is there a reason as to why jers really did NOT like being called sweetheart?
okay, hmmm.
i think it's because he finds it...Condescending?
honey, sweetheart, angel, baby...
they're all terms of endearment, but jersey only does infearment, ergo: getting cutesy-woosty, fuzzy-wuzzy lil pet names from people, specifically adults, make him feel like you are likening him to a weak, helpless domesticated animal that's meant to submit to you, infantilizing/inferiorizing him the way you would petulant child or a blubbering baby, that you're praising him but secretly patronizing him...that you're basically belittling and looking down on him.
...when in reality, you're literally just trying to be Nice.
jersey played basketball all through high school, so he knows ALL about offense and defense, or rather:
being offensive and defensive.
like, at the grocery store, if the old checkout lady is like "do you want a bag for that, honey?" <3 kyle is like She Thinks I'm Not Strong Enough To Carry My Groceries ( aka apartment groceries that kyle is not even going to eat anyways, rip jersey's ed ) and will carry 7 huge bags to the car, huffing and puffing, cussing her out.
tldr: no matter how many times you fill the glass, jersey kyle's is always half full -- when it's not Empty -- which it usually is because again, jersey doesn't drink anything but water or red wine. he covets cynicism, thinks everyone is secretly out to get him/preying on his downfall and that no good deed goes unpunished.
more than that...jersey’s never had a Reason to be soft.
he's a machine. he doesn't know what to do with his fingers when they aren't curled around a pencil or fashioned into a fist. he doesn't think he was made to do soft things. sentimental things. to him, being gentle & loving were meant for kind people. the kind of people,
...who can love things.
and jersey does not think he can love things.
again, it's part of the jersey can't say i love you ask meme, that i think i'm just going to slowly distribute through these other ask meme answers, but i am of the belief that sixth grade pre!rm jersey either told stan he loved him and then stan died the next day or that jersey kyle was abt to tell stan he loved him and then he died...
either way...i think that traumatized the Fuck out of him.
so he was, one, never told i love you by his father...ever, doesn't think that he's meant to love things because he's a unfeeling cyborg whose only purpose in life is to Succeed, love makes you vulnerable which makes you weak which disgusts him. but mainly: he'd stopped believing in love full stop after he lost his stanley marsh...
...but now his stanely marsh is back.
and kyle's whole world is in color again.
once jerseykyle and ravenstan start dating, and even, i think, during the period of time when kyle thinks he has a crush on raven of c.d., finds that his heart, which was hard for so long...is softening. he had no reason to be kind or gentle, but now...wants to be soft and gentle.
for stan.
( he is very touch tank by quinnie coded )
like kyle doesn't care about other people or how they're handled or mishandled, but if stan even frowns, kyle is like cracking his knuckles and looking around before checking on him in the cute gentle ky vc.
someone asked me if kyle's ptsd goes after after he gets stan back, and yes...and no. it gets better, tbh i think taking the clozapine actually made his psychosis worse so when he got off that things were better, but getting stan back unlocked a new fear which is...
that constantly in danger of losing stan again.
so sometimes in the middle of the night if stan gets up to get a glass of water or pick up more cat food for curb, if kyle wakes up and sees stan not there, it'll trigger like a full blown panic attack where he's like "ohgodohgodohgod!! none of this was Real i just fucking hallucinated stan, this whole thing was a lie, stan is gone, stan is dead!! sTAN???"
and thinks he imagined the whole thing/stan is GONE again, start like yelling his name, freaking the fuck out, totally breaking down and stan just comes out of the kitchen w/ his glass and then immediately drops it and runs over like "ky, did you think i was gone again? :(" like putting a blanket over him and holding his face and giving him one million thousand kisses like "shhshhshh it's okay, calmate, cariño. </3 i’m here. i'm not going anywhere. you're safe. go back to sleep...
I Would Never Leave You."
wHICH! V SICK N TWISTED THAT STAN LEFT!! DURING THE RAVESEY DIVORCE!!! KYLES ONE TRUE FEAR!!!!!!
