#but only one shrew is hers
Text
(Eyes Emoji)
Hello there, it's time for new hell! I mean. Learning. About fun!
Also there may in fact be a special guest from Lark and Wren's Woven, as well as another special guest courtesy of Goetia.
Read today's page
Read from the start!
Support means the world, plus, you can get art goodies.
#solivaga#webcomics#original comic#pu art#my art#original work#comic#digital art#art nouveu#update#suddenly the chp 2 cover makes more sense#shrews#and more shrews#but only one shrew is hers#also yet another new character who's this#(siren dub voice) Professah!
163 notes
·
View notes
Note
As someone who ships Chaggie as well, I want your opinion on this.
Someone made a kinda good point about Charlie and Vaggie’s relationship; the point being that there’s a power imbalance between them. Charlie is the princess of hell. She wouldn’t physically loose anything or be hurt physically if she breaks up with Vaggie. But Vaggie would loose both the love of her life and her home and friends if they break off. And so they see this toxic dynamic because Vaggie is “walking on eggshells” in order to stay in Charlie’s favor and not getting on her bad side.
So….thoughts?
The problem is people who say these things treat the terms "power imbalance" and "toxic" and "unhealthy" as the same things when they are not.
There is a power imbalance, yes, definitely. I constantly make jokes about the fact that Charlie and Vaggie have a forbidden love story in a Boss/Employee HR violation kinda way for pete's sake. It's just a lot more funny thinking about the fact that that probably has more weight than the demon/angel situation.
But the thing is, no matter what Charlie will ALWAYS have a power imbalance with whoever she dates because she is literally the princess of Hell, as they have said. Even if she dates a fellow hellborn royal, the fact that Charlie is in a higher position of power will always be a fact because her parents are literally the only ones above that. So what? Should she just not date anyone??? Also, isn't the one has a higher position of power but still loves the other a super popular ship trope? Rich x poor. Royalty x commoner. Goddess/immortal x normal human. Popular in school x the social loser. The list goes on. So why is it a problem now?
The fact that they think Vaggie "walks on eggshells" around Charlie is a bit...? I'm just a little confused you know? Vaggie is definitely not afraid of Charlie. When they had their fallout, she wasn't afraid of losing the things she was dependent on Charlie if they ever broke up(i.e. a home, her safety, money etc) because Vaggie damn well knows Charlie wouldn't do that. Everyone in hell knows Charlie goddamn Morningstar wouldn't do that. Vaggie was merely afraid of losing their relationship, which is a perfectly normal thing to be afraid of. Vaggie's dedication to Charlie isn't rooted in fear, it's rooted in devotion in the name of what she thinks the person she loves deserves.
The thing that makes Chaggie so great despite that power imbalance is the fact that Charlie is an absolute sweetheart. She isn't the kind of person who would take advantage of that power and Vaggie, as someone who knows her so well, is perfectly aware of that. Vaggie is safe with Charlie in every way that matters, and this is where toxicity and the unhealthy elements come into play.
Charlie and Vaggie as individuals have all the ingredients for an unhealthy relationship. As Husk so plainly pointed out, Charlie would rather fix everyone else's problems than help herself. Meanwhile Vaggie has deep self-hatred that seeps into how she feels about everyone but Charlie. They're both the type of people who would rather think about others rather than themselves. This is the root of their codependency, and why their relationship can be quite unhealthy. It's extremely evident with Vaggie, which makes perfect sense since she probably never saw herself as a person before Charlie.
Those flaws can so easily be taken advantage of in a relationship, but the thing is, do they do that? Do either of them think the other ever would? As Rosie did say...
While Charlie likes to shoulder everyone else's problems, Vaggie looks at the love her life and decides she'll take some of that load so she doesn't get crushed under the weight of the world. Vaggie reels Charlie in by being the realist to Charlie's dreamer. Vaggie used to essentially be Heaven's living weapon, but she has now sworn to be the armor for someone who looks out for everyone but herself.
On the other hand Vaggie's self-worth is shrewed because she's an ex-soldier who thinks she should always be under someone's service to be deserving of anything. But here Charlie is who constantly calls Vaggie her partner and blatantly treats Vaggie as an equal and still loves Vaggie "more than anything" and doesn't doubt that Vaggie loves her in return even after finding out Vaggie's lie and true origins.
So are they good for each other? Maybe not, but there's still more of the show to see. They can be unhealthy, but not to the point that being together damages each other in any significant way. Their relationship is imperfect, which is fine. No relationship is. Especially not in fucking HELL. And perfect for a story because, yunno... They are still in an ongoing story. They aren't a lost cause yet. It's something they can develop from, something we can get to SEE them develop from.
Are they toxic though?? Are they harming each other physically, emotionally, sexually, or financially? Definitely not. Because although whether they're good FOR each other still remains to be seen, it is an undeniable fact that they are good TO each other, despite all the ways they could not be. The unhealthy elements are due to how they treat themselves, but their relationship can't be deemed toxic because of how they treat each other. And for now, that's what matters and that's why I love this ship.
#asks#hazbin hotel#chaggie#as fun as writing this all down was#and it was it really was#I can't help but think about how frustrating it is that this needs to be said#we can't just say that we think this canon ship is cute and that's why we like it and have the conversation end there#instead we have to make an essay to explain ourselves 😞#like dang it aint even that complicated
507 notes
·
View notes
Text
you never disappointed me ; luke castellan x aphrodite!reader
part one part two part three part four
➻ synopsis: charles beckendorf wants to go out with silena beauregard more than anything. one problem: she's not allowed to date until her shrewish older sister does, so he and percy come up with a plan. (10 things I about you AU)
➻ word count: 2783
➻ warnings: swearing ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader
➻ this'll be a few chapter so this is p1!!!
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
Charles Beckendorf arrived at Camp Half-Blood when he was fifteen years old. It was a wonder he’d lasted out in the mortal world so long with his significant stature, height enough to attract monsters, but Percy — his tour guide — guessed it was probably his more reserved nature which had kept him under the radar.
“Thank God it’s you showing me around,” Was one of the first things he’d said, “When you start things like this it’s usually all the kiss-asses that greet me.” With six schools under his belt, Percy knew what he meant all too well.
“Nah man, we’re chill. And if we get this done quick then you can meet my friends, we know how to have the real fun here.”
And so they embarked on their tour, Percy dutifully pointing out all the most important places around camp. First was the Dining Pavilion, where they met Grover as he chewed on some of the tin-can remains of lunch. Then came Thalia’s Tree, under which Annabeth was drawing out a map that Charles didn’t understand in the slightest but Percy explained was a strategy for capture the flag. After that they walked past the sword fighting arena, where they caught a glimpse of Luke in the middle of a fierce duel. They both passed quickly, and Charles got the distinct impression that you weren’t supposed to interrupt Luke when he was fighting.
As the two got to the lake, Percy explaining it was where most people hung out when they had the time, Charles faltered in his steps. Percy looked back to where he was frozen and followed his sightline to Silena Beauregard and rolled his eyes.
“Who is that?” He breathed.
“Don’t even bother, bro,” Percy replied. “She’s off limits. It’s a well known fact that the Beauregard sisters aren’t allowed to date — they’re only here over the summers and their dad is crazy strict about it for some reason.”
“But she’s so—”
“Self-centred? Shallow? Silena is all looks no substance, dude. You can do better.” Percy ushered him away but Charles was still daydreaming about the beautiful Aphrodite girl.
The tour was just finishing up by the Climbing Wall when they first saw you. You held the camp record for it, and so had been delegated the responsibility of teaching the younger kids. Today though you’d had to rescue a cocky bastard from getting obliterated by lava, singeing the fabric of your camp shirt all over your left shoulder, and you were not in a good mood.
Just wanting to get back to your cabin for a change of clothes and some ambrosia, you were certainly not in the state of mind to stop and chat with a new camper. So when Percy and Charles came along blocking the whole fucking path, you didn’t hesitate to yell “Move!” Pushing past them in a huff. You wouldn’t usually be so rude, but you were pretty sure your shirt was fusing into your skin which was so not what you needed. Plus, they were in the way. Beckendorf’s bicep was warm from where you’d shoulder-checked him with your injury.
“That’s your dream girl’s older sister,” Percy snorted, used to your disagreeable personality.
“That’s Silena’s sister?” Charles asked incredulously, “But she’s…”
“A shrew? Yeah. I’d watch out for her, and kiss your dreams of going out with Silena goodbye. Now c’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.” Charles followed mindlessly, still thinking about the two Beauregard sisters.
When people thought of you, the consensus was pretty much this: Silena Beauregard’s older sister, and the most heinous bitch at Camp Half-Blood, a title you were extremely proud of. Whilst you really didn’t think you were that bad — in fact, you considered your actions quite reasonable — younger campers cowered away when you marched through camp and the older ones rolled their eyes when you spoke. Just the way you liked it. It wasn’t exactly unusual, camp had all sorts of kids living there, not everyone was going to get along, but it was pretty unexpected for you as a daughter of Aphrodite.
