing into his pillow. His nose was still swollen red, eyes remaining puffy, and on your lips, you could taste the salinity on his skin, when he cupped your face and went in for the second kiss.

love is sick

You didn’t mean to barge into his room this way, didn’t meant to breathe as heavily as you did when you saw him lay in his bed peacefully, but if there was one thing that meant something to you, in between these dimly-lit walls, it was how loud your heart was beating inside your chest, reminding you that it was the last day of vacation, your paths to maybe never be crossed again once you returned home.

but we can try

“Now or never, Y/N.”

i really like,

Seonghwa hadn’t been asleep, had heard you walk through the door and had heard you gasp softly— had expected you to leave him sunken in his pillow, just like she did, but you stayed. Stayed until he swore that you must have evaporated into silent fog, which you did, but only once his glassy eyes met yours, his voice sounding raspy out of his throat.

“Wha- What do you mean, ‘now or never’?”

i really like the things you do to me

He thought you were cute. A bit gullible maybe, but definitely cute. The way you tottered to his side with careful steps, even if your eyes were opened wide from the surprise or embarrassment— he could see your cheeks blossom up— letting yourself be invited to his bed despite not having interacted a lot during the trip.

Did he find it unfortunate that you two were counting the first words you’d ever said to each other? Maybe he should have, but Seonghwa didn’t. He had caught enough of your haste gazes since the first day you had seen him to have gotten a good hunch of what was going through your mind, as he intertwined his fingers in yours the moment you were sat at the bed frame.

the things you do to me

You gulped.

Seonghwa’s face was glowing a warm orange, flushed by the tint of the sunset outside his window, and the candlelight he had put on his nightstand was flickering fiery in his dark irises.

What were you doing?

You were being nervous, being fearful, feeling Seonghwa’s thumb rub over the surface of your hand, his eyes not swaying away from your fluttered lashes.

What were you going to do?

love is sick

He was still heartbroken, you could feel it even on his lap. Seonghwa had pulled you with a force that came from pain, from hurt and grief, not with one that was birthed from serenity, though it wouldn’t have changed how gently he wrapped his arms around you.

Who could ever break up with a man that smiled as softly as he did, a man whose voice liquidised in your ear, when he whispered;

“Can you kiss me?”

i really mean,

The first kiss was thaw. Faint, silent, formlessly mellow. When you removed your lips, Seonghwa sniffled, his lips curving downwards to a sullen, shaky pout.

i want you close right next to me

“You’re so pretty,” is what you said to kiss away the sorrow, with a smile that meant best for the doleful male, your hand running across his cheek where the trail of a tear stuck to the skin.

love is dumb

His memories were simmering in his guts and Seonghwa felt sore from how sorry he was, when his hand found your chin, fingers slithering into your jaw, the words ‘you are pretty too’ unable to leave his mouth. He had said it too often, but his mind lacked in the will to find something new.

You were pretty, god, so heavenly pretty to him, looking like an angel coming to rescue him from his woes, and he hoped you understood what he was trying to say, once his body acted before he could get out a single sound.

but we can try

The second kiss was feverish. The sun had set on your bodies, the warmth from the rays smudging off your fingers, as you got them tangled into his hair, exhaling deeply.

You tried to prove to the pretty boy under you that his breaths were just as charming as his face, molding your lips into his until his hands were holding you by your hips, with you leaning more and more into his body.

i really like,

He had closed his eyes, while you observed how he reacted to you marking his neck with small pecks that you hoped would remind Seonghwa he was worth the efforts of being embellished by something at least similar to love; red petals of your adoration bedecked the surface around his Adam’s apple, which bopped as soon your fingertip found the waistband of his trousers.

i really like the way you stare at me

His body remembered the contact, but Seonghwa had to convince himself that the tingle he felt inside him wasn’t practiced memories from other summer nights he had spent twosomely.

Oh, how alone he had been, and oh, how he had missed this, but oh, how it was not the same.

Your glimpse was innocent, unaware of his faults, and Seonghwa feared for his decency, when the words he had spoken flashed through his head. He was repeating the movement as the images didn’t stop appearing, the sounds of female grace chiming in his ears, hand caressing your temple all the while you made your way down into where you needed to push away the blanket.

the way you stare at me

It was flattering. Your eyes sparkling, when you saw him sit outside smoking a cigarette by himself, fleeing the sight the moment he turned his head, only to return in the same second— more eager, yet shy and unpronounceable.

Seonghwa was a stranger to you, but he knew the looks too well; knew the feeling in his breast too well.

love is yellow

The whole night was selfish. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, and the candle-wax dripped onto the wooden table restlessly, as two people trying to make time worthwhile, enmeshed in the sheets, looked into each other’s eyes drawing different paintings of flowing waters, ciphered stories and the desperate need to be seen.

i really mean,

He was smitten.

Smitten, as sighs escaped through his mouth; Smitten, when your mouth wrapped around his heat, and he remained smitten, drenched in your adoring devotion, but drowning in intimate memories, once he spoke out the promise he'd think of you even when summer ended.

i want you close to die with me

Seonghwa came as fast as he rejoined to hug you with words of gratitude, your chuckle evanescing in his ears.

You felt like home, a home he couldn’t return to; a warm bed at night with the consoling thought he could find comfort in other colours, but as his eyes opened again and an unspoken name laid on his tongue, Seonghwa knew;

Love was a path he could never cross again.

#park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa imagines #chokkiwa #gotahotminute

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

Text

plenty of time (epilogue)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: epilogue to the "tutor girl & the hawkins high freak" series. you can find the other parts here!

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual content (minors please dni)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: when I put the first part of this fic out, I never imagined it becoming a series, or anyone actually becoming invested in it. after I ended it, I toyed around with the idea of a cute little epilogue, and kicking off this follower friend celebration felt like the perfect time to put it out. to every single person that has read this series, reblogged, commented, loved, or messaged me about it, thank you so much again from the bottom of my heart. it really does mean the world to me. please enjoy catching up with eddie & the reader. ❤️

also again, i'm still not sure if the glitch with dark mode has been fixed or not but if you're on dark mode, you may have trouble viewing this. I apologize for any inconvenience reading in advance!

A dense fog settled above the Boston skyline like a smoky marble tapestry, swallowing the tops of the towering skyscrapers and grand cathedrals entirely. Rain had been cascading heavily from the thick clouds in intermittent downpour. By the time I reached my apartment, I was completely soaked to the bone and my fingers had gone numb from the chilled November air. One would think after living in this city for the past six years, I would have enough sense to carry an umbrella this time of year. I even started putting one right by the entryway, so surely I wouldn’t be able to miss it on my way out, right? Wrong. As I stepped through the threshold, shivering and jaw aching from how much my teeth had been chattering, there it sat warm and dry.

After struggling to get a good grip on one of the matches due to my frozen fingers, the seventh try ended up being the charm, I finally had a nice bout of flames dancing in the fireplace. I sat cross legged on the floor before it, allowing myself to thaw completely before I could even think about a complimentary hot shower. Times like these made me miss Hawkins a little. I never could stand the heat, but the winters were far more tolerable than the ones here in Boston. Even after all these years, I felt like I was still adjusting. Of course, every time I went back to visit Hawkins, I was constantly reminded why I left. Hawkins itself was never really home for me. It was the people that were.

An hour, and a very hot shower later, I was cozied up on the couch with a warm blanket looking through a stack of papers. The cider in my mug had cooled considerably since I had first sat down, and I was so lost in thought I hadn’t heard the door open or even noticed the figure standing in the entryway.

“I need your help.”

A brief shriek left my lips at the intrusion of my comfortable silence. My eyes frantically darted across the living room in the direction of the voice, my thundering heartbeat only descending when I was met with a pair of familiar brown eyes. I was so caught off guard by his surprising presence I had almost missed the words lingering in the air.

“What?”

“I need tutoring. I think I’m failing marriage.”

There was a timid smile on Eddie’s lips as he leaned against the doorframe to the entryway, and I could see remorse swirling around in the depths of umber from the glow of the fire. Even after all this time, the sight of him still made me weak in the knees. His hair was shorter these days, the unruly mess of curls now sitting somewhat neatly cropped atop his head, but still just long enough for me to get a good handful of. He had completely given up on shaving ages ago once he realized how much I liked seeing his strong jawline and cheeks covered in facial hair. I didn’t mind the coarse burn of it against my inner thighs when his head was nestled between them. It was a little reminder of the limited time we got together these days. Even though his looks had changed considerably in the past six years, he was still enduringly Eddie. The exact same Eddie Munson I had met almost seven years ago in the tutoring center.

I sat up on my knees on the couch as I looked at him. Even though his words were playful, there was a twinge of regret in his tone. I could see the anxiety written evidently all over his features. Eddie had never been able to hide his emotions well, and I knew him like the back of my hand. I crawled over towards the other side of the couch, tilting my head to the side with a smirk.

“Have you tried sleeping with the teacher?”

Eddie’s eyes widened considerably, an over dramatic gasp sounding from him as his jaw hung open. He pushed himself away from the entryway, coming to stand directly in front of me as his hands settled on the arm rest of the couch.

“Mrs. Munson, are you suggesting I enter an inappropriate relationship with my tutor in order to pass? Because if that’s the case, why are you just now telling me that’s an option?”

I couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, shaking my head as I placed my hands on top of his.