KILL ME
but we are not going to be miserable this ask meme!
we are going to be lovely and kind because that's how kyle is when him and stan start dating like...WHEN I TELL YOU NO ONE HAS LOVED ANYONE MORE THAN JERSEY LOVES RAVEN!!!!!
like nobody! No! ONE! NO!!!! ONE!!!!
like idc idc idc if he can't say i love you, he has trauma, and the literal trauma of losing stan is a large reason why he can't say it, but also the reason why kyle is so Attached to stan when they're dating is bc when kyle thought stan was dead he thought that he was gone forever...so now he's committed to spend every second with stan like it's his last and spend his life loving him.
ugh, i just...kyle would do ANYTHING for stan.
like he's so sweet and soft in a way he isn't with Anyone.
when stan was getting sober from alcohol and he was throwing up nonstop, fucking crying and dying with his matted hair sticking to his forehead from how much he was sweating/how feverish he was, literally shaking, so fucking miserable w/ his face pressed into the toilet seat like "kyle, i can't fucking do this. i'm not strong enough. i feel like i'm going to die. i can't i can't i CANT." :((( kyle was just like gently gliding his thumb over stan's cheek like "you can do this. you survived so much more than this. i know it hurts now, but i'm here. and i will be with you every step of the way." and kisses his forehead.
and when i tell you kyle's fear of contamination and his intense ocd has him washing his hands and spraying you with bear mace if you even breathe near him, it doesn't matter when it's stan. like he loves and cares about stan so much that he does not give a shit what happens to him or weird fluids or being sick and i'm...AAAAAAAA!
or like omg, speaking of stan getting sober, those first couple of concerts after stan stops drinking and has to do raven things or preform in front of thousands of people, he used to do shots and have to drink a lot to be comfortable out there, so he has huge panic attacks sober. and kyle just reassures him from off stage and squeezes his hand, blows a kiss & sticks his tongue out.
FR EVEN HANGING OUT WITH THEIR FRIENDS!!! bebe and tweek and kenny and craig and marj and jimmy are all on the couch and kyle and is like "baby, will you find the colander in the kitchen please?" and stan is like *squints in dyslexia* but is like "okay, be right back" but then kyle is like "wait you forgot something" and gives stan a little kiss AND EVERYONE IS LIKE "wAit yOu fOrgOt SoMEthiNg" and kyle is like "yEAH HAHAAHA REAL FUNNY ASSHOLES!!!! ITS GONNA BE REAL HARD TO LAUGH W/ YA TEETH ON THE FLOO--"
but stops midword bc stan makes a tiny whining sound like "kyyyy? i'm so sorry, but i can't find it." and kyle's face immediately softens and he's like "stan, what did i say about apoloizin' when you don't need to? i’ll be right there, sweetheart. <3" and everyones like i'LL bE RiGh-- and kyles like “tRY IT AGAIN, IDIOTS!!! SEE WHAT HAPPENS SEE--oh god, stan, don't cry!" :'c *races over*
girls, gays and theys!!! my sons are in LOOOVEEE!!! ;-;;;;
but yeah, no, when ravesey starts #hating, kyle calls stan sweetheart like alllll the time, all the little cutesy-wutzy, fuzzy-fuzzy nicknames that he claimed to hate because stan just makes his heart so warm. also jersey kyle saying "baby" in the jersey accent??? like saying sweetheart, baby, honey...I KNOW IT SOUNDS CUTE!!!
( ky does also call ravenstan zeeskeit and stan does call jersey mi sabelotodo like in his letter, btw xx )
okay, last thing, is that honestly learning how to love things and being vulnerable and soft is how he realized he wanted to be a guidance counsellor and provide support to kids like him who didn't have it growing up/being gentle with them and patient and nurturing.
the post!rm soft kyle psychology major/elem guidance counsellor era is my faaav like his character development is CRAZY!!
my comfort television shows are say yes to the dress and masterchef (which means that kyle's favorite comfort tv shows are them) and kyle is so gordon ramsey coded in that with all the adults he's screaming at them, calling them worthless and idiot sandwiches, but with kids he just like kneels all the way down and speaks sweetly to them and is like "i'm not leaving until you laugh" <3
like i think a little girl is in there one time ( i think it might be nova, who is the ravesey kid bc i had them adopt one of kyle's troubled guidance counsellor children...also she looks like this, yes i made her look like havana rose liu because i'm obsessed with her. she's a qt )
but yes, so a little girl starts crying in kyle's office and he's like patting her on the back like "it's okay to cry. don't be embarrassed -- look." then pulls out his phone and points to his lock screen and its stan in a black cd tee-shirt with all the tattoos and piercings and eyeliner in like a pair of ripped skinny jeans and the combat boots.
then jers is like "okay, so this is my boyfriend. and he cries alllll the time. over very silly things." and is like "like, the otha day we were goin' to the store and he saw this tiny little dog, even tinier than you, and she was wearin' this pink sweater and he started crying...bc he thought she was cute. like full waterworks, everything." and the little girl starts laughing and he's like "there we go! c': see, it's all gonna to be okay, my friend. take a piece of candy on your way out. see you later." and fist bumps her bUT SHE HUGS HIM AND HE'S LIKE AAA
anyways...actual angel jersey kyle...my beloved.
