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#and daydream about stories I’ll write later

plutoccult · 6 months

Text

MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE

pairing: jean kirstein x female reader

description: a few years after the successful peace negotiations, you and jean celebrate his first birthday with your new baby boy, but jean can’t help but look back on what it took to get to this day after dreaming of it as much as he could hope to live without breathing.

word count: 1.2k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: something short and sweet that’s not soul crushing angst. a shocker on my end, really. BUT, the attack on titan anime has finally ended. it’s like a chapter of my life is over, but a chapter ending only means a new one beginning. i always wanted to write something that depicted some sort of event after the end of the story, so it’s nice to fully bring that vision into fruition. i love writing for jean and i’ll miss him and the rest of the characters so very much, but the writing doesn’t end here for me! more content will come out of me until i get bored of it. i do, however, hope you enjoy this little fluff piece.

when dreaming about what life could be without titans or any worries, jean always knew what the perfect life would be for him. it was always consisted of the same fantasy; sitting out on a balcony with a glass of the finest liquor in hand, wife inside the house, and a newborn baby with the cutest, most innocent smile in his wife’s arms. the ideal daydream used to have a faceless woman, then mikasa took over for a brief second after being struck by her upon their first meeting, but now it’s been the same face for many, many years. since falling head over feet completely, jean could now only picture his future with you bearing his love and his children, and only that would be the perfect life for him. nothing else, just you.

sometimes jean wondered what life would be like if marco were still around. who would have died in his place instead of him that day? who would’ve had to deal with the pain of losing their best friend instead of him? would he live next door to jean’s dream home and babysit the kids whenever? jean liked to imagine marco as the perfect uncle. uncle marco. if only it could all be real. even so, all these years later, he was grateful for the life he had been given.

after years of hell fighting for the greater good, jean was finally able to settle down and live that perfect life he so desperately craved in his youth. he wasn’t very young anymore; small wrinkles began to form, his muscles grew tired far more easily, signs that he was starting to grow old, but not quite just yet. there was still more life to live, so much more he could live for.

today was jean’s birthday, and just like his teenage fantasies, he sat on a balcony with a glass of whiskey just as he imagined. the view of the town he lived in was great, but not the greatest. the only difference between jean’s dreams and his reality that there wasn’t a barrier between him and what he wanted most; you, holding your little baby boy in your arms.

caught in the middle of daydreaming, you emerge from inside the house and join jean on the balcony with your son. you gently grab the baby’s hand and pretend to act like he’s the one waving to jean, which makes him smile.

“does baby marco want to say hi to daddy?” you coo while jean looked at the two of you in awe. naming your child after marco was always in the cards, neither of you doubted it for a second when you both expressed wanting children. it was just the most beautiful thing in the world when he was finally born, after all this time of knowing what you wanted.

“here, lemme hold him.” jean offered, extending his arms out for baby marco. you carefully hand him over then sit down and watch as the infant reached his hands out to grab jean’s face, who was gently cradling him in his arms. “he’s getting so big now, i can’t even believe it.”

“i know.” you say with a smile on your face. “by the way, some letters came in the mail for you.”

“from who?” he questioned.

“armin and mikasa, of course. reiner and pieck too.” you began to ramble, listing off the names of all who sent letters for jean on his birthday. “oh, can’t forget connie. and then levi sent something that gabi and falco seemed to have signed—”

“so… pretty much everyone?” jean interrupted with a chuckle.

“queen historia as well.” you end off the list, giggling to yourself for forgetting such an important name. you simply can’t forget the queen, after all. “oopsie.”

“well, i oughta write everyone back as soon as possible.” he said, but you disagreed.

“you can write after cake, okay? i’ll go grab it now.” you say, standing up from your seat so you could head inside of the house.

“i told you i could make it.” jean insisted. “i don’t like making you do the work for me.”

although his words were sweet, you wouldn’t do that to him today out of all days. “make your own birthday cake? please. i’ll be right back.”

jean sat with baby marco close to him while you disappeared into the house for his birthday treat. you come back with a cake that has an array of lit candles, gently setting it down on the table as far away from the baby as possible. you take the baby out of jean’s hands while you sing happy birthday to him and sit across the table, your voice as soothing as the breeze.

when it was time for jean to blow out the candles and make a wish, he simply couldn’t think of anything to wish for. he finally had everything he ever wanted; the love of his life, a family of his own, and most importantly, peace. you both fought like hell a million times over to get here, doing things you regretted all the time. the past you shared together was ridden with sin, but the future didn’t have to be, and right now, the future was bright and golden like daylight.

if there was anything to possibly wish for, it was for things to stay just like this, so jean closed his eyes and blew out the candles and wished just for that. his eyes opened up to the sight of you and your son, and he was so happy to see it right in front of him.

“happy birthday, jean.” you say softly. baby marco beamed with the most innocent grin, his youthful laugh almost bringing jean to tears.

“thank you, my love.” he mustered up the words to say without crying.

jean insisted he cut the cake himself. seeing as you made it, this was the least he could do, and you didn’t argue. he sliced a piece for you first and set it down in front of you, watching as baby marco eyed the cake in complete awe.

jean’s eyes stray away from cutting his own piece as he found himself watching you with the baby. you were trying to eat your cake, but you couldn’t help but laugh at marco trying to get some of it from your fork.

“ah, no, no, no. you can’t have cake.” you coo, booping baby marco on the nose.

it was times like these that made jean so grateful. he captured even the smallest grain of a moment, cherishing every single one with the thought that tomorrow is not always promised, even when you two were free of the burdens of a solider saving humanity. no matter how many times he made a wish on some candies, there was always that “what if?” thought in the back of his brain that this some day would be taken away from him.

you look up and catch jean staring at you as if he were frozen, like he was taking a million pictures with his eyes. “what are you doing?”

“remembering this.” he simply replied, the best way he could put it all into words.

the love you had for each other and the life that’s been given to you would always be yours, all yours, and it would last beyond the very last breath both of you would take. in the end, all of the hardships were worth living to see this day.

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indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part one)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. the whole lyrics layout inspired by @/upsidedownwithsteve! 1979 is like one of my fav songs ever and i wanted to write a story about it. sorry it took a while to post :( hope you guys all enjoy.

PART TWO; SERIES MASTERLIST

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

In a field miles away from a town that’s cursed him, Eddie lays in the colossal grass with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed, the sun blinding him through the thin skin of his eyelids. Growing weeds tickle his inked skin, dirt stains his leather jacket, and ants cross over his hair; he does not mind one bit.

He daydreams of the sky. How accepting they’d be — how they wouldn't mind his disheveled, long hair, or his punk style and see him as one of them; One of the clouds who form themselves into whatever they want and float freely across the cerulean aether atmosphere. A place where he can be himself, where he can bring his darkness into that white airy cotton, even when it turns grey or when the night begins. Eddie would be himself, and no one would judge.

Ringed fingers touch the grass when he removes one from his chest, soft beneath his fingertips that he massages. Eddie hums, taking in the calming sound of air swishing the trees, the faint sound of passing cars, the optimistic birds, and the sound of Dustin talking to his girlfriend with a sickenly high-pitched and lovey-dovey voice. Which reminds him:

“Hey, Henderson,” he turns around, laying on his stomach. Eddie takes a quick glance at his watch — 7:05 am. “Wrap it up lovebirds. We gotta go to school.”

Dustin nods his head, his cap blocking his eyes. “Yeah hold on. I gotta go, Suzie-poo. I’ll talk to you later, I promise. I miss you already. I love you.”

A giggle. “I love you more, Dusty-bun.”

“I love you more multiplied by all the stars in the galaxy.”

“No, I love you—”

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly takes the microphone from Dustin, shooting him a judging look with a raised brow before he speaks. “Sorry, Suzie-poo. Gotta take Dusty here to school or else you won't be seeing each other and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life running up this hill crying. Bye-bye now.”

He almost laughs at the thought of Suzie’s shocked face when he turns the radio off. And maybe that same laugh comes out when he sees Dustin’s horrified expression when he realized he’d — or Eddie — had just cut her off. He looks back at Eddie, mouth agape, before he playfully punches his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dustin kicks his shin. “That was my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s gonna be pissed that you cut her off!”

“Nah, she loves you too much,” he stands up, patting the dirt off his knees and his jacket, fixing his hair. “Now come on, Dusty bunny, we gotta go to school.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dustin swats his hand away when Eddie tries to ruffle his hair by slipping it beneath his hand, but the kid smiles anyway. Anything for the affection he gives. “You know, you’ll be like this one day,”

Eddie plays with his keys, walking down the hill in heavy footsteps that threaten to twist their ankles. “What’d you mean?”

Dustin hops over the fence, followed by Eddie who grunts loudly. “Being sweet. Disgusting. In love.”

He scoffs, walking over to the side of his van and opening the door, but not before he looks at Dustin over the hood of his van with a look. “So you admit that you and Suzie are disgusting?”

“From the words of you, Steve, Lucas and Mike — who actually both have girlfriends — yes, I admit that we are disgusting. Disgustingly sweet.”

They close the doors simultaneously, the keys jingling when Eddie shoves the keys in the ignition. “You know, when I was fifteen, I spent my time playing the guitar and studying songs. My fingertips were bleeding, Henderson,” he shows him his palm, letting Dustin see the faint scar lines on his fingertips. “I never dated a girl. So I highly doubt I’d fall in love.”

“The only reason you never dated was because of your reputation,” Dustin throws his bag behind him. “And you’ll fall in love. I bet you will. You may be cynical and mad, but you’ll find the right person, Eddie,” he smiles at him. “Trust me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head, the car shaking into a start and Mötley Crüe starts blasting that startles the poor boy beside him. “We’re gonna take this bet to my grave, then.”

Eddie Munson has only fallen in love once. When his Uncle, Wayne, had come home with a red guitar after his night, tiring shifts at the plant. He remembers clearly the way his eyes lost focus of the world and remained on that guitar, like the center of attention; the only attraction in this terrifying world. Eddie remembers the way his heart pounded like he’d fallen down a roller coaster, and remembered the way his tears had mimicked said coaster when he hugged his Uncle and sobbed out his gratitude.

That had been five years ago. When he was fifteen. And he swears he’ll never fall in love again.

Because love—in his own concept—was a dangerous game. More dangerous than when you decide to go and attack Vecna powerless in Dungeons and Dragons, or taunting a swarm of demobats. It’s a game with unknown intentions and arduous side quests that render you defeated before you even get to love itself. Dangerous and tiring, if you’d shorten it. And no one wants to delve into a love so treacherous if you’ll end up getting hurt anyway.

It’s what Eddie thinks; understood. How he perceives love and what he thinks love is with his semi-nihilistic mind despite never having to fight for love. It’s a game he refuses to partake in and narrate, and would rather watch people struggle with it from the sidelines (with a beer in hand and a freshly rolled blunt in his mouth, as he’d imagined).

So he prays Dustin would win that game. Despite being miles away from his girlfriend; give him all the makeshift spears and shields made of garbage lids and dull nails. He cares so much for him that he actually hopes their love will succeed, that he’d go out not scathed but covered in grime and a triumphant smile. Even now when Eddie looks beside him to see the lovesick smile on Dustin Henderson’s face who replays every memory he had with Suzie during that one summer.

He reaches over to give his friend a pat on the shoulder, which gifts him a bright smile before he races off to Hawkins High with eternal dread.

—

His day wasn’t at all dreadful. It felt like a normal day.

Probably because Jason Carver wasn't at school today due to a foot injury, and his little balls-in-laundry-baskets friends had no leader to bark at them around all day. They did nothing but practice and sit quietly at their tables, and so did Eddie.

Albeit the day being normal, he’d still get his usual judging stares and glares. Eddie Munson wearing a Dio shirt today? Freak. Eddie Munson wearing shoes other than his Reeboks? Freak. Eddie Munson trimmed his bangs today? Freak. Eddie Munson’s not wearing his vest? Still a freak.

He kept his head low, eyes on the ballpen that draws on his palm as he walks through the emptying hallway. Dustin had gone with Steve Harrington, and the rest had decided to leave early. Eddie? He’d just gotten out of detention for spacing out during class. Why detention? He'd never know why. Even Ms. O’ Donnel thinks he’s a freak.

Eddie whistles. Mandy. Something new and unusual, a song he’d heard from Wayne early in the morning that he too whistles as he makes his coffee and smokes outside the porch. He’d woken up to the sound of it for two weeks and he finds himself subconsciously copying his Uncle.

His footsteps echo in the walls of Hawkins High. He jumps and spins and occasionally taps his fingers across the lockers covered in stickers, if not dents from rowdy students. The sight of the exit doors surprises him when he turns right, and a bright smile comes up to his face when he sees them. Eddie pulls his keys out of his back pockets, shoves his pen inside, and continues to whistle like he’s taking a walk on a quiet, sunny day at a park.

Until by the time he’s about two rooms away, he hears the sound of a piano. Soft and ear-pleasing, yet startling since it’s been an hour after school ended and no one, not even the teachers other than Ms. O’ Donnel should be here. Eddie stops his whistling, eyebrows furrowing as he hears the piano play the same tune he’d been whistling.

And then a voice. Far and hushed, like a ghost. Unseen through the walls, floating and yearning to be noticed; so they sing to be noticed instead. Eddie’s heart palpitates a little in panic, wondering if the ghost is singing the same song he’s whistling to get his attention. His hands curl into fists and prepare to run away.

But he thinks of disturbing whoever's in that room. He also thinks he should just go home because it probably could just be a ghost, seeing as half the victims from the Starcourt fire had been students and they’d probably come here for refuge in the afterlife. But Eddie’s curious. Maybe taking a glimpse over the small window on the door and seeing a ghost would cause no harm other than a possible possession, right?

So he tiptoes his way to the door he recognized as the music room. He’d seen this room once when he snuck in here during middle school and he needed a guitar for Gareth or else they would have lost that talent show (they did. No adult would let a child playing quote unquote, Satan’s Music, win).

Carefully, he peeks sideways through the small window, where he sees through the blurry glass; a girl sitting in front of a keyboard. Her back to him, head bobbing slightly at every key she presses, showing merely the tip of her nose and the plump apples of her cheeks when she sways lightly to her gentle playing. Eddie quietly shoves his keys back inside his pockets, pressing his ear against the glass, and watches the grace take upon her fingers.

“I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me,”

A voice so celestial, like an angel he’s never seen but envisaged. Maybe like an angel he’d imagined in the clouds up above; a voice so warm like the summer breeze, soft like silk and the denim of his vest. It’s inviting and it’s hypnotizing, with every perfect lilt.

Something new from his usual heavy ululating music. Something he might like and never get used to.

And it’s tempting. So tempting that he finds himself opening the door harshly that the doorknob slams against the thin wall of the room that even startles Eddie.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

You scream, hands slamming on the keyboard that makes a distorted sound of unmatched keys. Eddie’s eyes widen and his hands raise in defense, hiding behind them when your own hand comes up to gasp into your palm, horrified by his sudden arrival. His heart pounds against his chest, hands coming down to clasp at his pec. And he’s staring at your petrified look.

“Mother of God,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry!” he closes the door behind him hastily. “It’s, uh, I heard you. And I thought you sounded… great,” Eddie’s shoulders deflate, sighing when a small smile comes up to your face.

“Really?” you finish for him. “Sorry. I- I thought I was alone.”

“No, it’s okay.” Eddie finds himself smiling with you. More at the way there’s dimples at the bottom of your mouth and your teeth show slightly through your lips.

He stares at you, longer than he intends to, a sense of familiarity waves down him when he traces the slope of your nose and the thick eyelashes that meet with your cheeks when you blink. Eddie thinks you’re pretty — especially with your small smile that makes his heart feel weird when he realizes he’s the receiving end of it. A faint picture flashes in the back of his head, and he limply points at you. “Hey, uh, I kinda remember you,”

Your eyebrows raise a bit, hands falling to your lap. “You do?”

“Yes! I think…” his eyes narrow. “Middle school.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was back in middle school.”

Yes, he remembers you. Only that blurry picture in the back of his mind only focusing on the small pigtails of a girl shorter than him, the ends of a borrowed purple dress that tickled his knees, and that similar smile of yours except you’d been missing a tooth on the bottom row of your teeth that matched his. And that voice, still sweet but deeper than it used to be, still entices him like it used to do.

Eddie gawps. “Holy shit,” he says your name with pure shock, the smile on his lips starting to strain his cheeks. But he doesn't care, not when you’re prettily smiling with him. “You— you played that same song! Mandy, right? You played that too?”

“I did, yeah,” he walks over to you, hands on his lap and slightly bent. Eddie walks until he’s standing beside the bench you’re sitting on, hand grazing the plastic of the borrowed keyboard. “Mandy by Barry Manilow. Yep.”

“I’m Eddie Munson. Although I'm sure you already knew that,” he offers his hand, hoping you won’t notice the trembling and the silent clinking of his rings. You smile at him, taking his hand into yours and he wonders why even the handshaking felt familiar.

And your hand is warm. Soft like the grass he’s touched earlier this morning, feeling the same small scars in the pads of your fingertips when his thumb slyly runs through them. They were light and they were pretty, your own dainty little ring made by a wire that loops around a gemstone was a hard contrast to the abominable ones on his hand. Almost like an angel shaking the devil’s hand.

Eddie wishes to feel this way again. How a simple touch ignites something new, yet the fire starts within him that he can't find.

“I know,” you place your hand back on your lap, his own falling disappointedly on his side. “Sat behind you during History.”

He nods his head down on the bench you’re sitting on, asking for permission. You scoot aside, motioning for him to sit beside you; and Eddie, for the first time in his life, shyly does. He sits beside you, thighs almost an inch apart as he nervously watches you toy with the black keys. “How come I remember you a bit in middle school but not…?”

“Your early years of high school?” you press on a key he doesn't know. “I left after middle school. Moved to Queens, for my dad’s work. Came back here because my nana got sick.”

“Oh,” he plays with his rings, pulls them up before he puts them back on, a slight indentation on his fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,”

Eddie exhales, feeling his heart unwind when you begin to play a steady beat, watching as you press down on the plastic keys. “I came inside because I thought you sounded good,” he nods his head to you. “Your voice. It’s nice. And, because I also thought that ghosts might have heard me whistling and decided to play with me. Scare me shitless.”

“Ghosts?” you repeat, pressing on a key that emits a deep tune.

He hums. “Hawkins is filled with dead people. Right beneath this school and those roads you walk on,” he points behind him. “‘ve you heard of the mall fire last summer?”

“I think so,” you furrow your eyebrows. “My dad’s friend called him about that.”

“It was horrifying,” his eyebrows meet for a split second when your eyes widen and you look away from him. Eddie smiles a little. “So, piano huh?”

You look at him again. “Well, technically it’s a keyboard but…it makes the sound of a piano,” you slam a finger onto a black key.

Eddie has gotten to the point where he realizes there’s no future in this conversation if he doesn't make up another question. And he doesn't want this to end. He just met you again, and he’d like to stay here a bit more even though he’s been craving to leave the school an hour ago. Anything to get to know you a bit more before he sees what’s going to happen next.

“Can you play me a song?” he asks quietly, feeling embarrassed by his diffidence. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course,” you smile at him, fists clenching that your index scratches on the cuticles of your thumb. He wants to stop you, but he worries about crossing borders and you’re probably just as nervous as he is as you say, “what song?”

“Mandy,” he deadpans. You blink at his tone, which makes him clear his throat and speak again in a rather forced cheerfulness that means no harm but to correct himself. “Please?”

You let out a short chuckle, unclenching your fists to spread them out and stretch. “Yeah sure.”

You began with grace, you performed with aplomb, and his ever-curious mind was captivated by how simple it was for you to play and croon at the same time, as if he didn't know how to do it himself. Eddie watches silently, sings in his head with your gentle humming; remembers how he’d caught Wayne swaying to this song once and thinking he looked funny and at peace, wearing his usual red flannel with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes closed. He looked high back then, unperceived that his nephew had been standing there to the side with crossed arms and an amused smile.

Is this what his uncle felt? Finding peace in music other than electric guitars and heavy drums? Lacking all that yowling rasps and instead replaced with a voice that runs through velvet flawlessly like yours. Where he sways and taps his feet, watching your slender hands switch between keys without having the pads of your fingertips stuck in between them despite him noticing the slight shakiness in your hands, dwelling in on the missing memory that scratches on the back of his mind as he watches you play.

“Caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the tears are in my mind and nothin' is rhyming,” you take a shy glance at him, eyes flitting to the redness of his ears. Eddie smiles to take your attention, making his ears turn redder when you smile back at him. “I…I forgot the next lyrics,”

Eddie chuckles. “So have I,” he lies. He just doesn’t want to sing. Not in front of you, at least. He worries he might crack his voice and he could just jump out that window.

There’s a faint sound of a door slamming shut from outside that makes you jump a bit, which makes Eddie turn around to where the sound was before he completely ignores it.

Trying to hide the disappointment that flows from him when you stop playing, he focuses on the fact that you’re looking at him as you do so. Which twists his heart in a way that’s far from bad, and tries to distract himself by clapping like one of the people he wishes he had after his shows. “That was it, all I could remember,” you motion to the piano, flushing bashfully. “I- stop,”

You laugh, your hand barely touching his wrist but motions for him to settle it down. “Bravo,” he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was amazing. Talented. You could be the next, I don’t know, Billy Joel.”

“I barely finished the song,” you nudge your knee with his. “I actually think I made a few mistakes but, uh, thanks,” Eddie fights the urge to remove the lone lint from your hair. He smiles at you instead, settling his hands on his lap. “What about you? Still playing the guitar?”

Eddie’s shoulder bumps with yours when you sway gently as your right hand presses all five fingers onto the keys. He can't stop looking at you, anywhere but your eyes really, so they mostly stay at your cheeks. Sometimes shyly at the plumpness of your lips chastely, or at the dimples threatening to deepen. “Still do. We play at The Hideout every weekend for some cash. We’ve got a crowd of about five…drunks.”

He feels that unfamiliar sensation of heat blooming in his cheeks when you laugh. It’s as soft and inviting as the piano that your hands rest on. “You should come see us,” Eddie continues, nudging his shoulder with yours. “That way I can tell my uncle we’ve got six people watching us now.”

“Hm,” you remove your hands from the keyboard, copying his slumped posture albeit a bit more poise. “I might think about it. If you play me a song too,” you raise your brow at his grimace. “What? It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” Eddie crosses his legs over the small bench, walking around with his hair twirling over his shoulder as he does so. His eyes never leave you even as he crosses the room to pick up an acoustic guitar. “Damn room doesn’t even have an electric guitar. Amplifier’s at the gym and I hate that place.”

You laugh, watching him take the neck of the brown guitar and grab a monobloc from a stack beside the door. He sets it beside the keyboard, awkwardly sitting down before he sets the guitar on his lap eagerly. Eddie smiles at you, grabbing a part of his hair and hiding his mouth behind it bashfully.

“What song, m’lady?” he peers at you through his eyelashes. Eddie feels triumphant when he makes you laugh again, thinking he could watch you push your hair behind your ear with a demure look any time of the day.

Your shoulders raise into a shrug, the smile on your face falling a bit. “Dunno. Ever heard of The Outfield?”

“On the radio. When my uncle listens to music early in the morning,” his fingers slide across the strings, pressing randomly on frets. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I listen to music other than metal.”

“Shocker,” you gasp dramatically. “You’ve ruined your image for me. I don’t see you as a metalhead anymore. You’re merely a commoner. A pretender.”

“You wound me,” he pouts at you. “Come on, (y/n). Give me a song,”

“Alright,” you rest your elbow on the keyboard, cheek on your fist. “Your Love. The Outfield. Think you know it or you’re just pretending?”