You didn’t get along with most of your siblings, despite all your efforts as one of the elder campers. You thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn’t participate in camp activities, regardless of the reason. What good was having all that beauty if it was wiped off the face of the earth by a monster? There were a hundred rumours flying about to explain you and your attitude, the most popular being that you were the secret lovechild of Aphrodite and Ares, which explained your affinity for fighting and permanent bitch face. You knew better. For one you shared too many of your dad’s traits not to be his child. Plus, Aphrodite had a long history of being associated with war in Ancient Greece which everyone at camp just conveniently forgot in favour of writing her children off as useless and vain. You hated it, and you refused to be who they wanted.
Even your favourite sibling was the polar opposite to you. Silena was a few years younger than you, and by all accounts was the model of a perfect Aphrodite child. Gorgeous, of course, and usually kind and patient. In your opinion, she was kind of annoying and self-absorbed, but you chose to believe she meant well so you could keep tolerating her. You didn’t know how the only two blood-related siblings in your cabin could be so different from one another, but it had been that way since you were fourteen and she was twelve.
You had made it back to your cabin, and your shoulder was all bandaged up after your shower. You were just flipping through The Bell Jar, your latest novel, when Silena came stomping into the cabin, waving a letter frantically through the air. You could assume what it was about.
“This is so unfair!” Silena whined, “Daddy doesn’t even know Ethan!” Ethan was the new boy Silena had been obsessed with recently, writing incessantly to your father in an attempt to get him to take back the no dating rule.
“What, can’t go swap spit with the vermin of the earth?” You exaggerated a pout. She sneered at you in the mirror.
“Worse. Now he’s saying I can’t date until you do, so now I’m going to die a stupid old virgin because of you!” You rolled your eyes and sighed.
“Have you ever considered there’s more to life than finding a boyfriend? Or, big shock I know, maybe I’m just not interested in the sweaty, uninspired pigs that are supplied here?”
“You suck!” She huffed, turning on a kitten heel and barging out of the cabin.
“You suck!” You mocked, turning back to your book. You knew Silena was really pissed at you for being so stubborn, but you hated the thought of changing your opinions over a man of all things.
Silena, in her frustration, was wandering around Camp Half-Blood to let off some steam. Charles, fresh from a kayaking lesson, spotted her across the beach and scrambled to catch up to her. Remembering what Percy told him about her not participating in many of the camp’s activities, he came up with the idea to offer his help to finish a project in the forges to get Chiron off her back. Silena seemed surprised but happy enough to agree, and Charles was ecstatic.
“She’s agreed to go to the forges with me!” He told Percy excitedly, and Percy raised an eyebrow.
“Do you even know how to weld?”
“Well, no, but I will!” As much as Percy liked the new kid, he was definitely a handful.
Charles’ first session with Silena didn’t go exactly as he’d hoped. She showed up already looking bored, and not keen to start off with a simple sword as he’d proposed. Soon he gave up with any welding, choosing instead to try and get her know better.
“If you’re not really into this we could try something else? I saw someone welding some metal flowers, you know, for like a date?” That caught her attention.
“Are you asking me on a date?” At his shy nod Silena couldn’t contain her slight laugh. “That is so cute! What’s your name again?” Charles told her quietly.
“Well, my Dad’s just changed our family rule — I can date when my sister does.”
“That’s great! So all you’ve gotta do is find someone who’ll date her!”
“One problem, Cameron-”
“Charles.”
“My sister is, like, totally antisocial?”
“Yeah, but people jump out of planes and stuff all the time! It could be, like, extreme dating!”
They both looked across the forge where you were working, fixing up your favourite sword after an Ares kid had done quite a number on it. You had on both your signature outfit and expression — long, practical jorts with your camp shirt tied in a knot and a dangerous bitch face.
“The oversized look is out, Beauregard, didn’t you read last month’s Vogue?” Ethan was hovering around you, trying his hardest to get a rise out of you in front of his friends.
“Run along, dickwad.” You refused to blow up at him, knowing it would only be used to make you look hysterical and unbalanced later. Plus, Ethan would get bored sooner or later and find someone else to taunt.
As Charles recounted this story to Percy later that night at the bonfire, all Percy could do was groan.
“Charles — Charlie — I really wanna like you, man, but this is probably the most stupid thing you could have done. I know they’re hot, but it’s not even worth getting involved with one Beauregard sister, and you’ve just gotten yourself tangled with both — and not in the way that most guys dream about.” Charles flushed at the innuendo.
“I think you’re wrong about Silena, I think she’s worth it. I just have to figure out how I can set her sister up with another guy.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Percy laughed, hitting Charles’ knee twice before turning away to talk to Annabeth. Charles spent the rest of the night trying to hatch a plan.
Early the next morning he got Percy on board, albeit very reluctantly. Percy brought Charles over to every single guy he could think of in your age range, begging them to take you out. The responses varied from a nervous shake of the head to Travis Stoll laughing in both boys’ faces.
“Why would I go looking for a kick in the balls?” He asked, still wheezing from his initial outburst.
They found themselves once again at the bonfire, both disheartened. Percy at having wasted a day all for this new guy he barely knew, and Charles that he was no closer to getting a date with Silena. Finally, somewhat eager to get this distraction over with, Percy came up with an idea.
“What about you just pay someone to go out with her?” He asked, and Charles considered the idea for a minute, it wasn’t half bad.
“I have literally no money,” He settled on finally, and Percy rolled his eyes.
“So you get someone else to do it for you,” He suggested, and Annabeth joined the conversation with suspicious interest.
“Like a backer?” She asked, at Percy’s nod she bit her lip, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys, it seems like it could really backfire on you. I mean, what if she finds out? I heard she once tied a camper to the lava wall just for looking at her wrong.”
“She won’t find out! I mean she only has to date so Silena can, it doesn’t have to be a long term thing. She goes on enough dates for it to qualify, then they break up while it’s still casual and I can go out with Silena!” Charles explained excitedly, but Annabeth still looked skeptical.
“Plus, if we have a backer, none of the blame will go to my man Charlie here,” Percy added helpfully, which swayed Annabeth a little.
“Okay, well be careful,” She said, leaving for the dining hall to be distanced from the plot.
Percy thought the answer to who the backer would be was pretty obvious. Whilst most of the boys at Camp Half-Blood wanted to sleep with Silena, Ethan White was both rich and desperate enough to agree to it. Plus when Percy Jackson was telling you you’d look great with a girl, you generally listened.
All that was left was to find someone to set you up with. The boys used the bonfire to scope out their options, but it wasn’t looking good. For one, you didn’t even show up to bonfires if you could help it, and it was anyone’s guess what you did instead. Rumours said blood sacrifices but Percy was almost completely sure that was a lie. Truthfully you were sitting up on the roof of the Aphrodite cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet of the camp when no one else was around.
They were about to give up, Percy trying to find the right words to let Beckendorf down easy, when they saw Luke. Luke, with his brooding eyes and his cigarette, sitting on his own at the bonfire with headphones connected to a mortal mp3 player. Luke, who had never quite been the same since he returned from his quest — rumours swirling about the horrors he’d faced that he refused to speak on.
“I think we’ve found our man.”
It was easy to convince Ethan to get on board, he was so overconfident in himself and his looks he would never suspect that Percy or Beckendorf had any ulterior motives. It was equally enjoyable to watch Ethan try and approach Luke to get the plan in motion. Percy and Beckendorf were sitting with Percy’s friends on the beach the very first time Ethan spoke to Luke. He was all macho confidence, still trying to play the tough guy. Luke looked up at him from his place sitting on a rock, barely moving his head to give him any attention. The moment of eye contact meant Ethan knew Luke had seen him speaking, and the abrupt walking away communicated his absolute lack of interest. It took a gargantuan effort from Percy not to burst out laughing then and there.
The second conversation went a bit smoother. Ethan had a metaphorical tail between his legs, temporarily giving up his ego to be the smaller person in the conversation. That got Luke’s attention, having known Ethan and his antics for years at that point. And then Ethan explained his plan. Luke couldn’t contain his laughter — a sound Camp Half-Blood was rarely graced with anymore.
“Yeah sure, Sparky,” He laughed, almost wheezing in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.
“Look,” Ethan stressed, “I can’t take out Silena until her sister starts dating — their Dad is super strict and has this rule—”
“Touching story, not my problem.” Luke moved to put his earbud back in when Ethan stopped him.
“Could it be your problem if I provided generous compensation?” Luke had forgotten Ethan’s mother was filthy rich. He looked him dead in the eye.
“You’re going to pay me to take out some chick? How much?” He asked, entirely disbelieving.
“Twenty bucks” They both looked down at you on the volleyball courts, spiking a ball into a girl’s stomach with so much force she keeled over on the ground. You had the decency to look mildly apologetic while the opposing team glared at you.
“Fine. Thirty.”