-uncle nina, who is leaking out of her eyeballs
5 notes
·
View notes
hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.
as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)
but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:
changing expectations
the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!
my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.
when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.
so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?
with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.
with that in mind:
#1: work slower
when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.
instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.
i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!
now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.
doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.
however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:
#2: switch projects
sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.
this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.
the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.
what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.
but it doesn't have to stop there.
#3: switch focus
maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?
let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:
what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today.
okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now.
alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily?
what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?
and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?
what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for?
what if i try sampling something obscure?
what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?
any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.
or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.
but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:
#4: learn something new
when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.
for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴☠️)
it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)
that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:
music theory and composition
music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang
mixing and production
dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix
general inspiration
nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!
(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)
of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:
#5: consume art you love
not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.
but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.
and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.
what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.
as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.
none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.
and finally,
#6: rest, and live your life
let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?
take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).
it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.
i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.
when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)
before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:
be kind to yourself.
being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.
i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.
i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.
thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.
with care,
bee 🐦
2K notes
·
View notes
Movie Stars - Eddie Munson x Reader
WC: 5K / navi / preview / request
Summary: Distracting Jason Carver means a lot of flirting, and Eddie isn't too happy about seeing his best friend hanging off of the star basketball player. Jealousy ensues, but will it ruin your friendship?
Contents/Warnings: Jealous!Eddie, arguments, silent treatment, Eddie is angry for a bit, fluff, angst, angst to fluff, fluffy ending, tooth rotting fluff, best friends to lovers
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
"Fuck," Eddie hisses, telltale sound of Jason Carver's booming voice bidding goodbye to his friends already starting down the hallway, "He's coming!"
Eddie hasn't finished the note he's scribbling yet, the prank being your idea after Jason dumped a carton of milk over Eddie's van just the day prior. Sitting out in the hot sun, his van reeked.
The note says something along the lines of 'Meet me under the bleachers tonight at midnight ;)', and Eddie takes care to use his fanciest calligraphy handwriting to make it seem adoring. You know Jason will fall hook, line, and sinker for the secret admirer gag, because his ego is through the roof and he's desperate for a girlfriend.
Your plan will land Jason shivering under the bleachers tonight, sprawled out over the dewy grass before he finally realizes no one's coming. You're hoping he ends up too tired for the game tomorrow night, and without their star player, the Hawkins High basketball team won't stand a chance.
You can hear the squeak of Jason's sneakers on the linoleum, thinking quick and dashing down the hallway.
"Hurry!" You hiss to Eddie, patting him on the shoulder hastily and nearly rocketing into the basketball star as you round the corner.
"Woah!" He steadies you, but looks rather unimpressed when he recognizes you, "What do you want, Y/L/N?"
"I- I was wondering if I could talk to you," You dip your head down slightly, making your eyes appear shinier as your lashes flutter prettily.
"About?"
"About," You drag the word out, sidestepping so that he can't duck around you, "Your game tomorrow! I'm really excited to see you play."
Jason's brow furrows, "You're coming?"
"Of course!" You keep your voice light and airy, a lovesick lilt to it that hurts to enforce, "I love watching you play."
"I thought you were Munson's girl," Jason narrows his eyes accusatorily at you, "Why aren't'cha hangin' with the freak?"
"We're just friends," Saying that is more painful than anything you've had to spew at Jason so far, but you try not to dwell on your underlying feelings for your best friend, "I.. I think you're really cool, Jason."
You almost puke. Inflating Jason's ego is easier than it looks, but it's sickening to watch him puff up with pride, a sick smirk sliding over his slimy face.