“Eds, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’ve kind of been in an inappropriate relationship with your tutor for quite some time now. Oh wait, just kidding. You broke up with me before it got inappropriate. Nevermind.”

Eddie threw his head back and groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he let his head hang between his shoulders in defeat.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you really weren’t joking when you said you’d never let that go, huh?”

“It still stings a little.”

“Oh for fucks sake, and I’m the dramatic one? That is not entirely true Y/N Munson and you know it. You’re conveniently leaving out the part where I fucked my tutor all throughout college and even married her when we graduated.”

“So then you knew sleeping with the teacher was an option, you just didn’t?”

Eddie blinked a few times as he stared at me blankly, his brows suddenly knitting in the middle of his forehead as his face morphed into an expression of incredulity.

“You had rules! You said no bribery!”

“That was before we got married Eddie! Marriage negated all my rules.”

“Again, why are you just now telling me these things?”

My stomach hurt from how hard I was laughing. It always warmed my heart when he remembered little things like that from when we first met. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it felt like just yesterday. It had been almost three months since Eddie had been home. Sometimes I forgot just how funny he was. There never seemed to be enough time to spend on the phone. Just when he was coming off stage with an adrenaline rush of finishing a show, I was trying to wind down and prepare myself for another long day of dealing with high school students. We didn’t really have time to talk during the day since I had a full schedule of classes and tutoring slots, and by the time I made it home he was getting ready for soundchecks. Corroded Coffin was finally on their biggest U.S. tour to date, and while I was immensely proud of Eddie, I missed him even more.

Around the time he completed his Associates degree in music composition and production, the band was finally getting noticed after playing small shows around Boston for two years. They went on their first small leg tour shortly after that. The more shows they played, the more popular they got, and as much as I wanted to travel with Eddie, I still had another two years to complete my Bachelors in English. Eddie had proposed right before they went on their first tour, and we agreed to wait until I was finished with school to have a wedding. As much as I loved Eddie, I still had my own dreams I wanted to pursue.

Being a teacher meant I had a lot of time off during the summer to spend with Eddie. But most of it was usually spent following him around various states, watching the band play, and sitting in on studio recording sessions. In the two years that we had been married, I think we’d only spent a total of seven months actually together, just him and I. Sometimes I felt like we were on completely different paths, and I let that nauseating thought gnaw at the pit of my stomach until the sun began to peak through the curtains. But when he was here, really here, and I could feel him…see him, everything else seemed to fade away.

“I missed you.”

I hadn’t meant to sound so despondent. I wish my voice hadn’t broken when the words came out. I wish Eddie hadn’t heard it. But the way my beloved dimples disappeared beneath the smooth planes of his sharp cheekbones, and the rest of his face fell in pity, I knew he had. Eddie swallowed thickly as he brought one of his large hands up to cup my cheek gently, offering me the faintest of guilty smiles.

“I missed you, angel.”

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want our first night together in three months to be filled with the heaviness of melancholia. I quickly swallowed the lump in my own throat and wrapped my fingers around Eddie’s wrist, displaying the most genuine smile I could muster as I gazed up at him.

“What are you doing here? I thought you guys were still on the road for another two months?”

“Our next show isn’t for three more days. Thought I’d take a break, come see my smokin’ hot wife.”

A blush settled on the tops of my cheeks at Eddie’s words. It still made me dizzy every time he referred to me as his wife. I hummed softly as I leaned in closer, pressing a light kiss to his jaw.

“Well, if you had told me you were coming, I would’ve prepared better. Maybe put on something a little more…enticing.”

“Would’ve ruined the surprise, sweet girl. And trust me, there is nothing sexier than coming home to see you grading those little shit’s papers. The only reason you can’t tell I’m rock solid is ‘cause this fucking couch is in the way.”

I erupted in laughter immediately and playfully slapped at his chest. Eddie hadn’t had a filter since the day I met him, and I wasn’t sure why that still shocked me sometimes.

“Eddie! You picked out this couch.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t shit talk it when it gets in between me and my girl.”

Eddie wrapped his arms around my waist as he crawled over the armrest, pushing me backwards until I was trapped between his body and the cushions beneath me. He grinned against my lips as he captured them in a deep kiss, and I instantly melted underneath him. I didn’t waste any time locking my legs around his waist, putting as little space between our bodies as possible. God I had missed him. His words from earlier suddenly echoed in my ears, and I cradled his face in my hands as I broke the kiss.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not failing marriage.”

Eddie stared down at me silently for a moment, seemingly contemplating my words. He slowly let out a deep exhale, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Are you sure? Feels like I am.”

“Eddie…I am so proud of you. Yes, I miss you all the time when you’re not here, and I wish we could spend more time together you know, just us. You’re my best friend, and I love you. But I want you to be happy. I want you to do what makes you happy. I want you to follow your dreams just as much as you want me to follow mine.”

“Yeah…but your dreams aren’t the reason we haven’t been spending time together.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Well…yeah, but-”

“That’s enough for me.”

Eddie sighed softly as he dropped his forehead to rest against mine, closing his eyes for a moment as his grip on my waist tightened slightly.

“Angel-”

“Eddie Munson, you once told me you were the guy for me. Do you still believe that?”

Eddie pulled back slightly so that he could see me fully. His face softened at my question, brows meeting near the center of his forehead in perplexity. His full lips were pursed in somewhat of a pout, and his large eyes were beckoning like two shots of whiskey I wanted to get lost in forever.

“Of course I do.”

“Good. So do I. We made a promise to each other long before we took vows. No matter what life throws at us, we handle it together. Right?”

Eddie’s eyes scanned my face slowly as he nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear delicately.

“Right. Together.”

“Don’t you think we’re doing that?”

Eddie sighed deeply as he peeled himself away, moving to sit back against the cushions as he grabbed my hips and pulled me onto his lap. He picked up my left hand in his, lightly moving my wedding ring back and forth on my finger.

“I just…it won’t always be like this. I swear. This is all…temporary. I know it may not feel that way because it’s been two years of this shit but…I just…I know I promised you more. More than quick phone calls and short visits. More than missed birthdays and holidays and anniversaries and things that are important. I promised you that big family you always wanted-”

“And we have plenty of time for that, Eddie. We have plenty of time for everything.”

Eddie gently squeezed my hand before bringing both of them up to cradle my face. I instantly leaned into his touch, brushing my nose softly against his own.

“I just don’t want you thinking that you’re not the most important fucking thing in my life. Because you are.”

“I know that, Eddie. I’ve always known that.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you. Everything is okay. We are okay. We will always be okay.”

I poured every ounce of adoration I had for Eddie into our kiss as I pressed our lips together. I let my fingers wander through his messy curls as I shuffled closer on his lap, finding comfort in the haven of his chest. Everytime I kissed Eddie was like the first time we kissed all over again. There was the early onset awe and disbelief that this was real and he wanted me, and then there was the hunger that I could never seem to satisfy. Nothing with Eddie was ever quite enough, and I had come to the conclusion that I would yearn for every part of him until my last breath. Eddie pulled away breathlessly, bumping my nose with his as his large hands slipped underneath the hem of my shirt.

“So…what you’re saying is I’m not failing, but I can still sleep with the teacher?”

I watched as Eddie’s kiss bitten lips pulled into a wicked grin, the remorse that once lingered in his eyes now completely engulfed with blazing lust.

“That is exactly what I’m saying, Mr. Munson.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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atruththatyoudeny · 1 year

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Happy 28th! Here are all the fics I read this month ♥

✗ Satellite | BoosBabycakes | strangers to lovers - kid fic - slow burn - fluff - hurt/comfort - mentions of bullying - mpreg - 78k Louis is a hardworking, dedicated, loving single mum with no interest other than making his son happy, and who thinks that love will never knock on his door again. Harry is a lone man, successful in his field, and thinks he has his life together and all figured out. Wrong meets clueless, lives get turned upside down in the best way possible with the help of a cute and curious little boy, who just wants to learn more and more.

✗ not afraid of living on a fault line | maroonmoonlouis | strangers to lovers - friends to lovers - emotional hurt/comfort - omegaverse - famous/not famous - depression - anxiety attacks - suicidal thoughts - gender dysphoria - 55k His eyes widened when he realized he had just somehow managed to ask Harry to hang out. Judging by Harry’s own expression, he wasn't the only one who was shocked. Louis expected him to laugh it off the ridiculous request but the beta looked up at him, almost hopefully. “Are you being serious?” “Um,” was all Louis could say, feeling every bit as speechless as Harry had been earlier. “Are you?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been told I need to get out more.” - or the one where Harry is a depressed and anxious beta who spends months at a time in bed, blowing off his band and fans, and remembering when he had something to live for. Enter Louis, the cute omega at his local coffee shop who shows him that maybe the very thing he has to live for is himself.

✗ hungry heart | raspberryoats | omegaverse - 16k "So you're using me and my kitchen for a bigger paycheck?" Harry asks. "What do I get out of it?" "What do you-" Louis parrots in disbelief. "I get a job that doesn't make me work ten hour shifts just to barely pay my rent while you get three meals a day cooked for you." "So, what, you're like some glorified housewife?" Housewife, personal chef, Louis doesn't care. Contract's signed and done; T's crossed and I's dotted. Louis will wear an apron and twirl his hair all pretty if that's what he wants. Even if the job feels more like some drawn out jail sentence, Louis hopes this isn't going to be a long summer.