“Let’s see,” Luke smiled something devious. “If I’m taking her out it means leaving camp. That’s a lot of risk I’m pursuing for you, plus the costs of taking to her somewhere — the movies maybe. And you know inflation lately, let’s say seventy-five bucks.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, burnout.”
“Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal, Fabio,” Luke countered, knowing he had the upper hand. He had nothing to lose. Reluctantly, Ethan forked out a fifty. All that was left was for Luke to get you to go out with him, how hard could that be?
#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀#love#luke castellan#pjo tv show#percy jackon and the olympians#percy series#pjo series#percy jackson show#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan fanfiction#luke castellan imagines#percy jackson#percy jackson tv show#pjo tv series
886 notes
·
View notes
Text
.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 10 Things I hate about you ´ˎ˗
Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Where the plan of 'taming the shrew' commenced. Leo and Charles go around finding you a perfect match for Charles to snoop in on Silena!!!
Warning(s): just swearing
Word Count: 1170
A/N: readers only mentioned in the beginning, just a quick roll over from how the plan started. and silena and Charles should've lived idgaf. anyways idk how to feel about this one but fuck it we ball???
╰➤ MASTERLIST pt1
An abrasive feminist who does nothing but hate on men, that's what you were known for. Silena, a beautiful and kind girl who was adored through out school, that's what she was known for.
No one would've guess you two were sisters.
As you walked out of class, music ripping through your headphones, you found your sister out by the parking lot talking with a guy. Luke Castellan to be exact. You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you approached her.
"Yo Silena, time to head home," you crossed your arms as she turned. She knew of your opinion on the single brain-celled men of the town, but she seemed to think the opposite.
"Um, you can go home without me. I have-" she looked back at Luke, flashing a quick smile-, "a ride already."
You rolled your eyes once more, fake gagging as you headed down to your red car. "Whatever."
As you walked off, Charles Beckendorf couldn't keep his eyes off Silena. "She's beautiful."
"Not a chance," Leo said from behind him. "Her dad has a strict rule with no dating. Don't even bother."
"No I need to try. I know I have this."
"Yeah okay, I mean unless you know French your not getting anywhere near her."
"Im a fast learner," Leo couldn't help but laugh at the response.
﹒º. ౨ৎ
As you sat in your car, making your way toward the exit of the parking lot, you saw the most infuriating sight possible. It was your sister riding in that douches convertible. 'Oh what dad would say,' you laughed to yourself.
When you got home, you were sitting in your living room reading a book when your dad walked in with the mail. He saw one with your name on it as your sister walked in late.
"Sarah Lawrence? That's across the country, what happened to staying local?"
"Dad, that's what you decided, this is my dream," your dad turned around, noticing your sisters presence. "Would a certain someone like to announce who drove them home?"
You had a smug smile on your face, though Silena didn't find this so amusing. "Excuse me, what is your sister talking about?"
"Nothing," Silena exclaimed. Your dad gave her the look, the look saying I know you're lying so don't try it. "Luke drove me home."
She groaned and stomped around as your dad continued to drill into your brains how he refused to let you both date till college, absolutely wanting to avoid teen pregnancy.
"The boys here are massive incels who lack the knowledge of a shower, I like being single," you mused.
"God what planet are you even from?"
"Enough, both of you. Sit," your father instructed. "I know you hate the rule so fine, I'll change it. You can date."
Silena started squealing until your dad pointed at you. "When she does."
You snorted as Silena started yelling, "Oh my god, have you met her? She's probably gonna die alone!!"
"Then you'll never date," your dad smiled as he walked off toward his room.
"Can't you just take some tooth-gapped loser on a date so I can go out??"
"Nope," you sang out, popping the p as you walked off toward your room.
﹒º. ౨ৎ
Silena ran into the library where she and Charles met up for their French lesson. "Oh hey, um, Silena."
"Yeah hi. Any chance we can make this quick?"
"Uh yeah, we can just start with some pronunciations, or we can just get some French food and call it a day," Charles chucked, Silena stared narrowed eyed.
"Are you asking me out," Charles started stammering, "It's not like I could even go anyways."
"I thought maybe if you called it French tutoring then-"
"At least not til my sister finds a date, so yeah. Never. Going. Out," she rolled her eyes in annoyance.
"I'm sure it can't be that hard to find her a date."
Silena laughed, "Yeah right. Have you met her? She's impossible."
"I mean there's someone there for everyone, can't be impossible to find her one."
"Are you saying you would?"
"Would what? Find her a date," Silena shook her head aggressively. "I mean, if it means your let out of your prison... I'll do it.. for you."
As she squealed, Charles sat back wondering what the fuck he just agreed to do.
"Dude you're fucked," Leo said as he drank from his juice box. They were sitting in biology together as Charles was starting to freak out. "Why would you promise the impossible??"
"You don't understand. Silena is everything I've ever dreamed of."
"You spoken to her twice."
"Whats your point?"
"My point is we've asked nearly every guy in school, and they all wanna steer clear. You're cooked," Leo went on but Charles wasn't listening. Behind Leo, was a rugged raven-haired boy ripping the frog they were directing in half like it was a rotisserie chicken. He was laughing with his friends, two burly dudes. One looking like the perfect American boy, and the other with a cute baby face.
"I've found our guy," Charles pointed toward him. Leo just raised his brows.
"Dude, that kid literally went missing for like 8 months. Are you sure?"
"Whats his name?"
"Percy Jackson."
"I'm sure. I'm telling you. Got any ideas to convince him?"
"Your not gonna like where I'm going with this."
Leo wouldn't say the plan, so Charles knew it was ridiculous, but it's not like he had another plan. In the cafeteria, Charles watched from a distance as Luke Castellan drew a dick on Leo's face. When he came back, dick still on his face, he said the plans in motion.
"Okay, now will you please explain," Charles asked.
"We're gonna double agent. I convinced Luke to pay Percy into taking your crazy sister-in-law out on dates. While he's busy coughing up payments, you make your move."
"Lets just hope this doesn't backfire."
﹒º. ౨ৎ
The next day Leo made his way over toward Percy and his two other friends. "Hey guys!"
Leo greeted the three as 'baby face' patted his shoulder. "You guys know each other?"
"You know, I'm the one who got my boy here Frank with his girlfriend Hazel," Leo gloated.
"So you are a matchmaker?"
"A matchmaker, not a miracle worker," Leo rolled his eyes.
"Whats up bro?"
"I assumed Luke spoke to you," Percy nodded, clearly confused. "Perfect, we have an idea for you."
"Go on."
"You see my boy here," Leo pointed to Charles. "He'd be a much better option for the 'amazing' Silena. So we need you to make sure Luke can't get his hands on her."
"Dude, I'm getting paid one way or the other, no offense but I can only do so much."
"I'm telling you, stop stressing," the blonde one said. Leo whispered in Charles ear, saying 'thats Jason by the way.'
"Yeah, if you like her, then make it happen," Percy said as he walked off.
"God this is stressful," Charles groaned.
#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#percy jackson pjo#percy pjo#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson x you#silena pjo#silena beauregard#Charles pjo#charles beckendorf#charlena
272 notes
·
View notes
Text
More and more I see people questioning how the Blacks didn’t outright win and destroy the Greens in one go with all the advantages they had.
The answer is simple: The Greens were protected by plot armor.
GRRM gave the Blacks almost everything they could ask for (thereby favoring them):
1. The best allies (the Winter Wolves, the Lads, Cregan Stark, Jeyne Arryn, etc.)
2. The most Houses supporting Rhaenyra’s cause (53)
3. The largest territories (the North, the Vale and the Riverlands)
4. The largest and best fleet (commanded by the Velaryons)
5. The Velaryon fortune
6. The most dragons
Normally, with all these advantages, they should have won the war with their hands tied behind their backs. The Greens only had home-field advantage (King’s Landing) and Vhagar. That’s pretty much it.
But of course, GRRM wanted it to be a more balanced war, and despite giving the Blacks plenty of advantages, he protected the Greens so the story can actually take place.
1. There is just no way that Aegon the Usurper could have survived everything he endured (Rook’s Rest, and then battling with Baela etc.) In my opinion, he was one greenie who was definitely protected by plot armor.
2. Daemon using B&C to only kill one of Aegon’s heirs instead of eliminating everyone in that tower is also kind of plot armor for the Greens. There is no way that he wouldn’t have taken advantage to have everyone in that tower killed. It would have weakened the Greens considerably (not to mention that Alicent was the “brains” behind the operation).
3. Then you have Rhaenyra sparing Alicent after she took King’s Landing (the woman who bullied her as a child and stole her throne) for some dumb reason like “My father loved you so I am doing this for him”. Yeah right…With how much Rhaenyra hated the woman, she wouldn’t have hesitated to chop her head off.