"Finally comin' around," He drawls, reaching a bold arm around your waist to drag you close to him. You stumble backwards slightly, your form now visible from the hallway, but not his. All that's visible from Eddie's position is you, Jason's arm around your waist and your hands pressing against what he's sure is Jason's chest to steady you.
"Oh!' You let out a surprised squeak, seeing Eddie's mane of brown hair bob down the hallway as he sprints for the exit, "Um, I'm sorry Jason, but I've gotta go!"
"But I thought-"
"See you tomorrow for the big game," You smile placatingly at him from against his chest, patting it softly as you untangle yourself, "I'm sure you'll play great!"
You're off and running before he could chase you, and you ignore his confused calls of your name. You follow where Eddie had gone, slipping out of the hallway doors and squinting when the sun hurt your eyes.
You spot Eddie no problem, your best friend stalking towards his van in the parking lot. A bright grin spreads over your face as you sprint towards him, knocking into his shoulder lightly as you join him.
"It worked!" You let out a celebratory cheer, an incredulous laugh lacing your words, "I didn't think-"
"Stop." Eddie snaps, pushing you gently away from where you'd been butting against his side.
"I.." You flounder for something to say, "I'm sorry, Eddie, did I hurt you, or-"
"I'm fine." Eddie refuses to meet your eye, his voice still cold and stretched thin, "I gotta go."
"So do I," You giggle carefully, "You wanna watch a movie or something?" You finally get a good look at his face and his eyes are raging, something that makes your chest tight. His jaw is tight and you long to brush a finger over it, easing its tension. But you don't.
You reach his van and tug expectantly at the handle but he brushes your hand away, ducking into the driver's seat, "No, Y/N, I have to go. Not you. I can't give you a ride today."
"Oh." You feel your stomach shift uncomfortably, a strange sinking feeling in its pit, "I thought.. but- but everyday, you-"
"Not today." He simply states, checking his mirrors to avoid your eye, "Bye."
"Bye," You hardly manage to answer, stepping back as his van roars to life. You watch him peel out of the parking lot with tears stinging at your eyes, then you hear the door open behind you.
"Y/N?" It's Jason's voice, and it grates irritatingly at your ears, "Who you waiting for?"
"No one." You mumble quietly, the realization saddening you, "I.. I've gotta go."
"Lemme give you a ride." He offers, and you expect a sleazy smirk on his face when you turn. Instead it's a soft furrow of his brow, concern etched into his annoying features.
"It's okay," You shake your head, "I.. I should just walk."
"You live, like, ten minutes from here, by car." Jason scoffs, "Come on, Y/N."
"No," You insist, "Really, it's fine. Thank you for the offer, Jason." You step back when he starts for you, frustration taking over his face, "I'll enjoy walking."
"Whatever." Jason rolls his eyes, "Y'know, I was trying to be nice to you. 'Thought you were all over me a few minutes ago."
"Just go," You grit your teeth, already starting down the street for home, "'See you tomorrow, I guess."
You hear him mumble something under his breath, and it sounds suspiciously like, 'not sure if I want to.' But you don't care, because you don't want to see him either, and he takes off in his car only a minute later, leaving you in the dust to walk alone.
For convenience's sake, you probably should have let him drive you. But you'd rather eat mud than let Jason Carver drive you home, giving him your address and ten minutes alone with you in an enclosed space.
When you finally make it home almost an hour later, your feet are killing you. You'd never realized how far you actually lived from the school, ten minutes in Eddie's van while he talked your ear off and blasted music seeming like mere seconds, over too soon.
Worry spikes in your chest at the reminder of Eddie's foul mood earlier. Did someone say something to him outside? Did he get caught by a teacher? Did he have detention?
Then you remember his eagerness to leave. Was he in trouble? Did he get hurt? Was there an emergency?
Against your body's desperate pleas for rest, you reluctantly keep your shoes on, tossing your backpack onto the couch. You'll get an earful from your parents later about the dirty bag on their clean furniture, but Eddie is more important than a lecture, and you set out again.
The sun is beating down on you as you trek to the trailer park, and it takes you even longer to get there than it had to get home. You're sluggish and sweaty when you finally traipse up the stairs to Eddie's trailer, knocking sharply on the door.
"Eddie?" You call, peering in a window to see the lights in his room on, "Eddie, open up!"
No reply. You shift on your feet, the soles of them aching, "Eddie, it's hotter than balls out here! Please just let me in!"