✗ Apparently by Chance, at Precisely the Right Moment | lousmoonshine | omegaverse - soulmates - soulmate-identifying marks - 19k Alpha Harry doesn’t believe in soulmates. Omega Louis has been looking for his soulmate all his life.

✗ borrow the moonlight | princelouisau | exes to lovers - angst - pining - post-break up - reunions - 37k The door opens, swinging inward and being stopped in its tracks by a firm hand before it hits the wall. Louis looks up, smile plastered on, ready to greet the man who can’t, as an adult, tie his own bloody tie. The smile falls. As does Louis’ stomach, hurtling towards the floor like a poorly-made fairground ride. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. If there’s one bright side to this, it’s that Harry looks as shocked as he does, standing frozen in the doorway like he just opened the door to the ghost of fucking Christmas past. or, Louis and Harry broke up three years ago. The last thing Louis expects to see when he’s sent to help a guest is Harry, 3000 miles away from where he’s supposed to be.

✗ Thawing Permafrost | smittenwithlouis | fantasy - magic - arranged marriage - mutual pining - mentions of mpreg - 22k “Whenever you see a mirage, you will be able to open a portal that leads you to the Oasis. All you have to do is say this,” Harry explains further, pulling Louis out of his thoughts. Calidius, this Coyote demands To be shown the Oasis, Among the simmering sand. Louis’ hands can’t help but hold on to Harry’s forearms in alarm, eyes immediately widening as some sort of lush passage appears before them in the middle of the Calidian desert. Or: Louis is from the frozen mountains of Glacien. Harry is from the searing desert of Calidius. They come from opposite worlds, but all it takes is an arranged marriage to bring them together as one.

✗ Forever Home | thedeathchamber | fluff - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - implied/referenced child abuse - mental health issues - 51k Louis heard humming, soft and melodious, and the scribble of a pen on paper, before he blinked into awareness, his vision focusing gradually to make out the person standing at the foot of his bed. It was a young male nurse, dressed in light blue scrubs. The morning autumn sunlight streaming in through the window lit up the hair that escaped from his bun like a halo. “Hi,” Louis croaked. The nurse’s head whipped up from his notes. “Oh, you’re awake—” When he looked at Louis his voice broke off and his face went slack. “You’re awake,” he repeated.

✗ disillusioned as snow angels | rosesau | exes - getting back together - grief/mourning - college/university - hurt/comfort - angst - minor character death - 22k louis hasn't seen harry in almost two years since harry decided he wanted to start his life anew somewhere unfamiliar. that is, until harry comes back home and louis has to reconcile the past with the present.

✗ you go undercover (you cross your fingers) | forthetherapy | omegaverse - kid fic - touch deprivation - 25k When they reach the top of the steps, Harry puts the buggy down gently. “Thank you,” Louis says. “My hero.” Harry laughs. “You don’t need rescuing,” he says. or louis didn’t think that motherhood would be easy, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for just how challenging it would be. he also wasn't prepared for a certain alpha called harry appearing each time he needs help until accepting is no longer a difficult thing to do.

✗ treat my mind like an ashtray | beckywritesthings | college/university - Coming Out - trans male character - implied/referenced homophobia - homophobic language - angst - hurt/comfort - no smut - 18k College is a time for trying new things, self-discovery, personal acceptance. Louis likes to think he's got himself mostly sorted out, but with graduation looming, he's got no idea what he wants to do with his life. It's hard to find an exact purpose when the whole world is out there for the taking. Harry knows there's something inside of him that's different, he just doesn't know how to accept it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff with a thousand foot drop and not knowing if you've got a parachute before you jump. The universe has funny ways of working things out, setting their paths on a colliding course to untangle the strings of their lives.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #monthly fic recs #monthly reads #my fic rec #completed fics #larry fics #my reads

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muiiruii · 2 years

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when he’s feeling a little out of it

matsuno chifuyu & hanemiya kazutora

fluff ; age up (manga version) ; tenderness in loving another in their presence

a/n: it’s been a while since i’ve written for tokrev please be gentle if i butchered kazu’s characterization TT^TT

matsuno chifuyu had always wondered how just being by your side could put a smile so naturally on his face. when did you become an existence he could not replace? even more so, someone who he could not live without. you were warm like the sun, comforting like the moon, and the stars he tends to gaze at pales miserably in comparison to your presence. everything about you feels like home to him—the faint scent of french lavender, traces of fur, and the occasional taste of honey lemon. wherever you are was wherever he will be. and he would never ask for anything more when he have you by his side, but sometimes, on days where it’s a little blue, he found himself sinking deeper into the comfort of your presence.

“fuyu?”

you could tell he was slightly out of it when he did not catch your first call. it wasn’t the first time this had happened, and even if you weren’t told the reason behind his change in behavior, you still decided to just sit it out with him.

warm hands overlapped his clenched fists, you held onto it tightly as if to thaw the coldness creeping up his veins.

“fuyu, i’m right here with you. always.”

it took a minute or two before his fingers flinched, eyes darted over to your presence beside him.

“i know.”

he would whisper in the most gentle way that would put a smile to your face when you brought his hands up to your cheek—a cute habit he loved whenever you feel a little giddy and shy.

“thank you,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled you a tad closer, just so he could leave a sweet peck on the tip of your nose.

“for always reminding me that there’s hope.”

you may not quite understood what he meant, but you know deep down, regardless of what will happen, your decision and feelings will never change.

“thank you for always being so gentle with me.”

you giggled at the cheesiness oozing right out of your words but it was worth it. definitely, when the growing hues of pink dusted ever so shyly on his cheeks had you both chuckling at the embarrassment of feeling like two little kids confessing their love for each other again.

no matter how many times the future might change, he will forever have you etched into his heart and hope that the red strings of fate will bring you to him in every timeline he existed.

hanemiya kazutora found himself wondering why just by feeling your fingers combing through his hair had his nerves washed away and his thoughts silenced as calm as a lake. it will always remain a mystery to him, for he had never experienced anything quite like this in his entire life. it was as if you cast a sleeping spell on him whenever you hum softly under your breath; magic overflowing from the tip of your fingers to the end of his toes. that was all you need to do to build back the world that crumbled each time his thoughts intrude a little too much.

“maybe we should just head to the city office right now to update my family registry.”

“did something ha—”

there was a pause, a shift in your gear when you saw the grin tugging the corner of his lips.

“i—is that a proposal?”

you gasped, unsure if the shock was from how out of the blue his question came or the fact that he even considered marriage when you knew about his past and what he had gone through.

“maybe? i’m just blurting my feelings out loud. we can take our time, there’s no rush.”

“are you sure?”

“if it’s for you, i’ll can wait until we are—”

“—i meant with me…as in marriage.”

you gently turned his head up to face you, worried eyes with seriousness knitted in your brows as your lips parted but words stuck at the tip of your tongue.

“and why would i not be sure?”

his large hands cupped your cheeks, a soft smile hanging on his lips when watched your eyes glossed over.

“you are the very reason why i loved to see the sun each morning, the reason why i want to start all over again, why i decided to live for myself again.”

your lips trembled at his words that held the weight you would never be able to truly understand. it was always heavy and it pains you whenever he had his episodes, but all you could do was be present with him.

“instead, i should be the one to ask you. are you sure?”

“always.”

you replied in a heartbeat. one that had his eyes widened for a fraction before they disappeared behind a smile he couldn’t quite hold back.

he wondered, truly, what did he ever do to deserve you in his life after all that he had done in his past. what was god’s plan for him? was this his punishment? to finally experience something so precious that he just know if you were taken away from him, he will never be the same again. and somehow, it made him realized nothing scared him more than losing you.

“so, shall we just do it now?”

you chuckled at the goofiness in his smile when he turned around and had his arms lock around your waist. his cheeks resting ever so naturally on your thigh, and for a split second, you almost gave in at the breathtaking moment that seized your heart.

“maybe after you stop giving chifuyu-kun a hard time by slacking off as his boss.”

oh how you regretted saying that when he climbed onto your lap with a pout ever so obvious on his lips.

“are you saying chifuyu is the reason we can’t get married right now?”

for once, kazutora realized that regardless of how silly his actions or words may seem to others, somehow he couldn’t quite help it when he’s with you. like a dream, he just want you and only you to always be with him and never would he ever let you go (nor hear another man’s name from your lips).

“would you like to repeat that again?”

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokrev fluff #chifuyu fluff #kazutora fluff #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokrev drabbles

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a13thprincefora13thprincess · 1 year

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Who is this Hans? (XII)

The Disney Prince

12th scene: Epilogue

This scene opens with the fjord and the repaired ships on it. As I said in the previous post, there is a plothole here, since we don't know how much time has passed since the Great Thaw.

We see Hans being pushed into a dungeon by an Arendelle guard, surely one who was under his command in the Ice Castle.

As Hans' head ends inside a bucket, the guard closes the jail.

While Anna's punch seemed justified, I find this scene very humilliating. Hans is violently pushed and jailed by a former subordinate, who would have attacked the Queen if Hans had given the order. The french dignatary says he will take Hans to the Southern Isles (let's assume his ship was destroyed in the blizzard) and him and Kai say goodbye on good terms.

Here comes the Duke.

The Duke tries to excuse his actions saying he's a victim of fear. Fear or magic is personified in the Duke in this film. Then he fakes a sore neck.

When the Duke realizes the guards don't believe him, he demands to see the Queen.