4. For some reason, Rhaenyra decides to go to Dragonstone after the storming of the Dragonpit, instead of the Vale. Another plot convenience for the Greens. The Vale was obviously the best place to go. The Greens wouldn’t have been able to touch Rhaenyra there. The Arryns would have protected her and her child, until Cregan Stark arrived and dethroned the usurper. Happy ending, the end. But yeah, it’s Asoiaf. There are no happy endings, and GRRM had to give Rhaenyra a tragic end.
All in all, the Greens survived as long as they did because of plot armor. No, they were not politically savvy (believe it or not, that’s Daemon. He managed to convince the Red Kraken to side with the Blacks and didn’t really offer him anything in return).
Otto was a terrible Hand who got fired twice, Criston Cole was another terrible Hand who was all muscle and had no political intelligence (or any kind of intelligence), Alicent was a manipulating and greedy shrew hiding behind her sons, Helaena was completely useless, Aegon didn’t know what the hell he was doing or why he was doing it, and Aemond was a brainless psycho on the biggest dragon in existance.
Oh, and there’s also Daeron the Forgotten, who after torching Bitterbridge, managed to get himself killed by a fallen tent.
#GRRM clearly favors the Blacks but he should have been more subtle about it so that the war actually makes sense#canon asoiaf#the dance of the dragons#rhaenyra targaryen#daemon targaryen#team black#pro team black#anti team green#the dragon queen#the blacks#queen rhaenyra#asoiaf#anti alicent hightower#anti otto hightower#anti criston cole#anti aegon ii targaryen#anti aemond targaryen#anti greens
199 notes
·
View notes
Text
Office Hours - Chapter Six
Summary:
Astarion surprises you with a night at the theatre that doesn't go quite according to your plan.
Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4.7k
Tags/Warnings: rough/angry sex, hair pulling, emotional manipulation, dubcon, bad BDSM practices, angst, daddy kink, reminiscent of Ascended!Astarion, discussions of domestic abuse (in Taming of the Shrew)
Hi. Hello. My sweets. My darlings. This is it. The chapter where you absolutely must mind the tags. Just know that I won't take you anywhere that we won't be able to come back from. Know that I, too, am an absolute baby when it comes to intense subject matter in fics. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. As always, shoot me a message if you'd like more specifics.
Photo credits: Zaria for Green Pussy Suit Astarion and Nephi Garcia for the incredible dress.
Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist
“In the library? Babes, are you insane?” Shadowheart's voice reaches a pitch you’re fairly sure only dogs can hear. You curl your knees into your chest and cover your face in your hands, feeling the exact appropriate amount of shame.
“I know, I know. All logic goes out the fucking window around him. All I can think is ‘mm, good dick makes brain go brr.’” You let out a frustrated sigh into your hands.
“Do you want to get fired?” She pulls your hand from your face so you can't hide from her pointed stare.
“Oh trust me, I ran about forty different scenarios of that happening through my head on the drive home.”
“Did you, now? And in how many of these did he also get fired?” Shadowheart presses, knowing how your anxiety can get out of hand.
“Like, two,” you groan and drop your head back onto the couch cushions. “I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I can't tell him no.”
“Wait, wait.” Shadowheart grips your knee, suddenly worried. “You can't tell him no as in it feels too good to stop? Or as in it doesn't feel safe to say no?”
“Nine hells, no, the first one!” you respond, horrified. She squints at you and you squirm under her gaze until you’re finally more truthful, both with her and yourself. “Well, I mean, mostly. Like it's not like that. But like also not not like that, you know?”
“I can assure you I do not,” she says in a flat voice, not interested in joking around. You sigh dramatically, trying to find the right words to describe how you feel.
“Like. Okay. Am I fully consenting to everything we do? Yes. 100%. Oh gods, yes.” Your cheeks tinge pink even thinking about it. “But like… am I going against my best judgment? Do I feel like I should say no? Does part of me kinda wish I would say no? Like… maybe?”
“Tav, that's not okay. You need to talk to him about this.” Shadowheart’s voice is soft with genuine worry. Which is ridiculous, because she’s focusing on the wrong thing.
“No, see, that's the thing. It's not actually a him issue, it's a me issue. Like there's something wrong with me, I see his most toxic traits and suddenly I'm like a horny teenager!” Your voice increases in pitch as you grow more hysterical. “How am I supposed to call him out on it when the only words that will come out of my mouth are ‘yes daddy, more please’?”
“Is there anything redeemable about him at all? Besides being good in bed?” She leans back, taking a sip of her wine and fixing you with an incredulous look.
“I mean… yeah. He’s witty, and bantering back and forth with him is fun. He’s incredibly smart, as loath as I am to admit it, and I like hearing his ideas on things, especially his interpretation of Shakespeare’s text.” You don't even notice the smile growing on your face, but Shadowheart does. “And he’s got this unexpectedly soft side. Like he seems cold and aloof on the outside, but he cares, deeply. About his students, about his cat, about-”
“About you?” she interjects, and your smile falters.
“I don't know, Shade,” you say quietly, almost ashamed to look her in the eye. “I think so. I hope so. But it's not like we've been seeing each other for that long, he’s under no obligation to feel anything.” You practically swallow the last sentence, a truth you're reticent to voice.
“And you?” she asks softly.
“Man, I don't fucking know. I just want to keep getting laid and not catch feelings, is that so much to ask?” you whine. She laughs, but you can tell that she's only humoring you.
“For you? Probably.”
***
It's been several days and your busy schedules have kept you and Astarion apart for most of it. Save the occasional tension-filled passing in the hall, you've barely interacted at all. You're almost beginning to believe that your whirlwind affair has come to an end when you find a mystery package at your apartment door.
It's made out to you with no discernable return address. You bring the box into your apartment while examining it, trying to ascertain its origin. It doesn't even really look like it was sent through the mail, it looks like it was dropped off.
You take out your phone and call down to the front desk. It rings a few times, then a somber voice answers.
“What dost thou require?” His voice is deep and crackled, like some ancient eternal being.
“Hi Withers, it's Tav in 3C. Do you know anything about this package that was left at my door?”
“I have inspected it, and determined it safe for you to open. It was brought by someone claiming to be a friend.”
“Can you tell me anything about this someone?”
“No.”
And the line goes dead. You laugh and shake your head. If Withers says it's safe, then it probably is. You’d trust that wrinkly old man with your life, honestly. You cut open the tape sealing the box shut and lift off the top.
Inside is something wrapped in tissue paper with a note stuck to it in Astarion's immaculate handwriting.
Tomorrow evening
The Rosewood
Seven o’clock
Wear nothing underneath
You let out a small involuntary moan when you read the last three words. You carefully unwrap the tissue paper to find a fabric that looks like it's made of starlight. You pull out the midnight black dress and go slightly breathless when you get a good look at it.
It’s a backless dress with a sweetheart neckline and intricate gold embellishments that almost make it look like armor. It has a lavish gold neck piece attached by several gold chains that drip over the skin. The skirt is made of a weightless black fabric that shimmers with gold as you move it in the light. It almost appears to be cut into two panels with dual hip-high slits.
With a dress cut like this, you wouldn't be able to wear undergarments even if you wanted to.
Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about what he might have in store for you. You're not even sure what's running at the Rosewood right now, but it could be complete trash and you wouldn't even care. You probably won't even be able to pay attention, too distracted by Astarion sitting next to you for two hours.
You feel a pulsing between your legs at the thought. You think of his hand sliding up your knee while you struggle to keep a straight face. Or him reaching an arm around you, gently sliding his fingers into your hair before giving it a sharp tug.
Another moan works its way out of your throat and you follow it up with an annoyed groan. You can really get swept up at the most inconvenient times. It’s not like you don’t have any work you need to do or anything. You roll your eyes as you stalk off to draw a bath.
***
Waiting in the lobby of the theater, you’re feeling surprisingly nervous. The dress, though beautiful, is not particularly comfortable. With all of its various chains and pieces, you needed Shadowheart’s help just to put it on. It helps that she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to hair and makeup, so in truth you feel positively glamorous.
When you see Astarion, however, everything goes silent. You’re certain that he’s posing for you the way he’s stopped to adjust his cuff. The cut of the suit he’s wearing is exceptionally flattering and you imagine running your hands all over the emerald velvet. His crisp white button down is almost sheer and you desperately want to pull him into you by that forest green silk tie.
But you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. This is the first time you've seen him wear makeup, and the simple smokey eyeliner look makes his red irises pop. He’s decided to forgo his glasses, presumably opting for contacts instead to show off the makeup. He’s also swapped out his standard silver hoops for little daggers with a red rhinestone glimmering at the hilt.
He looks up at you the moment you lay eyes on him, or more specifically, the moment your heart starts to beat out of your chest. He flashes you a devastating smile before striding up to you and pulling you into a deep kiss. You can’t even be bothered to care that the other patrons are probably staring as he slides his hand onto your bare lower back, his cool touch sending a shiver up your spine.
He pulls away from you just enough to breathlessly ask, “Are you ready to sit down?”
“Huh?” You’re distracted, too busy plotting a mental path to the bathrooms to fuck him. He lets out a winded chuckle.