“Think I might have studied this for… other embarrassing purposes. But yes, I know it.” He clears his throat. “Prepare to cover your ears,”

Your Love wasn’t a song that was merely played by a guitar. However, an acoustic wouldn’t hurt. Not when he’s doing it for you. Eddie fears pressing his fingers on the wrong string, or a strain from his voice because that would just be plain humiliating.

Your observance adds fuel to the fire of his confidence, while it also simultaneously makes him nervous ‘cause you’re watching; not just listening, not judging. You’re watching him like you actually want to see him play. And as far as he could remember, you’re the first girl to actually pay attention to what he’s playing without any cruel thoughts. He wonders if you think he’s great at this, just as much as he thought you were remarkable in the whole piano thing.

Come on. E, C minor, B, E- no A. A, goddamnit.

When he almost misplaced his finger on the wrong string, he almost cried. But you’re not looking at his face anyway, perhaps too enthralled with the gentle sound of plucking; the deep baritone-like sound that the brass string produces makes you sway similarly like his earlier.

“I ain't got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I'm in trouble,” he shoots you a nervous glance, and he’s almost thankful that you’re looking at his hands. “You know I'd do anything for you, stay the night but keep it undercover,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,” his fingers slide across the brass string so quickly that it almost burns his fingertips when his voice dies in his throat and he looks up at you. “S-sorry.”

Eddie sets the guitar down, the flat of its back on his lap and knees. “No, it’s alright. Thanks,” you smile warily when he scratches nervously at the guitar. “So um- you gonna come see us in The Hideout? No pressure. Just, so I can show you that I really am into metal.”

Your lips tug downwards into an upside-down smile that teases him. Eddie tips his head back, flashing you a toothy grin as you say. “I’ll see to it, Eddie Munson,” you take a glance at your watch. “U-unfortunately though, I’ve got to go.”

He fights the urge to voice his disdain through a quiet groan of protest when he sees you reach on the other side of the bench to take your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you stand up from your seat. Eddie places the guitar on the ground, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stopping in your movements, your thumb slides between the leather strap of your bag and your shoulders. “Yeah. Sure. If you’ll see me, anyway.”

“I’m sure I will,” he offers you a smile.

He watches you leave with a sad frown.

But later that night though, when he talks to Dustin on the RT, he remembers telling him that the girl in the purple dress wore ripped jeans now and a yellow blouse covered in pink flowers, her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders that enticed him. Eddie remembers telling him you’d looked mature, prettier, and that maybe you’d come to his show next week.

What he doesn’t tell him, though, is that he remembers every spot on your face that had dimples when you smile. That your voice was like petal silk that pleases his fingertips as he rubs it between them; or that your hands had similar scars like his, only you’ve gotten them for a different reason. How graceful you’d looked playing the keyboard like you’d been the only one in that room.

A veridical sense of déjà vu makes his mind tingle and his heart twist. In his bed, Eddie has his hands over his stomach, staring up his ceiling with a poster of Tiamat he once saw during a yard sale that he bought. But he thinks of you, the exiguous curiousness grows the longer he remembers that bright smile on your face. And he feels nothing but the want inside him that yearns to see you again.

Justine never knew the rules

Hung down with the freaks and ghouls

No apologies ever need be made

I know you better than you fake it

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues? Hey, Nancy, do you think—”

A shoulder bumps you, too hard to be taken as an accident. Your notebook falls to the ground, ball pen tight in your hand as you let out a startled gasp. You look at the boy first, whose eyes widen in embarrassment as they flicker between the journal on the floor and to your agape mouth.

You should have expected it. The halls were crowded and there were very eager students to enter the cafeteria and take tables before someone else would. But still, you’re taken aback by the sudden impact, even after almost squeezing yourself against the lockers just so you would avoid this kind of incident.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,”

You give him a tight smile. “‘S alright,” he apologizes through a useless smile before he’s being dragged away by his friends. Nancy spins around at the upheaval, and follows the direction of your eyesight before she frowns in disdain.

Asshole didn’t even bother to pick it up for you. Or ask if you were alright.

“What a prick,” she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. You ignore the slight throb on your shoulder, bending down to pick up your notebook and wipe whatever dirt it's picked up from the ground. “Is it ruined?”

Shaking your head, you close it shut and hug it close to your chest. “No. It’s alright. I’m just lucky the floor doesn’t have any piss or something. Or else I would have…punched that guy,”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back around, clutching your wrist to go through the sweaty sea of rushing students. “I doubt that—ow, hey!”

Your face hits Nancy’s permed coils, nose meeting the Fabergé glory of her shampoo. You grimace, moving away to see your friend rubbing her shoulder before you see Patrick McKinney furrow his eyebrows in worry at his mistake.

“Sorry. You alright, Wheeler?” he reaches out to rub her shoulder chastely, but Nancy shrugs it off, nodding. Patrick’s eyes relax, taking a glance at you before he realizes he doesn’t know who you are before he pats her shoulder carefully. “Alright. Sorry, again.”

It was difficult to hide the frown that paints itself on your face when Nancy simply grabs your wrist, guiding you around the crowd once more. And there’s this annoying itch in your head that keeps on reminding you how unlucky you’d been that you bumped into an apathetic guy who hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were alright whereas Nancy got sympathetic eyes and genuine concern.

And you thought, well that’s because they knew her. Having to date Steve Harrington when he was still here, who’d been part of the basketball team himself, of course they knew her. You? The guy looked at you like some random crayon found on the ground. So you tell yourself to get over it; they don’t care and neither do you. It was a simple bump. Your friends would have asked if you were okay.

Nancy didn’t.

Well, she was distracted.

No, she wasn’t.

Shut up.

The cafeteria doors are left open with the people that surges through. Nancy stands on her tiptoes, searching for the boy with glasses that made his eyes larger and took up half his face — Fred, you remember; you practically sink onto her shoulder in fear of accidentally bumping into someone again. And fuck, how muscly was that guy for your shoulder to hurt?

When she spots him, Nancy’s quick to drag you to her side and sit you down beside her in front of Fred, who’d immediately chatted about this thing he’s seen somewhere you don't bother understanding. But when his eyes land on you, his talking stops. Lips snapping shut and he’s staring at you with those wide eyes of his, the scar on his cheek bending when he smiles cheekily at you, his forearms resting side by side on the table as he leans closer.

“I heard a rumor that you were with Eddie Munson yesterday,” he narrows his eyes playfully. Nancy whips her head at you, astounded with the new gossip she’s heard, especially now that it included you.

Nervous with the attention diverted to you, you move back, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Andy saw you.”

“Who’s Andy?”

“That guy who kinda looks like Arnold Schwarze-something.”

Nancy snorts. “He does not look like him.”

Frowning, you lean closer. “What was he doing there yesterday?”

Beside you, Nancy opens a pack of pudding pie that she quietly offers to you. You shake your head politely, offering her a short smile before Fred asks for your attention with a simple tap on your elbow. “He left something by the locker room. Then he said he caught Eddie Munson sitting beside you on a small chair inside the music room being…shit, Nance, what’d he say?”

She shrugs, mouthful. “Dunno. Cute? Or, weird?”

“Somewhere along those lines, but we’re sugarcoating it for you,” he leans closer. “You do know who Eddie Munson is, right? Like, what people say?”

Nancy reaches behind you to take the Hi-C juice box in your bag and puts the straw in for you, shoving it in front of you that you gladly take and quietly thank her for as you say, “That he’s a freak? Just because he dresses out of the trend doesn’t mean he’s a freak, y’know?”

“Steve used to think he was,” Nancy raises her eyebrows at you. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a freak. He does have an influence on my brother though. He’s growing his hair out. Like a mullet, or something.”

“Well he’s not a freak,” you bring the small plastic straw to your lips, the sweet orange-y flavor of the mechanized juice filling your taste buds. “He’s nice. He said I had a…nice voice.”

No one’s said that to me before.

“That’s sweet,” Fred pouts. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s planning on luring you in as a sacrifice.”

Eddie? Cult leader luring you in for some sacrifice? The same person who’d smiled kindly, watched you play the piano like he was actually interested in your performance and applauded you like he’d been watching a breathtaking opera at the same time, invited you to watch his band at some dingy restaurant and thought ghosts might have been haunting him?

His style might say otherwise—with all those brutish rings he’d harbored so proudly and his disheveled mullet-ish hair. But with those wide, curious eyes that watched you like the most interesting flower blooming from the iced frozen ground, a voice so benign and placid who’d praised you in a way anybody else wouldn’t? No. He’s not a cult leader. Or a freak.

And you’d only known him from the mystifying, blurry memories and the couple minutes you’d spent with him yesterday.

That same Eddie who you found with a small frown that lifts into a charming smile when his eyes find you. Briefly does he stop talking with his friends from across the room when your eyes link with his. And Eddie presents you a smile so pretty it makes you dizzy; with his style different, that same leather jacket with a red flannel beneath and a band shirt you don’t recognize, but he had the same fondness in his look that makes your heart flutter wildly like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.

You feel a spark of electricity ignite in the tendrils of your veins; the sound of your heart beating in your ears as everything else muffles and the spotlight goes onto him — like the sun beaming through the window to show you what you’d been looking for.

Yeah sure, he’s a cult leader.

(A cult leader who made you feel noticed in a town with 15,000 ignorant, judgy people despite being with him in less than thirty minutes.)

“What’s she smiling at— oh,” with her laced fingers, Nancy places them beneath her chin and tilts her head sideways to take a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still looking at you. “That’s cute,”

“You really shouldn’t believe rumors,” You turn to her, nudging your juice box with her hand. “I mean, I’ve been here for three months. I barely know him and I think he’s just…being himself. It’s like this town hates people who are comfortable being themselves.”

The corners of Fred’s lips tug down. “Ouch,”

“What? It’s true,”

“Y’know, we had a yard sale last year,” Nancy tells Fred. “Eddie was there lurking.”

“And?”

“Seemed like he didn't caused any trouble. Just roamed around, gave this kid a stuffed animal when he couldn't reach it. He seems nice, Fred.”

And you almost tell them that five years ago, Eddie Munson followed you backstage when he saw you crying; That he’d asked you if you were okay, that he said you’d do great and you did, and in between those hazy flashes of cut memories, you almost tell them that he wore a Bauhaus shirt too large for him, that his hair was buzzed and he made you laugh until you’d—quite literally—forgotten the reason why you cried in the first place.

—

“Hey there, Mandy,”

You yell, clutching the notebook closer to your chest and the pen tight in your hand that it might pop the ink out. Eddie’s hands raise in defense, eyes widening in shock as you both stop walking, the leaves crunching beneath your worn-out shoes and his white sneakers, the birds flying away from the disruption.

“Jesus Christ,”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” familiar, but the memory’s lost in your worry-filled mind. You laugh disbelievingly at him, closing your notebook and tucking the pen behind your ear. “What?”

“Nothing!” you scratch the dents on your notebook, shying away from Eddie’s intensive look. “Mandy? ‘S not my name.”

“I know. But it’s a cool nickname. And you know,” he tilts his head sideways. “The song.”

You smile when his head lulls back, chuckling shortly when you both begin walking again. Eddie has his hands behind his back, his hair wild from the harsh winds of August’s warm breeze. Which he fixes with quick pats to the hair covering half his forehead, his eyes never leaving you.

“Why are you walking home?” you see him bring his hands in front, toying with his rings, pushing them in and out of his fingers.

When you look up at him, your right eye squints from the brightness of the sun until he steps over it. “I wanted to walk home. And, um, I don’t have a car,” you flush beneath his piercing gaze. “What about you?”

“Because I saw you walking home,” he grins. “You were writing while you were walking so I thought maybe I should come join you in case you accidentally trip,”

The sun draws a halo above his head, painting over the devil horns drawn onto him. It gives him a sacrilegious glow, intriguing you to just push his hair behind his ears and ask him all the things that made him smile just so you could see him smile once more. Yet, you don’t; your hands stay around your notebook, your mouth parts but never says anything, and you merely try to say those words through your eyes.

Cult leader, my ass.

“What, so you…left your car in school so you could walk with me?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. It’s still there when I come back, anyway. After I walk you home,” Eddie swallows. “...after I walk you home as a friend.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eddie’s lips purse. “So…” he makes a noise, like a random music note. “I didn’t see you in history today,”

History was (unfortunately) the only class you shared with Eddie. Where in the first three months, you’d kept on asking yourself where you’d seen him over and over again as you stared at the back of his head. (Wishing he’d turn around and ask for your name, if he’d seen you before, and notice you like he’d notice every random fuzz he’d find on his table.)

And he noticed you today. Even when you weren’t there, the thought of him thinking about you and wondering where you were sets a comfortable flame in your cold chest.

“I was at the clinic,” you smile a little. “Some guy bumped into me earlier and I don’t know what he’s made of. It really hurt,”

His eyes darken into a gloom of concern, his eyebrows meeting like a broken bridge. “Are you alright? You okay now? Does it, uh, still hurt?”

“A bit,” you roll the injured shoulder. “Still kinda sore. ‘S like I played football, or something.”

Eddie’s teeth join behind his lips that remain separated, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout you can’t fathom the meaning behind. Then he’s biting it, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to make the hardest decision of his life before he’s pointing his thumb behind him.

“Do you wanna go back to my van?” he asks quickly. “I’ve got something cold in there and I could help you. And I can drive you home, too,” his voice is eager and almost excited with a lace of hope. “But only if you want to,”

You’re unheistant when you say, “Yes,” take me with you. Aid me. Ask me how I am and I’d tell you.

The walk back to school was quicker with his urgent feet that you had difficulty catching up with. You spot his car parked behind the school, befuddled with the amount of dents and the way his van leans sideways more than evenly. Eddie has a hand hovering behind you as he guides you, the other hurling the backdoors open that tricks you into thinking it’s gonna be thrown aside.

The back of his van was messy — with four empty beer cartons stashed aside, a Bauhaus poster that matched Eddie’s shirt with its sides ripped, white ridges seen in that black paper, a red cooler behind the cartons, and a blanket that you assumed used to be white but has been left unwashed for who knows how long.

But despite the messy appearance, you sit on top of the blanket when he asks you to. And he sits beside you,

a heavy hop that makes the van shake slightly and a creak underneath. He shoots you an embarrassed smile, a hand behind him to prop himself up as he twists his torso and pulls on the cooler until it slides near him.

When Eddie opens it, it’s nothing but almost melted ice and four bottles of Boston Lager with one of them being half-empty. You peer over the red box, watching as his hand dives through the cold mess before he hands you an unopened beer bottle.

Out of curiosity, you bring it up to your nose and take a whiff just because.

Eddie chortles. “What’s it smell like?”

You frown. “Like water.”

He stops you from putting the bottle right at your shoulder, looking for something behind him before he sighs scornly, reaching out behind him to pull out a black bandana decorated with large, intimidating skulls. “Here just—wrap it around so it won't wet your shirt too much,”

Eddie gently takes the bottle from you, half of his fingertips covering yours. Half a touch and it already makes you feel like someone had thrown a rope down the hole you’d been stuck in and pulled you out; in that slight formidable tactility does your skin tingle, a warmth that feels like you’re hovering your hands over the flawless dance of a flame. A caress that barely lasts ten seconds, but was a lifetime of gratifyingly dizzy touches.

The coldness of the bottle doesn’t scathe you anymore now with his handkerchief wrapped around it. It seems like Eddie felt the same way, with how his neck reddens, and abruptly places his hands on his lap, watching you from the corner of his eye as you place the bottle on your shoulder.

But the silence is comfortable, with the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees. You dab the bottle on your shoulder, the bandana itself smelling of cigarettes and a boyish aroma you can’t comprehend, but you had a feeling it smelt just like him. The white skull turns gray, the cloth dampens and turns cold, and you turn to see Eddie with his nose wrinkled into a quick sniff before he looks around him and settles on your notebook.

“So what were you writing?” He gently takes the purple notebook into his hand, tracing its ridges and checking its black spine, flipping it around where he sees your name written on the upper left corner in small cursives.

“Um, just…things,” you pinch your nose with a vacant hand. “Just lyrics, I guess.”

“You? Lyricist?” Removing the hand from your nose, you reach over to flip the journal open, thumb skimming across the thick pages. “Just when I thought you were cool with the whole piano thing,” your face heats, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great at this whole thing, though,” your thumb stops on a page you’d been writing on. Eddie diverts his attention on the half-filled page, head tilting down as he brings the notebook closer to his face.

You fear his judgment; not because you don’t trust him, but it leans more into what you’d gone through. That his criticism will be cruel, unkind and harsh like others had been, taking out all their negativity into the words you’d poured your mind onto, leaving without an apology or at least a clement admonition.

There’s doubt that spreads across your mind. You watch as Eddie pokes his tongue out to graze his teeth, his thumbs drumming on your notebook, his own eyes flitting between your unaligned writing. But the smile that breaks across his charming face calms the dread down. Eddie looks at you, the crinkles on the corner of his eyes so endearing.

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues,” he reads out loud. “I like it. It’s very…savvy,”

“Savvy?”

“Savvy. Innovative. Creative,” you beam at him, your lips starting to ache from the bright smile you hold as Eddie’s head flips between your creative words and your contagious joy. “What? It’s amazing. Literally, all the words you can find in a dictionary that’s a synonym for creative. It’s—it’s that. W-what?”

His eyebrows join in a confused hill as the smile remains on his face, shaking his head at the shock that amalgamates with your glee. “Nothing,” you look away, feeling your entire body heating with the new sensation of appreciation. “I just thought it was kinda stupid. Like, maybe no one would understand it, y’know?”

Eddie’s thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Well, tell me what it means—hey, please?” he pouts playfully at you. “Tell me what it means, come on. I like it, I might as well know the meaning behind it, right?”

You shake your head in disbelief, placing the bottle on your shoulder to the space beside the two of you. “Alright. Um, well, a hill right? You get up this hill and you feel disconnected from the world in…a good way. You- lose all toxicity and burden this place gives you. And I chose purple because, well, I like the color purple,” you laugh nervously. “And, zipper blues. It’s this depressed feeling you get from moving around too much. So you get lost up this hill, you get rid of that sorrow, and just disconnect all your problems. And, I don’t know if it makes any sense but—I’m rambling too much. I’m sorry—”

“No!” Eddie reaches out to place his hand on top of yours, quick and urgent to touch you again and the way his hand softens on you feels like he’d been substantially relieved to do something Eddie’s stopping himself from doing. Like water to a slowly dying flower, your heart blooms at the touch you’ve wanted to sense since earlier as he stops you from your ranting. “It’s okay. I- I get what you mean. And it’s…”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently. “It’s…?”

“I’m thinking of other cool words,”

You laugh bashfully, a laugh he copies. A laugh that reaches his eyes, went from deep into something high like a giggle until a small snort comes from him. You feel elated to make him laugh this way despite saying nothing.

“It’s amazing, (y/n),” he doesn’t say Mandy, but it mantles your insides nonetheless. “You have other songs you’ve written?”

Toying with the neck of the beer, you nod. “I’ve got a couple of papers back in my place but, uh, I’m not exactly allowed to invite boys in my place yet.” he moues playfully. “But I could um, talk to you over it on the phone? Or give it to you tomorrow? I should just give it to you tomorrow, you don’t have to give me your number—”

Eddie squeezes your hand again. “Hey,” he chuckles at you. “Relax, Mandy. I’ll give you my number and we can talk, yeah?”

You feel like you’re waiting for an ice cream cone to be offered to you when Eddie plucks the pen behind your ear and writes his number down on the bottom of the page that he’s read. His writing is scrawny, unaligned like yours, capitalized when he leaves a note beneath the digits that you can’t read. He tells you not to read it yet after he offers to drive you home.

The drive to your home was filled with small talk and music from the stack of cassettes on the back of his car. Ranging from Metallica to Judas Priest as said from the cases you gave him. And despite his attempt at his careful driving, the van sways against the uneven asphalt of the town streets.

Eddie, with a hand on the steering wheel, has a hand hovering behind you as you twist your torso and lean towards the backseat to search for more cassette tapes.

“What are you even looking for?” he asks, carefully turning left. You pick through the mountain of unarranged music, placing them next to each other when you see something you’re not looking for. “Careful. You might fall forward and I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I found it—turn right!” The wheels of his car screech at the sudden pivot, makes you clutch the grab handle and his arm, feet lifting off the clutch and onto the brakes where he presses lightly. “Fuck,”

“Sorry,” he pushes his hair out of his face, glancing at the cassette in your hand. “Oh, I didn’t know I have that,”

The black case of Reggatta De Blanc is clutched tightly in your hold. “I didn’t know you listened to The Police,” you flip it, scanning the back. “They’re my favorite band.”

“I didn’t know you listened to rock,” he’s still pressing lightly on the brakes to slow the van down, the smoke leaving the hood grows both your concerns. “I used to listen to them. Well, when I used to drive my Uncle to work when his car broke down for a while. Refused to listen to any of my tapes. Misfits? No. Iron Maiden? Still no. I mean, I get that he’s old, or something, but he has to try new things out!”

You open his player and withdraw Sisters of Mercy, prompting him to express his displeasure with a half-joking gasp and a short 'hey!' across the cut music. But you swiftly insert the tape to stop him. Eddie's fists clench over the peeling leather steering wheel, his gaze fixed on you.

“The Police, huh,” he grins at you. You swallow the upbeat tempo of Message in a Bottle, bopping your head to the introduction riff. Eddie’s head turns between the road and you. “Thought you’d be more Kate Bush, or something. Billy Joel. Madonna, maybe. Queen. Elton John. The Cure…”

With a twisted smile, you run your nails through the polyester filament yarn of your seatbelt. “I do. I don’t have a specific genre, Munson,” you turn to him. “I can like anything. Hell, I like W.A.S.P. And Joan Jett”

He gasps, turning right. “& The Blackhearts?”

“Fuck yeah,”

Eddie’s tongue clicks with the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “What a potty mouth, Mandy.” his nose wrinkles when he laughs. Angelic, you think. A laugh a cult leader wouldn’t have; something Eddie would have.

“Well, people usually don’t believe me,” you laugh timidly. “‘S like people need to like just one genre and make it their whole personality. Like, what if I like metal and pop at the same time?” his eyebrows raise a bit. “Sorry. N-no offense. It’s just…annoying, at times.”

You remember being twelve, recently having left Hawkins with a deep frown on your face. But you had a girl invited to your room in search of a new friend. With a borrowed boombox, you showed her Blue Öyster Cult after going through countless tapes of pop artists. And when she found out that the band had a different type of music, way different than the ones you’d just listened to, she’d told you: listening to different types of music makes you unbalanced. You need to stick to the one that makes you you. Or else people wouldn’t know who you are.

Wise words for a pretentious girl, you thought back then. Nevertheless, you believed her.

For five years.

But when you returned to Hawkins, you need reinvention. Because girls were only ever interesting when they’d reinvent themselves every once in a while to keep people hooked on. And you were tired of being unseen, invalidated; so you went back to your older self. Someone who played the piano but enjoys metal as much as Eddie Munson did, from what you’ve seen. You want to show him that side of you, in hopes for affirmation.

“None taken,” he breathes. “But, you’re right. No need to apologize.” your stomach buzzes with his accordance. “Metal’s just…me, though,” unlike earlier, Eddie turns the hazard before he turns. “So, I hope you don’t mind a man with a shag who’s a high school repeat’s driving you home, sweets,”

Sweets. Your whole body burns in the best way, biting back a smile. “No. I don’t mind. I like that.”