And is informed by Kai the Queen has decided to cut all business with Weselton. Then he is dragged to his ship by the Arendelle guards.

So we have three characters here that leave Arendelle in a very different way:

First, the french dignatary, who leaves Arendelle in good terms. This may seem contradictory with many fans' opinion that the foreign dignataries kind of "took the power" in Arendelle. It also may seem contradictory with my opinion that they wanted -and pushed Hans to give the order to kill Elsa.

I don't agree the dignataries "took over" Arendelle. Hans is the one in charge, put it charge by princess Anna herself after Elsa left, and these guys are acting as conseulors. Also, at the end of the movie they seem to agree with the Duke that Elsa must die, but this only happens when people's lives are in imminent risk and there is no other way to save the kingdom. This is not something reprehensible, and the fact that one of the dignataries is shown leaving Arendelle on good terms validates this argument.

The Duke's farewell is very different. Because of his fear of magic, the Duke has been hostile towards Elsa from the beginning, ordering his guards to "get her", fueling people's fear and making Elsa have less control over her powers, as she noticed she was considered a threat. He definitely doesn't leave on good terms: he is scorted to his ship by some guards and Elsa writes an official letter to him, cuting off trade with Weselton in retaliation. But that's all: the Duke is not acused of treason, conspiring to kill the Queen or nothing like that. The message is "you're a jerk and you're not welcome here", but the fact there is no accusation of a really serious crime is telling that the Duke's reaction is, after all, something understandable. It is understandable to see magic and be afraid of it, and to want to attack who you think is an evil sorcerer who is, in the Duke's own words, "conspiring to destroy us all".

And then we have Hans. Even if he is pushed into a jail and the french dignatary calls him a "scoundrel", the treatment he receives is that of someone who has done something tremendously dishonorable, but not a crime. And certainly not a crime such serious as treason. Elsa doesn't even bother to write a letter to the King and Queen of the Southern Isles. Trade with Weselton is cut off in retaliation for the Duke's behaviour, but there are no reprisals towards the Southern Isles. Even the french dignatary implies Hans will not have to face a tremendous punishment, just his brothers' reaction which, honestly, sounds like he'll be given just a slap on the wrist. (Important note here: Yes, I know there is a common headcanon in Hans fandom that his brothers are the absolute worst, mainly because of the A frozen heart novel, and he would be severously punished when back to the Isles. I explained in the first post why I was leaving that book out: the author was just given the script, she didn't receive extra information from the creators about the character to develop her story and since the movie hadn't come out, she couldn't even analyze Hans' facial expressions). Does he receive that treatment for "trying to kill both the Queen and the Princess of Arendell to take over their kingdom" or... for being an absolute jerk to Princess Ana for reasons unknown? I vote for the second.

Unlike the Duke, Hans doesn't try to excuse his behaviour or protest for the treatment he is getting. This is proof he feels guilty, because when someone feels guilty, they won't defend themselves.

Conclusion: The plotholes are part of the plot

In this first part of my analysis, I wanted to prove the events in Frozen could make sense without Hans being a villain or bad guy. Of course, this interpretation still leaves some things unresolved but, personally, I think that the "he was evil all the time" explanation is even more problematic with the facts we get in the movie.

We as an audience miss a lot of information about Hans' character, and not minor details but essential information to understand this character and his role in the movie. And then Olaf says "who is this Hans?", and Anna had said earlier "Hans is not a stranger" and "Excuse me sir, he's a prince", and I feel like the creators wanted to play with the audience, and wanted the audience to find out who this misterious prince is. I think the plotholes in Frozen are 100% intentional and part of the plot, a part of the plot creators wanted the audience to find out.

And then we have the troll song, and this line:

Everyone's a bit of a fixer-upper, that's what it's all about

Could it be more in-your-face? Let's analyze the lyrics of the song.

For most of the song, the trolls are talking about Kristoff's flaws:

Is it the clumpy way he walks?

Or the grumpy way he talks?

Or the pear-shaped, square-shaped

Weirdness of his feet?

And though we know he washes well

He always ends up sort of smelly (...)

So he's a bit of a fixer-upper

So he's got a few flaws

Like his peculiar brain dear

His thing with the reindeer

That's a little outside of nature's laws! (...)

Is it the way that he runs scared?

Or that he's socially impaired?

Or that he only likes to tinkle in the woods… what?!

Are you holding back your

Fondness due to his unmanly blondness?

Or the way he covers up

That he's the honest goods?

He's just a bit of a fixer-upper

He's got a couple of bugs (...)

Kristoff seems to be full of flaws, specially if we compare him with the other protagonists: Anna, Elsa and Hans. He's a commoner, a grumpy mountain man, but the trolls imply that under this fachade there is a warm heart:

But you'll never meet a fellow who's as

Sensitive and sweet!

The trolls also bring the subject of isolation, and the remedy for it:

His isolation is confirmation

Of his desperation for human hugs

So he's a bit of a fixer-upper

But we know what to do

The way to fix up this fixer-upper

Is to fix him up with you!

After they learn Anna is engaged, the trolls conclude she's a fixer upper too. And there is already a theory with this part but, for my own theory, I will jump to Bulda's part:

We're not sayin' you can change him

'Cause people don't really change

We're only saying that love's a force

That's powerful and strange

People make bad choices if they're mad

Or scared, or stressed

Throw a little love their way

(Throw a little love their way)

And you'll bring out their best

True love brings out their best!

Everyone's a bit of a fixer upper. Kristoff may have his flaws, but the royal protagonists, with their fancy looks and good manners, are just as fixer uppers as Kristoff himself. In Frozen, the royals are overcame by their emotions and screw things in some point of the movie. Kristoff, on the other side, "does the right thing" and takes Anna back to Hans with no hopes to see her again.

People make bad choices if they're mad

Or scared, or stressed

Mad or scared or stressed.

Elsa was scared, both of her own powers and of the reaction others would have towards her. Her fear and anxiety are the cause of the winter curse who almost killed everyone in Arendelle, and also of Anna being mortally wounded with a frozen heart.

Anna was mad, due to her isolation from Elsa and the death of their parents. She has a totally twisted vision of what romantic love is. Her desperation makes her not only accept Hans' marriage proposal, but also insist when Elsa points out how absurd it is and make a scene in Elsa's coronation, making her sister more and more anxious and finally losing control of her powers.

Hans was stressed, as would be anyone in charge of a whole kingdom in a crisis situation where his decisions can save or endanger the lives of all the citizens. Because Anna making a scene in Elsa's coronation is a consequence of his marriage proposal, he feels guilty about the situation. As the days pass (at least four-five days), Anna doesn't come back and there seems to be no other option to end the winter than killing Elsa, the pressure he endures grows to an unbearable extreme. So when he learns Elsa froze Anna's heart (and he totally missinterprets Anna's words, which in fact were quite confusing) he's shocked and horrified. He had protected Elsa all the time, and was even willing to go to the mountains to find his death, with the excuse of "looking for Anna", when logic says Anna must have died days ago. In my interpretation, his "villain monologue" is not real, but a consequence of his own rage and frustration, after several days of both physical and psychological stress, with situations in which he was about to die (Marshmallow) and lack of sleep.

First post of these series here

Screencaps from animationscreencaps.com

#frozen #disney #frozen analysis #hans analysis #hans #prince hans #prince hans of the southern isles #frozen hans #disney hans #let's redeem hans #my theories #who is this hans #the fixer upper theory #disneyfilms #frozensource

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safyresky · 2 months

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Scrimbly Jacqueline 7/52, featuring a scrimbly Dite because Valentine's Day Week!

THE TROUBLE THIS SCRIMBLE GAVE ME.

"But Dani," you say. "Isn't the point of scrimbles to be. Well. SCRIMBLES?"

WELL YES, AND I HEAR YOU AND SEE WHAT YOU'RE SAYING. HOWEVER. I AM HAVING SO MUCH FUN WITH THESE SILLY LITTLE DOODLES THEY ARE BECOMING LITTLE WEEKLY PASSION PROJECTS! THEY ARE NOT AS SCRIMBLY AS THEY WERE INITIALLY INTENDED TO BE, BUT BY G O D AM I HAVING FUN.

WANNA HEAR THE SHENANIGANS? BC YOU'RE ABOUT TO!

This (above readmore) is the SECOND version of this scrimble. The first version was AMAZING re: poses, but the MOMENT I experimented with colours? IMMEDIATE DISLIKE. I WAS SO UPSET. MY GOD.

Here's the OG for posterity's sake:

Poses? HIT! Their faces? CUTE AF! The gazing at one another? AH! THE WAY JACQUELINE'S LAYING? BRILLIANT!

The MOMENT I dug out some old markers to test for skin tones???? DOWNHILL.

Dite has like 5 on her rn. Jacquie has like 3. Attempts to fix it?? FAILED. and the blender did NOT do well on Dite's wings, AH. Jacquie's dress? COLOURS SHOULD'VE BEEN REVERSED! AH!

So I redrew it to what you see above! I like the colours on that one SO MUCH MORE. Shame Dite's right (our left) arm turned out wonk. But her left (our right) looks GREAT! The wings, I should've spread them out on either side?? If that makes sense? But the both of them are resting so her wings are usually chillin, folded up together, vibing. Unless she gets really excited. then it's like a second set of arms, lol.