“The play. House is open, would you care to find our seats?” His palm is still pressed against your back and you can barely form coherent thoughts. You still don’t even know what play you’re here to see. You just want—no, need—to be near him.
“Um, yeah,” you respond, still trying to get your bearings and remind yourself how to be a person. You let him lead you into the theater, and only once you're in your seats do you realize that neither of you grabbed a program. You pull out your phone to see if you can look it up, but service in the Rosewood is notoriously bad. Instead you just need to sit still next to Astarion, who looks like a dream and smells even better.
He glances at you as your heart quickens again and his lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand behind your neck and lightly runs his finger along the seam between the golden collar of the dress and your flesh, sending goosebumps down your arms. He leans toward you until his lips are almost brushing your ear.
“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he whispers, his breath tickling your earlobe. You turn your face toward him on instinct, your chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. Your lips hover inches apart, anticipating the kiss, when suddenly a throng of noisy actors come barreling down the aisles. You snap away from Astarion as the cacophony of their shrieks of laughter, calls across the audience to one another, and drunken banter fill the house.
One of them clambors onto the stage and shouts, “For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!” He’s dressed in rags and appears by far to be the drunkest of them all. Three servingmen swarm him with various shouts of, “Will’t please your honor?” He shoves them all away and proudly takes up space center stage.
“I am Christophero Sly! Call not me ‘Honor’ nor ‘Lordship,’” he bellows as the rest of the players make their way onto the stage.
Christopher Sly… you’re wracking your brain to remember which play he serves as a framing device for. Most productions cut this scene because it’s long and completely irrelevant. You just can’t for the life of you remember which play he appears in.
The scene continues with their drunken antics and slapstick comedy as the players address Sly as “my noble lord,” making him believe he’s a king that they’re about to perform for. Eventually they carry Sly out on a makeshift palanquin as the “play within the play” begins. Two handsome young men in preppy clothes enter, holding a book and wearing glasses that aren’t too dissimilar from Astarion’s round metal ones. The one without the glasses speaks first.
“Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua…”
Tranio? Isn’t he one of the characters in Taming of the Shrew?
He knows you don’t like this play.
Well, if it’s all that’s playing at the Rosewood right now…
But if that’s the case why not just, like, see a movie?
You shift uncomfortably in your dress and cast your gaze towards Astarion. He smiles, taking your fingers and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before turning back to the stage. He keeps your hand in his, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.
You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and you find yourself wondering what’s running through his head. Just when you think you have him figured out, he does something to surprise you. And honestly, not always in a good way.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the creative team at the Rosewood wouldn’t pick this show if they weren’t going to try to do something with it.
But even still… is this text even redeemable?
You sit through the entirety of the show cringing as the audience around you laughs at flagrant displays of domestic abuse. The actors, several of whom you’ve worked with before, are trying their hardest to make the lines playful, but some things just can’t be recovered. Between the forced starvation, physical intimidation, and gaslighting, you wonder why companies even bother performing this play anymore. No matter how witty the writing is, it’s just too out of date to be a good season choice.
When the time comes for Kate’s final monologue, you watch in pain as the actress tries to wink-wink-nudge-nudge her way through lines like “place your hands below your husband’s foot.” She’s young, and you wonder if this is one of her first professional gigs. You get a little sad knowing that she’s probably just desperate to do anything, even if it’s trash.
Maybe you’re being a little harsh. All of the individual elements of the show—the acting, set, costumes, direction, lighting—were quite good. You just can’t get over how irredeemable this text is. Worth teaching, yes, and maybe even taking Act II out of context just for the fun banter and clever wordplay. But professional theatre companies should really just retire this one.
In the Lyft back to your apartment, you decide to get Astarion’s take on the matter.
“Do you think it’s possible to redeem a text like Taming in a modern age?”
He pauses for a moment, continuing to look away from you and out the window.
“I do, yes,” he finally answers. “I think it takes a skilled hand, but it can be successful when done well.”
You sit on his response, chewing it over. You decide to take a different route.
“I guess a better question is do you think it’s worth trying to? Like, what are we getting out of it anymore?”
“Is entertainment not enough?” he says with a laugh. You wrinkle your nose at him.
“Sure, if you’re a basic ass bitch. But I want my art to mean something. And I can’t think of what this play can possibly mean if it’s not ‘shrill women are annoying and should learn their place.’” You cross and uncross your legs, trying to keep yourself decent.
“Last I checked, you enjoy being put in your place,” he says in a low hum and your pussy betrays you with a clench.
“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re grateful that the dark car hides your reddening cheeks. “It’s different.”
“Is it, though? Ultimately it is a text about two dysfunctional people finding comfort in one another.” His sincerity catches you off guard, and almost makes you angry that he’s been taken in by the propaganda.
“That’s only a valid interpretation if you ignore half of what happens in the play. They’re not equally dysfunctional, Kate literally gets beaten into submission and pretends to be happy about it. Petruchio is exactly the same from the start to the finish, he has no fucking character arc.” Your hands start to shake as you try to keep your cool. You’ve had this conversation far too many times with men who think they can interpret out the sexism by simply glossing over Kate’s abuse.
The Lyft stops in front of your building and you thank the driver as you get out. Astarion follows you, and you’re not even sure if you want him to accompany you upstairs. But you remain silent as you walk past Withers and into the elevator.
“You’re overreacting,” Astarion says once the elevator doors close. “People are drawn to this play for a reason. The text is excellent, and no one truly thinks of Petruchio as an abuser.”
“Are you joking?” Your voice gets shrill and the similarity to Kate isn’t lost on you. “The whole thing normalizes his abuse. The fact that people don’t think of him as an abuser is the problem.”
“It’s a slapstick comedy,” he snaps, his voice growing stern. “Are you going to tell me that we need to cancel the Three Stooges because it promotes violence?”
“Don’t be fucking condescending,” you spit. “It’s not the same and you know it.”
“How is it not the same? Suddenly because it’s a woman in the role it no longer counts? Are you implying that women should be barred from certain types of performance because of their gender?” He walks past you into your apartment and you throw your keys and bag on the counter, not even bothering to see where they land.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, now you’re just twisting my words,” you grumble, more frustrated than ever by your inability to match his eloquence.
“So use your own words,” he sneers, whirling around to face you. “How is it not the same?”
“It’s because- well, I- It’s different, just- argh!” Your head is clouded by your attraction to him, which has annoyingly only grown over the past few minutes of shouting. You’re suddenly reminded of the smug arrogant bastard that you first met. He lets out a jeering laugh.
“See? You can’t even defend your own point.”
His sardonic cruelty sets something off in you and you angrily grab the lapel of his green suit. Your intentions are a complete mystery even to you, because as soon as you’re within inches of one another, instincts take over. You crush his lips into yours and pull him backwards until you thump against the door behind you. He paws hungrily at the dress, sliding his hand under the slit and around to grab your bare ass. You gasp into his touch, feeling equally frustrated and aroused that he even controlled what you wore tonight.
Your fingers make their way into his hair and you pull hard, breaking the kiss and leaving his mouth open, panting. His eyes are sparkling with a fire that you haven’t seen yet and a low growl manifests in your throat. He smirks and buries his teeth into your shoulder, something he usually asks bespoke permission for. You cry out in response, twisting your hands tighter into his silvery locks.
He unlatches from your shoulder and pushes his knee past the front of your skirt and up onto your bare cunt. You grind wantonly against the velvet as he kisses you with bloody lips. He grabs hold of the delicate chains of the dress and yanks, detaching them from the collar and making the entire bodice crumple and pool around your waist. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden exposure to cold air and he pinches one sharply between his fingers. Your hips roll into his leg as you groan, fully ruining his pants. He continues to bite around your neck and shoulders, placing little puncture wounds in his path, marking you as his.
You grab onto his tie and push him away so you can shimmy out of the rest of the dress. You’re now down to just the gold collar of the dress and your heels, a look you wish you could hate but don’t. You pull him across your living area and toward your bedroom, shoving him down onto the edge of the bed.
“Thou hast hit it, come, sit on me,” he says, quoting Petruchio with a sinister grin. Kate’s retort falls out of your mouth reflexively.
“Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” you hiss as you straddle his hips, wrapping his tie around your hand until you’ve gripped it up to the knot. Your other hand violently unbuckles his belt, yanking it through the loops with a snap.
“Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he says with a caustic laugh, digging his nails into your ass cheeks. You tug sharply on his tie, bringing his lips close to yours.
“No such jade as you, if me you mean,” you snarl and silence him with an angry kiss. You don’t want to encourage his idiotic behavior, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said this wasn’t a fantasy you’ve had before. You fumble with the buttons of his suit jacket, trying to get him undressed as quickly as possible. You’re not sure if you feel more vulnerable or more powerful being undressed while he’s still fully clothed, but either way you want him naked, now. You get about three buttons into his shirt before you grow impatient, ripping it the rest of the way open and sending buttons flying.