“I like that for you, though,” he gesticulates to you. “Being unashamedly yourself. Without aaany judgment whatsoever. And, uh, that’s amazing,” Eddie, although with his words genuine, smiles weakly and sweetly at you; harbors something that he wants to say but stops himself from doing so. “I should be like you more often.”

“I think you’re already being yourself,” your eyes trace the scratches on the windows, the slight blur on the corner of his windscreen; what once was a far distance of a motion blur of modern homes turns slower when Eddie’s foot lifts slowly from the accelerator. “I should be like you.”

“Trust me. You-...” when he looks at you, he visibly softens at your countenance. His adam's apple bobs in what seems to be rich poignance with the way his pupils slightly shrink when he flits his eyes away from you, only to dilate and almost take over his brown irises when they look back at you a mere second later. Eddie chuckles dryly, can't help but smile earnestly at you. “I like you as yourself, (y/n),”

Your hand compels you to reach for his. Like magnets forced to meet. But the console which separates you both hinders you from doing so. But maybe it was your fear; your lack of courage. A film reel in your mind that slides through its mid-tone dull colors of a possible incident — he’ll hold your hand tighter with the gentle caress of his calloused thumb that alleviates the rigorous pounding of your heart and smiles brighter than the ultraviolet sun.

Or his face would twist in disgust and shove your hand back on your lap, lips curled into revulsion and he’d ask you what was wrong with you, reject any excuse that would come out of your mouth like they always did before he’d drop you home and ignore you like you didn’t exist.

Keep it together.

“Thanks,” you mumble, the pads of your thumbs come across the linear scars on your fingers. You see Eddie balk in his seat, lips pursed to make small incomprehensible sounds while he bobs his head to Message in a Bottle. Your house emerges, curtains drawn and run down car missing. Disappointedly, you press on the red button of the seat belt buckle. “Right here, Eddie.”

The van halts to a stop, passenger door right in front of the pathway to your small home. The radio lowers, the seat belt snapping back in place tickles your arm, and dismay wooshes with his loud ac.

But Eddie leaves unexpectedly before you do, the unlocking sound of his car door disappears quicker than the door slamming shut. You watch as he crosses over with squinted eyes, until he reaches to open your door, bowing lightly with an arm stretched towards your house; a smile that reaches up his eyes and a dimple that comes with.

“M’lady,” he nods his head at you. You can’t help but laugh, picking the bag up from between your legs and slinging it over your shoulder, the heat adding an unfortunate ache on your eyes that shoots up to your head and almost burns any skin that’s exposed. Eddie notices. “‘S hot, isn’t it?”

“Unusually hot,” you shake your head. Eddie closes the door, walking on the unmowed grass on your small lawn until you both end up beneath the porch, in the shade that soothes you.

His eyes desecrate the components of your door, tracing the doorbell button, lips making small psh sh sounds before Eddie finally looks down at you. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “But I already have yours.”

“So I can call you anytime, Mandy,” he laughs heartily. “I can’t exactly save phone numbers, can I?”

You flush in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry,” you take the pen from behind your ear, reaching out. “Can I have your arm, please?”

Eddie smiles. “Lovely manners.”

He shows you his arm, a small, almost unnoticeable butterfly tattooed on his wrist where you write your number above it. “Nice tat,” you smile up at him, your own blue ink that’s botched to almost unusable decorates his pale skin.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how I got that,” his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, watches your eleven digits appear on his wrist along the veins. “Nice,” he sings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get going,” Eddie tugs on his bracelet, his feet lifting off the porch. “See you ‘round, Mandy. Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari for me, won’t you?”

You bid him goodbye with a sad wave, but you cover it with a smile.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. Huh.

Morphine city slippin' dues

Down to see

That we don't even care

As restless as we are

It was a battle between who was gonna call first.

That day when Eddie drove back to the trailer, quietly as Wayne took a nap on the fold-up bed in the living room, he went inside his bedroom and locked the door. Barely was it night. Barely. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed clad in nothing but a random shirt and boxers as he waited for your call.

Nothing.

So he sat and played and thought and dreamed.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari? What the fuck does that even mean?

The first ring on his phone, it hadn’t come from you. Mike Wheeler asked if he’d used any kind of shampoo on his hair, and what brand it had been. Eddie answered that it was three-in-one, no specific brand. Just anything he could afford. The second had come from Dustin, who’d asked about something DnD related that Eddie had already forgotten.

And then the third was from Reefer Rick, who was put on probation and asked how he was and honestly, the phone call lasted for two hours. A conversation that barely included any drug talk whatsoever and simply what had happened in their lives.

So obviously, Eddie couldn’t help but mention you. Minus your name for safety reasons.

“Shit, dude. She’s… she’s nice. She’s smart and she writes songs like I do and she plays the piano. And I actually met her before! ‘S just that I don’t exactly-... remember it, y’know?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fallin’ in love, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“You know about love and how dangerous it is, don’t you?”

He did.

Like a dangerous game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Yet there he was, the sun gone and the skies Stygian, painted with scattered specks of the burning stars and the crescent moon. Eddie’s patience had slowly been wilting, his knee bounced on the floor and his ass was sore from sitting too long on his lumpy mattress. A notebook in hand with his own clusterfuck of rhyming words with deep elucidations in hopes you’d be talking about songwriting.

And when the phone rang, he stood up faster than the speed of light and he took the handset off the wall and pressed it up to his tingling ears.

“Hello?”

A huff of a laugh. “Hey, Eds.”

Eds. Eds Eds Eds Eds.

His heart palpitated; a ruthless attack of the Cupid’s red piercing arrow shot through his heart. Eddie Munson rested his hand against the wall and the other tight on the phone receiver as his knees liquified from your giggle.

“Hey there, Mandy.”

“I took your lyric, by the way,” he could only imagine what you looked like that night—pajamas, sleep shorts, a crop top, or a random band shirt he thinks you’d totally have, you’d still be pretty nonetheless. “Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. It’s very impressive. Kinda making me not want to give you credit here,”

Eddie shook his head in playful disbelief and turned over to rest his back on the wall with a silly smile and a belly full of butterflies. “I’d very much appreciate the credit. At least then the world would know who I was.”

A playful sound of consideration kisses his eardrums. “Maybe. Yeah, sure. I’ll give you credit.”

Since then, phone calls had been filled with exchanged conceptualizations and words written with a botched ballpen onto crumpled pieces of papers; Eddie would see you in school, too. Passing each other shy smiles, listening to music in his van as he offers to drive you home, his hand discreetly turning back to you to pass notes during History. He no longer found the random fuzz on his table interesting and thought that the girl who answered his notes that ended each message with a smiley face was way more interesting than anything else in the world.

Maybe DnD and metal, too. But you came in first.

And every night, after a campaign or band practice, after his uncle would wish him farewell before heading off to work, the usual jejune midnights had turned into cavorting twilight nights. Before he knows it, he’s already brushing his teeth at six pm, like you’d smell his breath through the phone, and bounces his knee in anticipation in front of the phone.

One night, when Wayne stayed home to get some proper rest, he'd noticed how Eddie had barely left the room to watch the tv with him, or how he hasn't played a guitar in weeks, or suddenly rush out a farewell to meet his friends.

He took a peek in the crack of his bedroom door, saw how his nephew had a lovesick smile as he laid on the floor with the phone on his ear babbling about things that has happened on his day or something about his past.

"You've been hogging up the phone, Eddie. I've got someone to call too, you know?"

Poor Eddie yelped, almost dropping the phone to the ground. Wayne chuckles, walking over to him which made Eddie clutch the phone to his chest. Wayne claps his shoulder.

"Yeah like who? That recently divorced mom beside Kapinsky's trailer?"

He jested to his uncle, who barks out a laugh. "Probably. I'm not the only one trying to woo girls here, son,"

"I- I'm not trying to woo him, man! I'm just-... trying to be her friend."

Wayne huffs with a smile and a light shake of his head.

It went on for weeks; countless calls that he didn't realize months had passed. Every day, every night, you’d become his friend; conversations started turning into somewhat remedial talks other than songwriting, telling each other the stories in your lives that none had experienced, talking shit of the judgementals and the great pretenders, and gave each other keys to your hearts for safekeeping.

“What ever happened to Benny’s Burgers?”

“Heard some Russian kid got him killed, or something. Jason’s using it for his orgies now. Like ritualistic sacrifices are way more important than teenagers having sex all together. The children of god hath given into their temptations! Those gents might not but repent their sins for foul fornication!”

“Eddie, I don’t care if you sell drugs. Half the kids in my old school in Queens sold them. Would almost kill each other for ‘stealing’ their clients. Hell, even half of the NYPD sold drugs.”

“In all honesty, it’s weird how you’re so normal about this.”

“My mom died when I was a baby. The orphanage had different answers on how I ended up there, though. My dad died, he was in jail, he dumped me there. But it doesn’t matter — I’ve got a new family now, anyway.”

“My old man’s in prison. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died too, so at least we have that in common, eh?”

“Sometimes I wish people cared. Like-... sometimes I wish they’d see me; stop treating me like a ghost and ask ‘hey, what songs can you play on the piano?’ and all that shit. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’d you feel about getting left at an orphanage? Sorry, I hit you on the shoulder.’ And all that stuff.”

“‘M kinda tired of being seen as a freak. I know everybody has their own thing. But sometimes I… wish I liked the same thing everybody else did. But that’s the thing about society and their codependency on approval — you like something that people think is far from normal, or something that people say isn’t- trendy, you’re a freak. I mean, sorry I like playing a fantasy game than Monopoly. Or- that I like Eddie Van Halen than Olivia Newton-John.”

“Hey, you love Olivia Newton-John!”

Laying in his bed of lumps and stains, Eddie imagined he’s in a field. The tall grass stroking his inked skin, the clouds that hover over him, all his devotion laid upon the clouds that mutate into your silhouette, which beguiles him more. And even when his visual morphs the sky gray and lets its sickening tears drip down onto him, he stares up at this cloud indentation of you that looks back at him. Until it’s blown away and he finally sees your spellbinding beauty.

“Hey,” your voice startled him. “Still there, or you’re asleep?”

“No. This is Eddie’s soul speaking. He’s very asleep,” his jest was followed by an obnoxious snore that made you laugh brightly. He smiles. “Yeah, no. I’m still here. Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you softly said. “Hey, um, my neck’s aching.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you wanna continue this tomorrow?” Eddie twirls the cord around his finger, trapping the phone between his neck and ear.

“No,” you sighed. “Keep talking, please?”

“Okay,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Band practice went well. We, uh, learned a new song. Something that’s not metal. Gareth was kind of a bitch about it but hey, there’s no harm in trying something new.”

“Really?” he nodded, remembering you were not there before he said ‘yes’. “What song is it?”

Eddie turned to his side, facing his Blue Öyster Cult poster. “It’s a surprise, Mandy,” his scoff etched a smile on his frivolous face. “You’ll hear it when you come to Hideout.”

“Shame,” he thought you’d been pouting. Playfully, with your pink lip jutted out. “What should I wear when I watch, though?”

“Anything you want,” it made him panic a little; he didn’t have an outfit for the show. Eddie sat up, his foot knocking over an empty bottle that fell down on his floor that thankfully did not break but was loud enough to disrupt you.

“What was that?” you had asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he clutched his ankle, face crumbling in pain. “Yeah, babe, I’m alright,”

Shit.

He sensed it then. When your breathing went silent, when his heart stopped beating for a millisecond, the way your mind registered what he said the same time he did. Eddie’s body had loosened in panic.

“Okay,” you finally said, quiet and gentle. “Um, careful.”

“Thanks,” he almost said it again, getting himself distracted. “Thanks, (y/n),”

A pregnant pause. Eddie was massaging his ankle with a look that berated him for his idiotic freudian slip. He scolded himself by bumping the sore spot against the foot of his bed, hard enough that another loud thump was heard and tears brimmed the edge of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on in there?” you chuckled incredulously.

“Nothing!”

“You know what? You should come here before you accidentally trip on a knife.”

Eddie’s head dipped. “I thought you weren’t allowed to invite boys in your home?”

“I can rebel, you know,” he felt an eye roll. “Besides, my parents aren’t home and- I’m bored. And my neck hurts and everything’s better when you’re here.”

He deceived himself into thinking you meant nothing in the last part. Eddie felt the warmth rise to his cheeks then, something he’d grown familiar to seeing as it only happens when he’s with you.

“Sure,” he picked up a random pair of shoes beneath his bed and opened his drawer to pull out the finest pair of jeans he owned. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

That night, he parked his van a few houses from yours, and he immediately spotted the purple curtain of your windows. The light dimmed with the yellow warmth of your lamp, your silhouette moving across with something rectangular in your hand that he can only assume was your notebook. He felt slightly eccentric.

Eddie, ever the man who loves to put on a good show, decided to climb up the side of your home using the uneven ridges of the brick wall and your pipes. His palms had lightly scratched against the rough surface of the bricks, where he used all his strength to lift himself up until his head peeks through your window.

When his forearms rested on the stool of your window, he propped himself on one arm and used his left hand to knock rhythmically on the glass. Eddie saw your silhouette stop pacing, your shadow growing as you near your window and pulled the curtains back.

He’d smiled, bigger when he saw your shocked, wide-eyed gaze. Eddie knows you’re berating him when he hears your muffled rambling. You unlatched the window and pulled it up, your hands clutching his bare elbows.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “I told you my parents are gone. And you come up through the window? Are you insane? You could break your back or stab yourself with the bushes!”

Eddie fell face down, his cheek meeting your carpeted floor. He pressed his palms on the ground, pulling his entire body in until he flopped on your floor. And when he finally fixed himself and rids of the leaves and dirt that stuck to him, he stood up. And you slap his arm.

He gawped at you. “Ow!” he pouts, massaging his arm. “You wound me.”

“Relax,” Eddie took his shoes off. “It was just a slap, you drama queen.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your body. You were wearing a band shirt: Dead or Alive. He didn’t know who they were. But he didn’t care because then he’s got his eyes on your exposed legs, black sleep shorts that barely come across half your thighs and it made him swallow thickly, his blood flowing everywhere and god forbid had he popped a boner right in the middle of your room, he would have jumped out your window and broke his neck instead.

“Y-you know me,” his voice cracked the slightest. “Always a queen. Which is why I love the Queen. Not the Queen of England. The band, I mean. Well, I listen to them occasionally.”

You sat on your bed, kicking his shin. “I know, dummy.”

That had been a couple of nights ago.

Now he’s sitting bored, fourth row in the second lane, his chin on his palm, right hand drawing a small bat on the corner of his notebook. Along with some other words until he quietly rips the page off, folds it, and takes it in his hand before he moves it behind him.

Eddie feels the paper slip off his fingers. He thinks of your smile, whether it be a toothy grin, a closed lip or the one that made your teeth shine prettily. His body shivers from head to toe, cheeks tingling while his knee bounces in anticipation.

A light graze on his bare elbow startles him, the heel of his foot knocking against the metal leg of his seat. He takes the paper from the corner of his table, silently unfolding it.

I think that’s a bad idea.

Offended, he writes. I just said hi >:(

He gets a quick reply after he gives it to you. I can smell you thinking. I’m like a vampire. And I’m already telling you that filling someone’s locker with shaving cream is boring and a bad idea.

You snicker when he takes a quick glance at you with a silent gasp. Then what do you suggest we do?

Fill it with shaving cream and stick someone’s hair in it. It’s grosser.

It’s followed by a brief drawing of two stick people, one with a small triangular skirt and one with a guitar in it’s hand, in front of a crooked rectangle which he assumes is the locker, the door opened and curved drawings oozing out. And some small, clustered lines that represent the hair you’d told him about.

Eddie smiles brightly, folding it and shoving it in his pocket before he shoots you a silly smile.

The bell rings, obnoxious and almost deafening. Eddie stands from his seat, watching you meticulously gather your stuff together, hands gently pushing your items inside your bag. He sits on his table, waiting.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mandy,” He tucks his book on his torso, watching you sling your bag over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at him. “It’s a great idea,”

“I’m not one for bullying, but I think, even though I contributed to your prank knavery, it’s pretty tame and shit,”

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, slapping the top of the door as he passes through. “Oh yeah? Give me something better, do tell.”

“I say fill the locker with water, but then it’ll just slip out,” he towers over you. Sometimes he likes to take advantage of the fact that people would move out of his way merely because they didn’t want to be touched or grazed by him like some disease; he can move faster. “Or we can get your little shrimps to make some machine type of thing that could explode in their locker.”

“Who? Dustin?” Eddie bumps his shoulder with yours. “I mean, yeah could be. And we can just blame it on him,”

“Great idea,” your face wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, who’s locker are you destroying, anyways?”

“Gareth’s,”

Your nose wrinkles. “What did Gareth ever do to you?”

“Breathing,” he sighs. “Anyway, are you doing something later?”

Even in a clustered hallway, Eddie finds it in himself to get the wind knocked out of him when you look up with pensive eyes. Your mouth parts, the ends of your front teeth peeking just a bit from beneath your top lip. You blink and your eyebrows widen.

“Nothing. Homework, maybe. Or just writing again,” his heart pangs at the sad sigh you let out. “Wanna come over?”

He brightens.

Eddie lays on your thick mattress, hands clasped together on top of the notebook that lays open on his chest. Eddie scans every saxe glory of your blue walls, smelling the citrus fragrance of your new white sheets. It’s soft, maybe softer than the field up weathertop, and comforting. You sit on the edge of the bed, W.A.S.P. playing out loud but not loud enough for a complaint.

He turns his head to you, sees how your back is hunched with your notebook on your lap and your fingers drumming on the sides with your pen wedged in between your lips. Eddie leans up, peering over your shoulder.

I put my heart on a piece of paper and you throw it away(?) my heart’s on a string around my neck and

Half the page is scribbled words and annotations with doodles of flowers on the corners. The annoyance radiates off the inelegance of your structure, the bite marks that deepen on the plastic cap of your black pen, and your eyebrows that meet in the middle. Eddie wants to kiss your worry lines away, taking your face in his hands and wonder how, despite the agitated expression, could someone still look so pretty?

Taking his pen from beneath the notebook, he takes the cap off with his teeth. Eddie props himself up on one hand, crosses his arm over yours and presses the black tip on your lined page.

Hi. Notice me pls :(

You laugh cordially, snapping your head to him with your chin on your shoulder and his chin on your bicep, his bottom lip jutting out from the lack of attention.

“What’s up, Mands, huh?” his chin nudges your arm. You soften. “Writer’s block?”

“Writer’s block are for authors,” you say in a small voice.

“Writers. Songwriters. Semantics,” Eddie purses his lips. “Do you wanna turn the radio off? It’s what usually ruins the whole thinking thing, sometimes.”

“No,” you pout. “Maybe I just need a break. I don’t even know why I’m so upset about this. ‘S so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie readjusts himself, his upper body being propped up by his arm with his legs spread on your mattress, knocking your arm with his temple. “Tell me why you’re upset. Come on.”

You ruminate, staring deep into his eyes. “God, I don’t know, Eddie. It’s like my mind’s all hazy these days. It won’t work. Everytime I try to finish this stupid song, I- my mind just stops. It’s like I’ve forgotten the English dictionary, or something. I feel so illiterate. A freakin- a fucking ten year old could make a christmas jingle faster than I can finish this stupid stanza.” you slam your pen in the middle, closing your eyes in a deep sigh. “It’s tiring— I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Eddie wants to draw this out. Close the space that’s almost not even there and take you into his arms as he heeds the words you avow with the silk petal of your voice that burrs when you tiptoe the edge of a breakdown. But you’re already looking away from him with a visible wobble of your bottom lip.

“Hey, hey,” he finally sits, ignoring the ache on his arm when he limits himself by touching your shoulder rather than grasping your chin; there’s still the lingering hesitation of crossing boundaries when it comes to physical contact, and he doesn’t want to drive you away. “You don’t talk too much. I love listening to you talk,”

A shimmer in your eyes from the tears that coat your irises. You blink rapidly and smile weakly. “Thanks. That’s- that’s nice.”

“You know what,” he plops to his stomach, reaching over to the ground where his open bag laid and took out two cans of Budweiser, warm with dents on the silver tin. “Let’s drink— just one! Have you ever tried?”

“I told you I used to live in New York. The only things I haven’t tried are coke and marijuana,” you take the can from him. “My dad gave me beer when I was fifteen. Not exactly great parenting but, we were alone and he didn’t know what to feed me.”

He opens the can and drinks the bitter alcohol with ease, letting it leave a burning sensation on his tongue as he watches you do the same. Eddie chortles when your face rumples in distaste, a frown replacing your woeful pout.

“You alright there, Mands?” He raises a brow. “Sure your daddy didn’t give you apple juice?”

“Jesus christ,” you clear your throat. “I’m starting to think he did.” Eddie gently takes the can from you when you give it to him, gently placing it on your bedside table. “You know, Fred Benson has a party a couple blocks from here.”

Eddie takes another athirst sip. “Who?”

“Fred. The guy with glasses who’s with Nancy? I sat with him during lunch?”

“Oh right!” He sets his beer beside yours. “He’s nice. He put Hellfire Club in the student yearbook.”

“We should loosen up a bit,” you stand up, stretching your limbs and wince at the ache on your back. Your Beatles shirt, cut up to a midriff, exposes your stomach, a small scar just on the side of your hip and it makes Eddie flustered. He looks down at his hands. “We should go to the party.”

Eddie hops off your bed with the twist of his legs. “You can’t just leave. What about your parents?”

“I can rebel,” you repeat playfully. “And since when do you care about all that stuff, guy-who-got-arrested-once-when-he-sold-weed-to-an-undercover-cop?"

“I care when it comes to you,” he says softly, and he thinks you must have been pretending not to hear what he said. “Gonna call them or leave a note?”

“Gonna tell them I’ll sleep at Nancy’s,” you pull your drawer open and take a yellow sticky note out, scribbling down. Eddie takes his shoes from beside your bedroom door, frowning at the smudged dirt on the heel of his right shoe before he slips them on. “Can you wait outside? I’m gonna change.”

You looked breathtaking.

Embellished in a simple dress that stopped just above your knees, a pair of high-cut canvas sneakers that needed a bit of washing; a jubilant vogue that beguiles him, lifting him off his jittery fee. Your adroit hands accoutred in rings with lilliputian gems, warped around your dexterous fingers in delicate silver wires. And your hair, free from all its restraint, flowing down your shoulders.

Driving to Fred’s house, you looked like a bright star found in the darkness of Eddie’s van. Sat on his seat, listening to all his metal mixtapes and headbanging to the songs you found endearing. His heart quivers whenever you awe at mixtapes you find in the back of his car.

You were beautiful.

Covet reigns his cynical heart; he yearns to touch you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, holding your hand, or taking your face into his palms and telling you all the things that’ll make you smile. He wants to fortify you from all the savage things that ought to hurt you; Eddie yearns to proclaim his devotion into a dulcet whisper until he feels the rapidness of your heartbeat that thumps against his.

But confusion regnants. He doesn’t know why he feels this way for a friend who simply knocked the wind out of him by wearing a simple dress. Then again, he thinks if it were any other person, they’d feel the same way. It’s you. You and your kind, shy, delicate heart that he wants to keep.

You, that he’s also lost.

It has been an hour since you guys have arrived. Maybe more than an hour. Eddie doesn’t know, but when he glances at his watch, it’d already been eleven in the evening. He wasn’t fond of parties but when it came to you and anything related to your happiness, he’d tolerate it. And for the first time in his life, in a house full of alcohol, he’s still sober. For your sake.

You told him you’d go to the bathroom, and he waited at some couch, stuck between two very drunk people who made out and completely forgot that they’re sitting right next to Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. But, in all honesty, it felt nice not having someone run away as soon as they saw him.