Things this week's scrimble taught me: PROMARKERS and CRAYOLA FINE TIPS do NOT mix. PROMARKERS, PRISMACOLOURS, AND STEADLER WATERCOLOUR MARKERS? THEY MIX FINE. THEY WORK. AH.

Also, that I forgor how much I loved my prismacolours!

Anyway, once have a set of white/off-white markers, it's over for you hoes (Jacqueline's hair and Dite's wings)

---

Originally, Dite was going to be holding the book open in one hand and then gazing at Jacquie, who was gonna be sleeping, but then this happened instead, lol. Her thawed hair in the first one is like SENDING ME, IT LOOKS SO GOOD 🥰🥰🥰

Fun fact about Dite: Persuasion is her favourite novel maybe ever. And yes, I AM projecting. You do not understand how much Persuasion drew me in. The build up to that LETTER? BOY I DIE! SHIT BOY!

Fun fact about Dite #2: her motif/shape is HEARTS. Her wings? MAKE A HEART SHAPE. Her face? HEART SHAPED. Her bangs? MAKE A HEART WITH HER FACE. She LOVES LOVE and she's making it her whole entire thing!!!

Though this was 3rd in last week's poll, I couldn't see it be used NOT during Valentine's week ): But dw Frostmas Jacquie lovers! That's the plan for Scrimble #8 :D

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ralith · 3 months

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If you're still thawing from the cold, I can at least provide a Retired Trio fic to warm your heart, if that helps! Here goes:

Snowed in, icy roads, museum's shut down and Ratchet's hospital shifts are thankfully covered by his coworkers. He can't help but wonder if it's because he has great coworkers or if his people are worried about a man with his experience driving in the ice; either way, he's home now and that's what matters. And thanks to the tank of the house braving the cold before the slow freeze set in, there's groceries in the pantry. Pestering blankets of snow and ice have no effect on their electricity, so fortunately all the three of them need to do is survive wait out the cold. Ironhide decides to warm up their bedroom by putting a weightlifting bench in the empty space by their door and using some dumbells for a quick full body routine (after the lectures he's gotten from his husbands from overuse of certain other heating methods, Ironhide's chosen a more creative route this time.) After the quick pump, Ironhide puts his sweatshirt back on and slowly crawls into bed between Optimus and Ratchet, who then throw the blankets over their beefy heatrock to trap and spread his warmth to every inch it can. Ratchet, still feeling a bit under the normal body temperature, decides to adjust the heat settings a little more directly. He slowly lifts Ironhide's sweatshirt and undershirt to press his hand on Ironhide's warm belly, starting to rub in circles.

"Adjusting the heat settings, Ratchet?" Optimus inquires.

"Just enough until one of us has to get up and make breakfast/brunch," Ratchet answers.

Ironhide attempts to offer a solution, if he can find words in his paradise.

"Nghh, you know, odds are if I-mmph-get up now I could likely heat up the kitchen to-"

"Hush love," Optimus and Ratchet quip in unison before hugging each of his arms semi-tightly, wanting at least 5 more minutes of heaven. With Ratchet's free hand continuing with the stomach rubs, of course. He's gonna pay for that later though

Thank you for this! It's so sweet and cute!

I like your usage of the word 'pump' right after saying Hide's been overusing other heating techniques~

Do you think when OP saw Ratch warming his hands on Hides tummy that he thought 'hmm my hands are cold too' and slowly slipped them into the waistband of Hides pants to warm up? Now Hide is in heaven (surrounded by his adoring husband's and getting belly rubs) and hell (OP's hand is not moving and the tease of what could be is driving him nuts).

Eventually Optimus gets up to cook and that's when Hide gets his revenge on Ratchet, just while breakfast is cooking.

#humanformers retired trio

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wordscholar · 4 months

Text

my favorite books of 2023!

(plus some runners-up that didn't make the cut)

hi all! due to consuming copious amounts of manga this year, i met over 150% of my reading goal in 2023, which i think is a record for me!! that said, i still read a TON of amazing non-manga books, and i wanted to share what they are and why i liked them so much :) here are my top 10, in no particular order:

stay true, by hua hsu: i actually "spoiled" this memoir for myself, in that i opened it randomly at a bookstore and by chance saw a line that revealed the central event of the book. that said—knowing what was going to happen made this book even better. hsu's writing is so conscious of itself and you can tell he never says anything he doesn't mean or anything he hasn't thought about time and time again. i don't even like memoirs! but this book broke my heart.

witch king, by martha wells: all my friends know i'm obsessed with witch king. this was my first martha wells book and i was absolutely enraptured from the word go. it was so fun and exciting and the characters did not overshadow the plot, which is a trend in books nowadays that often bothers me, and it also didn't feel contrived or almost silly the way bad fantasy can be. i read this book so fast it made me depressed when it was over. read witch king!!

goodbye, eastern europe, by jacob mikanowski: dedicated readers of this blog, who definitely exist (lol), will know i am from deep eastern europe. reading this book helped me understand the region more, especially on a more personal and less geopolitical level, but almost more than anything, it made me feel like i wasn't wrong for always feeling like my country has left no footprint on the world. mikanowski says that eastern europe doesn't lack for history, but rather it lacks for narratives that it can tell about itself, having been torn apart and conquered and frozen and thawed and put back together again over the course of more than 500 years. it's not just that no one remembers us—no one even knows what to call us.

mammoths at the gates, by nghi vo: i have loved the singing hills cycle since it first started coming out and this latest story was no exception (though nothing can beat empress of salt and fortune). i love the focus on the neixin (the little "twist" at the end was so funny and cute) and, as i've come to expect with nghi vo, she gives her "antagonists" such careful, dedicated treatment that they stop being antagonists and just start being other people. also, i've said it but it's worth saying again: i love chih!!

the dispossessed, by ursula k. le guin: several years ago i read all of earthsea, and then i read left hand of darkness, but it was only this year that i finally got to the dispossessed, and the wait was absolutely worth it. uklg has so many ideas to share about feminism, nationalism, linguistics, not to mention anarchy and capitalism. reading this book made me feel like even our ability to imagine utopia, the perfect, impossible nowhere-land, has been degraded by capitalism over the years. this book should be required reading.

an immense world, by ed yong: i am scientist and so i love to read about other sciences, especially plant and animal science, and immense world is the best journalistic foray into animal science an amateur could ask for. this book just does not stop hitting you over the head with completely crazy true stuff about the natural world, and to top it all off ed yong is funny and likable and a socially conscious person. do you want to know more about animals, even in passing? read this book.

all the horses of iceland, by sarah tolmie: i'm obsessed with novellas that carry 100 times their weight in meaning, and (like the singing hills cycle!) this is one of them. are you interested in medieval eurasia? nomadic peoples? witchcraft? global judaism? horses? the season of game of thrones where she lives with the dothraki??? all of the horses of iceland has all of these and more and it's slim as hell!!

lonely castle in the mirror, by mizuki tsujimura: this book is most immediately about how bullying can truly send a person's (and especially a child's) life off course, but it's also about living on in spite of that and especially making new friends and reconciling with old ones. while the middle portion of the book is a little slow (not boring, just slice-of-life-y), once i got to the final quarter or so, i was so enraptured i read it while walking home. it's also maybe, but also definitely not? about time travel.

the premonition, by yoshimoto banana: this book is short but it takes you to many places as the narrator comes to understand a secret about her family that had been kept from her for years. many uncomfortable things are discussed and even put into action, but at the end of the day this story is about loving other people and appreciating your life and knowing no one can control you but you. unrelated, but at one point they drink hot calpico, which is total madness.

city of bones, by martha wells: i finished this book on christmas eve and it made the list! on the surface it's about archaeology (and combat archaeology! that beloved 90s genre), which i love as someone with a degree in classics. but it's also about people who are hurt in different ways by the social systems we live under and how mutual aid can help. and also, toxic shock syndrome(?!).

quite a few runners-up:

ms. ice sandwich, by mieko kawakami: a really sweet novella about a kid who doesn't understand the woman he has a childhood crush on had a botched plastic surgery to "fix" her eyelids.

juniper and thorn, by ava reid: a fairly dark piece of magic realism about abuse and freedom. tasteful but not toothless sex scenes.

the king must die, by mary renault: what if when theseus was taken to crete, there were no monsters, only people?

the remains of the day, by kazuo ishiguro: it's never too late to tell someone you love them—or to not do that, if you're british.

the mask of mirrors, by m. a. carrick: an ambiguously slavic (not russian!) fantasy about conning your way to success, or maybe not that much success.

young mungo, by douglas stuart: a really horrifying book in the sense that horrifying things happen in the real world, every day. the conclusion of this book is about as horrifying as the inciting action, but it's a fucking triumph.

all systems red, by martha wells: imagine if every time you went outside you had to bring an antisocial bodyguard obsessed with general hospital.

the last unicorn, by peter s. beagle: many people have written much about this book, so all i'll say is that they're right. it's good.

a couple that weren't for me:

lapvona, by ottessa moshfegh: this book was very much a folk tale describing what happened when pagan communities ostensibly became christian—except no one in the book knew they were still pagan. great in concept, but in execution far too gross for me personally.

confessions of the fox, by jordy rosenberg: i can understand why lots of people love this book, but for me it was actually a bit boring. the commentary (literal and metaphorical) was fun to read, but the story-within-the-story didn't end up interesting me very much.

what lies in the woods, by kate alice marshall: this was a deeply average mystery novel, totally predictable but not unfun. i'd rather just read tana french though.