You hear light shuffling from behind the door, then a lock clicks, and Eddie stands unimpressed in front of you, the door swung open.
"What do you need?" He glares at you, his rotten behavior a complete 180 from his usual bubbly disposition. He gets a good look at your flushed, sweaty face, "Jesus, did you come from hell?"
"Almost," You grimace at the reminder of nearly being in Jason Carver's car, "Let me in."
You move to brush past Eddie but he sidesteps you, keeping you on the porch. Your lips part indignantly, "Eddie!"
"You can't come in." He grumbles, his brows low over his eyes, "Just go home, Y/N."
"I just walked here for an hour," You seethe, "And I did it because I was worried about you. Let me in, dickhead."
He scoffs unimpressed at you, and your heart stings. It's not the first time he's been cross with you, but it's the first time you don't know what you've done, and it hurts to know that he's being this cold.
He finally steps out of the way, and you head instantly for the kitchen. You rummage through a few plastic cups, pulling out your favorite one and filling it with water. While you're chugging it Eddie sits atop the counter, watching you warily.
"So fuckin' messy," He chides, his voice still sharp, "Get over here."
He swipes a thumb over your cheek, smearing away a droplet of water that you'd managed to spill. His touch feels amazing, which is scary because you've only been deprived of it for a few hours, but he pulls away far too soon and crosses his arms over his chest.
"So?" He raises a brow at you, "What do you need?"
"I need to know what's wrong with you," You soften your voice, staring up at him imploringly where he's perched on the counter, "I.. I don't know what happened, but I know something's wrong. And I hate it when you're angry at me, but now I don't even know what I did, and-" Your voice teeters on the edge of cracking, and you rein yourself in with a deep, steady inhale, "I don't know what to do. I don't like this."
You feel hot tears brim in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to try and dissolve them. You're embarrassed, and you're not sure if it's for doing whatever you did, for not knowing what you did, or for crying. You feel pathetic, and you look away from Eddie miserably.
You can't see it, but his teeth dig gently into his bottom lip. He's never made you cry before. Tears sting at his own eyes, a warning of what's to come if he keeps brushing you off, and his hand shakes as he reaches it towards you.
"Y/N.." He breathes carefully, ghosting a hand over your shoulder. You flinch away from the contact and he can pinpoint that as the exact second his heart breaks, biting his tongue to keep himself from crying.
"You.. you don't get to touch me," You whisper, a broken sound as your arms wrap around yourself in a semi-comforting hug, "Not yet. Not until this is over. What did I do, Eddie, why are you treating me like this?"
This time it's Eddie feeling the absence of your comforting touch, itching to yank you into a bear hug and suffocate you until you're not angry with him anymore. Having something taken away is much different than being the taker, Eddie finds out, and he curls his fingers around the counter to prevent himself from crossing your boundaries and smothering you with apologies.
"I was upset.." The past tense refers to only seconds before, still mad when you'd shown up. But your tears had simply eradicated his jealousy, the shining trails down your cheeks stabbing at his chest.
It's a shitty explanation and he knows it. He watches your face screw up, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as your lips purse to withhold a sob.
"I.." He continues, desperate to comfort you but unable to, knowing the words that were about to escape him were meaningless against your tears, "I got jealous, sweetheart."
"Jealous?" You query brokenly, your voice thick with sadness, "Of who?"
"Of Jason," He admits bravely, putting himself out of his comfort zone to pull you back into your own, "You were.. you were really layin' it on thick, baby."
The pet names don't instill the same comfort they normally do in you, but they do assure you that Eddie can't be too mad at you. You sniffle miserably, glancing up at him through tears, "So? 'Was just for some stupid prank." You rub at your nose with your sleeve, "Why did that make you jealous?"
"Cause it sounded right." Eddie sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired expression, "It.. it looked right, too. I mean, it looked wrong, you and him. But his arm looked.. natural around your waist. And your hands were all over his chest," He groans, "It just seemed real."
You're skeptical now, squinting up at him suspiciously, still through a layer of unshed tears, "So? What are you trying to say, Eddie?"
Eddie lets out a strangled, frustrated groan, hopping down from the counter, "I'm saying I want my arm around your waist!"
You've got the same unwavering, confused look on your face, and Eddie's not bothered to admit to himself that he wants to kiss it off of you. But he doesn't want to scare you, so he backs against the counter instead, "I like you, Y/N."