But when twenty minutes pass, where he debates on fetching you in case something happened, or thought maybe you were taking a shit, he ultimately decides to search for you.

Foreigner guides him between the sweaty limbs of drunk teens and students who’ve already graduated high school but remained in Hawkins (aka Steve Harrington. He saw a glimpse of his voluptuous hair towering over the crowd).

“I wanna know where (y/n) is,” he sings subconsciously. “I want you to show me,”

And then, he sees you. In a situation that proves his nagging thoughts right.

Standing against the wall is a drunk you. And lo and behold, Steve Harrington peers over you with a flushed face that spreads up to his neck, shirt unbuttoned like he’s seducing you with the jungle on his chest. Eddie feels the bottom of his stomach twist uncomfortably, a twinge of jealousy floating within the acids inside.

He pushes the people away, as gently as he could, making his way toward you.

“I know— Eddie!” you gasp, pushing away from the wall. You open your arms and fall against him, wrapping your limbs around his torso tightly so that it makes him just as shocked as Steve was. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting,” a hand massages your forearm, the other resting cautiously on your back. “You said that I stay there.”

“Have you met Steve?” Eddie smiles tightly at him. He tries to hide his disappointment when you uncurl an arm from him.

“Yeah, I met him,” he says softly. “Dustin kept on talking about him.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Uh- yeah. Nice seeing you again, man.” he nods his head at him. “Haven’t seen you since I left highschool,”

“Kinda surprised you’re still here,”

He narrows his eyes at Eddie. “I could say the same,” Steve runs his hand through his hair, shifting all his weight on his left leg. “Didn’t you repeat high school?”

You gasp beneath Eddie, turning your head at him. “You repeated high school?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah but I forgot,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

It used to. Until you came back.

Eddie’s mouth parts, but all that could come out was. “Wanna go back home?”

“I haven’t peed yet,”

“You’ve been talking to Steve for twenty minutes?” he exclaims his disdain over this fact, tightening his arm around you without even realizing it. “Alright, I’m taking you up to the bathroom,”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve reaches out to grasp Eddie’s elbow, clumsily but tight as he can see the drunken gloss in his eyes. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Oh I heard it loud and clear,” he scoffs. “You’re not taking a drunk girl to the toilet, Munson.”

Eddie turns, hiding you behind him and lets you pick on the loose thread of his vest. “And what do you expect me to do? Let her piss herself in here?” he wonders wherever Steve found the nerve to act all protective over you. “Sending her up there alone is more dangerous, Harrington.”

“And you think I’ll let you take her up there?”

“Hey, excuse me,” with your hands around Eddie’s torso, you spin, your cheek right on the DIO print of his vest. “If you’re thinking that Eddie would take advantage of me, h’wont. You don’t know him. He- he won’t do what you’re thinking,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You know, if you people would just take the time to get to know him, you’d know that he’s not a freak. Or that he’d sacrifice me to the devil, or some shit. He’s a really nice person and you’re just—judgemental morons. And I really need to fucking pee.”

Your sweet mien is stripped off. An austere look makes Steve stumble back, face flushed in embarrassment than inebriation. He sputters out an apology, his eyes sobering in genuity. But surprisingly, he apologizes to Eddie. “I’m just drunk. I know it’s not an excuse but… she’s my friend.”

Still, with your words that left his heart unveiling and pounding like a fast drum bass, Eddie nods his head at him in slight forgiveness. “I get it, man. No hard feelings.”

(But he still is jealous that Henderson liked him more.)

Eddie takes you into his arms, smiles reassuringly at you as he pushes your hair out of your face, and leads you up to the nearest bathroom.

Lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go

Beneath the sound of hope

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But maybe he’s wrong.

You sit patiently in the passenger seat, swaying to a Barry Manilow mixtape you found in Fred’s house that Eddie didn’t stop you from taking. He watches you from inside the convenience store, the beep of the scanner faint as well as the jingle of coins.

He bids a quiet goodbye to the cashier and pockets his change, holding two water bottles in his hand, sauntering to his vibrating van, and hopping in with ease.

Your eyes snap open, wide in its demiurgic inebriation. Eddie shuts the car door, placing his bottle on the cup holder in front of the gear shift so he could open yours to save you the struggle before he hands it to you. “Sober up, princess,”

Although half-drunk, you manage to swallow his sobriquet and flush. Princess. Babe. Mandy. What’s next? Love of my life?

God, I kinda hope so.

Eddie’s got his eyes on you, searching for any signs of struggle as you open the bottle with a small grunt before you bring the plastic up to your lips, swallowing heavily. Your eyes flutter shut, eyelashes caressing the gentle skin of your cheeks as you moan.

“Shit,” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What’s in the water?”

“Special K,” he jokes, opening his own. “You sober yet?”

“I can physically feel it-” you gesture your hands to yourself, waving it in a downward motion as you swallow the thick saliva on the edge of your tongue. “-disappear. I can feel it go down to my bladder.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he faces the steering wheel and twists the key in the ignition. “Just make sure you don’t have to pee yet. I’m gonna take you somewhere,”

You screw the cap back on, tugging on the ends of your dress as solemn curiosity makes you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Ooh. Where ya takin’ me, Eds?”

“It’s a surprise,” he pulls out of the parking lot, watching carefully from the rearview mirror with his eyes squinted. “I take Dustin up there every morning to talk to his girlfriend. But there’s a special spot I’m taking you.”

“Dustin has a girlfriend?” you gasp. “I always thought he made that up,”

“Oh, but she’s very real,”

Tucking the bottle beneath your chin, you wriggle your brows at him with a skittish look. It enamors him, and it can’t stop him from turning his head at you and smiling softly. He wishes this would last — a fortuitous moment of abundant reposefulness, in his shitty van with your presence gracing the darkness of his world.

Your face reappears in the darkness whenever a streetlight passes by. And every spark, you grow even more beautiful despite the intoxication that drops a barbell onto your eyelids. Eddie watches the buildings disappear, replaced by old trees, huddled together beside the road that swishes and collides with the passing breeze.

With the doo-wop music pleasing to your ears, you hum beneath your breath, hand reaching out to roll the windows down and peak your head out. The wind strokes your skin headily, but the attempt to sober you is in vain. At least, with the alcohol that’s left in your system; you're clearheaded enough to register the lyrics from the radio and Eddie’s words of carefulness.

Unable to detach his eyes from the lengthy road, Eddie filches every moment he’d glance at you out of worry you’d get your head decapitated off a pole or anything that passes by.

But the sight of you with your back arched against the open window, hands in the air and your hair across your tipsy face was enough to relieve his worry. Were his eyes cameras, he’d taken every picture at every blink he took and kept in his mind. Just in case he’d never see such an unfathomable sight again.

“Hey, Mandy,” he yells slightly. “Having fun there, girl?”

“Totally,” you sigh, teeth gleaming. “Are we there yet, Munson? The inside of my mouth’s getting all dry here.”

“Get back inside, then,” he glouts playfully. “We’re almost there, babe.”

He’s getting really fucking comfortable with those petnames, now.

You slither yourself back inside, slumping on his chair, your dress ridden up to your thighs. Eddie blushes from his face to his chest, snapping his eyes back on the road as you squirm on your seat, tugging on the ends until you’ve settled properly and rose the window up halfway.

He tugs on the collar of his Paranoid shirt, a stark contrast to his exposed, opalescent skin. “You had fun poking your head out the window?” he cocks a brow. “Or do you still wanna go chase the cars that pass by thinkin’ they’re treats?”

“Dick,” you kick his shin, dirt smudging on his blue jeans.

Eddie stops beside a broken fence, the vibration of his van coming to a halt when he twists the keys from the ignition and pulls it off. You blindly open the car door much to his dismay, and hop off with bleary feet. He does the same, shuts the door the same time you did and watches you cross over the van until you stand in front of him.

But you look at the hills, high and dark; its luscious green grass unseen by the darkness. He watches your jaw relax and your blinks decelerate.

“We’re gonna walk up there?” you say smally, fiddling with your rings.

“You don’t wanna?” his left eye narrows, a small pout coming up to draw itself on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I can try to drive my car up the hill. Unless you also don’t wanna climb up the hill then I can just take you wherever you wanna go.”

You shake your head, tugging on his leather bracelet, hooking your finger around the ornament and crossing the shattered fence. “I can do it. I’m—I’m sober enough. I think I just have to remove my shoes. Hold on,”

He crosses the fence first, planting his feet on the ground as you use him as leverage. You balance yourself on one foot, pulling on the laces of your shoes and pulling it until he sees your socks—blue covered in black bats. Eddie takes your shoe as you do the same to the other, until he’s got your high-cuts in one hand, and the other being pulled by you.

Everything was untroubled. Laughs shared when he trips and scrapes his bare knee on the uncut grass; your socks darkened by the damp soil, his white Reeboks the same. And Eddie matches your heavy huffs, the remaining energy on his body on his legs that continue to lift him up the hill.

When you reach the top, you half-yell in relief, bending with your hands on your knees. Eddie sets your shoes down, letting himself fall on his ass. Once you’ve obtained your spent breath, you plop down beside him.

“Holy shit,” you press your hands on the earth below, shifting to rest on your knees. “Eds, we can see Hawkins from here,”

You see the lights that brighten up the town. The miniscule homes of the village from across, the burnt Starcourt mall, the sirens that lead its way to the Hospital and the variegated radiance from the arcade. You gawp silently.

“Exactly why I took you up here,” he tugs down on your dress when the wind blows it up, keeping his eyes at your face. “And if you look very closely, or if you have the eyes of an owl, you can see the trailer park.”

He laughs amusingly when you squint your eyes. Eddie knows if he can’t see it, so can’t you. But you try, nonetheless.

“I don’t see it,” you lament, sitting back down beside him. Eddie tries to ignore the weight you rest on his arm; the pinky that grazes his behind your backs for anchor, and how your bare legs graze his jeans but despite the covering, he can feel the heat radiating off your body.

“You’ll see it better when the sun’s up,” he leans on his right arm, shoulder bumping yours when he reaches for his Lucky Strike pack. Eddie flips it open, his small lighter lodged to the side of his cigarettes. You peer over, chin on his shoulder. He pulls out one, sticking it between his middle and index before he uses his thumb to pull his lighter out.

Then he looks at you, nose beside yours with the minimal proximity. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” you say. “My dad smokes. The dad who adopted me, I mean.”

“I know,” he smiles before he sticks the cigarette between his lips. He shoves his pack back on his pocket, sitting back down. “Do you smoke?”

The question was muffled through a lisp, but was still understandable. “Haven’t tried,” you answer. “But I almost did. It was weed, actually, that shit you sell? When I came back during summer, Steve picked me up and he asked me if I wanted to get high,”

“Really?” The cigar bobs when he speaks, the hand that cups over lowers slightly, his thumb stopping on the sparkwheel. “How long have you and Harrington been friends?”

He finally lights it up, the white paper burning into a crisp orange until smoke begins to vent. “Since middle school. Met him after my parents adopted me from my foster care. They took me to Hawkins, our house was near his, and we were invited to dinner by Steve’s parents when they were still present in his life.”

A burning jealousy on the pit of his stomach, ignited not by the lighter. “Were you good friends?”

“I’d like to think we were,” you tilt your head back and look at him. Eddie feels your pinky tap his, which he taps back. “When his parents started going on business trips, and mine were…well, working in Hawkins, Steve and I hung out in either his bedroom or mine,” you smile at him. “But, we rarely talked when I left for New York. It was a phone call every three months. And then he picked us up at the airport,”

He lets the smoke leave the corner of his lips, on the other side where you weren’t. “Did he, uh, tell you all that shit about Henderson and Wheeler?”

“Through the phone. It’s kind of crazy,” his heart flutters at your light smile. “You know, I’m not sure if I should tell you this shit or not, but he told me about this whole thing about- monsters, and all that crap. Demogorgons, demodogs, the Upside Down. The Mind Flayer-”

“What, like DnD?” Eddie snorts. “Maybe the little shrimp talked to him about it, who knows,”

“I mean, he was half-drunk when he told me,” your lips purse. “Either he played DnD, or he dreamt about it. I mean, I asked Nancy about the Starcourt fire but she wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Eddie takes another puff, a long one that reaches his lungs. “‘M pretty sure he was just stoned,”

“What about you?” he sees you observe the cigarette, but he’s sure you’d been looking at his hands first and his dimly lit rings. “How’d you know him?”

He taps his finger on the rod, chunks falling down on the grass on the minimal space between your legs. “High school,” his lips twist into a frown. “I had my first senior year with him. And- uh, he was a douchebag. King Steve,” Eddie nods his head, a sardonic smile offered to you. “And when Henderson came and said that he was awesome, kept on insisting, actually, it was hard to believe.”

“Did he ever, uh,”

“Call me a freak?” he finishes. “Once. Twice. Dunno. We crossed paths but never really met, I guess. We knew we existed in each other’s lives but we never really acknowledged. He was too gung ho on Nancy Wheeler,”

You chortle, a plain snort leaving you that renders him amused. “Oh, God. Nancy. D’you know Steve wouldn’t stop talking about her whenever he called me.”

“You ever get jealous?”

He hopes you say no. Never did. He’s my friend. Only ever liked him as a friend. I don’t like his hair, I don’t like his smug smile. Eddie doesn’t care if it deems him jealous. But there’s nothing bad in hoping, right?

“No,” you ponder for a bit. “Maybe,”

His heart sinks.

“Only because I wished someone talked about me the way he did to Nancy,” a pensive gloss covers your irises, lit by the vibrant colors of the town upon your grazing knees and swaying feet. “He sounded so in love. And I always thought about how she would feel if she knew someone talked about her like that.”

He sighs. “You never know,”

You think he’s in thought, with the way his shoulder presses against yours absentmindedly and the silence that’s drawn out from his peart mien.

“I had this dream when I was a kid,” you whisper. “That I was the greatest pianist in the world. I was singing with Billy Joel and—everybody knew who I was,” Eddie smiles. “And, ever since that dream, I’ve taught myself how to be one of the greatest pianists in the World,”

You exert amenity towards him when he laughs bemusingly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your eyebrows furrow for a split second.

A sudden memory climbs its way to his head. “Do you remember back in middle school? We, uh, hung out a lot after the talent show. And- and all we did was play music,” He says it with slight uncertainty; he himself can barely remember all those times yet he based on a single memory. “We played this one song all the time.”

“Does Everyone Stare,” you answer. “The Police.”

“That one,” he nods his head. “Because it was the only song we knew how to play that had guitars and pianos.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you nod. “I can’t believe we forgot each other,”

“But I do remember some parts,” he takes a short hit. “You said that you wanted to marry Billy Joel, and then you kept on bragging to me how you could play Die Young like, fifty times,”

“Only the Good Die Young!” you correct him. “God, yes! I played that even when I was in Queens. My grandma loved that song.”

“I always wondered why you had a huge crush on him. He was old,”

“He was not!” you gasp.

Eddie shrugs, lips curling in amusement when a huff leaves his nose. “Yes he was! And it was a good reason for me to get jealous, too,”

Shit.

If he could, he’d ululate his stupidity into the sky and embarrass himself further because it’s already out now, isn’t it? But confirming your jealousy didn’t mean he’d harbored feelings for you, right? He could be jealous for other reasons like…

He doesn’t remember.

“Jealous?” you repeat. “You were jealous of Billy Joel because I liked him?”

“We were kids. Hell, I got jealous when Tommy H. brought his Nintendo to school. Or when Barb Holland—may she rest in peace—won class president. I get jealous all the time,” he snickers. “Don't let it get into your big head, Mandy.”

Double crossed between his lies and what you truly perceive, you shake your head mirthly. “Yeah. Okay, Munson.” you roll your eyes at him. “God I… whenever I played that song, I always imagined I was in a concert. With this… huge grand piano. I’d play for those snobby rich people, then I’d get roses thrown at me. I’d play so hard my fingers would bleed and they’d give me a standing ovation,”

Eddie smiles. “What a dream,” he looks away, chin on his neck when he looks down on his lap. “I’d be your first ever watcher. Then I’ll throw tomatoes at you and boo you off the stage,”

He looks back at you and you laugh jovially.

The muddle of alcohol in your head almost makes you miss how his jaw clenches and his eyes soften. A solemn twinkle in his button eyes, nostrils flaring as he stares at you with the smoke on his cigarette flowing between the tangled strands of his hair.

Suddenly nervous with his intense stare, you nod at his cigarette. “Can I-uh, try?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, sure.”

He offers it to you with a balk stutter on his hand. You lean over, your hand almost on his thigh as you wrap your lips around, lipstick staining the orange filter that leaves a pink coruscating shine. Brazen do you inhale, cheeks sucked in, gray smoke filling your lungs until you cough abruptly and push it away.

Smoke puffs when you cough and he laughs jubilantly. “Mandy!”

“Fuck,” your hand grasps his shoulder, the other covering your mouth. “Christ. No wonder why my dad says I shouldn’t smoke. Oh- shit. Ah.”

He pats around beside him. “We left our water in the car,”

“Screw it. I’ll try again,” you wrap your hand around his wrist and take the cigarette in your mouth, sucking like your life had depended on it until Eddie himself has to pull it away. It’s a bit calmer this time, no coughs and only smoke.

His palm meets the side of his hand to a mock applause. “Bravo.”

“Who taught you this?”

Eddie takes a short puff. “My old man,”

Your smile falls. “Oh, shit, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “My…mom got mad when she found out. I was eight,” he licks his lips. “And, you know, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. But highschool happened and before I knew it, I have a metal lunchbox full of packs and weed,”

You feel his pink shyly tap yours. “My mom used to take me up here,” Eddie continues. “Way before Dustin did and- we used to go up before the sunrise so we could watch it. When he was dead asleep,” he swallows thickly. “She’d make these sandwiches, chocolate and peanut butter, and we’d eat them while we watched the sun rise; and she’d point out all these butterflies,” he shows you his wrist where the insect lays. “And she said ‘Eddie, you must always cherish the beginning of a new day,’”

He mimics the voice of his mother in a high-pitched voice and a tone that lilts to a posh border. Eddie knows it’s not exactly her voice, but he loves a good impression.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you whisper.

“She was,” Eddie muses, a melancholy wave that crashes on him as he lays on the undertow, helpless. “She always had this bubble of hope, even if my dad always popped it. She just kept on blowing, and smiling, and loving even though she was struggling and honestly,” he looks at you with a sad smile, “she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,”

Your heart breaks the slightest. But he looks at you like the brightest star he's ever found.

“She always had a bubbly personality even when everything was tough,” he sighs. “And I haven’t done this. Watching the sunrise since she, y’know, because I always slept in,”

His chuckle makes you smile breathlessly. But it had been more wistful. There’s a mosaic of maudlin rings over your eyes, on the verge of shattering. “Is that why you took me up here?”

“Kind of,” he drops his head sideways. “There’s no sunrise, though. So I hope this will suffice,”

“I’ll take anything you give me, Munson,” you smile softly. “It makes me happy, either way,”

Finally, your pinkies hook behind you. His finger is warm, bigger than yours but bears a whit of gracious familiarity. They hook, as thick as thieves; Eddie gifts you a smile so warm and loving that makes you lean close.

“Even if my van’s all run down and loud and on the verge of burning?” his eyebrow raises. “Or I stain your reputation?”

“I don’t even have a reputation,” you laugh. “But yes. Even if you van smells like marijuana and you, like, listen to Orgasmatron for god knows how many times. I’ll accept anything,”

I’ll accept anything.

Eddie leans close, tobacco breaths exchanged, nose bumping with yours; his eyes are low and hooded, his eyelashes that tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly, fearing that once he opens his eyes you’re a mist within the gray smoke. And fuck, you’re pretty.

Prettier than the barely there stars above you, prettier than the morphing clouds that entice him at seven in the morning, prettier than Sweetheart (his beloved guitar, yes); prettier than everything else, you being the center of attention, the only attraction in his terrifying world. His heart pounds like he’s fallen down the rollercoaster, and it feels gratifyingly amazing.

Your pinky clutches his tightly in a silent promise. And he vows to keep it, whatever it may be.

“Just where our bones will rest,”

Befuddled, he pulls back slightly. “What?”

“I thought of a lyric,” although disappointed, Eddie finds it in himself to smile lightly. “My heart's on a string around my neck and I stare just where our bones will rest.” you say. “Shit, Eddie, do you have a ballpen?”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he reaches for his pocket again and pulls out a blue pen with the cap covered in small indentation of bites. You frown. “Sorry. I get nervous a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you unscrew the cap. “Um, fuck,”

You unlace your pinky from his, pulling your left forearm out so you’d write the lyric just above your inner elbow, small across the skin of your forearm.

“I could get this tattooed,” you mutter. And then you look up at him with a proud, bright smile.

“I could do it,” his shoulders raise to a shrug. “I mean, I mostly do my own tattoos,” Eddie shows you his arms—the butterfly on his wrist, the bats on his forearm, before he pulls on the collar of his shirt and shows you The Devil. “Either I use my machine or the stick and needle,”

“Didn’t know you knew how to do tattoos,” you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s next? You can fix cars,”

He almost says yes.

You reach to touch the tattoo on his forearm in awe, delicate finger grazing his inked skin, petting the hairs on his arm. “Seriously. I’ll do it, (y/n),” he chuckles. “Just gotta tell me when,”

With your eyes gilded in delirium, you nod. And he smiles.

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But he had no idea he could fall in love twice.

You could remember how delicate he’d been.

Eddie had taken you back to his home. The place dark and desolate with the missing presence of his beloved uncle. He’d sat you down on his couch, apologized for how messy the place had been and that you’re getting your first tattoo at some dingy trailer. And you remember how your words succored the insecurity out of him; how he visibly deflated in relief and knelt in front of you.

Although covered in latex, his hands were warm against your arm, but it was incomparable to the spark you felt when you looped your pinky around his.

His words had saged the pain from the stabbing needles. Constant praises that made your stomach flip; ballyhoos that made your cheeks burn as your mind swallowed them in a way that you shouldn’t— “You’re doing a great job, babe” “Taking it so well, aren’t you, Mandy?” “I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon,” “Good girl.”

Good girl had been the last straw.

Eddie was doing it on purpose, right? Or your mind was just too deep into the gutter?

He’d traced the words you wrote on your inner elbow in vigilant precision. Eddie was fruitless of failure, nothing amiss in the Stygian tattoo. Which left you in awe given that he’d used a stick and needle rather than the machine hidden somewhere beneath the depths of his dusted bed.

When he was done, he lathered your arm with ointment before covering it with plastic—cling wrap. And he drove you home with smiles painting both the canvases of your faces; the inside of his van filled with nothing but twitching hands that yearn for reconciliation, and knowing looks exchanged between the music of The Police.

You had laid on your bed with the lingering feeling of his latex touch and his bona fide scrutiny that night. A silly smile on your face when you think of Eddie Munson; the boy who’d disappeared in your life who you miraculously found again.

special thanks to: @vendettaparker, @munsonquinns, @familyvideostevie, @applcrumbl for proofreading :3

PART TWO

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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yuly · 1 year

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How about Hotch who rejects reader once they confess their feelings? But later on he comes to the realization he actually loves the reader!!! And he tries to win her back?? I know you’d write this so well 🥹

→ hi lovely anon, I love this idea! I wrote this with a shy reader who works in the BAU but is not a profiler/agent, I hope you enjoy <3

cw: mentions of being insecure and self-doubt, angst and pain, Aaron's father is mentioned

Aaron Hotchner x shy!female reader

Time and Tide

A Lifetime

That's how long you’ve been a shy, out-of-the-way, quiet creature. You’re a diligent and skillful worker, but socially awkward and prefer to keep to yourself. You’re often unsure of what to say to strike up or even maintain a casual conversation. But your Unit Chief makes it easy. Your first year working with the FBI has been rocky but Hotch has been the most supportive and compassionate boss you’ve ever had. He is welcoming, always lending a listening ear, offering you advice and standing up for you. You quickly learn that he is an advocate for every member of his team and not just the few agents he works with on a daily basis. You find yourself admiring him from afar, daydreaming about him, and committing all of your interactions to memory.