days at the morisaki bookshop, by satoshi yagisawa: the first half of this book is actually alright, as a young woman is convinced by her uncle that her ex cheating on her was actually a hugely shitty thing to do, but the second half transitions to a completely different story about the uncle's wife reappearing after many years that i didn't like at all.

the manga series i read (or read a lot of) this year:

skip and loafer, by misaki takamatsu: an awesome slice of life story about a girl who lives in the countryside moving to tokyo for high school. the story is split really well between the characters' personal aspirations and arcs and their interactions with each other, and as many have noted there is a prominent trans woman character who's really lovely.

inuyasha, by rumiko takahashi: i'm finally getting into this classic manga. i tried watching the anime first and found it was too hard to pay attention to for me, but being able to take the manga at my own pace has been super fun and i'm really enjoying it! i love miroku and sango. i think this is the first manga i've read from the 90s.

a sign of affection, by suu morishita: a love story about a deaf girl in college meeting her first boyfriend, who is hearing. some parts are pretty goofy, but overall i thought it was cute and i learned a lot about experiences you might have as a deaf person in japan.

in the clear moonlit dusk, by mika yamamori: a romance about a boyish-looking, suave high school girl who is caught off guard when a filthy rich, slightly delinquent upperclassman becomes obsessed with her. sounds disgusting? except then he starts talking about how he'd still be in love with her if she really were a boy and proceeds to respect all her boundaries at all times. chef kiss!

various BL by nagisa furuya (japanese editions): this author's single/double-volume BL manga are super cute, my favorite was definitely long period (childhood friends!) with hoshi dake ga shitteru being a close second.

ao haru ride, by io sakisaka: i had watched the anime of ao haru ride (which stops halfway through the manga) and so when i reached that point in the manga, i was expecting more similar stuff, not a genuinely stressful love square disaster. the first half is so cute and the second half is terrifying. proceed if you dare.

witch hat atelier, by kamome shirahama: i've continued keeping up with witch hat atelier this year, and i have to say i read the first few volumes so fast i've sort of forgotten what happened....but that won't stop me from being obsessed with qifrey and his whole situation. i love that coco and agott are getting more comfortable with each other these last few volumes!

#bookblr #my year in books #goodreads #sasha.txt

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passivenovember · 1 year

Text

purple pink skies.

A flier for Hawkin’s High’s Spring Fever dance goes up almost immediately after Steve considers himself out of the woods.

“Should’ve used my bike pump to inflate your balls,” Robin says.

He’s been close with Billy for a few months and in love with him for longer, but Steve couldn’t stick the landing.

It eats at him all week, stomach gaining a new gouge in the lining with each bargain prom-posal he has to bear witness to over lunch and after practice and at the mall on Saturday afternoons.

On Friday, Steve grabs a coke from the vending machine to take the edge off of not having the balls to ask Billy to go with him to the Sweetheart’s Dance. The hallway’s draped in shining pink and red cellophane while the planning committee reminds everyone to pencil their vote for Sweetheart Court, and Billy’s shooting for at least a 1250 on his SATs so he’s not even thinking about it, but.

Steve dropped the ball.

Robin eventually loses interest in making fun of him and Steve wishes he could forgive himself. He spends the weekend helping Billy shoot for a 1300 on his SAT and it’s nice, all things considered.

Max shoots daggers at him from the hallway while Billy chews on statistical equations.

“Kid’s just protective of him,” Robin tells Steve on the phone that night, “She’s gotta intimidate. Besides, Billy’s a brain. And a brain like him would rather study, anyway.”

She’s probably right.

Of course she’s right, Steve doesn’t have the spiritual strength to explore what it might mean if she isn’t.

Valentine’s Saturday comes and goes and then it’s Monday.

And Steve’s looking down the barrel of Hawkins’ last leg of winter, hopeful that the layer of ice around his heart will thaw with hard oak branches in time for Spring so Billy can finally know how he feels, and then–

Tuesday, Steve’s faced with another opportunity to trip over his words.

Save the Date: Hawkins High’s Spring Fever Dance! February 28th, 1985!

Robin snaps her gum right in Steve’s ear, “Wow. Looks like the planning committee’s getting a jump-start on mating season.”

Steve wants to tear the flier from the vending machine and eat it with a side of ranch dressing.

“Didn’t have to use so many goddamn exclamation points,” Steve mutters, but he’s drowned out by all of Hawkins High emerging from fourth period to survey the royal decree.

No one else gives a shit.

The Activities hallway has become the shitty set of a romance novel. With the jab of those three flowery words and a trillion copied posters pointing toward spring, the soft, warm light from the window is burning red, again. The air smells like the wiz of Cupid’s arrow, and everyone’s a moving target.

And maybe it’s just Steve’s own cynicism acting as a sounding tower, dialing on everyone’s conversations, but love is all anyone can talk about. Groups of girls speculate who’s going stag. Guys walk a little taller, peacocking for every watchful eye.

Steve yanks his coke can from the vending machine, “I’m going to walk into traffic.”

Robin snaps her gum again, “Okay, crab apple.”

“I’m serious. Don’t you think it’s overkill?”

“I think it’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not talking about the flier.”

“Neither am I,” Robin says. She props herself against the vending machine, studying the flier as if it were a specimen under a microscope, “That wasn’t there this morning, right?”

“Who cares. This is the second dance we’ve had this month, that’s not weird to you?” When Robin shakes her head, Steve wants to grab her shoulders and shake Robin hard enough to get her brain back online.

“Dude,” Steve begins heavily, “We had Homecoming in the fall, the Senior Snowball in December, we’ve got Prom just before summer break–”

“--Didn’t have a date then, either, Harrington–”

“I know, asshole, I’m just saying,” Steve cracks his cola can, swishing the fizz around in his mouth until the sugar burns the sharpness from his tongue. “It’s like all those people who are lucky in love think the change of every season requires a dance.”

Robin nods, chewing her gum so hard it’ll probably transition out of that gooey half-liquid stage and into a solid.

Her eyes scan the hallway, flitting anxiously between traveling backpacks and spring sweaters.

Robin twists a ring around one finger.

It’s almost like Steve isn’t there, as her eyes scan the hallway. It’s almost like—

“Oh, fuck you,” Steve groans.

Robin deflates. “Look, I get why you’re so angry and I sympathize but we can deal with the Billy stuff at Scoops, I’ve gotta get to Heather before–”

Steve resists the urge to cover his ears. To curl up in the fetal position and scream and scream and never stop screaming. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I want to make sure she doesn’t get pissed and ask someone else.”

“She’d do that?” Steve wonders, knowing full well that she will. She has.

Robin shrugs, “I’m whipped.”

“You’d better get going.”

“How long has the poster been up?” Robin snaps again, like. With her full chest.

Steve wants to throw his soda at her. “If I knew that do you think I’d be standing here talking to you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck off, I’d be blowing the door to Billy’s chemistry lab off its hinges,” Steve says, even though they both know it’s not true.

“I’m dead meat,” Robin bounces a little on her feet like she’s gotta hit the bathroom. “Heather’s probably been expecting me to see the fliers all morning and it’s almost lunch and I haven’t even–”

“Go,” Steve says.

Robin freezes, all of a sudden. All at once. “You’re sure?”

That’s the thing about Buckley. She can poke fun at him all day long and make his life a living hell, but she’ll be there if Steve really needs it.

It’s only right that he returns the favor. “I’m sure, Bucks.”

“Okay,” Robin says, flinching a little toward the end of the hall, “Because I can send myself to heartbreak island and pitch a tent with you–”

“Nah,” Steve shrugs, “One of us should have a shot at getting laid this weekend.”

Robin kisses his cheek, quick as a flash, “God, you’re a lifesaver. And if anyone asks–”

“You and me, Billy and Heather, I got it,” Steve chuckles, “Go, before your cheerleader sends her beard after you.”

Robin sprints off down the hallway.

Steve sips lightly at the rest of his cola and doesn’t think that it’d be better for him if Billy got sent to sort through Robin’s mess.

Maybe then, with his sun and moon shining right there in the hallway, Steve could open his mouth and speak.

At lunch, Billy’s head is buried in his stats book.

It’s a picture Steve’s been trying to get used to for a couple of weeks now, Billy’s usual loose and easy frame settled with hunched shoulders and furrowed brows.

The SATs are just around the corner and contrary to the front that Billy puts on for the whole of Hawkins, puffing his chest and bearing his teeth like an angry bull dog at anyone who gets too close, he’s a genius when it comes to school.

Billy when he’s focused is more lethal than anything Steve’s ever experienced.

He’s quick to throw pens and wadded-up balls of paper at anyone who breaks his concentration, and Steve’s taken a highlighter to the eye more times than he cares to remember. And with the biggest test of Billy’s academic career looming in just forty-eight hours, today it’s that with teeth.

Statistics always gets Billy stuck in his own head, wandering through maze-like hedges of numbers and graphs. It’s difficult, sitting locked out of Billy’s world when Steve’s usually glued to his hip, but it’s something to behold.

Billy when he’s focused is the closest Steve will ever get to the face of God.

He was painted by all the greatest artists, Steve knows, dreamt up by angels. The curve of Billy’s lips as he reads silently to himself, his thumb resting soft on his plush lower lip, is poetry. The way he glances up every once in a while, grinning softly, to make sure Steve’s there to quiz him on whatever formula he’s been slaving over, is Heaven on Earth.