"I should fucking hope so." You mumble, "'Been best friends for years."
"No, I- hnggh," He nearly laughs, your obliviousness comically intense, "Y/N, I'm in love with you."
Now that, you understand.
His confession hits you like a ton of bricks, and you stand frozen, dumbfounded in his cramped kitchen. He had never confessed to you in the first place out of a fear of rejection, and now every second that you stay silent he feels the crack in his heart slowly tear apart.
Finally, finally you speak, mumbling an abrupt, "Oh."
"Oh?" He repeats fearfully, "What does 'oh' mean?"
"Oh."
"Come on baby," He jests weakly, "'Gotta give me a little more than that."
"You.." Your brows dip adorably into a furrow, "You like me?"
"I do." He nods once, "Is that... is that okay?"
"Of course it's okay," Your shoulders relax from where they'd been stiff by your ears, and Eddie swears he can feel every ounce of tension leaking from his body, "I like you too, Eddie."
You say it so casually, and it's the answer Eddie had been hoping for, but the relief that rushes through him at your admission is heavenly. He wonders if you really know just how much it meant to him, the five simple words that you're changing his life with.
"You.. you do?" He asks, hesitant to get ahead of himself in case this was a bizarre, torturous dream that would shatter him when he woke up, "'Cause you don't have to lie to me, baby. If you don't, it's okay, I won't-"
"Shh," You step forwards, placing a finger over his lips and gazing into his eyes. He swears he's dreaming when you drag the finger from his lips over his chin, up his jaw, and settle it into his hairline as your other hand comes up to join the first one on his free cheek.
You're cupping his cheeks. You're cupping his cheeks, Eddie can feel his heart racing as you stare at him, your gaze dreamy.
"I'm not lying." You insist, "Of course I like you. How could I not? You've got these pretty brown eyes," You muse softly, your thumbs ghosting over the soft skin beneath them, "And your nose is so nice," You run a finger down it affectionately, then lean in to pop a kiss to its tip, “‘S good for kissin’.” He feels his heart explode, then your finger immediately goes back to his cheek, "And.. and you've got really nice lips."
To prove your final point your fingers dance over them, the soft pillowy pads dipping slightly under the pressure you apply. Eddie feels like he's dreaming, caught up in some heavenly universe that he could get sucked out of any second, and he tries desperately to commit the feeling of you admiring him to memory before it slips away.
"I want to kiss you," You confess, your fingers pressing softly against his lips, "Can I?"
'Course you can," He breathes incredulously, his lips puckering to press gently into the pads of your fingertips. It's intimate, love bleeding through the gesture.
You only remove your hands to fulfil your promise, pressing your lips to his own in a careful, delicate kiss. It's soft, sweet, and dizzying, only lasting for a few seconds before you both pull away. Your head is fuzzy, and it leaks into your heart. He's looking at you like you hung the moon, his big doe eyes shining with adoration as they flit over your face.
He can't believe this is real. He can't fathom that he's just kissed you, that you've just kissed him, that you two have kissed.
He’s not sure how many nights he’s fallen asleep thinking about you. He tends to fantasize, though it’s a word he’ll never use for fear of embarrassment, about you. It's easier to fall asleep when someone else is there, and it's the easiest thing in the world when it's you. Most nights feature different fantasies, scenes in time from the preview of a movie he hopes is starting now.
Some nights he imagines what it would be like to teach you to play the guitar. You’ve strummed his mindlessly a few times, but he drifts off thinking about how adorable you’d be with his guitar in your lap, your fingers running cautiously over the strings as he compliments how metal you’re becoming.
Other nights you’re going grocery shopping with him in his daydreams. You lead him down the aisle, your fingers eagerly stretched towards a package of Oreos, and he gives in only if you promise to let him kiss the cream off of you after you’ve had a few.
The there’s the less common, but still precious, vacation fantasy. He supposes he doesn’t think about this one as often because he’s content where he is, as long as you’re there too. Still, sometimes it’s nice to imagine a ski lodge with you, snowflakes dotting your eyelashes and frosty air nipping at your nose. He’d make you hot chocolate, extra whipped cream and marshmallows, then he’d let you fall asleep on his shoulder before a roaring fire.
But this, you gently pressing your silky soft lips to his own slightly chapped ones in the dinky little kitchen of his trailer after confessing your love to him? He’s going to rewatch this scene every night for the rest of his life.