A Year

That's how long it takes for you to build up the courage to say something to him. Having now established some semblance of a friendly working relationship, you decide to make your move. That move is to reciprocate his kind gestures for once instead of crumbling at the mere sight of him and fleeing from the scene. And it works.

You develop this tradition after cases where, after the official debrief with the team, Hotch has another, more intimate debrief with you. Your presence is a calming force, a sense of serenity he craves daily. He usually sits in his chair while you wrap up your work for the day in his office, often times you’re the one talking - about your day, the work you did, the latest office gossip, and the new boots you're saving up for. You’ve become truly comfortable in his presence, and he basks in it. Sometimes he’ll indulge you in his day-to-day with his son or a story from his days as a prosecutor. You listen eagerly, with an open heart, ready for the taking.You’ve fallen hopelessly in love with him and worry if the feelings will ever be reciprocated.

An almost fatal injury suffered on a case is what pushes you over the edge. The thought of losing something that was never yours to begin with breaks your eager heart.

A Month

That's how long you spend skirting around the words that occupy the majority of your brain space. For an entire month, you show up at his doorstep, food in hand, always offering him some company. More often than not, he takes you up on the offer. Your traditional post-case debrief sessions are now spent within the confines of his home. Aside from the physical pain in his body from his injuries and the emotional pain in your heart from loving him, nothing much has changed.

One Day

One day you finally make your move. Sitting side by side on his couch, eating tortilla chips, watching some documentary he’s been raving about all week. You turn away from the TV screen to face him.

“Aaron, I-I like you.”

He chuckles lightly in response, and a slightly confused look sits across his face, “thank you, I like you too, Y/N.”

“No, Aaron I like you more than a friend, I...I have feelings for you.”

The silence that follows your confession suffices. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, shoulders tense, jaw set tight. The energy in the room has shifted and you suddenly feel like an intruder in his home.

“Y/N…..that’s not going to work.”

That's all he manages to say before standing from his spot on the couch, awkwardly eyeing the door.

You lift your jaw off the ground and clear your throat, “I’ll see myself out.”

If you could have one wish, it would be for the ground beneath you to open up and swallow you whole. His rejection stings worse than any embarrassing scenario your mind could ever conjure. You feel the familiar thoughts of self-doubt and disgust begin to swarm your mind.

⋯⋯⋯⋯⊱⊰⋯⋯⋯⋯

You keep your head down at work, slowly reverting to your old shy and insecure self; you hate it. So when an FBI tech named James begins to hang out at your desk and bring you coffee every morning, you welcome it. You view it as a chance to rebuild yourself, to rid yourself of this heartbreak over a man that was never yours. And James is good to you, he’s sweet, doting, and totally enamoured with your being. You allow yourself to get comfortable, and receive love for once. And it feels good.

Hotch has made it a point to maintain his distance from you ever since your confession. That hurts worse than the rejection itself. He never looks in your direction, never speaks your name, and never makes any direct contact with you at all. It's like you never existed.

So when he stops by your desk one evening to extend a personal invite to the team’s Christmas dinner, you’re stunned and speechless.

“You haven’t spoken to me in nearly a year,” your words are a soft whisper, spoken mostly to yourself, but he hears you.

“That’s not true-”

“It is, Aaron. You always push people away, I never thought you’d do it to me.”

When he looks into your eyes, he immediately regrets it. The memory of your friendship comes back to him in a rush, the stories you two shared back and forth, the time you spent in his office to keep him company, all the words of advice he’d offered, the 30 consecutive days you'd shown up at his doorstep with warm home-cooked meals. All of that was your testament of love, and he threw it all away without giving you a chance.

Aaron doesn’t say anything in response. He trudges back into his office, only looking back once, desperately hoping to catch you looking back at him. Instead, he’s met with the sight of your boyfriend kissing your cheek and gathering your things to go home for the night. Your hand slips perfectly into his and the two of you walk out together.

The sight of you walking off with another man brings back a bitter memory of his father and a phrase he would often scold him with.

"time and tide wait for no man"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #yuly writes!

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samyanggs · 1 year

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Hi, how about Buddha and Loki with an S/O who copes with their shit mental health via energy drinks, coffee and escapism?They’re always reading and listening to music and daydreaming almost 24/7. They drink water, like, once every 2 weeks (if they feel like self-care) and they rarely ever actually eat or sleep because they feel like they actually have control for once in their life. They also have periods where they drop everyone and it’s near impossible to get ahold of them unless you into their room. q(❂‿❂)p

Hihii that’s a really good idea Ty for requesting! I’m sick(?) and haven’t gotten much sleep so sorry if this isn’t how you want it to be I’ll write headcanons since my motivation to write disappeared (I’ll write the stories later once I found the motivation to write haha)

“Except you.. you can stay..”

Warnings: none that I know of

My first time writing loki slight ooc I nearly fell asleep writing this, don’t be afraid to reach out to me for any reason, take care of yourselves <3

Buddha

Has to drag you out of your room if he wants you to spend time with him (with promises that he’ll get you more energy drinks, coffee and others much to his distaste)

Makes you sleep with him when he’s tired knowing that you didn’t sleep much

Sometimes joins you while you’re reading bringing snacks and drinks for you (most of them are water but you only drink the soda)

Often tries to help you with your mental health and offering comfort to which you allow but you argue that you still have your coping habits to go too (“those aren’t good coping mechanisms” “says who?” “Me. Buddha. A god.” “… no”)

Sometimes forces you to drink water by deceiving you into thinking that it was a soda. You always end up spitting it out at him once you realise

Whenever you’re on your period he comes over with some soda, snacks and necessities for you the only time he’ll allow you to drink soda is during this time because he knows how moody you can get

Doesn’t force you to go out with him because he’d rather be with you alone than outside with lots of people which you are happy with

Sometimes he has to lower down your music in your headphones because he can hear it loudly and he’s scared that you’re damaging your eardrums

He watches you as you daydream. About what? He’s still trying to figure it out. Often pulls you back to reality to remind you that you need to drink something because you end up daydreaming for close to an hour

He’s super happy whenever you drink water willingly and he helps you whenever you’re feeling like doing self care. A massage? You got it. A cuddle session? Of course! Anything you want when you’re feeling like self care

Loki

Loki reads with you when you feel like reading well more like he does whatever while you read keeping you close to him

Definitely tells you to drink some water when he notices it’s your 4th cup of coffee of the day and it hadn’t reached 12 pm yet

Holds you close while you listen to music and daydream because he likes holding you close to him

Reminds you to drink water at least once everyday and doesn’t force you to drink water (he puts water in some of your energy drinks and covers it so you won’t notice the difference because you’re too tired)

Pops over to your room every once in a while to drag you out because you haven’t seen the outside in weeks

He tries to argue with you about your coping mechanisms but always let you win because you’re too stubborn and he can’t get mad at you (“those aren’t good coping mechanisms” “are too” “are not” are too!” “Are not” “yes they are” “fine. But this isn’t over”)

You’re on your period? He’s staying locked in your room with you, he knows how mad and moody you can get when you’re on your period. He brings snacks and drinks for you as well as some necessities that he had to ask Aphrodite for help with because he’s a good partner.

Will lay down with you and help you through your moodiness by playing games with you and entertaining you

You finally decide to drink water? This man becomes your butler for the entire time you feel like self care he will do (almost) anything for you (almost because he’s a god and he still has some dignity)

#record of ragnarok #buddha snv #buddha x reader #ror buddha #ror buddha x reader #ror x reader #snv #snv loki #loki x reader #snv loki x reader #ror loki #ror loki x reader

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thebestofoneshots · 6 months

Text

WOLFSTAR X READER SERIES

Gilded Constellations | THE INTERLUDE

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Hey Lovelies, welcome to “The Interlude” of Gilded Constellations. We’ve basically already gotten to 100 k words in this story and that’s absolutely insane!!! Which is why I thought of doing a little thing where I could interact with my readers. As a thank you for being there and supporting me so much through this journey.

And so… this little Q&A was born. Those who didn't get to ask their questions, don’t worry my darlings, my ask will be open all week for you to ask whatever you want. It’s a mini event that will last from today ‘till next wednesday.

But yes, it does mean this week we won’t get a new chapter D:

Don’t worry, it will definitely be worth it since the next couple of episodes are two that I’ve put absolute extra care on crafting, and I will put just as much care on revising. I’ve been quite literally posting non stop for 15 weeks consecutively. That’s almost 4 months, what?!?!

I needed my tiny lil break, besides I wanted to dedicate this bit of time to work on my Maraudween Special smutty series that will include some interesting mini AUs, so those that read my other stuff and not just Gilded Constellations will be quite literally treated this Halloween. There will be a lot of posts these next few weeks. Although, I might be releasing some of the Maraudween stories at the beginning of November. Unfortunately, I’m not a machine and I can’t write in seconds like Chat GPT.

Without further ado, let’s get on with those questions!

Where did you get the inspo for the fic?

Oh my god if I tell you guys about this… It all started when I was in class, sometimes when I’m bored, my little mind starts to wander. I’m a total daydreamer, I can’t deny that, but at that moment in particular I was quite literally thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. And then, out of nowhere, this phrase came to me:

“You look at them the same way you looked at me when we met…”

And I was like, “omg that’s so freaking angsty” and “That’s a great freaking line for a poly story” And I quite literally wrote it down with a little tag that said, “-the start of a poly relationship story because I’ve never read enough of those.”

And then I closed the notebook and went back to class. But I guess the idea had already set in my brain because next thing I know, I’m writing down more things down. And let me tell you, before Gilded Constellations I only wrote Oneshots because a story seemed like too much commitment. So I kid you not, I wrote down:

“Not a short story, but maybe a 3-5 chapter long fic”.

Jokes on me though, we’re 15 chapters in, like 20-something written and we’re probably going to end up with longer than 200k words and I’m not even sorry about it. Besides, I'm really pumped to finish it because I want to get it printed in Lulu and have my own little copy as a “Damn you wrote that.” kind of evidence thing. So worry not about being left with an unfinished fic, I’m going to complete this story even if it’s the last thing I do.

Besides, if I’m being honest, when I’m not writing, I miss my boys, so I’ll definitely miss passing the time with them when I’m done with GC. (Luckily I’ve already got another series planned and spoiler alert: This one will be Poly!Marauders x reader, a lot spicier aaaand, PIRATES.)

That’s how the fic started, well that and a dream that was basically most of Chapter 3 and I thought it was so cute that I wrote it down and then I was like, “hold up, this could be the start of the Poly story I was talking about…”

Are there any real-life experiences that influenced your writing?

Well I mean, I’d say that art imitates life and life imitates art, but in regards to real-life romance I don’t really know that much. But there are definitely some things here and there that have been sprinkled from my real life into the fic. Not sure if I could think of a particular one but I can say sometimes Remus gives me the same vibe that a boy I “used to” have a crush on. “Used to” in quotation marks because I kinda still do even if we haven’t seen each other in years.

So I guess a lot of Remus comes from my crush, but also Remus is his own little boy as well and I love him more for it. Even If I’m torturing him so much with his heartache, I promise it will be worth it Remus, reader and Sirius will take care of you, eventually.

Other than that, I guess I like to pay attention to things around me, you’ll see me looking at nature, the sky, the way leaves move, the way people interact with each other. Especially at that actually, I like to pay attention to people, how they move, how they interact, and their reactions. Sometimes I do it irl, and sometimes I just watch movies or series, and since my writing process is like seeing a movie in my head and then putting it into words, it’s always useful to pay attention to the world around me. Even if I sometimes struggle to put into words exactly what I’m seeing in my head.

Did you already have everything planned, or did you just go with the flow? If you have already, how far? all of it? Or just some chapters ahead?

Well, yes and no. I do have various key points of the story planned, a lot of plot points that are going to happen and that’s kinda what I’m sustaining myself on. I know the big points and then I just have to write what happens in between them. And I’ve got it planned all the way ‘till my babes all start dating. After that, if I’m honest I’m not sure how I’m going to end it. Some parts of me want to go for the saddest ending possible because it would go along with cannon and the other side of me, the one that can’t bear to see my boys being sad, wants to just deviate completely and/or leave an open ending.

But so far, I really cannot tell what exactly I’m going to do, I just know that time will tell. Because sometimes the characters just do what they want and I love to see where they take me. Which is why the ending is not set in stone just yet.

Without giving too many spoilers, can you tease upcoming plot twists or surprises we can expect in future chapters?

My sly little foxes have already guessed some of the major plot twists that are upcoming in the story. And there definitely will come some surprises along the way, some you will love, some you won’t so much. But I promise you it will all be worth it!

Remember in Gilded Constellations, everything happens for a reason.

THE FANCAST

What's your fancast for the fic? Did you pick the reader too or just leave it be? // I wanted to know if you have a fancast for everyone…

I did mention that I basically see stuff as a movie in my head right? So yes, I do have a fancast! Although I most definitely see James as Aaron, Sirius as Ben, Remus as Andrew and Peter as Dane, I have also twisted them in my brain. Like it’s them, right? But my version of them. Like my Sirius is so fucking ethereal in my head that sometimes I myself blush with his beauty. And Remus, well, he is probably most similar to Talita Asami’s from instagram. Especially this one.

There’s something about the way she contrasts his soft features with the scars that’s just perfect. It’s that sexy pirate vibe I cannot get out of my head, if that makes sense. But also I’ve been toying with AI lately (Talkie) and ended up with these two versions of Remus and Sirius and they have absolutely taken over.

Sidenote: I made way to many of these, so do tell me if you wanna see them.

The reader: Uhm… well, I kind of just see her as me, hehe. Which is kind of the point, you should all just see the reader as yourselves, if you’re comfortable with that of course.

The rest of our babies though? Lily Evans, Marlene and Mary, are kind of like the boys as in I see them as their fancast but also not entirely. And Lily especially, she’s just so freaking pretty in my head, there’s no one I know to match her, all thought Sophie Skelton and Kennedy Walsh (@/c4tluvr666 on Tiktok) are super close.

Now, outside of canon characters, aka all of these OC’s I’ve been creating with time, some of them do have a fancast and some of them don’t. Let’s focus on the ones that do, because some of them I literally had in my head since the very, very beginning of the fic.

Tom Harrow- This boy actually started as a younger version of Tom Hiddleston in my head, but the more I wrote him, the more he said, “Luv, that’s not what I look like!” And, almost out of nowhere, baby Tom Hiddleston became Rober Sheehan, and let me tell you, it stuck. And it stuck so bad there is no way I could see Tom as anything other than Rob. Especially with his role as Klaus in Umbrella Academy having a rather similar personality in the entire open-minded spectrum that he’s got going on. And, talking about teasers, this boy is actually going to be a key point on the romance between our golden throuple to develop, so keep an eye out for him. I love him so much tbh.

Then we’ve got Beth Doxon, this girl is my wifey, I freaking love Beth so much and if you’ve been paying attention you may already know who I based her off, at least in looks. It’s Anya Taylor Joy as Beth Harmon in Queen’s Gambit, redhead queen (can you tell I really, really like redheads?) . Also that’s why she has such a strong character, even if my Beth is a lot more of a Party Animal than the original character.

Alexander Wood in my head is just a carbon copy of his son Oliver, but in Hufflepuff, and the rest of the Quidditch teams, I’ve got a good idea of what they look like in my head, but not really a fan cast for them. Suggestions accepted.

Well, except for Minho Yun, since his role in the story is going to be as a pretty strong supporting character, in fact, he was meant to be somewhat of an alt love interest that was going to help build Sirius’ jealousy, but in the end, I decided to completely scrap that to further develop him as a character. Some interesting things that you’ll actually learn on the GC Halloween special. Oh, and Minho is actually based on Sang Heon Lee (on looks) and Ki Hong Lee (on character, specifically on his role in Maze Runner). Had I based Minho on the character of Sang Heon Lee who inspired him, we would have way too many slutty boys in the same room, with Tom and Sirius and him, It’d be chaos, which is why he ended up being a little shier.

Nox, Neil and Todd, literally are just Nox, Neil and Tod from De*d Poets Society. I was rewatching the movie to nail that boy friend group interactions and to get in the Dark Academia Vibes and I wanted to give my boys a happy ending.

Also Neil just gives me the most massive Prongs vibe I cannot.

And lastly, there’s Nina Blythe. Nina to me is a totally angelic girl, I’ve got a very vivid picture of what she looks like in my head but I don’t really have a fancast for her. Maybe a little bit like Aurora (the singer), in regards to her soft features, but Nina has longer hair and it’s a little wavy. I kind of think of her as a girl from a Renaissance painting, emphasis on girl, since she is supposed to look younger than she is. Any ideas for a fancast? For her and for anyone I missed, I’m completely open to your suggestions.

THE TEACHERS

Professor Nightshade is definitely Eva Green from Miss Peregrine or Jessica Chastain from Crimson Peak. She’s got that tall, regal and dark but elegant vibe to her that is just so freaking gorgeous and awe-inspiring. I totally have a crush on Seraphina, can you tell?

Professor Aurelius Spellman is kind of inspired by Kingsley Shackelbolt. However, if I had to cast someone for the role it would be Djimon Hounsou, he has that attractive and rough vibe to him. Like scary, demanding but also alluring things going on, he’s just got the magician type I suppose.

This one’s going to be silly, but I can’t imagine Kettleburn as anyone other than Gobber the Belch from HTTYD, like, take away the horned helmet and give him a pointy hat, and boom, Kettleburn ladies and gentlemen. Down to the messy personality, honestly.

And Donovan Pendragon (the teacher for Magical Theory) I feel like he isn’t mentioned enough, because I literally had no idea what his name was even going to be and I just left a line for it until I was editing the chapter before posting. So he doesn’t really have a cast. He’s caucasian in my head, but that’s about all I’ve got from him. Any ideas?

Do you have any headcanons for any of the characters and their relationship that you haven’t talked about in the story?

REMUS: Well I feel like this one has been talked about several times in the story but Remus being a beast in bed? I feel like everyone loves to tease him about it in the castle but to me, he’s also a total soft boy? Like especially the first time, I feel like he’s going to be so overwhelmed by both Sirius and Reader that he will basically just melt in the hands of his lovers.

SIRIUS: Smitten little puppy of my life.

SIRIUS AND REMUS: They’ve totally kissed in the past. At least once, and Remus still dreams about it. Sirius, well… maybe he’ll get some memories of it every now and then.

READER: My girl thinks she’s so freaking smart and yet is the most oblivious to her own feelings; she could be considered an idiot. She’s also so selfless it hurts, but like literally. Also, she loves flirting with Sirius way too much. Still, they definitely will need Rem in their relationship because there is no self-preservation sense when her personality is just as chaotic as our Puppy. Side note: Remus will 100% blush when she starts flirting with him in the same way he does with Sirius. And let’s not talk about what a tomato he will be when Sirius does it as well.

PETER: He kinda disliked the reader at first, especially since he felt like she was taking away his friends, but eventually he warmed up to her, and loves their friendship.

LILY: She enjoyed the kiss with Reader, and it made her realize she’s totally bi, because she also enjoyed the kiss with James.

TOM: My boy is clever as hell and he knows a lot more than he lets on. Also, he secretly ships the golden throuple.

BETH: She’s Tom’s bestie and she knows a lot of things too. She will also ignite chaos with the ultimate goal of being Gryffindor Tower’s own cupid. Do you think what happened at Marlene’s Party was a coincidence?

REGG: My beautiful Reggie is still sad about the incident. He’s still trying to find a way to reconnect with you and it pains him that you think he’d rat you out. Even then, he values the fact that you are with Sirius and that you’re helping him through everything that’s been going on, especially since he saw how red Sirius’s eyes were when he left the Black’s house with a trunk in hand sobs stuck in his throat. Reg cried like a baby that night, just wishing for time to go by as fast as possible so he could go back to school and see his big brother again. (I’m so sorry for that guys).

MINHO: Has a secret crush and you would not believe me if I told you who it was.

NINA: Has a secret crush and some of you have probably already guessed who it is.

DAMOCLES: You don’t know him yet but omg he’s just so clever, thank you Kles for existing.

And let's be honest, I totally have a bunch more of this but I think this is way more than enough, for now…

Out of all the chapters so far, what’s been your favorite?

This is too fucking hard to decide. But If I had to choose my top three, and in no order in particular, I’d say, for the released ones:

Fooled around and Fell in Love

Because, can we talk about the kiss scene? I feel like this one will come back bite my kiddos in the back so they finally realize what they actually fucking need.

Do Ya

I’m a total sucker for Sirius, what can I tell ya? But also the flying scenes were so much fun to write, totally an adventure to go through, still among my favs.

Maybe I’m amazed

“Do you like Golf?”

From the unreleased episodes:

Tonight’s What It Means To Be Young

The calm before the storm. Or is it the storm before the storm?

Bad Moon Rising

The FUCKING storm. But also one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I think I like action scenes a little too much.

*** On The Run

The storm continues. But also, the calm after the storm.

Do you have a playlist that you always listen to when you're writing?

Not a specific playlist, but I have been listening to a lot of ‘70s rock. Things like Queen, Bowie, Boston, Foreigner, Kansas, Fleetwood Mac, Nazareth, The Police and some others. All of them help me get in the mood for writing. At least in the mood of the era, if that makes sense.

Aside from the ’70s classics, I’ve also been listening to a lot of Lord Huron, Hozier, and Aurora (I sort of discovered her recently and I’m obsessed with some of her songs). Also some of The Killers, Dotan and Vian Izak sprinkled here and there. Bastille and Imagine Dragons are always and forever so of course they wouldn’t be missing from my list.

But when I’m struggling, like really struggling with writing, then I go to this Best Instrumental playlist, where they have everything from the Narnia and Peter Pan 2003 soundtracks to Vivaldi and Ghibli. It really does help with the concentration.

How long for the guys to understand that they fancy each other?

Well, when you say the guys do you mean Sirius and Remus? ‘Cause then it’s not thaaaaaat far away from now. Now from then to them all dating, well…

I know Remus kind of struggles with feelings, and probably even more now that Sirius and the reader are together. But when he's gonna say "hey, can I come in?" 😏 lol I just want them together so baaaad!

Ahahahahahaha, Well that’s not exactly how it’s gonna go, but it’ll happen sometime after Christmas.

After wolfstar and the reader get together, the fic will end? or we're gonna have a lot of them together to compensate for the agony? 🥺

I’m not sure about the ending yet, but I’m definitely going to add so much fluff of the three of them together that you’re all gonna get cavities. Also, I’ve been writing The 5 Senses and the Halloween special (that might be finished until after Halloween) to practice for the spice, so I’m def compensating for the agony.

Also, I kind of want to explore the social implications of being in a throuple, of making that public in the `70s. Seems like a whole lotta issue bringer that kinda interests me… Sorry, you’re not completely getting rid of the angst even when they’re all together.

I don’t remember if I already asked you about this, but as a Regulus’ wife, I need to know. He'll come back, right? She will talk with him and he will be able to explain everything to her? I need this, I really need this! I can leave without this closing. THEY NEED TO BE FRIENDS AGAIN!

Your husband is safe with me. I promise. I’m not gonna say it’s gonna be very soon, but he will be safe because I love baby Reggie and I too can’t stand him being mistreated either.

Not a question. I just want to say that I really love this story. It's one of my favorites, and I just put it on my masterlist for how much I love it.