Good. Let him need to repair his clothes for once.
You push him flat onto his back and descend onto his chest, alternating kisses, licks, and bites. Your dull human teeth don’t have nearly the same effect as his fangs, but it just means you get to bite twice as hard in order to leave a mark. He writhes beneath your touch, and you feel a twisted satisfaction at the quiet little grunts and gasps you’re finally pulling from him. He’s rarely this vocal during sex, and it’s only serving to spur you on more.
His groans build until you capture his nipple in your teeth and bite down, causing him to shout and buck his hips up into you. In a flash he flips you around onto your back and he bears down on you, eyes dangerous.
“Little love, do you think you’re in control?” he asks in a low growl, his hand gripped around your jaw. You sneer and slide your leg against the strained bulge in his pants. He hisses and your smile widens.
“Right now? Yes,” you coo, continuing to press your calf against his velvet-covered cock. You grab the tie still hanging around his neck and pull him close.
“If you want it back, fucking take it.”
If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?
He kisses you roughly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth biting hard enough to puncture the skin. He pulls back slightly, a drop of your blood running down his chin and a snide grin. He makes like he’s about to kiss you again but shoves your face away before your lips make contact.
This is the worst you’ve ever seen him—the most arrogant, the most condescending, borderline cruel even. And you have never been more turned on.
If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?
“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, licking the blood from your lips. “Go ahead, choke me, daddy.”
The feminist in you is horrified, but the little gremlin controlling your libido is having the time of its life. It squeals with delight when his hand closes around your throat, just barely constricting your breathing.
“You insolent little brat,” he breathes into your ear, pulling up on your jaw. “I will absolutely ruin you.”
And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness.
“Do it, coward,” you spit, and he lets go just long enough to finish undressing from the waist down. He grabs your still heeled ankle and presses your leg up by your shoulder, stretching you wide enough to take him without any prep. You gasp as he fills you, the stinging pain outweighed by the gratification of finally feeling him inside you.
The only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly.
He sets a punishing rhythm, one knee on the bed and the other foot still firmly planted on the floor. He bottoms out with each long thrust and you grab hold of his hair to brace yourself. He winces with the pain but doesn’t slow down, and your moans grow high and loud as he continues to furiously pound into you.
“Gods, fuck, Astarion,” you keen, your desire coiling in your belly and threatening to explode. “Keep going, daddy, fuck me please.” He grunts with the effort and your dirty talk seems to be having an effect as his pace falters. You jerk your hips up into him, chasing your orgasm, until finally it barrels through you like a runaway train. You pull on his hair as you come and that sets off his, his pulsing cock pressing against the clenching walls of your cunt.
He stays deep inside you as the aftershocks reverberate through both of you, until the only sound remaining is your heavy panting. He drops his forehead to touch yours, a pleasantly tender moment after some of the roughest sex you can recall having. He starts to giggle and you follow suit, suddenly giddy. He pulls out of you with a squelch and walks to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up the mess you’ve left behind. He wipes you down gently, a surprising bit of aftercare you’re not accustomed to with him. He plants a tender kiss on your lips and you feel dizzy with affection for him.
You settle up against the headboard of your bed, his arm around you and both of you looking at your phones in a companionable silence. After a moment, he lets out a small chuckle.
“What?” you ask, turning your head towards him quizzically.
“I’m just shocked that worked, is all,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your confusion grows and you furrow your brow.
“What worked?” you laugh with him, but something doesn’t feel right.
“The whole night, taking you to see Taming, getting into just enough of a fight to result in,” he vaguely waves his hand, gesturing to the edge of the bed, “all of that.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” You pull away from him and your stomach drops. Surely he can’t be suggesting what you think he’s suggesting.
“You get riled up so easily, I thought this might be fun.” He still doesn’t seem to have picked up on your heart pounding in your ears, which is frankly unusual for him.
“Are you saying… Wait, are you saying that you planned that fight? So, what, we’d have angry sex?”
“Of course, you don’t think I actually believe anything that I said, do you? Taming of the Shrew might be well-written, but it’s a rubbish play to produce.” He finally turns to you and sees that you’ve gone white as a sheet. “Oh, darling, don’t take it like that, you’re positively adorable when you’re angry, I couldn’t resist.” He tries putting his hand to your cheek but you flinch away like he’s burned you.
“Get out,” you say in a low voice, unable to even look at him.
“What?” He’s still laughing. He doesn’t get it. “My sweet, didn’t you-”
“GET. OUT.” Your voice has a venom in it that even shocks you. He stares at you in horror until you shoot him an icy glare. “Now.”
Without a word he stands and quickly puts his clothes back on. You stay in your bed, naked and curled under a sheet, until you hear the front door of your apartment slam. With shaking hands, you call Shadowheart.
“Moonmaiden’s delight, did you enjoy yourself? It certainly sounded like you did.” The sound of Shadowheart’s bubbly laugh usually makes you smile, but right now it seeps into your skin like poison.
“Shade, please come over,” you whimper, and the second the words leave your mouth, the tears begin to fall. You don’t hear her hang up, but you do hear a muffled, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” through the wall. You pull your knees further into your chest and sob.
#astarion#astarion fanfic#astarion fic#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate astarion#baldurs gate fanfiction#astarion ancunin#astarion smut#baldurs gate smut#fanfiction#smut#professor astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#bg3 au#college au#bg3 modern au#astarion x tav#astarion romance#office hours#baldurs gate au#astarion angst
232 notes
·
View notes
Text
i said i was going to arrange a list of my favorite articles/criticism about shakespeare, so here’s my first little roundup! obligatory disclaimer that i don’t necessarily agree with or endorse every single point of view in each word of these articles, but they scratch my brain. will add to this list as i continue reading, and feel free to add your own favorites in the reblogs! :]
essays
Is Shakespeare For Everyone? by Austin Tichenor (a basic examination of that question)
Interrogating the Shakespeare System by Madeline Sayet (counterpoint/parallel to the above; on Shakespeare’s place in, and status as, imperialism)
Shakespeare in the Bush by Laura Bohannan (also a good parallel to the above; on whether Shakespeare is really culturally “universal”)
The Unified Theory of Ophelia: On Women, Writing, and Mental Illness ("I was trying to make sense of the different ways men and women related to Ophelia. Women seemed to invoke her like a patron saint; men seemed mostly interested in fetishizing her flowery, waterlogged corpse.”)
Hamlet Is a Suicide Text—It’s Time to Teach It Like One (on teaching shakespeare plays about suicide to high schoolers)
Commuting With Shylock by Dara Horn (on listening to MoV with a ten-year-old son, as modern jewish people, to look at that eternal question of Is This Play Antisemitic?)
All That Glisters is Not Gold (NPR episode, on whether it’s possible to perform othello, taming of the shrew, & merchant to do good instead of harm)
academic articles
the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to the Merchant of Venice (apologies about the highlights here; they are not mine; i scanned this from my rented copy)
the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to Henry the Fourth part 1 (and apologies for the angled page scans on this one; see above)
Richard II: A Modern Perspective by Harry Berger Jr (this is the article that made me understand richard ii)
Hamlet’s Older Brother (“Hamlet and Prince Hal are in the same situation, the distinction resting roughly on the difference between the problem of killing a king and the problem of becoming one. ... Hamlet is literature’s Mona Lisa, and Hal is the preliminary study for it.”)
Egyptian Queens and Male Reviewers: Sexist Attitudes in Antony & Cleopatra Criticism (about more than just reviewers; my favorite deconstruction of shakespeare’s cleopatra in general)
Strange Flesh: Antony and Cleopatra and the Story of the Dissolving Warrior (“If Troilus and Cressida is [Shakespeare’s] vision of a world in which masculinity must be enacted in order to exist, Antony and Cleopatra is his vision of a world in which masculinity not only must be enacted, but simply cannot be enacted, his vision of a world in which this particular performance has broken down.”)
misc
Elegy of Fortinbras by Zbigniew Herbert (poem that makes me fucking insane)
Dirtbag Henry IV (what it sounds like.)
Cleopatra and Antony by Linda Bamber (what if a&c... was good.)
#essays/academic articles is sort of a false dichotomy but i wanted to separate these into More Casual versus More Academic. so.#misc category exists because. i like those two things so much. not at all for the same reasons#max.txt#misc#hamlet#merchant of venice#henry iv#richard ii#antony and cleopatra#there we are.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW || d.targaryen
IN WHICH: king viserys targaryen’s eldest daughter had a reputation for being a shrew and rejects every suitor before her, until her uncle daemon becomes a widower and decides to take an offer on his niece’s hand.
REQUESTED: yes/no
PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!targaryen
AUTHOR’S NOTES: the reader is described as having silver valyrian hair (if you do not wish to have silver hair in the fic feel read to change it). Also this text means high Valyrian.