He doesn't think he looks much like a movie star. Maybe the star of an action movie, a rugged adventurer. But never a romance. Romances aren't made with guys like him, guys who have messy hair down their back and tattoos littering their chest. Romances are made for proper couples, couples that live in a three bedroom home, two kids inside and another on its way, dog and a picket fence. Couples that host backyard barbecues, that go to the lake on sundays, that buy their kids barbie dolls and monster trucks.
Not him.
You, though? You were made to be a star. Your pretty face, your sweet eyes and your soft lips. You're the pinnacle of romance, and it feels foreign to Eddie that he isn't an audience member anymore, instead the lead actor.
Eddie doesn't know what he's done to land the starring role in your romance, but he swears right then and there that he'll never botch the job.
"You taste good." You absentmindedly ghost your tongue over your lips, saliva now glistening on them as you contemplate, "You're sweet."
Eddie is absolutely certain you're wrong. He probably tastes like smoke, sweat, and the trail mix he'd had for lunch, which he assumes isn't a very appealing combination. But you lean in again with no hesitation, pressing your slightly dampened lips to his own.
This time, he lets himself react. Before he'd been frozen in terror, sure that any sudden movement would spook you and you'd flee. But now? Now he dives in.
He brings his hands to cup your cheeks, tilting your face slightly so that his nose doesn't run into your own. He'll admit, rubbing noses with you is one of his favorite things, or, used to be, before he kissed you for the first time, because it was just about the closest he could get without actually kissing you. He was always able to pass it off as a friendly gesture of affection, scrunching his face up into a smile and brushing his nose against your own. But now the gently brush of skin on skin is nothing compared to your lips on his.
His tongue longs to roll into your mouth, but he doesn't want to take things too far, not yet. He wants to savor this, he wants to feel every step of the process, cherish it before it gets too hot and heavy. Right now, he wants to kiss you, nothing more.
He brushes his tongue softly over your bottom lip to satiate his urges. It draws a soft whimper out of your mouth, a sound that, in any other circumstances would go straight south. But it warms his heart this time, hearing how much you're enjoying finally kissing him.
Though this kiss lasts longer than the last, it's still short. He really does want to take things slow, and he breaks away to rest his forehead against yours.
He can't help the grin that grows over his lips. He feels a similar one stretch your cheeks, his hands still cupping the slight pudge there. He's squealing inside, reduced to a giggling schoolgirl stomping his feet and doodling your names together inside of an arrow-struck heart. But he keeps himself relatively cool on the outside, feeling you press yourself tighter against him.
"Did I.. was that good? For you?" You question hesitantly, and his eyes drift open to meet your own only centimeters away. He realizes that you're insecure, that your eyes are wide with anxiety and that you're stiff in his grip.
Something is flattering about that. You'd just kissed him dizzy, reduced him to a blushing mess, and still you were worried about his enjoyment.
"That was.. perfect." He breathes, tilting his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, the familiar gesture skyrocketing in intensity, "I've been dreaming about that, baby."
"Dreaming? About me?" Your eyes shine, and Eddie promises to himself that the next time you close them, he'll kiss the lids. He wants to kiss every pretty part of you, from head to toe.
"About you," He confirms, "You're the star of all my dreams, sweetheart."
You giggle at that. He sees the tension drain from your frame, anxiety about not being good enough, and he watches you embrace your new role as lead actress.
"I've dreamt about you before too." You admit, raising one hand to press against one of his on your cheek, "We took your van to space, it turned into a rocket."
He lets out an amused laugh at your nonsensical dreams, not sure how to correct you that his were more on the domestic side.
"A rocket? That's cool." He murmurs, refraining from speaking too loud lest he shatters the silent intimacy you've created in the kitchen of his trailer.
"Eddie?" You hum softly, twisting one of his rings mindlessly around his fingers with your eyes downcast, "What are we now?"
He feels himself sucked out of his role. He swallows dryly, realizing that there was still a chance you might not want to be his costar.
"Well," He starts, his voice much more confident than he is, "Would you like to date me, sweetheart? I could be your boyfriend, if you want."
Then a blinding smile breaks over your face, and he's not worried anymore.
"I want you to be my boyfriend," You nod eagerly, now bouncing on the balls of your feet on the tile, "You mean it, Eddie?"