Aww shut up, I love you so much <3

Will we have some Sirius jealousy? ‘Cause I'm really interested in that. Oooh... will he notice that Reader and Remus are... more than friends before they even know it? I dunno, he's just oblivious about everything around him.

Funny that you ask, yes we will have a lot of Jealous!Sirius, in fact, it’s a huge part of how the throuple will develop. And you will have it so soon, even if it’s not exactly what you expect it to be. I can’t wait for next week!

And in regards to noticing, well… Sirius is not going to be the most oblivious about his own feelings in this story. I mean… not always.

Are there any particular scenes or moments in your story that were especially fun or challenging to write?

Well, I’m actually finding it a lot harder to write stuff atm, so I’d say the limbo between the Bad Moon Rising Arch and the next big thing that’s going to happen has been the hardest. Especially since I’m already going to get to a key point in which some shit is going to go down and I’m still not sure how bad and angsty I want to make it. Don’t worry, our golden throuple will be alright but…

In regards to fun, I must say the parties are some of my favorites, Potion Pong was incredibly fun to write ‘cause I literally transported myself to it and it was like actually living it, even if it was in my head. Also the flying scenes, they’re always fun to write, the race was incredible tbh.

I love to write the fun banter and the teasing too, it brings me joy. But I bet you could tell I’m one for the teasing from the very first chapters of Gilded Constellations.

Nina fancies Reader, right? She does. I just need a yes. I already know that 😌

( ≖‿ ≖ )

Can you share any behind-the-scenes trivia or Easter eggs that readers might not have noticed in your story?

I feel like there’s a lot of behind-scenes I shared so far but I guess I could share a few pics of my organization systems. Things like…

Your schedule:

The cover:

Some of you have already been theorizing about it too, you can look at some of those theories over here, and here, and also here.

Alt Covers I designed but weren't chosen:

Something you might not know:

GC is also available on Wattpad and AO3. The AO3 chapters usually drop like 30 minutes or an hour before Tumblr because it's easier to post there. And the Wattpad releases are actually way behind in comparison (there isn't much engagement over there).

Some Shots of my Plot notebook (0 spoilers):

And also, have you noticed the special little thing in the names of the chapters? 10 housepoints to whoever notices

I just thought of this, but what if we make a little housepont system and from things that you guys guess of the story you get housepoints and then we have a houseprice in the end? OMG I'd love to do this, if you're on tell me your house in the comments. So far Sytherin would have like 40 points just beacuse of dear @cometsghost and I'm not sure what is @blacksgarden house but they would also have like 40 pts.

How do you stay motivated and inspired to keep writing, especially in moments when you might experience writer's block?

It may or may not be healthy, but I just force myself to type? I never really have writer’s block, rather I’d call it writer’s overload. It’s when I’m running through so many possibilities in my head and I can’t pick which is the one I want to go through with. So I keep thinking about it and I don’t type. Which is why I just force myself to type, more often than not I’ll end up writing something I really like.

And as for the motivation, honestly just getting to see my boys again. To be able to submerge back into Hogwarts, that’s enough motivation. I seriously get an urge to go back because I miss them. It's kinda crazy. Like I might be chilling at home and suddenly the thought “I wish I was at Hogwarts” crosses my mind, not even joking.

The other motivation is finishing my book so I can get a printed version to place in my bookshelf and show it off. Not that anyone would know what it is, but I’d know, which is enough, hehe. And also to be a better writer, they say you should write every single day, which is kind of what I’m attempting to do with GC. By writing a chapter every week, I literally force myself to write every single day, even if just a couple of words.

Can we have cute moments with Remus? uuuh, Will he be cute when she notices that she really likes him?

Yes! We can have all the cute moments with Remus. Even before they all notice they’re into each other, we’re gonna have so many cute moments because even if Reader is dating Sirius I can’t leave my beautiful boy on the sidelines. Besides, how can I torture him if he doesn’t get a taste of how good it would be to be with them?

What can readers look forward to in the next chapters, and do you have any long-term plans or goals for GCs development?

Angst. Don’t hate me for this. But also comfort, and some fun little adventures and then a bit more angst, hehe…

Well, that’s the end of the questions I got sent ahead. Hope you enjoyed this rollercoaster of a Q&A. If you have any more, or if my answers have provoked further questions, then by all means, share them with me, I’d love to be able to interact with you a bit more.

Love ya, Lily xx

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roohuh · 11 months

Text

Studying in the greenhouse

Ominis X MC

One shot

Summary: You, Sebastian, and Ominis all spend a stormy afternoon studying in the greenhouse.

Warnings: noneee

You have never watched Ominis so closely before. But one day, while you, Sebastian, and Ominis all sit studying in the greenhouse. You notice how the flashing of the lightning outside highlights his cheekbones. Your hands forget their work as you study his so diligently tracing over a braille page. Taking note of the veins which run up the back of his hands to his toned forearms you feel a heat rise to your cheeks. You feel as if your heartbeat matches the raindrops pounding against the roof. You wonder why you never before noticed the way he smiles gently as he reads, or the way his eyes crinkle ever so slightly on the side when he smiles. *CLAP* his shoulders raise and give a subtle jerk at the thunder. You wonder if he’s more thrown off by the noise without the warning of lightning. How many things are harder for Ominis without his vision? How strong he must be to bear them so nonchalantly.

“What did you get for number 15?” Sebastian breaks your line of thought.

“I…um…15…” you mumble fumbling with your quill.

“I have not made it that far.” You groan as you realize how long you had spent admiring Ominis and how little you have gotten done.

“Are you having trouble? Do you need any help?” Ominis kindly offers.

“Just have to focus.” You shrug.

“Something wrong?” Sebastian asks, his mouth tightening in concern.

“Nothing wrong, just… tired.” You want to shrink into your seat or the floor to swallow you whole unwilling to admit that Ominis was your distraction.

“Alright, but you know you can talk to us.” Ominis tries his best to sound convincing. You know after Ranrok he and Sebastian had been concerned about you.

“I am really alright, just daydreaming.” Taking Ominis hand, you attempt to soothe. However as you take his hand you see an eyebrow go up at the gesture and a bit of a smile form on his lips. Yanking your hands away you awkwardly fumble with your quill.

“I better focus on this or I’ll be here all night.” Sebastian shoots you a questioning look but you try your best to ignore both of their scrutiny. Furiously you scrawl away at your parchment until they return to their own tasks. Just as you think you successfully moved on from your embarrassing gesture Sebastian stands and picks up his book.

“I am off.” He waves.

“Where are you going?” You attempt to keep the panic out of your voice. You feel too awkward to be left alone with Ominis. Sebastian gives you an exaggerated wink,

“I have places to be.” Wrinkling your nose at Sebastian you mentally note his intentional abandonment in a moment of need. Once he is gone you and Ominis sit in silence, trying your best to seem casual. The sound of the rain against the green house with the now more acational clap of thunder fills the air.

“I have finished my reading assignment. How is your work coming?” Ominis breaks the air. Your heart sinks at the news he is finished as you still have half a page left to write.

“I still have a ways to go yet.” You sigh. “If you would like, I will finish here and catch up with you and Seb later.” A disappointed frown flashes across Ominis face.

“I was going to stay unless you would like me to leave.”

“I would enjoy the company if you would stay.” Trying not to sound too eager you agree.

“Good.” He nods, taking out a different book and beginning to read.

“What are you going to read now?” You crane your head to read the title. “Pride and Prejudice?” You read.

“A muggle novel.” He shrugs nonchalantly. Curiosity peaked, you move closer to look at the book.

“I never took you for the type to read muggle literature.”

“I apperectiste a compelling story no matter the author.”

“And what does Mr. Gaunt deem a compelling story?” Ominis gives a small laugh.

“Finish your assignments and I will read to you the first chapter.” The offer sends your stomach into acrobatics.

“You would read it to me?” You know you sound eager but the offer caught you off guard.

“Be quiet, get your work done, and I will read you as much or as little as you desire.”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #fanfic #harry potter hogwarts game #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x you #ominis fluff #sebastian sallow

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btsydtrash · 1 month

Text

Daydream

Childhood sweethearts Hoseok x YN

(Author's note: This ended nicely however I could be tempted to write additons to it. I initially wanted this to be a sweethearts-to-enemies story but I like how it feels at this point. Also, this is my debut project to get back into writing lol. Please, don't kill me for making a whole new one-shot, but I wanted to grease my wheels again.)

In this story, Hoseok and YN are minors so there's no sexual content at all(!!) but they do have a lil chaste kissy kiss. Maybe I could do a time-skip for when they're in college or whatever, but that's only if ya'll want it lol!

Summer, 2004

“Hey, you know you aren’t supposed to do it that way, right?”

Hoseok glances up, eyes naturally squinting as the sun shines in his eyes. He puts up his hands, sticky with ice-cream from his snack, to shield his eyes. In front of him stands an equally-sticky girl. Her cheeks are covered in green ice-cream and her t-shirt has some melted chocolate all over the front. She’s missing a front tooth, clear from where she’s smiling brightly at him, and she seems a little sweaty, her hair sticking to her forehead in some places. Hoseok understands - it’s July, dead in the middle of summer time in Gwangju. It might as well be hell on Earth.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side and his expression must show confusion as the girl scoffs. “That!”

She gestures to the sandcastle he was making in the sandbox.

“It’s a castle.” He murmurs.

She nods. “I know, I’m not a dummy.”

“So, what?”

She sighs and crouches down. “The poles aren’t high enough and the moat shouldn’t be this way.”

“But it’s my castle,” he says, pouting. “I want it to look like this.”

He’s lying, of course. He isn’t good with his hands but the girl teasing about his castle is making his upset. Who does she think she is?

The girl takes a second to look at his expression before she smiles, and it doesn’t hold any malice in it - only amusement. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

His cheeks burn, and it has nothing to do with the sun this time.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, moving to stand. “Do what you want.”

He moves to leave, no longer wanting to be around this stranger. He scans the playground to look for his dad, but he can’t spot him. No matter, he thinks. I’ll just find my own way home, like usual.

A hand on his wrist stalls his movements. “Hey, don’t go.”

He looks back at the girl and she looks chastised. She continues, “Shall we do it together? Your style and my style mixed together?”

He thinks for a moment before he nods, tentatively. “Okay.”

And that was the beginning.

Sometimes Hoseok thinks back to that day, their first meeting, and wonders if it was serendipity or an omen. Either way, he wouldn’t have changed it for a thing.

—

8 years later

“YAH! Jung Hoseok!”

Hoseok jerks at the familiar shrill sound of his best friend’s voice. He glances to the left from where he’s laying on the roof, needing a brief moment of silence and peace before his Korean history class, to see you. In your left hand, an empty bread wrapper. In your right hand, his backpack.

Hoseok sits up. “Oh, you found it?”

You glower at him, darkly. “You mean the bread I had been saving since this morning to eat during my break time? Yes. I found it.”

He smiles, small but real, and moves to his feet, throwing his arm over your lithe shoulders. “It was delicious.”

You elbow him in his stomach, making him wince. “You owe me after school.”

He takes his backpack out of your hand and throws it over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I mean it, Hobi,” you warn, trailing behind him. He grabs your shoulder and pulls you under his arm, leading you down the corridor to your shared class, listening to you scold him the entire time.

His heart clenches at the nickname. Only you call him that. And it makes him feel amazing every time. You made it in elementary school, randomly whispering it in his ear, and he’s still embarrassed to say he squealed in bed that night, thinking you had something special only for him.

Yes, yes. He has a crush on you. A huge one, actually. You are his first and only love. And, along with it, the literal bane of his existence. This is because you won’t leave him alone, no matter what he does.

He has always been an underachiever at school. You, on the other hand, are a shining star, academically. You always score first or second in your year group, you are the class president and you are a member of four different teams. That hadn’t always been true though.

In elementary school, you had gotten into your fair share of fights for him. Hoseok had been skinny and poor, and he looked pitiful most days. The other boys would exclude or tease him, for being so close to you - a girl. They would call him gay or say he had mental instability. Then, you would come out and curse and scold them until they cried. One time, you even kicked a boy so hard in his face, you had broken his front tooth. You both got into so much trouble that day, but it remains his favorite memory of his childhood. The two of you, sitting with your arms raised in the principal’s office, covered in cuts and bruises, messy hair and dirt rubbed all over your clothes from the ensuing fight. You had glanced over at him and given him a private smile that said ‘I don’t regret a thing’, and he returned it with his own. ‘I’d do anything for you.’ He hoped you understood it then, and remember it as fondly as he does now.

The only things Hoseok can do well are sports, and that’s because he has a hard-head. You come to all of his games, no matter where or when they are, even shirking your other responsibilities to support him. And, this just makes him love you that much more.

He feels like you value him. You support him. You show him so much love that it makes him squirm.

As someone who has been shown none of those things from his family, it was overwhelming at first. He tried to push his feelings away, smother them, kill them even, but it never worked. The feelings would build and build and build until he felt physically sick from the weight of them. At 13, he resigned himself to loving you for as long as he lived, but he knew nothing could come from it.

You were just too lovely for a loser like him.

So, he let himself be your best friend - the bestest best friend he could be. And, it has been a pleasant near-decade of friendship, for the most part.

Until now.

You seemed to have a crush yourself.

And, it was killing him inside.

He didn’t know who, but you had been acting weird these last few months. You did your makeup, changed your hair, stopped wearing glasses. All the cute things he thought were so perfect about you, you were steadily erasing and replacing with someone else. He still thought you were beautiful - actually, it’s been hard to even look you in your eyes - but knowing it was for some other idiot was driving him crazy.

He spends the class stealing glances at the side of your face, wondering how pretty you would be in a few years time. He wonders if he’ll be by your side to see what kind of butterfly you would turn into at that time, too. Or, maybe he will be replaced by someone else. Someone who could actually stand by your side with pride.

—

“Hobi,” you whisper into his ears. He woke up a while ago, but he keeps his eyes closed in order to feel you this close to him. His heart is racing in his chest and he feels queasy in the best way possible. “You shouldn’t sleep here.”

He grumbles a little and you move your hand to pat his chest comfortingly. “It’s cold, Hobi. Wake up and come inside.”

He had developed this habit of waiting outside of your apartment complex on one of the benches when he doesn’t want to go back home. Your parents are the kindest people on Earth, and they always let him in. They give him food, let his shower and even sleep on the couch a couple of times. He’s still a kid, so they probably think he’s pathetic but some days, he thinks he would do anything to stay out of his house.

It just so happens that he loves being at your house. It’s so warm - just like you.

He wishes he could stay in this bubble for longer, pretending to be asleep so you’ll touch him all tenderly as you are doing. But, it’s cold, and he doesn’t want you to get sick, so he holds all his yearning in his chest and blinks open an eye.

“There you are,” you croon, softly, and then there you go, moving your hand away. He can barely catch the disappointment from appearing on his face. “Let’s go inside, hm?”

And, he trails behind you, like he always does.

A happy, stupid fool.

—

The crush you had on whoever was getting worse, and it was getting harder for him to hold back his frustration each time you gazed longingly out of the window or twisted the necklace he gave you for your thirteenth birthday around your fingers, thinking so deeply that your forehead creased.

He pushes his fingers between your brows to smoothen out the wrinkles and you blink back into clarity.

“Sorry, I was just-”

“Distracted,” he grumbles, pushing his egg-fried rice around on his place. He has no appetite, thinking of all the different guys this fucker could be.

You give him a small smile and go back to your own meal.

God, you were so pretty. Your hair falls into your face a little, so he pushes it behind your ear easily. His fingers barely touch your cheek but he feels electricity zing through his body at the small contact. He wants to cup your soft cheek in his hand, feel how warm your skin is for real, but he settles on just… pushing your hair back and turning his eyes to his plate.

He doesn’t see how red your cheeks burn as he looks away.

—

“YN, you should just tell him,” your friend, Kyunghee… (Kyeonghae? Kyeongmi?) says, and her tone of voice makes Hoseok freeze in his tracks. The girls are in the corridor outside of the girls’ bathroom, and he is going to meet you to walk you to your shared fourth period class. But, something about what your friend is saying makes a pit of anxiety open up in his stomach.

He stands with his back to the wall, hidden from sight, but within hearing distance. He knows it’s wrong but Hoseok can’t help himself. It’s like he’s dying to know but can’t bear the truth either.

“I don’t know…”

You sound so unsure, so nervous, so different from what he knows you to be like, that it makes him sick.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

So, this is what you were talking about. Your crush. He bites his lip so hard that he can taste blood.

“I don’t know what I would do,” you continue on, and it sounds like you are seconds away from crying. Crying over some fucker who isn’t him. His fists clench by his side and he realized that his eyes, too, are stinging.

“Isn’t it better to tell him and get it off your chest?” Your other friend, Sana (Sara? Suha?) says, and he wants to put her head through the wall.

No. It wouldn’t be better. She shouldn’t say anything to anyone about any feelings she may or may not have!

“I think…” You pause, and he holds his breath. “I think I’m in love with him.”

And just like that, Hoseok feels part of himself die right then and there.

—

He doesn’t disappear like he wants to. He diligently walks you to your fourth period class, he sits beside you as he always does, he stares ahead with an intensity so strong that the teacher asks him if he’s alright three different times.

But, he doesn’t speak to you.

In fact, he doesn’t even look at you.

And, he can tell he’s hurting you. however, he can’t help it.

You hurt him first.

Yes, he knows you didn’t mean to. And he knows you probably can’t help how you feel either. But he’s hurting inside, so badly that he thinks he might suffocate. As soon as his last class lets out, he’s rushing out of his seat, out of the classroom and he’s walking back home at a pace so fast, he doesn’t realize his thighs are rubbed raw until he takes a shower later that night before bed.

It’s only when he knows he’s alone, when his dad is gone doing only God knows what, that he finally lets himself cry.

And he cries all night, even in his sleep, over you.

—

Your relationship becomes strained after that.

You notice it almost immediately. Hoseok stops waiting for you after class, he stops miraculously bumping into your in the corridors, he stops smiling at you through the windows of the class when he takes bathroom breaks.

Instead, there seems to be a wall of ice between the two of you, and you have no idea where it came from.

You try to corner him, to confront him about it, because you deserve an explanation, damn it, but he just weasels his way out of it by hooking onto someone else’s backpack and claiming to be meeting them for dinner or outpacing you with his stupidly long legs.

And, as much as it pains you to say it, you can’t just go to his apartment because you don’t know where he lives.

Over a decade of friendship and he has never invited you over to his place.

You aren’t even sure which area he lives in, even though you both had the bus together every afternoon after school since you were thirteen.

He has always been very private about his life, you wanted to respect his wishes, even if it felt like he didn’t trust you. You try not to personalize it - to not make it about you, but it had been hard, especially considering how open you are with him about everything.

Well, almost everything.

Still, this weirdness has to stop, and soon.

You watch Hobi walk out onto the baseball field in his team uniform. While you were inside studying, Hobi was outside being the shining star of your school’s sports’ team. He’s always been talented with his body and athletics, even if he constantly talked down on his skills. You knew he would be a great fit for the baseball and basketball team, so when you pushed him to go try-out, you knew he would shine. And you were right.

He doesn’t look back up to the window like he usually did to smile and wink at you, and it makes your lips draw down in a deep frown.

Did you do something to him? Did you upset him somehow?

Or… Did he find out?

You blanche at the thought.

But, you had been so careful. He couldn’t know.

Nervously, you gnaw at your thumb nail and feel your forehead furrow in a deep frown. You didn’t know how you could salvage this situation with your childhood best friend, but you know you couldn’t stand this uncomfortable stiffness between the two of you anymore.

Hours later, Hobi changes into his sneakers and tosses his school shoes into his locker. He closes the locker to see you standing directly to his right and it nearly scares the life out of him.

“Fuc- YN! Don’t do that,” he scolds, clutching his hand over his racing heart.

On the other hand, your heart is racing for a different reason. Seeing him look at you for the first time in weeks is making you incredibly nervous. So, you steel your expression and growl, “Follow me.”

“YN…”

You stall on your heel and glare over your shoulder. “Do not piss me off. Follow. Me. Hoseok.”

Fearfully, Hoseok clamps his mouth shut and faithfully trails behind you until you reach the park near your school. You walk far into the park, until you can just barely see the street, and turn to face him.

“Spill,” you command.

He avoids your eyes and shoves his hands in his pocket. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Do I look stupid to you?”

He gives you a brief look that reads, Yeah, kinda, dummy, before he returns his eyes to the space behind you.

You approach him but he takes one small step back, and that’s enough to stab at your heart.

“Hobi… Did I do something to you?”

He flinches and swallows, his expression growing pained for a moment before smoothing out into nothingness again.

“No,” he replies. “I just- This is a bit… I just want to make new friends.”

It all tumbles out at the end, like a flood of water that he can’t hold back, and if you felt hurt before, now it feels like he’s punched a hole in your chest.

“I never stopped you from making friends, Hobi,” you mutter, eyes stinging. “Did I?”

You really can’t be sure.

His lips pucker, strangely, like he’s sucking on something sour. Finally, he admits, “A little…”

“How?”

You gasp a little, your throat tight and thick, and your eyes are practically on fire.

“You… YN, you and I are always together,” he explains. He starts pacing then, as if he can’t keep himself still. “It’s me and it’s you, and it’s us. Nobody can come between that. So, of course I never made friends. Nobody wanted to talk to me or be around me, and I never needed anyone else. But now… I just feel like we don’t need to be… We should… I need… I need space, dummy.”

Biting down on what you wanted to say, you let out a shuddering breath and nod. “I understand.”

But the voice doesn’t sound like yours anymore. It’s all garbled and wet and weird.

Hoseok seems to notice too because he stops pacing instantly.

“YN…?”

You glance up and he takes a shocked step back before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you in close. You are pressed tightly against his chest and all you can see or smell is him.

“I didn’t mean it, don’t cry,” he whispers all at once. “I was being mean. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t cry.”

He’s whispering things over and over again, but you can’t really hear anything over the sound of his racing heartbeat. It’s so loud, it almost deafens you. Hoseok sits you both down on a bench and wraps you up nice and tight, swaying from side to side and patting your back until all the choked sobs have worked their way out.

He wipes your face with his sleeve, waving off your worries of mascara stains. “I’ve got a washing machine, dummy.”

You giggle, but it still sounds so wet and inhuman that it makes you both grimace.

“Can I tell you the truth, YN?

You peer up at him through wet lashes, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s staring ahead, and his side profile is so handsome, it takes your breath away. He’s always been so pretty to you.

“The reason I can’t be around you anymore is because I fucked up,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. It surprises you deeply as Hoseok rarely ever swears around you. He seems frustrated, nervous and scared. “I… I promised we would always be together, right?”

You nod.

“We both promised, right?”

You nod again.

He turns to look at you this time, and now he’s the one with watery eyes and flushed cheeks. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

He takes in a deep, shaky breath. “I haven’t for a long time, YN.”

“So…”

“I’m in love with you,” he says in a quiet whisper. The wind carries his words to your ears so delicately that it almost feels as if you imagined it. You stare, dumbly, at him while his ears pink under your gaze. He shrinks on himself and bites his bottom lip. “I told you I fucked up.”

“Then I think I fucked up too,” you admit after a long pause. You reach for his face, holding his cheeks between your shaky palms. “I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve.”

His eyes widen until they are incredibly large, and then he’s kissing you. It isn’t hot and angry and wild like you had dreamed. It isn’t soft and chaste like you read about in books. It isn’t sloppy and wet like the girls told you it could be.

It’s warm and firm, like Hoseok always has been. He holds the back of your neck in his hand and moves his other hand to rest on your hip lightly. Hoseok pulls back to press his nose against yours and then pecks you twice on your lips, eyes fluttering closed. Then, he rests his forehead against your own and the two of you just… wait.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?”