WARNINGS: incest (uncle/niece) mention of daemon’s divorce rock, spousal murder, arranged marriage, targaryen incest, totally not inspired by shakespeare’s taming of the shrew, angst, allusions to sex, loss of virginity etc
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
VISERYS I DIDN’T EXPECT TO BEGIN A MEETING FOR THE SMALL COUNCIL WITH AN INTERRUPTION. A young son of Lord Blackwood entered the chambers of the Small Council, unannounced, practically in hysterics, clutching his red-marked, throbbing cheek.
Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, furrowed his brows. “Ser Cyrus,” Viserys spoke, eyeing the boy’s streaming tears, “Whatever is wrong?”.
“She-She is a nightmare in the flesh!” Cyrus Blackwood snapped, “She called me a cunt and threw her shoe at me! I will not wed her!”
Cyrus stormed out of the Small Council’s chambers, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath. Awkwardly, Viserys coughed. “This meeting is adjourned. I will make my way to the Princess (Name)’s chambers,”.
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
The doors to (Name)’s chambers flew open, revealing an anger-stricken Viserys. Plainly, his eldest daughter sat, nose in a book. “Do you take pride in making this House look like fools?!” Viserys hissed, as the guards closed the door behind him.
“Whatever do you mean, Father?” (Name) spoke, barely looking him in the eyes, “Is this about that child you sent in with an offer for my hand, trying to barter me off the highest bidder already? Took you long enough…”.
Viserys scowled at his eldest. “You’re just like him,” Viserys scoffed, making (Name) look up at him, “Daemon. You’re thick as thieves with him. The both of you, like plagues sent to destroy me,”.
(Name) scoffed, eyes returning to her book. “Of course,” she sarcastically spat, “As if my whole existence suddenly depends on pestering you. Believe me, I have better things to do,”.
“Such as?” Viserys snapped, sitting down besides his daughter on the sofa in front of the fireplace, “Denying the…fourth proposal from a noble family? Lord Blackwood’s son was half-traumatised! You threw your shoe at him-“.
“He deserved it. He said I was merely a broodmare,” (Name) clarified, eyes scanning the inked words on the parchment pages, “Actually, this is only the third proposal for my hand in marriage. Why in the Seven Hells are you even here? Shouldn’t you be doing something like…I do not know, declaring me illegitimate to the line of succession in place of my younger sister? Marrying a girl Rhaenyra’s age of five and ten when it disgusts you to marry a girl of two and ten?”.
Viserys coughed into his handkerchief. “Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?” Viserys pondered aloud, catching his daughter’s attention, “Jaehaerys would’ve disinherited you, (Name)-“.
She slammed the book shut, standing up. “Well, it’s a bloody good thing I’m not one of Jaehaerys’ daughters. I might as well be Viserra reborn. Why do you insist on marrying me off to any man who wants my Valyrian blood for their children?”.
Viserys, once again, sighed in annoyance. “It is not like that, (Name),” Viserys spoke, “I wish that you would choose a husband from the many men who have put their hand forward to wed you?”.
“You know who I wish to wed,” (Name) spoke bitterly, sliding the book back onto her bookcase, “You know the one I want,”.
Viserys sighed. “Your uncle, Daemon, is a rogue. And a bad example,” he reminded, “He is already married to the Lady Rhea Royce,”.
(Name) bitterly sighed. “That didn’t stop Aegon the Conqueror from marrying both Rhaenys and Visenya,”.
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
“Uncle,”
“Niece,”
The two declared rogues of House Targaryen greeted each other. They stood face-to-face, in the centre of the main hall of the Red Keep. Bustled between dancers of noble origin, both Targaryens stood out like sore thumbs.
“Uncle. We meet again,” (Name) spoke, circling Daemon like a vulture, as he did her, “I was quite distraught upon hearing the news of Lady Rhea’s accident. How untimely. It was almost like somebody sped up her passing,”.
Daemon scoffed, gripping the back of her head, thumb brushing her upper cheekbone. “Watch your words, you little shrew,” Daemon warned, the Valyrian words rolling off his tongue, “We are not the only ones who speak the language of our predecessors,”.
The princess rolled her eyes. “I am quite aware, dearest uncle,” she feigned, pressing a kiss to his palm, “I want them to hear. This wedding is so dreadfully boring. Take me away. Take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house. It is what you wish, is it not?”.
Out of the corner of her eye, (Name) spotted her father’s unhappy glance and Alicent’s judgemental look from the main table. She didn’t care. Their lips were almost touching when the sounds of screaming echoed across the hall.
Ser Criston Cole had beaten the lover of her sister’s betrothed to a pulp. To the death. She heard Laenor’s howling shrieks and sobs of agony and pitied the boy, as he mourned his lover’s death. Rhaenyra and Laenor were married later that evening, in a series of sobs and tears and Viserys collapsing.
A servant rushed in, out of breath, chest heaving and panting heavily. “The Princess- (Name)- Has ran away with Prince Daemon- Pentos-” the servant huffed, before falling to the ground, out of breath.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hbo#hbo hotd#game of thrones#a song of ice and feels#asoiaf#fanfic#targaryens#house targaryen#daemon targaryen#xreader#matt smith#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon x you#daemon x y/n#daemon x reader#the shrew of king’s landing
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika
Summary: Coriolanus took his wife out, in more ways than one, while you were safe and sound in his 12th floor Corso penthouse. But when you see a breaking news report, you realize that the man you share a bed with is a snake. A snake that kills with poison. And you decide to confront him about your knowledge of poisons.
Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Poison, Murder, Blood, Plotting/Scheming Couple, um think that's about it
Story Masterlist
Chapter 5
Coriolanus sipped on his wine, watching his wife look around the dining room impatiently. She was fidgeting in her seat; it was embarrassing.
He was paying good money on a meal that they'd never eat, cause she'd be dead soon and he'd be hacking up blood. The least Livia could do was conduct herself properly in public.
The damn shrew was impossible to train. So impatient. Greedy, spoiled, rich bitch was so used to getting her way that waiting a few extra minutes for their seafood appetizer was too much to handle.
God, he's so happy that he dumped that vial of poison in their wine bottle (that he had the waiter leave on their table) after convincing his vain wife that she needed to powder her nose; that it was too shiny.
Soon, very very soon the poison will kick in and Livia will drop dead.
Not him though.
No, he won't die, but he'll get sick though since he's only partially immune to this strong, but sweet tasting poison that pairs so well with the vintage Merlot.
Truth be told, the side effects of the poison he was drinking tonight would stick with him for more than a few hours.
In fact Coriolanus would be stuck in bed recovering for a good week or so. A recovery that would consist of being weak, spitting up blood, and not being able to keep anything other than liquids down.
“Why is it taking so long for our appetizer?” Livia whined, turning to sit properly in her seat. She was giving him an impatient look.
He's sure the oysters rockefeller will be out any minute now.
Just in time for the fun to begin.
“Well, Livia, they do have to cook it.” He sarcastically reminded his soon to be dead wife.
“Don't be condescending with me, Coriolanus. I'm your wife, not some whore from a black market brothel you can speak down to.” The dirty blonde scolded him in an uppity tone while reaching for her wine.
Yes, drink up.
Right now Coriolanus was ecstatic that his nearly dead wife was a lush. The more wine she drank meant the quicker he's rid of her.
Oooo… a poisoning death has never made him more happy then hers.
He couldn't wait for her to start bleeding from her nose and choking on her own blood that'd clog her lungs.
Putting down his glass, he subtly motioned to the waiter making his way to their table. “The oysters rockefeller’s on its way now, Livia.”
“You know, husband, that most men call their wives a pet name; not use their name every time they speak to them.” Livia snapped as the waiter got closer to the table, tray of oyster appetizers in his hand.
“Yes well most husbands love their wives, yet here we are just barely tolerating each other for money and social standings.” Coriolanus factually states, his eyes following the waiter’s every move.
Livia chugged down her wine as the waiter appeared at the table, placing the appetizer tray down on the white linen tablecloth. “Finally. It took you long enough.” Livia rudely remarked, causing the waiter to quickly apologize and leave.
“Your manners are atrocious, Livia.” Coriolanus pointed out as he served them their appetizer.
Fortunately, in a few minutes, he'll never have to deal with her atrocious manners ever again. He'll be free to be with you; he knows that since you're young he can train you. Make sure that you act properly, know your place by his side and as the First Lady of Panem.
“And you parade around like some gentleman when you both know that you have degenerate desires and urges.”
“Livia…” he hissed in a low warning. Why was she bringing this up here, in a crowded restaurant where anyone could overhear? Did she have any decency, any respect for him?
No.
She doesn't, otherwise she wouldn't be insulting his sexual preferences while they’re at her last super.
Ignoring his hissed warning, Livia scooped a small piece of oyster up with her fork while telling her husband, “People are starting to talk, Coriolanus, in the social circles about us being married for so long and not having any children.”