It’s perfect.

Today, though, Billy’s lost.

The cafeteria bustles around them with excitement over the Spring Fever dance and Billy hasn’t looked up a single time since Steve sat down. His lunch sits cold and untouched on the tray in front of him.

Robin and Heather are nowhere to be found, it’s just them, and Steve weighs the possibility of taking a pen to the forehead if he interrupts to remind Billy that he won’t score a 1300 on his SAT if he starves to death before Friday.

Steve picks at his french fries and wonders what would happen if he got up and left.

Would Billy notice? Would he eat Steve’s lunch?

Would he stand up and follow?

When Billy explodes, Steve opens his mouth, ready to pay the price of getting those eyes on him.

“I’m not gonna pass,” Billy determines, shoving his notebook into his SAT prep stack with a gnarled sound.

Steve manages to catch the thing before it careens over the edge of the table, “Woah,” he says, a fry pinched between his teeth, “Hey, that's–”

“I’ve been going over the same page of quantitative data for two days,” Billy snarls, blue eyes pinning Steve to the bench, “Two fucking days, Steve.”

“What can I do to help?” Steve asks automatically.

“It’s the VAR model, the m2, it’s pissing me off.”

“Okay,”

Billy doesn’t hear him, “It keeps saying the t-distribution with degrees of freedom is equal to n-2 and when testing the slope in a simple linear regression model with one parameter–”

“--Right, okay–”

“The test for the slope has df=n-1,” Billy snaps. His eyes well up, frustrated tears clinging to his lashes.

Steve never thought Billy would be a crier, but he is.

It’s Starfall.

It’s planets colliding.

Steve has the sudden, violent urge to wipe Billy’s tears away. “It’s alright,” He says, but Billy’s shaking his head.

“I can’t do this,” He gasps, “I can’t. I’ve been working on this same equation for–”

“Two days, I know. You’ve gotta eat something alright?”

Billy’s leg bounces, shaking the whole lunch table. Steve shuffles Billy’s notes in his hands, knowing he’ll eat shit for that, later, but he can’t bring himself to care about that when slowly, frightened as a coiled rattlesnake in a mudhole, Billy reaches past his own lunch tray to get at Steve’s fries. Steve hands them over, watching as Billy nibbles away.

Like a little bunny rabbit.

The cutest, most brilliant creature on earth–

Billy sniffs, “I didn’t sleep last night,” He says, almost like he’s terrified of what Steve will do to him.

Not couldn’t. Didn’t.

Intentional.

Steve holds his breath, waiting for the sky to rip open and for Billy’s frustrated tears to punch holes in Steve’s chest when they finally start to fall.

But they don’t. Billy scrubs at his cheeks, catching them before they can take root. “I’m sorry I’m going insane.”

“You’re not insane, you’re incredible.”

“And you’re an idiot if you think that.”

“Of course, I’m an idiot. We knew that already,” Steve tells him.

He counts the breaks at the lunch table. He studies Billy’s smooth, spotless hands, his fingers as they curl protectively around a purple highlighter. Steve didn’t even know they made that color, but looking down at Billy’s notes, all the others already serve a purpose.

Billy’s leg keeps bouncing. “I still owe you an apology. If not for neglecting myself, for ignoring you.”

Steve wants to say that Billy’s never ignored him.

Not once. Since the Hargrove-Mayfield’s moved to town last fall, since Billy joined the basketball team, since they met at Tina’s Halloween party and Billy dusted his hands off and put the pieces of Steve back together after Hurricane Nancy–

Steve’s had Billy’s deep blue attention on him like a searchlight. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Steve decides, “You’re Galileo. It’s alright.”

Billy doesn’t crack a smile. “It’s not, though.”

“You’re just exhausted, anyone would be. You’ve been working yourself to death over this.”

“I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here, Harrington.”

“You will,” Steve holds the stack of paper delicately in his lap, worried that if Billy spots another equation he’ll fly off the handle. “You’ve just got to balance studying with things that make you hap–”

“My SAT exam is in two days, Steve,” Billy snaps. He leans forward, lips furrowing with sudden rage, “If I don’t land a score that can get me into any college in the country–”

“I’ll take you somewhere myself,” Steve says.

He taps Billy’s notes on the table like he’s seen his father do a million times.

It’s final. It’s a promise made of dreams that hold lead in their bellies, falling like anvils in Hawkins but taking root all over the world. In Steve’s mind, it’s honest work. His promises to Billy grow and bloom where neither of them can worry over it. They wave like flags through rain and sun, until they bear fruit ripe for picking.

Someday, they’ll feed a village from the result of these small promises.

But.

Steve’s gotta say the words, first. Plant the seeds.

I love you my brilliant, brilliant boy.

He slides Billy’s packet over the table face, tucking his fingers under his elbows for safekeeping when his Brainiac snatches it up like a hungry shark.

“You’re just saying that, Harrington,” Billy determines, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“I mean it.”

“Yeah, alright,” Billy says, reordering his notes without even thinking about it. When they’re just right, he digs through and hands the most intense one to Steve. “Quiz time, pretty boy.”

Billy’s notes are neat and orderly, the work of someone who’s too good for him in every sense of the word.

Steve tries not to think about it.

When he stumbles over the order of an equation, Billy laughs and for the first time in days, it sounds real.

And then the bell rings.

Steve’s not proud of the gut reaction he has when he sees fingers that aren’t his playing with the loose curl that hangs over Billy’s forehead.

And.

He doesn’t own the curl. He’s not liquidating real estate on the island of Billy, he doesn’t own the guy and they aren’t in love, or dating, or fucking, he just.

Doesn’t like it.

Hates it, even.

He wants to wrench those fingers off Billy’s forehead and break all five opposable knuckles before he moves like a storm over the rest of them. But Steve’s gotta wrestle with himself and shine lamp oil on the shadows of who he was with Nancy to figure out if he’s got any right to the way his stomach tries to flip itself like a burnt pancake.

He doesn’t.

Billy’s not leaning into the touch.

He’s digging through his locker. He’s late for class, probably, because the bell rings again and suddenly he’s smacking that hand away with a snippy little, “Wilson’s gonna have my balls if I’m late again,” and.

And. The owner of the hand that aims to rock Billy props himself against slate gray metal, “You never answered my question,” He mutters, grinning, and Steve knows, like. From down the hall and around the corner that his grin is eating shit.

Billy’s shit.

He’s trying to get Billy’s pants off first, though, if Steve had to put money on it. And if they weren’t in a government building, surrounded by scurrying classmates, Hands would probably be reaching for a pack of smokes right now, or a joint. Something to get Billy loose-limbed and easy to push over.

Steve sympathizes with his masterplan. Almost sends flowers, a little good on you for trying, though I wish you wouldn’t, because the gag is that Billy can’t be swayed. He’s solid and sure as Mount Everest, he’s slow-burning like a field on fire, he’s resolute and strong–

“I don’t owe you shit, not an explanation, not–”

“You could help, anyway.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a good person,” Hands tries, and it’s only then that Steve recognizes who’s trying to rain on his parade.

Billy slams his locker door. “You wanna keep that hand, Munson?”

“You’re cute when you get angry.” Through an awful, laughing smirk, the guy says, “C’mon, you’d be doing me a real favor. I’m trying to get that Carver asshole off my back for flirting with his girlfriend.”

Steve holds his breath. Waits for Billy to serve this guy a knife to the gut, but then– “I’ll think about it,” He says.

And It’s worse than anything Steve’s ever felt.

At the doctor’s office. On the court. With Nancy. It’s papercuts and the cold, trickling fear of crashing his father’s car into the side of a building. Steve dies a thousand, million, trillion deaths. He doesn’t want Billy to put his beautiful, brilliant mind to anything that isn’t school and his future, and Steve.

Doesn’t want him to think about Eddie Munson or anyone else.

God, it’s pathetic.

“You’ll think about it?” Eddie wonders, “That’s all.”

“Yep, that’s all.”

“Well, I need to know by Thursday if I’ve gotta borrow my uncle’s suit.”

The dance.

Steve ducks farther behind Hawkin’s least favorite vending machine and strains to hear Billy’s response. They’ll be alone, once everyone stops scrambling into the doorway of their next class, and Steve wants to determine if he should name Robin as executor of his estate before the weekend.

The warning bell sounds, a million doors slamming in succession until the hallway is silent. Cavernous and peaceful enough that Steve hears the shuffle of footsteps.

“You’re pushy for someone so desperate,” Billy snips, but.

He’s smiling.

Even if Steve was completely off his rocker he’d know the spread of Billy’s lips.

–

“Read that one again.”

Steve swallows, “According to the passage, the family’s life in the suburbs is described as–”

“Not the question.”

Steve looks up, confused. “If I’m not reading the question–”

“Read the passage again,” Billy determines, chewing on his thumbnail, “The whole thing.”

They’ve been going at it for hours. Steve’s exhausted, and his ass hurts from sitting on the floor of his bedroom since the sun was still high in the sky, and his heart hurts from–

Billy frowns at him, knocking Steve into gear. “The whole thing?” Steve asks dumbly, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’m not understanding the global and command of evidence.”

Steve’s head hurts, too. Aches. He needs a goddamn thesaurus to get through this and it’s not even his SAT exam. He leans against one palm, comforted by the weight of such a thick book in his lap.

“I’m not understanding it, either.”

“You don’t have to,” Billy says, “You’re not taking the test.”