You let out a giggle then, and shake your head, pulling back slightly. “Not at all, dummy.”

*end*

#jung hoseok #bts fanfic #bts series #kpop writers #kpop oneshots #bts oneshot #jung hoseok x reader #bts #kpop #hoseok jung

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loving-family-poll · 3 months

Note

(Confession) I think I’ve got some fucked up cheryl blossom shit going on. growing up I was isolated as an only child literally living in the middle of the woods with only immediate family and I had imaginary friends to keep me company. But they weren’t friends to me. They were my siblings. I actually fucking called them Sister and Brother. Like that was their names.

I was so lonely growing up I used to write fanfiction about me having a twin brother. I wanted someone my age to play with and be close to and I was always drawn to sibling type characters as well as emotionally incestous stories but I didn’t know what that was back then because I was so young. I knew objectively incest was wrong but I was so desperate for someone to be mine, to be close with me and stuck with me so they couldn’t leave me like my friends had as the years went by.

I have two cousins, both a few days apart from me in age. One a guy, one a girl. For some reason I always wanted a brother specifically, I couldn’t tell you why. This guy cousin, I’ll call him Scott, felt like the answer that I had prayed for. I used to daydream about him being my brother. Similar to an anon a while back, we physically fought a lot. I bested him everytime because I’m a buff girlboss or something. I was obsessed with him and there definitely was some emotionally incestous stuff going on from my end—and from what I’ve observed over the years, especially pretty recently now that we are in college, it seems he’s physically attracted to me.

Whats strange about this is im not physically attracted to him. I’m not physically attracted to men at all, really. I’ve always liked women. They were what my first sexual fantasies were about, the first porn I watched, I could go on. Somehow I didnt realize that I liked women until highschool even though I did all of that. It was all because of a movie I watched and I fell in love with the movie character who was a woman and I realized oh. I’ve never felt that way about any of my boyfriends before, or even Scott. Like not even comparably close. That weird nervousness I had around him paled completely compared to the feeling I have for women.

I didnt feel this call for a sister as desperately as I did a brother, but I think that might have been because I always found it easy to become close with other women. An example of how this affected my realization of my sexuality was that I definitely had love for my best friend who I only knew for a year. I’m not sure if I was really in love, but when she moved away it was absolutely fucking horrible. I wrote her letters and left kiss marks on them as my signature and I cried every day for months imagining kissing her before she left “as sisters”. Like that was an actual verbatim thought I had. As sisters. I thought about telling her I loved her and eventually this led to my having fantasies about her etc etc etc. I never thought anything about it until years later.

The other cousin I mentioned, I’ll call her Laura, definitely had some emotional + physical incestuous feelings for me as we grew up. She used to beg me to shower with her, bathe with her, skinny dip with her, do anything and everything with her. She once begged me to let her shave my pubes. I have never had good boundaries and I didn’t really see a reason to say no even though it make me a bit nervous. She was the one with sisters, this was just some sister ritual that I didn’t understand because I had no siblings. So I let her do whatever she wanted and I catered to whatever she asked of me. Over time she started to pull away from me and I didn’t understand, hadnt I done everything she had wanted of me?

About eight years passed where I barely saw her but I learned to live with it because essentially the same ghosting happened with my friends in school. I didn’t understand why they left me but I couldn’t change it so I went with the flow. But randomly she started talking to me again. It was weird because it felt like we were getting along way better than we had before which I hadn’t even noticed was strained. And she was flirting with me. Telling me that my makeup looked so pretty on me, that my hair smelled good, and that she loved my dimples. I smiled at her once and she said, “ohmigosh, you have dimples. I love dimples on girls.”

Very quickly we made it clear without being explicit that we both were into girls one night. Nothing happened, but I think being open like that made her decide to stick by my side for the rest of the visit, unlike her usual routine, and she made me sleep in bed with her and go everywhere with her, like when we were kids.

Then she got a boyfriend.

Last visit I was dejected but happy for her because she seemed so much more happy than she had at any other time in her life. But then, I think, she made a move on me. We were at the local pool at nighttime, all alone. She mentioned wanting some ice cream before the shop closed next to the pool and because my love language seems to be acts of service and turning into mush when pretty girls bat their eyelashes, I very unsubtly ran off to get her ice cream. I think she knew by then that she had me in her clutches because her entire mood changed.

She came up close to me as she ate and very slowly crowded me against the wall. I was like an actual pile of mush trying and failing to eat my own icecream as she talked and I got that feeling in my chest, one I had never had with Scott, ever. She reached to me and adjusted my swim top strap and then brushed my hair out of my face and my body actually buckled. I had thought I was a top up until that point but im. I guess not. And then she fucking asked me if I thought the two of us would be able to fit into the bathtub together, again, like we used to.

I said yes and we rushed off back to the house and I was in the bathroom waiting for her and….she never came in. I went out to see where she was and she was with our grandfather and I did actually subtly ask her did you want to take a bath or anything? Because I’ll take a shower if not….and she told me she was just going to wait etc etc etc. and then I remembered. Her fucking boyfriend. Shit.

If Laura asked I would do absolutely anything for her. I think with Scott we have this Something Weirder Than Sex shit going on and I don’t know what to do on either front.

This is long as fuck but a good read that shit w Laura is wild

#asks #not a poll #incest confessions

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yancherrysoda · 9 months

Text

Whispers of the Stars

One piece of advice I’ve read is to write down the thing you’ve been thinking about, even if it’s not in chronological order. Don’t put those ideas aside and wait just because it’s not for the next chapter.

I daydream a lot, and this has been marinating inside my head for so long so I said, "Let’s sit down and write it."

The next fics will for sure be the 1-month and 6-month later oneshots, even though I already have some ideas scribbled on my notes for the smut lol (This oneshot is extra; I made a master list with all the chapters; link)

Warnings: attempted sa(?)

Wordcount: 3.613

“Would you like anything else?” You asked the woman sitting at the table in front of you.

She looked up from the menu. “Actually, I have a rather unusual request,” she replied, and you leaned in, holding the tray closer to your chest. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like a bowl of ice cream topped with pickles and hot sauce.”

You stared at her; your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as if she had spoken a language from some distant world. Ice cream topped with pickles and hot sauce? Who in their right mind would order that?

The woman placed a hand on your shoulder. “Sorry. You seem very serious, and I wanted to lighten the mood.” She smiled at you. “What’s the reason you’re working so hard, dear?”

You stood up straight and returned her smile. “Oh, it’s nothing important; just trying to make ends meet.” You replied. “I also need the money to buy a generous amount of apples for my pet rabbit. He has quite the appetite.”

She chuckled. “A pet rabbit? That’s adorable! What’s his name?”

You bit the corners of your cheeks, trying to suppress a laugh. “Venti.”

“In that case, could I request Moonpie, pancakes, and berry juice?”

“Certainly, Moonpie, pancakes, and a glass of berry juice coming right up!” You scribbled down her order and made your way into the kitchen. While you waited for the meal, you rushed over to the bar and began to prepare the drink.

“Pet rabbit?” You heard Diluc ask behind you and turned to see him cleaning a glass with a rag.

“I mean,” you giggled, carefully pouring the vibrant berry juice into a tall glass and watching the rich colors swirl together. “Did you want me to tell her I have a human friend whose diet consists of apples and wine?”

Diluc snorted, setting the clean glass down. “No, I think the pet rabbit story is much more entertaining.”

You curled your lips in amusement at his reply, grateful for the lightheartedness he brought to your day. Working at Angel’s Share has been tough lately, but moments like this have helped you through it.

The bell rang with a clear chime that echoed through the kitchen, signaling that the order was ready. You quickly moved to the counter, grabbed the Moonpie along with the plate full of pancakes, and hurried back to the woman’s table. She looked delighted as you placed the dishes in front of her.

“Oh my, this looks delicious!” She exclaimed. “Thank you, dear.”

“I’ll be right back with your drink.” You let her know before scurrying back to the bar. As you approached it, you felt Diluc tap your shoulder.

“This is for you,” he said, handing you a piece of paper. “It’s from your pet rabbit.”

You unfolded the paper and read the message, neatly written in elegant handwriting. It simply said: ‘Meet me at Windrise.’

“When did he give it to you?”

“This morning,” he uttered simply.

You grabbed the drink and made your way back to the woman’s table, setting it down next to her meal. “Here is your berry juice. Sorry for the delay.”

“No need to apologize! I’ll make sure to leave a generous tip for your excellent service.”

You thanked her and went to the other tables, making sure everyone was enjoying their meals.

As your shift was coming to a close and the tavern had cleared out, you strolled around tidying up the tables, thinking about Venti's letter. What was he up to this time?

As your thoughts wandered, a throat-clearing noise came from behind, and you spun around to see a man in his fifties seated at the corner table.

“How can I assist you today?” You asked warily, not recognizing him as a regular patron.

He looked up at you with a stern expression. He was rather big, and his face had a craggy, weathered look. His hair, thick and black as coal, was striped with gray and white here and there and was combed back from his forehead in an old-fashioned style that made him seem a bit formal. His eyes were the perfect shade of steel gray, almost like water reflecting the sun. “I’ve been waiting for my order for quite some time now. Is there a problem in the kitchen?”

“My apologies.” You bowed a couple of times. “What was the order? I’ll get it for you right—”

The man interjected, gesturing dismissively with his hand. “Is this how customers are treated here?” he spat and stood up from his chair. He then walked over to you and grabbed your wrist, almost painfully. He leaned in closer, which made you take a couple steps back and meet the table’s edge.

“Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience you have experienced. If you allowed me to go check on the order to resolve this issue—” you were interrupted again.

“That won’t do,” he declared, trapping you between him and the table.

You swiftly stepped aside, releasing yourself from his grip, but he grabbed you by the legs and pushed you onto the table. It screeched loudly as it scraped against the floor as your back made contact with the surface. You desperately attempted to free yourself from him again, yet he kept an ironclad grip on you by the feet.

As you were about to call for help, you heard a loud crash and saw pieces of glass fly around the establishment. Diluc had come rushing over, swinging a bottle of wine at the man’s head, effectively knocking him out cold. He then quickly helped you off the table and inspected you up and down. “Did he hurt you?”

You vigorously shook your head. “No, I’m okay.”

Diluc breathed a sigh of relief before he turned his attention to the unconscious man on the floor.

You walked around the scene, trying to avoid stepping over the shattered pieces of glass or slipping on the spilled liquid, as he quickly maneuvered the situation, calling for staff to clean up the mess, and then escorted you out of the building through the back door.

He settled you into one of the outdoor chairs, his eyes filled with worry as he fixed his gaze on you. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Who would have thought one of our customers would be stupid enough to assault someone when there are still people inside the building.”

Your body trembled as the aftermath of what had happened sank in, but soon you managed to compose yourself and offer him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He patted your head. “Venti would have killed me if something happened to you.”

You thanked him once more before you stood up and returned to the tavern with him.

“You should leave earlier today; I’m sure Venti will be happy to spend more time with you.”

“But the glass—”

“I’ll deal with that.” He curved his lips into a brief smile and gave you a slight nod before he turned away.

You stayed in the tavern for a few more minutes to collect your thoughts before you finally went to change out of your uniform, gathered your belongings, and headed out through the main door.

As you strolled up the street, you took in the sights of all the various shops. They were stacked with glimmering merchandise, from kitchen appliances to boxes full of shiny toys. It was a rabbit-warren maze of shimmering possibilities, and in the background, you could hear the rhythmic thump-thump of cash registers ringing up sales. You eventually came across a fruit stand run by an elderly couple. The man was on the other side of it, weighing various fruits and sorting them into bags.

“Hello!” You called out to them. “May I please buy a small bag of apples?”

The woman turned around and smiled at the familiar face before her. “Is it for that young lad?” She asked, and you nodded. She then reached under the counter and pulled out a paper bag with a few apples inside. “That’ll be 960 mora, please,” she said.

You took out the money you had saved up from your service job to pay for the apples, wished her a good evening, and left.

You then walked out of the city and onto a bridge that overlooked a serene lake, clutching the bag of apples in your hand tightly. As the sun set, the streets took on a warm, golden glow. It was a sprawling organism, teeming with life. Its veins of streets and avenues ran all through the concrete web, each section of its organic shapes communicating with each other to create one living entity. The day’s hustle and bustle gradually subsided as people walked hurriedly on the sidewalks without care or disruption, except for the occasional laughter coming out of restaurants after dinner.

At last, you stepped on the path; it was faint and slightly overgrown with grass and weeds. Glimpses of man-made foundations were visible through spots in the foliage—broken stone walls or cobblestone streets that had been ripped apart by nature's reclaiming fingers. It was peaceful here; cool breezes blew through old trees, carrying fragrances from long-forgotten gardens.

The path began to rise up a hill from which you could see an incredibly vast and wide landscape of trees and bushes spread out before you, and as you approached the giant tree, you could hear the distant strumming of a lyre.

Venti lifted his head to look at your figure emerging from the pathway. “Oh! You’re early.” His face lit up with joy, and he couldn't contain his enthusiasm, jumping to his feet in an instant.

You dropped the bag of apples and ran up to him, your arms spread wide. Your legs were dangling in the air as he spun you around, cradling you against his chest as he drew you closer. However, due to the sheer force of the spin, you both lost balance and landed in the pond that was around the tree. The water enveloped you, its cool touch sending a shiver through your entire body. You opened your eyes to see Venti floating in front of you with his cheeks puffed, and even through the warped water, you could sense the fun-loving glint in his eyes.

He swam up to you and wrapped his arms around you, helping you swim back up. When you got to the surface, Venti’s face softened into a gentle smile as one of his hands held your waist and the other cradled the back of your head. You grabbed onto his shoulders for support and coughed, trying to get the water out of your lungs before saying, “Sorry.”

His laughter rippled through the air like waves, bright and contagious.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t something I expected to experience today.” He helped you swim back to the edge of the pond, grabbing onto a nearby rock for support. He then swept his hand up to his forehead, pushing back the strands of hair that clung to it, and propped his chin in the palm of his hand, looking at you. “I didn’t know you were so happy to see me, my angel.”

The two of you then assisted each other in getting out of the water. You grabbed your shirt and twisted it in a number of places to squeeze out as much water as possible from the fabric, and then tilted your head forward to allow the drops to flow towards the tips as you squeezed them out of your strands.

After you were finished, you looked at him do the same thing to his clothes. You couldn’t help but notice his chest peeking through the wet shirt, and you quickly averted your gaze in embarrassment.

You walked up to the bag of apples lying on the floor and grabbed it, then made your way to the tree and sat under it with your back resting against the trunk. He joined you, still dripping wet, wringing the water from his braids.

You turned to him and said, “I brought you a little something.” You then opened the bag, and he reached a hand into it to pull out one of the crisp red apples.

His eyes lit up in excitement, and a broad smile spread across his face. “You always know the way to my heart.” He then took a bite out of it, savoring its sweetness.

Each crunch and swallow were like sweet honey on his tongue. The juice ran down his chin and stained his fingers slightly, but he didn’t care since, for him, this was all part of the pleasure of enjoying a fruit from the Gods.

“How was your day?” He asked after a while.

You sighed deeply, your chest heaving and your shoulders sagging as the air left your lungs. “Exhausting.” You told him about your job, some of the rude customers, and the working hours. Venti listened attentively, never once interrupting you as you spoke.

He nodded his head in understanding and sat in deep, thoughtful silence for a while. “Rude customers?”

You raised your head, looking at the leaves of the giant tree above you. They were so large that they blocked out the sky. “Yeah,” you said slowly. “Some days I just don’t know why I put up with them. It seems like a never-ending cycle of customer complaints and unhappy faces.”

Venti nodded solemnly. “Can you tell me more about that?”

You placed a hand on your chin. “Well, some people feel entitled to the servers’ attention and would sometimes make a scene, but nothing too crazy. They even would get me involved, but as I said, it’s nothing too serious.” You waved off the thought, looking away. “Besides, Diluc and the other staff help me handle it, like today.”

“Today?” He asked, his voice loud. “What happened today?”

“Nothing much.” You uttered the words in a high-strung, dismissive voice. “This late afternoon, one of the customers got a bit too loud and said something about not having enough alcohol. Since Diluc is most of the time at the counter of the bar serving drinks, he had a good view of everything that was happening on the first floor, so he was there to help and defuse the situation.”

Venti pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, his body leaning against the tree trunk. “You should consider getting a new job. There’s someone I know in Liyue that could offer you a different one. You won’t have to deal with bad customers, and the payment is pretty good as far as I know.”

“No way! I’m not going all the way to Liyue for a part-time job!” You shouted out. “Besides, this one pays me well.”

He leaned in closer to you, water droplets from his damp hair rolling down his neck. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Are you really willing to deal with that kind of people and risk your safety?”

You leaned back, your eyes darting from side to side. You tried hard not to look at him directly. “Look. I might have made it sound like there’s a battlefield going on there from time to time, but it’s not,” you clarified. “And whether I decide to keep working there or not is between me and God, not you.” You glanced at the statue in front of you.

Venti looked at the statue of himself, then back at you. “What if God doesn’t want you to work there either?”

“Then he will have to come down from Celestia and say it to my face.” You crossed your arms and lifted your chin. “But judging by the fact that he hasn’t shown up in a thousand years, I doubt he would do that just to tell me where I should or shouldn’t work.” You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out. “Anyway,” you said, looking back at him. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”

He stood up and gestured for you to follow him. “I wanted to take you somewhere.”

The path to Starsnatch Cliff was lined with trees that were running wild. The evening air had a refreshing coolness, and the night sky was illuminated by the dying embers of the sunset, with orange and red hues reflecting off the cracked and weathered bark of each tree. As you made your way up the hill, you could feel every rock and twig grinding beneath your feet before they melted away into damp grass at the top.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been here together,” he said. “It’s one of the prettiest places in Mondstadt, besides the main city and Windrise, of course.” Reaching the summit of the hill, he settled on the edge with his legs dangling over, gazing out into the night sky.

You ventured over to him, and he extended his hand to aid you in settling down next to him. “It's very high," you breathed out as your hand firmly grasped his.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you go.” He reassured you.

You sat perched on the edge of the cliff, looking out at the breathtaking view that lay before you. It was a captivating landscape, dotted with lush green grasses, and in the far distance, an endless ocean met the horizon, reflecting the silver moon above.

“What’s that? It looks like a constellation.” You pointed up.

He looked up at the sky, where a million stars shone down, twinkling like glitter on black velvet. Some of them were more prominent than others, glowing brighter and seemingly linking together to create patterns. “It’s called Carmen Dei.”

“Whose is it?”

He leaned back, supporting his body with his hands. “It’s Barbatos’ constellation. Its name translates as Song of God.”

“You seem to know a lot of things about him; are you two close or something?”

Venti cleared his throat. “I don’t know him personally, but taking in mind what people say about him, we seem to have a lot in common.” He smiled at you. He then glanced up at the stars again, running his fingers through the strings of the lyre. “You know, the stars are truly sublime, having seen the rise and fall in every clime. Stories untold they've witnessed with emotion added on, a timeless beauty that will never be undone.”

His lyrical response caught you by surprise, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. His words painted a vivid picture of the stars as celestial storytellers, silently watching over the world and preserving its tales throughout time.

“I didn’t expect such a beautiful answer,” you said. “I think I’m starting to understand why you’re a three-time winner of the Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt”

“Right.” Venti beamed proudly.

You stretched and laid on the ground. High above, an ethereal island floated in the sky. “Do the stars hold stories about Celestia too?”

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Maybe.”

“I tried searching for information about that island during my library visits but couldn’t find anything; it’s like it doesn’t exist, yet I can clearly see it up in the sky!” You extended your arms up towards Celestia. “It feels like it's forbidden to talk about, yet I sense that there must be some knowledge written somewhere, deliberately kept from the public eye.”

Venti swallowed hard and squirmed in his seat, nervously rubbing his hands together.

“Are you cold?”

“Yeah.” He lied.

You sat up straight and enveloped him in your arms, lovingly stroking his head. “I’m sorry for what happened earlier.”

He leaned his head against your shoulder and wrapped one arm securely around your waist, while his other hand gently held yours. “Don’t be. I’m actually glad we fell into the pond.” He tenderly nuzzled your neck. “I’m glad you were so happy to see me.”

You both sat together in the stillness of the moment, the silence eventually interrupted by you. “Do you ever wonder how we got here? I mean, how was the world created.”

“You're very inquisitive today,” Venti remarked. “Your curiosity knows no bounds.” He scratched his nose. “I happen to know something about that.”

You sat with your legs crossed, flapping them excitedly like the wings of a butterfly.

“Hear me out. In other, distant worlds, Pangu gave his blood to form the rivers and seas. The Gods sacrificed Purusha and cut his body to pieces, and then fashioned all living beings with those parts.” He paused thoughtfully. “The flesh of the giant Ymir became the Earth, the skull became the heavens, and the brains became clouds. Their sacrifices seeded life in the unliving cosmos.”

You shivered at the thought of Gods sacrificing themselves in order to create life. Venti noticed this and put his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze.

“Uh, who are those people?” You asked. “Where did they come from?”

“Pangu is the first living being in the universe who separated heaven and Earth and then became geographic features such as mountains.” He looked at the horizon. “Purusha was a cosmic being whose sacrifice by the Gods created all life, just like Ymir.”

You let out a deep sigh as you processed what he had just said. “Sounds pretty dark.”

“I can see that.”

“But it’s entertaining to listen to you talk about these kinds of things. You’re very smart.”

Venti hummed. “And what else?”

“What else?”

He chuckled, his voice full of amusement. “Yes, what else? Perhaps charming, dashing, handsome? Any other qualities you might find attractive?”

You nudged him playfully. “What you are is full of yourself.”

#venti x reader #venti x y/n #lord barbatos #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #fluff #diluc

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stxrliasfics · 5 months

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sxtrlia’s guide to writing a fic

1. Obsess over this idea for at least a week

Got that important paper due for English the next day? Forget it. Your life depends on this random daydream you had in class right now and you have to talk about it over and over with your friend to the point that you’re both getting sick of hearing you giggle about a dying ship from an old fandom.

2. Spend money on another notebook you definitely don’t need

You’ve got like, 50 of em at home that you haven’t even written in yet. Doesn’t matter. This new precious fic deserves a clean, sexy notebook with a glossy finish and gorgeous graphic art on the cover of it. It’s also an excuse to drive 20 minutes to the nearest Walmart.

3. Binge watch show/movie and browse pics of ship while plotting

You actually need to get some outlining done if you want to be committed to this fic. But scrolling on pinterest for an hour and rewatching an episode that you’ve definitely seen a million times before is too important right now. Meh, I’ll outline later.

4. It’s now later and all you have is “The” on your paper

Meh, time to watch some degrassi

5. You watch your grades slip but OMG IM ACC GETTING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS???

You’re sweating like you’ve never sweat before, your hand is cramping like crazy, and you currently have a 40 in a class bc you didn’t turn in that important project that was worth half of your grade. IT DOESNT MATTER THO BC YOU JUST THOUGHT OF THIS PERFECT PLOT POINT AND OMG YOURE DANCING AROUND THE ROOM BC OF HOW PERFECT EVERYTHING IS TYING TOGETHER!!

6. You upload the story

Now you’ve lost motivation.

#fanfic author #ao3 author #written by stxrlia #stxrliasfics #fanfic meme #writer memes #fanfiction memes #fanfiction #two of cups jack x eric #boy meets world #jeric #bmw fanfiction

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99corentine · 3 months

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How To Write Good by Corentine

THE DRAFTING PROCESS, PART 1/2

Hello, people were interested in some writing tips by me so I, uh, sort of kind of cranked out a writing guide in a few hours. I’m not sure if this will be a very comprehensive or helpful guide but let’s give it a try!