"'Course I mean it," He urges, "I'll give you my jacket when you're cold, and I'll catch you when you jump into my arms to say hello, and I'll lend you my shirts to wear for bedtime."
"You already do all of that stuff," Your nose wrinkles slightly in confusion, "I'm wearing your shirt right now."
He glances down at your torso, and hooks a finger under the hem of your jacket to reveal an old Iron Maiden shirt he'd let you borrow. He feels sheepish as he realizes he's already been pseudo-dating you for years, and picks out the one thing he's missed.
"Well then I'll kiss you," He promises, "All the time."
"All the time?"
"All the time." He threatens, his eyes growing wide as his hands clamp onto your hips, "You won't ever escape."
"Eddie!" You shriek as you make a run for it, giggling relentlessly as you sprint through his trailer and into his bedroom. He races after you, catching you before you can beeline for the closet and catapulting you onto his mattress. You land with a hearty bounce, and Eddie hovers over you before your back hits the bed again.
"Come here," He growls teasingly, his curls spread over your face as he digs his nose into your neck. His lips form rapidfire kisses on your skin, drawing hearty laughter from your chest that he hopes is part of the soundtrack for your movie, because he wants to listen to it on repeat. He presses his lips tight to your jaw, blowing a sloppy raspberry there and tightening his hold on your hips when you try squirming away.
"Eddie!" You finally manage to catch his face in your hands, tugging it away from where he's smothering it into your cheek, "Eddie, that tickles!"
You're breathless, your chest heaving with laughter, and Eddie takes pride in being able to do that to you. He makes you laugh. He makes you smile. He makes you happy.
You're staring up at him with a lovesick grin on your face that he's sure is displayed over his mouth too. So he connects them, bending his elbows to kiss you for real.
Despite your somewhat suggestive position, he keeps his hands to himself. They're holding your hips, content in their positioning as he lays another sweet kiss to your lips. This time when he breaks away he collapses beside you, keeping one leg thrown over yours. His hair fans out over the pillow and tickles your face, and your nose scrunches as you splutter.
“Sorry,” He’s really not, because getting to see your face all bunched up as his hair tickled your nose was priceless, but he lies.
“‘S okay,” You grab one of the strands you’d just spit out of your mouth, twisting the end of it around your finger, “And your hair! I like your hair too.”
Eddie’s heart explodes as he realizes you’re adding onto his list of likable qualities from before.
"Oh yeah? Well," He decides to return the favor, slipping his arm underneath yours that's still toying with his hair, "I like your nose."
He leans in to press his lips to it, "Yours is good for kissing too."
You giggle under him, a light, airy sound that sends his tummy turning.
"And your eyes," He runs a thumb through your lashes and they flutter beneath his touch, "'Can see aaaall that love you've got in there for me."
He realizes too late that it's a step you haven't taken yet as lovers. Sure, you've told him that you love him plenty of times, and he has too. But now it's different, now it's more.
But, he realizes, as your eyes shine with adoration, your lips moving to echo his sentiment, it's not more. It's the same as he's always felt about you, suffocating, intoxicating, all-consuming. He's loved you like this forever.
He grins as you tell him you love him without hesitation. He feels like the luckiest man in the world as he settles down beside you, your eyes following his as your lovesick grin becomes permanent. He's not sure if his own will ever fade, not as long as he's got you by his side. Just like you are now, tucked neatly into his chest, the collar of your jacket riding up to cover your jaw. He tugs it down and presses a kiss to the jut of your chin, then leaves his face there nestled into your own. He feels your own lips pucker to stain his skin with a soft peck, tightening his hold around your waist as he keeps you close to him in his bed.
"Y'sleepy?" You drag a single finger through his hair, letting your nail ghost over his scalp. He nearly purrs, reduced to a clingy kitten amidst the tsunami of love that had just washed over you both.
"Just happy." He hums. The droop of his eyelids is drawn from contentedness rather than exhaustion, the haze taking over his brain comes from the steady scent of you that he's breathing in while his face is nuzzled against your own.
"Me too," You admit, "Can we just stay here for a while?"
"Baby," He chuckles breathily against your face, seemingly unable to stop the onslaught of kisses that he's smothering you with, "We're never getting out of this bed again. I'm keeping you here forever."
tags: @spencestyles @lovinondylanobrien @th0rswh0res @hannyhoe @desireav @1800-fight-me
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
8K notes
·
View notes