“Maybe we could have a break?”

“And do what?” Billy shoots back.

“I dunno,” Steve says, “Wanna make out a little?”

Billy’s cheeks flare bright pink. “You’re an idiot,” He grumbles, not believing it.

And why would he?

In all the months that they’ve been friends, Steve’s never said something like that and meant it. At least not in Billy’s eyes. With Steve, everything’s always one big joke. He never takes anything seriously and that’s probably why Billy’s going to the dance with Eddie fucking Munson, of all people–

Billy slaps his notebook onto the carpet, eyes disappearing so he can scrub at his cheeks and forehead.

He always does that when he’s overwhelmed.

Steve wishes for better. He imagines all the words and graphs and statistics melting into Billy’s freckles like sunscreen. He pictures peace, exhaling into the dim, warm light of the room when Billy takes a moment to himself.

Steve considers telling the truth for one crazy, desperate moment.

That he wants to kiss Billy. Has wanted to kiss Billy for months, probably a whole year but he was always too afraid–

“I’ll be so happy when this shit is over,” Billy starts lightly. Billy leans against the wall, his curls fanning out around him. Steve gets lost on the slope of his neck, hypnotized by the bob of Billy’s Adam’s Apple when he swallows, “Listen–”

“No. I’m not gonna listen to you talk mean about yourself.”

Billy watches him through thick, heavy eyelashes. “You didn’t even hear what I was gonna say, Harrington.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says lightly. He doesn’t admit that he’d do anything Billy asked, anything he wanted. “I know you. And if you’re going to tell me it’s pointless to help you study because you’re not going anywhere in life, you’re wrong. You can forget it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve determines. “I’ve heard your shitty self-deprecating pitch before and I don’t buy a word.”

Billy stares at him for a long, tense moment–

And then he smiles.

And it’s like the sun has burned a hole through the roof and tucked itself on the floor for safekeeping. It’s like fountains of gold have erupted from the floorboards, and angels have taken up their cherub song.

“Got a little fire in you today, Harrington,” Billy says.

He likes it. He’s impressed.

“Yeah well. It’s been a shitty day.”

“Oh, sure, the day you helped me study before school and at lunch and–”

“It’s not that.”

Billy smirks, “Then what’s inspired the raging war, pretty boy?”

Steve picks at the carpet, avoiding Billy’s eyes. For months he’s wondered if Billy means it. Pretty boy, rolling like salted waves from his tongue to get Steve’s emotions sticking like hair in his eyes.

He can’t help but imagine that old nickname pinned to someone else, sticking like a nametag to Munson’s suit jacket. Hello my name is…prettier than Steve Harrington.

Steve can’t even find it within himself to disagree. Eddie Munson’s a cute guy. He’s got that whole bad boy thing, chipped black nails, big brown eyes, and a wallet chain hanging from his back pocket alongside a handkerchief Robin once wrinkled her nose at. When Steve asked her to explain it to him, she said he wouldn’t get it.

That’s probably true.

Steve doesn’t understand most things. Anything, really. But he understands that on paper, Munson’s probably Billy’s type.

If Billy had a type.

If Billy was–

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet,” Billy chuckles.

Big enough to crawl in, Steve thinks. Big enough to block out the sky, to hold all my thoughts, to live in forever and ever and–

“Where are you?” Billy’s foot knocks against Steve’s thigh, rocking him gently like a boat at sea.

Steve shrugs. “Lost.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means I’m thinking.”

“You can do that?” Billy teases. When Steve doesn’t laugh, when he doesn’t smile or do anything other than sit like a bump on a log that’s planning itself a funeral, Billy leans forward. “Tell me what’s wrong, Harrington.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll laugh at me,” Steve says, you’ll hate me. Never speak to me again. You’ll run away with Eddie Munson and marry him and you’ll live a short, happy, vibrant life somewhere I can’t feel you. “You’ll think it’s a joke. Or worse, you’ll–”

“God, I hate it when you decide shit for me.”

“I’m not–”

“Y’know, back when we first started this thing you kept me out of my head,” Billy admits. “You kept me active. The leash was fuckin’ short. Still is.”

His fingers twitch against his thigh. Steve knows if it weren’t for Mrs. Harrington and the fact that she loves Billy and expects the best from him, he’d probably be smoking a cigarette even though he’s made a habit of swearing off everything that’s not good for him.

Steve wants to say Eddie isn’t good for him. That he might seem like it at first, but in time–

Billy kicks him again. Harder. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Jeez, don’t joke about that.”

“You don’t get to decide how I feel about shit, Harrington. You don’t get what i say or how I feel, or–”

“I saw you in the hallway,” Steve blurts, “With what’s his name.”

Billy doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, and it tastes like soap on his tongue, bitter and present and the more he swallows the worse it gets.

He expects a lot of things to happen at once. Billy may not feel the same that Steve does, but he gets embarrassed easily. Red all over. His embarrassment falls just like his anger, sharp and aggressive, pushing and tugging until Steve’s resolve pops like a party balloon.

Now, though, he’s calm. Eerie. Poised like he’s trying to watch his step around Steve, who can sometimes be a landmine everyone thought was defective.

Somehow that’s worse.

Somehow the knowledge that Billy’s not as clueless about this whole thing as Steve thought, that he’s picked up on every laugh and hidden stare, that he knows Steve is gone on him and still–

“Why do you care about Eddie,” Billy demands. Like he’s genuinely curious. Like he’s got an inclination, too, and he’s gonna make Steve say it, so.

“You’re not going to prom with Eddie Munson.”

The world might as well stop. If they weren’t sitting on the carpet beaches in Steve’s bedroom, he’d get up and leave.

Billy blinks, chest heaving like he’s just run three hundred miles across a mountain range, but he doesn’t open his mouth. He doesn’t pull his eyes away or speak.

Steve holds onto those eyes. He stands his ground.

Billy jerks into motion, “He didn’t ask me to prom.”

“Fine,” Steve snaps, irritated by the particular nature of this AP, valedictorian, Ivy-League asshole. It’s Steve’s fault for loving a brain, “Fine, not the prom. The fucking Spring Fever–”

“Why are you so upset?”

Steve can’t believe this is happening.

Everything about this is so high school, so steeped in endings and triviality and of course he’d have to say it right now. With expectant, carefully guarded blue eyes picking him apart. Toes at the edge of the cliff, with nothing to catch him when he falls.

“I’m upset, because–” Steve tries.

Billy watches him with eyes like a raging sea, and he’s so beautiful. He’s smart and driven and kind, when he’s not wading through his own head, and Steve’s been trying to swallow it down forever.

How he feels.

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “I’m pissed off because I wanted to ask you to the dance.”

Billy frowns. His fingers twitch against his thigh and Steve can almost hear the gears working behind Billy’s curls, clicking and rattling into place. “I don’t understand,” He says.

System failure.

Steve saw that coming, too. “Guessed you didn’t. Why would you? I never–”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Billy rubs a hand over his mouth, “You wanted to go to the dance with me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why would you want to go to the dance, with. With me?”

“Because I like you,” Steve snaps. “Jesus, Billy. You’re made of a million fucking things to like and I’ve spent so many months counting them, trying to figure out their weight so I can tie my feet to the heaviest one and drown myself,” He runs all ten fingers through his hair, tugging until he feels the sting of it in his toes. “You’re great. You’re the best person I’ve ever known and I just. I love you, okay?”

There, Steve thinks. Asshole.

But the realization of Steve dawns on Billy like the end of the world. He sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, and in a second Steve’s galaxy is on fire.

Billy won’t look at him.

“Billy,” Steve says. Fed up. Mean.

Billy stares at the carpet, lashes clumped with tears, and. He’s gonna cry. Steve’s ruined his last study session before the SATs and Billy’s going to cry–

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Steve slides closer, getting on his knees in front of his shaking, sputtering love, “I didn’t mean to freak you out, I just. I heard that asshole ask you to the dance and I almost lost my mind thinking about what I’d do if you said yes. I didn’t want to blow my last shot at you, Billy–”

“You’re such a dumbass.”

Steve blinks, flinching away. It hurts. He’s bleeding. “I’m sorry,” He says again, like a broken record. “I’m–”

“Munson didn’t ask me to the spring dance either. He wants me to get Heather to take him so Jason Carver stops slashing his van tires.” Billy looks at Steve with water-logged desperation, “I. You love me, Harrington?”

Steve watches a single, heavy tear fall. He nods, chases it with his thumb.

Billy’s breath is warm and sweet against his wrist. “Why’d you think that would be your last shot? You never even took a shot before that, how could it be your last?”

“Because we’ve had, like. A hundred dances this year and I never asked you,” Steve sits, knocking their knees together, “I wanted to ask. Every time, I wanted to run down the hall and kiss–”

Billy eats up whatever was coming next.

He licks into Steve’s mouth. He plants fields of hope, shining bright with the future.

When he pulls away, his eyes are serious. “I’m going to get a 1350 on this SAT,” Billy says, his fingers gentle on Steve’s jaw, “And then we’re going to the dance.”

Steve kisses him, slow and sweet, and.

It’s a deal. Written in the stars.

Harringrove for Turkey commission for the lovely, kind, and talented @keziahrainalso thanks so much for trusting me with your GORGEOUS idea, and I hope what i did with it makes you smile.

All my love,

Jaz

#harringrove #harringrove for turkey #fluff #angst and fluff

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