⭐ Starting disclaimers: Please remember as with all things that my method is not necessarily the best method, everyone is different and over time you’ll find your own process.

I write romance, so my advice is skewed towards writing that and I’m not sure how helpful it will be for gen fic. I publish fanfic chapter by chapter to AO3 so it’s also skewed to someone doing the same, not someone writing a full novel they want to get published.

I’m going to be using GOL HAH DOV (GHD) for writing examples because, well, it’s a (almost-)finished longfic so it’s as good a reference as any, but obviously GHD is not everyone’s cup of tea. I’ll also occasionally reference Tooth for a Tooth (T4T) which apologies is very far from finished, but the Baldur’s Gate 3 fandom is vastly different to the Skyrim one, so it’s useful to cross-compare them.

Also worth bearing in mind: I have been writing fanfiction since I was about 13, and I’m now 33. That’s 20 years of experience. Do you know what I wrote when I was 13? Hot garbage. Writing is a learned skill that, much like playing a musical instrument or learning literally any other craft, you must put time and effort into to improve.

However although ‘practice makes perfect’ is fundamentally true, that’s also kind of lame advice. So here is what I personally do, which may be helpful in figuring out what you want to do.

STEP ONE: YOU NEED AN IDEA FIRST DUMMY

Think of a fic idea. Probably you have lots of vague ideas. As I’m trying to turn something from a daydream into an actual writing project, I tend to ask myself these questions:

⭐Who is it about?⭐

Pick your pairing, romantic or otherwise. Think about what you like about the character and what traits you want to emphasise in your writing. If you’re writing about fan character x fan character, what makes them go well together? What causes tension between them?

If you’re writing fan character x original character, do remember that your readers are here for the fan character, not for your OC. There is no getting around this, your OC is not what brings people to the fic. GHD’s Chrysanthe was largely intended as a blank slate, quite literally, I made him an amnesiac because the point of the story was Miraak not Chrysanthe.

Over time I was able to shape him into something more distinctive (softly-spoken, stoic, paladin-like, secret tricksy side only Miraak brings out, gets more dragon-like as the story progresses) but that was a gradual thing. Your readers will hopefully come to love your OC as you do, but it takes time for them to get invested. I’m very grateful that people did come to root for Chrysanthe – but make no mistake, if the story had no Miraak in it, people wouldn’t be reading it. Your OC is always a vehicle for the fan character.

⭐What are the overarching themes of the story?⭐

A cohesive story has a theme that repeats throughout, and picking one early on will let you write with that theme in mind. As an example, the themes of GHD are:

Soulmates / we were destined to meet each other

There’s no-one else like me / you and I are the only real ones here

One’s a hero one’s a villain

Zero to hero / hero becomes progressively more badass

Redemption arc but the villain is never fully redeemed – for GHD this turned into the repetition of Miraak’s theme he’ll never be pure but for you he’ll try and later Chrysanthe’s I love you exactly as you are

Your own themes might be something like best friends who don’t realise they’ve been in love this whole time or can’t live with you can’t live without you. Tropes count towards this too, so something like soulmates, Modern Coffee Shop AU, hanahaki, all of that stuff is a story theme.

⭐What does this fic do that other fics like it don’t?⭐

GOL HAH DOV was sort of easy mode in this regard because there aren’t many fics featuring Miraak at all, so writing anything was already doing something different. Of those existing fics, I wanted to see more where Miraak was evil and scary, and you should be the change you want to see in the world (of fanfic), so I decided to write it myself. I get a lot of comments on Miraak’s personality, so I assume this is mostly what makes GHD stand out!

I’ll use T4T as a contrasting example, because Skyrim is old and Miraak is niche, but Baldur’s Gate 3 is new/popular and Astarion is a fan favourite. That means there’s a veritable sea of fic about him, so what can you write that will stand out from the many, many other fics out there? It doesn’t have to be the only one of its kind or anything, but it does need to have some special about it.

You’ll want to either go for a strong theme or trope (i.e. soulmates, magical spell curse, we’re both monsters), or change the setting (canon divergence, ‘what if X happened instead?’, or even outright alternate universe and a brand new plot). Personally, I choose to follow the source material but go off-script. I gotta say, nothing makes me sadder than seeing plot and dialogue lifted straight from a game with zero changes made to it. That’s a personal preference obviously, but I think if you write a fic it should strive to do something different to the rest.

⭐Do I have enough enthusiasm to finish it?⭐

This is more applicable to longfic, but you really need to be in love with a story to see it through to the end. Be realistic with yourself, how much free time and energy you have – if you start it, do you think you can finish it?

I have a whole planning process (detailed later) and sometimes I start planning out an idea just to realise I don’t really have the enthusiasm to actually write the whole thing. This is fine! Even just planning is still a writing exercise, and it might spark some different ideas.

Once you have your idea, and you’re confident you’re going to actually write it… then for the love of all that is holy, do not share it in detail with anyone. You can pitch an idea to see if people will be interested but if you go into specifics about story events or certain scenes? You basically get the endorphins from having ‘created’ it, only you haven’t actually created it, and now you’ve had the chemical pay-off you probably never will. Keep your ideas to yourself until you’ve actually written them.

STEP TWO: WRITE THAT DOWN

In terms of writing software, I use Scrivener, which is a paid-for software but is not subscription based (I wouldn’t pay continually for software unless I was reliably writing every day, and sometimes I go ages without being in the mood to write). Scriv’s word processor isn’t the most intuitive thing, but I like its organisation features. This is what a work in progress looks like for me:

That’s essentially a folder (the story) containing a bunch of word documents (the chapters). You could break it down even further and have a chapter folder with each document being individual scenes, then stitch it together later - if writing is a daunting process for you, it’s useful to break it down into small, manageable chunks. You can do this in other software obviously, I just find Scrivener the most visually pleasing.

Set up your writing document, and let’s get to planning what we’re actually going to write!

...Apparently tumblr has a word limit I've exceeded, so I'll write the next bit separately. Here's PART TWO.

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nikholascrow · 2 months

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welcome to my page ☆ ———

About me ☆ ———

Hey there darlings <3 I’m Nikholas but most people call me Niko, you can also call me Nick or Neeks or give me a your own nickname if you want I love nicknames and my pronouns are he/him

things I like: seaslugs, flowers and plants, grandpa sweaters, tea, coffee, matcha, sea life, skating (mostly long boarding and figure skating), drawing, sewing, acting, writing, reading and annotating books, singing, organizing, baking (although I’m not super good at it) photography and cinematography, space, random deep conversations, nature

I tend to use a lot of <333 and petnames just naturally if that makes you uncomfortable please let me know, I wanna make sure all my mutuals and followers are comfortable around me

although I really love marauders and some parts of harry potter I do not in any way support jk rowling and I would like to avoid associating with anyone who does

I also tend to not use periods when I’m speaking because they feel very harsh to me and they make it difficult for me to get my tone across properly (this does not extend to my writing)

My Hogwarts house is Slytherin. my Pjo cabin is a ongoing debate but either Hades, Apollo or Dionysus. And my birthday is August 17th in case you were wondering :]

I love receiving asks and dms so feel free to send me some any time about anything <3

What to expect from this blog ☆ ———

I mostly post about marauders since that’s one of my main interests at the moment, but you may also expect: occasional fandom content from pjo (the books only unfortunately I can’t watch the show atm), harry potter, and very rarely starwars. my thoughts on the books I’m currently reading. random little snippets of my life and very occasional fanart for the earlier mentioned famdoms.

My linktree ☆ ———

if you wanna support me in other places consider checking out my linktree which can be found here I make mostly marauders content on my other platforms as well and if you’re ever wondering what I’m up to when I’m not on tumblr I probably have stories going on instagram my Ao3 is on my linktree as well

Fics written by me ☆ ———

Shower Thoughts (pre-rosekiller) - fluff, word count: 423

Out - Regulus’ pov - Word count: 167 Tw: past parental abuse

Out - Sirius’ pov - Word count: 165 Tw: past parental abuse

finally dead - suneeker - word count: 199

She loves me - Regulus - word count: 291 - Tw: child abuse, physical abuse

Destined - Word count: 211 - Evan and Regulus friendship angst

Alone - Word count: 53 - rosekiller christmas fluff

And they were roommates - ongoing - rosekiller

Christmas at the Potter’s - pre-rosekiller + bg sunseeker- word count: 673 - merry fucking christmas to everyone who celebrates and big hugs to everyone who’s holiday experience has sucked because of family

whisper - wolfstar + bg sunseeker - word count: 902 Tw: parental and physical abuse - hurt/comfort

Fic recs ☆ ———

(I’ll fill this in later)

My lovely mutuals ☆ ———

@thedvilsinthedetails @a-dork-yable @coffeedrunk @regulusmeanslittleking @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @daydream-of-a-wallflower @lady-stardust-incarnate @cademygod @cazzythefrogking @my-beloved-fandoms

if you want to be added to or taken off this list please let me know, if you follow me and you wanna be mutuals shoot me an ask or a dm there’s quite a few of y’all now so I can’t always go through everyone and follow back people I’d love to be mutuals with <333

Final notes ☆ ———

Goodbye y’all, I hope you all have a wonderful day and remember to take care of yourselves I love y’all so much <333

#finally got around to updating this my old one was a mess #theres technically one more fic by me I didn’t list but it was my first ever one and it’s pretty bad so you gotta dig if you want it

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pennedbyeve · 7 months

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Autumn days • two

Before I begin, I would like to thank those of you who showed love and support to the first chapter, I have been writing since the third grade, and the importance of representation is extremely important to me, so I am happy to know people are enjoying what I put out, happy start of fall y'all.

Alicia

THE LIBRARY WAS HER FAVORITE PLACE, in addition to the coffee shop, the solitude, and the ambiance of the library was unmatched, she found herself in a corner darted off not near foot traffic, and she had the perfect view of the city and the afternoon sky from a large window, the colors of the maple leaves on the trees nearby were a rust colored, and her favorite a shade of burnt orange.

Mingi promised her he would help her today, since he was off, she never wanted to be a pest or a bother, but he insisted that he helped her with her love story, this was her pouring her heart out onto the paper, her characters, she had created and developed, and she oftentimes wondered if that her fictious world would ever measure up to her reality, of course she had been on dates in the past, but they were all flops – her dream was falling in love with her best friend, or someone she considered a companion, but since she was fairly new to the area, that was nearly impossible, but she held her breath in case something did happen.

Moments later, after her daydream, MIngi finally at the library in contrast to his coffee shop uniform he had a striped sweater, a dark khaki pair of corduroy pants and some combat boots, he was dressed to impress that was for sure, he placed the drink carrier carefully on the light-colored wood.

She stood up to give him a hug, though there was a slight height difference between the two of them her head rested comfortably on his stomach.

She stayed there for a few moments, before snapping back into reality. She pulled away, his cologne still lingering in her nose.

“I brought coffee, from what I gathered either writers like coffee a lot, or you just like coffee.” He chuckled.

“It’s a mix of both honestly but come get comfortable.” She motioned to the chair that was in front of her.

As he got situated in the chair, she looked in her purse pulling out the notebook and her pens, and the supplies she knew they would need.

She took a small sip of her coffee, before she started to work on her most recent scene, after a few minutes it felt like her mind was moving at the speed of light as she came up with magic.

“Okay, this is what I got.” She handed him her notebook, it felt like a piece of her was escaping, but there was something special of her showing him the hard work and dedication she had been putting out there for the last few months.

She watched as he began to read it from the beginning, the battered pages, were all parts of her and her wildest imagination, so it was an unique feeling of allowing someone in, but there was something special about Mingi that she could not even shake even, if she tried.

“Wow.” That was the first thing he said, she looked at his face trying to gauge his reaction, she often knew that people would criticize every little thing, so her heart raced in anticipation.

“Was that a good wow or wow this bad?” She raised her eyebrow.

“You’re talented Alicia, and no I am not saying that either, the way you paint a picture with your words, is truly an art. I am rooting for the characters to be together in the end, I can see where the dilemma comes in though.” He stood up behind her after he handed her the notebook.

Her heart raced even more so with her standing behind her, but she kept it as cool as she possibly could.

She picked up her pen to begin writing, he guided her hand, “Okay, so this paragraph is worded funny, but I understand what you’re trying to say, but I think you can add some umph.” Feeling his hand on top of hers caused her breath to pick up.

“Okay I’ll add to it.” She nodded her head.

He was yet to move, she could not lie she was comfortable, with him being behind her.

“Also there is one spelling error let me see if I could find it again.” He flipped through the pages with his free hand, once he found it, she glided her hand yet again, he pointed to the word and she circled the word.

***

After a few minutes she corrected the errors she did have, she was glad to have him to read and help her draft this and craft this novel accordingly.

“Are you hungry?” He looked over at her, she looked at the time it was a little past one and she was shocked that the time was moving so quickly.

“A little bit, are you?”

He nodded his head, “I am, I know a spot where we can get good food. My treat.” He smiled, she could pinch herself it felt like everything was going well as friends with Mingi and she was grateful to know she had a friend in him.

Moments later, the two of them were at a restaurant, the smells of the unique blends of Korean cuisine filled her nose, she knew she was in for a treat as Mingi and the woman at the counter began to speak Korean to one another.

He turned to Alicia, “You ready?”

She nodded as the waitress guided the two of them to a seat outside with a view of the downtown city lights, everything was beautiful.

He handed her a menu, “Okay I recommend a lot of things, so I hope your stomach is ready, but first we can get some soju if you don’t mind drinking, I will make sure you get home in one piece I promise.”

She had always been interested in Korean culture, so this was something she was excited for.

“I trust you Mingi.”

The two of them had a great time and when they finally made it to Alicia’s apartment she was not ready to leave his company.

“When can I see you again?”

“I’m off on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday it is.”

#ambw kpop #song mingi x black reader #kpop black reader

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somany-fandoms-solittle-time · 8 months

Text

In A Sentimental Mood: A Ruggie/Yuu Oneshot

Some quick Housekeeping! This was originally meant to be a song-fic but the only time I remembered to/felt inspired to write was nearly the middle of the night (as writers do lol) so I didn’t have enough mental energy to splice the lyrics together into the story. Instead, I listened to the song on repeat while writing, like, HALF of the fic but I thought it was cute enough to fit the vibes. The narrator's voice and descriptions were hard to keep consistent as well as concise, but whatever. I don’t think I properly matched Ruggie’s speech pattern but I think it’s close enough to ‘random, working class teenager’ for now.

Also! It’s an X Yuu but I’m pretty sure I used all GN! Pronouns so please feel free to read it as an X Reader (who’s the Ramshackle Perfect). It felt kinda awkward to not describe the character or use open descriptors (like Y/N, HC, etc.) but feel free to add any notes or styles to try out for an open reader audience. Honestly feel free to comment or message any feedback lol! I don’t have a beta reader atm (I might ask either my gf or my IRL friend who’s also into TWST) but it could be fun to have a random stranger react to my writing so they’re disconnected from personal feelings and whatnot.

I have a fic introducing my oc a little interacting with the Pop Music Club, but it’s making out to be longer than expected so between writing for my own AU/ocs story I’ll be posting cute lil song-fics as well as crackhead interactions lol! Maybe a few headcanons as well. I’m not sure if I would have ever actually started writing fanfics (or writing in general) instead of simply daydreaming about it if it wasn’t for @twst-beam and @krenenbaker , so a quick dedication for them for lowkey lighting a fire under my ass. Not only have you opened the creative floodgates, but actually gave me the motivation to actually TRY and put it into action. Anyway…. ON TO THE STORY BITCHES!!! ENJOY THE THE SWEET HYENA BOY (who weirdly looks exactly like my Boyfriend, lol) AND COME REALISH IN THE CHAOS~

In A Sentimental Mood:

A Ruggie/Yuu one-shot

It had been a long day. Scratch that–it had been the longest year of Ruggie Bucchi and Yuu’s life! However, there was something especially trying these last 24 hours. Maybe it had something to do with how this was the first day off the both had (that lined up) in w e e k s and they STILL BOTH got called in to run some nonsensical errand. Or maybe it’s because when the First Year Squad were supposed to be babysitting Grim the entire first floor of Ramshackle got absolutely trashed.

Something about stupid bets, idiotic magic competition, and a prolonged chase. Afterwards, Rugs and Yuu had to help clean up! The aftermath of the wreckage was too much for the Hodge Podge group of freshmen.

What really topped the day off was the mission impossible scheme the couple failed to pull off. Originally, the two were simply planning to “borrow” on one Leonas (numerous) credit cards while the latter was passed out for an all-expenses-paid date out. It’s not like they were about to rob the second prince blind! Just a few trips to their usual thrifting stops, maybe hassle with a local boutique and then some semi-fancy free grub.

Instead they got caught two shops in when they decided to grab some food before being totally weighed down by paper shopping bags. Since they had a later start, Yuu suggested getting dinner to the new uppity wine-and-dine.

“C’mon Rugs~ When are we gonna have another chance to dine like Kings? And on a Royal Dime at that!” they foolishly (but successfully) tempted the poor Hyena into a little more Mischievous than the two realized.

Too bad their Dinner Date got cut short from one of the waiters recognizing the Sunset Savannah Royal Seal on Leona’s card. It took an hour and a half of being corralled into a backroom, 3 ominous threats of calling the police, snarky back talk and just general arguing before Leona strutted into the Restaurant and vouched for his underclassmen. Seeing the lazy Lion not only WAKE UP, but come off campus was a bit of a surprise for the thief couple.

What wasn’t as surprising was his smug, diva face while declaring that they would need to pay him back for disturbing his nap. After hasty, and admittedly sheepish, promises to the Prince, he collected his missing card and strutted back to campus. Luckily, he was secretly a bit of a softy towards his unofficial Vice and the magicless Perfect that saved his life (and probably his status for not ratting him out to his older brother). It’s safe to say while making the switch a decent stack of Thaumarks was placed in Ruggie’s wallet.

So yeah, in a word, the day had been a bit of a shitshow. A clusterfuck of misfortunate events (and if it weren’t for Leona, Yuu and Ruggie would not only be in some kind of jail but also flat broke).

But finally–finally–this hardworking hyena Beastman and the Ramshackle Perfect were about to have some peace and quiet! A moment for just the two of them. A small, precious moment late at night. After the longest night of their collective lives, the two were able to cuddle up and appreciate what they had. Even if all they had was encompassed by long, tiring days and horrendous luck… and having the bend to the whims of some of the brattiest Divas of NRC.

Regardless, this time isn’t about them. It’s about Ruggie Bucchi and Yuu enjoying what left they had of their day off, Damnnit!

“Ya’ know,” Yuu hummed into where their face was buried for max comfort; Ruggie’s chest. “Today wasn’t a total bust.”

Ruggie snickered sarcastically as his left hand paused its petting motion through his significant other’s hair. He was clearly only humoring his lover's thought process, yet paying attention all the same.

“I’m just saying it wasn’t a total loss,” they began to half-jokingly argue, “I still got to spend the day with you. Besides, you gotta admit it was pretty funny watching that stupid manager’s annoying face drop when Prince Grumpy strutted in all pissy!”

“Shee Shee Shee! Fair enough, Sugar! Good thing he didn’t realize Leona’s always cranky… or that His Majesty~ was mostly just pissed he had to wake up.” Ruggie answered playfully.

“It was kinda sweet of him for letting us, mostly, off the hook though. He even let us keep our goodies along with that sneaky bonus,” Yuu mentioned while lazily motioning towards the small mound of shopping bags and the miscellaneous items inside.

“Pleeeease~ He probably spends more on a single earring than we did with his card and cash combined,” Rugs pouted enviously. To emphasize his pout, he completely encircled Yuu with his arms and clutched them tightly. He was hanging onto them tighter than a swiped snack from the cafeteria on Doughnut day.

“I don’t know,” his partner giggled in response, “Leona’s been such a softy lately… but his whole dark and brooding reputation gets in the way a bit.”

“Dark and brooding?” Ruggie snorted, “Dunno if Leona’s habits of lyin’ around counts as dark and brooding.”

Yuu tried to suppress their elated smirk at feeling the slight tremor of quiet laughter. “True, that’s more of Mal’s stick isn’t it? Angsty and depressed?”

“Nahhh, that’s Idia’s thing! Also, I still can’t wrap my head ‘round you calling Malleus by some nickname.” His laughter died down as he scrunched his nose at the thought of his partner so buddy-buddy with one of Twisted Wonderland’s most powerful mages. And a crown Prince… with servants and castles and-

“You do realize that Malleus is like a GIANT kid right? I mean, yeah he’s some super powerful wizard-”

“Mage!”

“...whatever. He’s an absolute beast when it comes to magic and whatnot, but he’s got this whole ‘homeschooled only child’ vibe going on and honestly? It’s a little pathetic, in a cute stray way.”

Ruggie didn’t really know how to feel about his partner’s revelation. On one hand, he knew they were just friends and had befriended each other longer before Yuu realized Malleus’ status. That didn’t necessarily make it any easier to cover up the inherent inferiority or the slight unsettling fear. Good thing they didn’t feel the usual pressure of this world’s social ladder… but that doesn’t mean they won’t start worrying if he stayed lost in thought for too long.

“.......what was your world like for you to turn out so weird?”

“Hey!”

Ruggie continued to laugh, but it came out a little bit strained. Yuu finally glanced up in order to catch a glimpse of their boyfriend’s adorable pout. His lightly scrunched eyebrows and the way his ears seemed to fold-in on themselves made him look like a grumpy puppy. Absurdly cute, but clearly bothered, and they both had had such a long day t wouldn’t be right not to cheer him back up!

“Oh, c’mere!” the Perfect said through teasing giggles as they flipped Ruggie over to switch positions.

Rugs was currently (and quite contently) snuggled face first into his lover's chest; enjoying the sound of their heartbeat along with the comfortable extra cushioning. His arms reached slightly down to wrap around their waist snuggly as the two pairs of legs naturally crisscrossed at the joints. The moment he fully relaxed was when Yuu started to softly pet his bushy hair and scratch along the base of his ears.

Pure Heaven.

“Were you getting grumpy because I kept mentioning Leona and Malleus?” the Perfect lovingly taunted now that he was trapped and attacked (with euphoric head scratches) in his weak spot. Truly, an idiots mirage of paradise.

“C’mon Sweet Cheeks! Ya Couldn’t’ve least let me keep my pride?” Rugs whined, quickly going back to frowning deeply but unable to hold it for long. There was no chance in all of Twisted Wonderland he could stay “upset” while his precious Dandelion Fluff’s fingers softly caressed his sensitive ears. At least he could cover-up the way he melted, burying himself further into their figure. Luckily, Yuu was already squeezing him closure with a burst of affection,

“Don’t worry, my silly Hyena, the only one I was focused on today was you. The only one I wanted to spend time with was you. And the only person I think of from dawn till dusk, and dream about the whole night through, will always be you, Ruggie Bucchi.” Yuu declared playfully, then slowly breathlessly serious with a sappy amount of affection as they watched Ruggie's tail wave faster and faster.

“Shee shee shee,” Rugs bashfully replied, “where did all that come from outta nowhere?”

Yuu wistfully sighed, “I guess I’m just in a sentimental mood.”

The two shared some playful hushed whispers until Ruggie had to turn his head to hide a yawn. His attempt was futile however, as Yuu caught it–but instead of teasing him over it they simply snuggled him closer and quietly sang an old, sweet crooner love song from their home world. Despite the long day, it felt blissfully short as the two peacefully drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

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