“And whose fault is that, Livia?” Coriolanus asked, taking a bite of his own seafood appetizer. “You're the one that refuses to share a bed with me. Who's shot me down anytime I attempt to bring up the subject of children.” He reminded her as his nose began to burn, tingle, and twitch with the telltale signs of an upcoming nose bleed.
Yes, any second now his wife’ll be dead and he'll be free of his life sentence. He'll be free to make you his in every sense of the word.
“I've been told that there's a clinic that specializes in reproductive matters. That the doctor at the clinic is able to collect the necessary products from us to make an embryo in a lab; that we could even have it implanted into a female avox as a surrogate so that I wouldn't have to touch you or ruin my body by getting fat.”
Was she serious right now? She expected him to be on board with having a science baby? A baby supposedly made from their collected samples and mixed up in a test tube, in a lab.
In a lab.
Coriolanus remembers his time studying and interning under Dr. Gaul, before that terrible accident she had right before he graduated University and was given her Head Gamemaker job. He remembers the experiments that took place in the labs. How creatures were created out of thin air with a few strands of DNA samples. How easily DNA could be twisted and mutated into a creature so vile, so horrible, so deadly.
No.
He wasn't going to have a mutt for a child. Especially one carried by an avox.
No, he was going to have children the old fashioned way with you. And he'll make sure that you enjoy making them too.
Livia’s eyes went wide and she dropped her fork, causing it to loudly clatter onto the bone china plate. Blood began to trickle down her nostrils as she grabbed her neck, clawing at it in a vain attempt for air.
Oh, show time. The poison’s kicked in.
Coriolanus knew what to expect in the seconds to come, he's been through it before. So, deciding that he wanted the last word, he leaned in close to Livia and simply told her, “Snow lands on top.”
When he sat back, blood began to trickle from his own nose, along with rising from his stomach and filling up his mouth.
By this point, blood poured from Livia’s mouth and she was choking on it.
All the while the dining room of Avelina's was full of screams and terrified cries from the elite capitolites whose meals were now ruined.
Coriolanus watches the life drain out of his wife's eyes as he began coughing up blood.
It was a beautiful sight to behold.
You were in a cozy sweater, curled up on the sofa with a steaming cup of tea in your hand. You sent Tigris home hours ago because, even though she was very nice to you, you couldn't handle how she looked at you.
How she treated you like you're made out of fragile glass.
Even though Coryo was a bit much with his hot-cold behavior, he didn't treat you like you're made out of fragile glass. In fact it felt like the opposite. That he wasn't afraid if he shattered you, if you broke.
Coriolanus wasn't purposely trying to break you, or at least you didn't think he was, but he didn't watch his tongue and tiptoe around you.
He was blunt with you; treated you like a person instead of a victim of the games.
Coryo had no problems treating you like a woman, that's for sure. Your status as a victor that had seen horrors in the arena did nothing to deter him from his dominant nature in bed with you.
You know that you shouldn't seek solace with the head gamemaker, the man that designed the arena along with all the twists and turns of this July’s games, but you couldn't help but feel like he was the only one that treated you like a normal human being.
Coriolanus knew, perhaps better than anyone else, the horrors you've seen in the games and he didn't pity you. In fact, the way he looked at you seemed to be almost prideful.
His icy blue eyes also held a sense of lust and possession in them too, but you swore he saw pride in them.
Maybe you were overthinking everything. The way he felt about you didn't matter: he was married.
Of course he was married, he was 15 years older than you.
As you sipped on your tea, you couldn't help, but worry about how your brother and his girlfriend would treat you when you (eventually) went home. Would they tread lightly with you like Tigris does or would they treat you like they did before you left? Would Rein and Ashlie view you as different, would they pity you?
And then the thought of the neighbor boy, the freshly 15 year old Corbin Everdeen, popped into your head.
Would he stop chasing your heels like a puppy; think that you were horrible for killing 7 people in the Hunger Games, or would he still chase you around? Still pester you to listen to whatever song he was working on for his weekend performances at the hob, once you returned to 12?
You think being the Victor of the First Quarter Quell will make Corbin (who Rein felt was a borderline stalker with how he was always finding ways to be around you) leave you alone since he hated the games. He felt that the games changed people; either made them murderers or drove them mad out of their minds with paranoia. He felt that if you got reaped then you should just let yourself be struck down in the bloodbath in order to preserve your identity; to keep the Capitol from stealing and corrupting your soul.
You didn't do what the neighbor boy musician told you to do.
No.
You did what your older brother told you to do. You fought to survive. You did whatever it took to make it out alive.
You trained in those 2 weeks you were given in the tribute center, you listened to the Academy student that was assigned as your mentor (since District 12 didn't have a living victor to mentor you), and you dazzled the audience in your interview.
The gorgeous dresses that Tigris made for you helped sell you as the Capitol Darling too.
It all came in handy when you received a training score of 8 (your mentor thought that you deserved at least a 10 and she was livid that the gamemakers only gave you an 8) and received a few sponsors from it.
You took your brother's advice to heart and did what you had to do to survive. But now you're here, sitting in the head gamemaker’s penthouse while pondering whether or not you'll ever have people treat you normally ever again.
Some reward for winning, huh?
And to think that they tell you once you win you'll go home; will be able to live your life in peace.
Like fucking hell.
That's not what's happening to you right now.
Nope…
So, since you had no control over anything in your life right now, all you could do was sip on your hot tea and watch some rom-com on Capitol TV.
It was amazing how Coriolanus’ TV had more than 3 channels. It also amazes you how the thing took up most of his wall in the main room too.
As you watched the couple on TV do the classic coworkers fake dating for the winter holidays to make the girl's ex jealous trope, you couldn't help, but miss your cat. She used to curl up in your lap when you watched tv.
Suddenly, right as the couple on TV was fumbling thru their fake meet story, a breaking news report interrupted the movie.
You couldn't help, but sigh as you listened to the reporter at the news desk say, “We here at Capitol News 6 are so sorry to be interrupting your programs, but we have just gotten some horrible and heartbreaking, well, breaking news.” The reporter took a moment to put on a sad face and take a silent pause before announcing, “Socialite Livia Cardew-Snow, wife of Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow, died of sudden food poisoning merely an hour ago in the Capitol restaurant Avelina’s. Our beloved head gamemaker himself is currently being treated at Capitol General and is expected to make a full recovery.”
What?
Your wheels are turning. You knew that botulism took 48 hours to kill and salmonella had different levels of severity, but wouldn't just cause somebody to drop dead in the middle of a restaurant.
There was only one reason for Livia's sudden death and Coriolanus' sudden near death experience that he'd recover from.
He poisoned his wife and himself, but with not as high of a dose that he gave his wife, and made it look like food poisoning because they were at a restaurant.
What the hell?! How could he be so reckless? What if he accidentally gave himself a fatal dose, then where would that leave you?
That damn snake…
“Let’s go live to our favorite weather and reporter for all things game related, Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman, who’s with our beloved Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow in his hospital room.” The news desk reporter said before the screen cut to live footage of Lucky Flickerman standing next to Coriolanus, who was sitting up in a hospital bed.
You took one look at Coriolanus and knew what kind of poison he used. He used a toxic metal based poison made from either cadmium, selenium, or arsenic.
It's the only kind of poison that would've killed Livia Cardew-Snow so quickly; would leave Coryo coughing up blood and looking so pale and weak in his hospital bed.
You knew about the dangers of metals such as cadmium, selenium, and arsenic leaching into water and turning it into poison from your brother's career as a coal miner. It's the reason why he won't use the water at the mines; why he brings his own in a large glass jug with him to work.
Rein told you that when new shafts are carved into the coal mines or when new mines were blown into the side of the mountains that the leftover rubble gets dumped to the side where it leeches and runs off into water, creating poison for anyone who drinks it.
You've seen the effects of the poisoned mine water too when you started your short lived internship at the apothecary right before you got reaped.
It wasn't pretty.
But the few men that survived, mostly young men that were still in their teens or early 20s, spat up blood, had mouth sores, ulcers, and could barely eat for weeks while they recovered and fought the poison.
They had the same weak, pale, sunk in look that Coriolanus had right now as he laid in his hospital bed telling some bullshit story to the media about the food poisoning that killed Livia and nearly killed him.
Oh, you swear, you're giving him a piece of your mind when he shows up at the penthouse.
And you knew he'd show up since he killed his wife to be able to have you in his bed.
God, you're now sharing a bed with a snake.
“You should be asleep, darling.” Coriolanus chastised you, walking into the main room of the penthouse in the wee hours of the morning.
He looked like shit. Had blood dripping from the side of his mouth.
God, you were so pissed at him. Before you could think better of it, you chucked your teacup at his head, but it just went over his shoulder and shattered against the wall. “You want to off your wife with poison, fine, but don't drink the damn shit yourself, Coriolanus!” You angrily screamed.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Y/N. I got food poisoning from bad seafood; unfortunately it killed my wife.” Coriolanus smoothly lied, his face an unwavering mask.
“I interned at the apothecary in District 12 before I got reaped, Coriolanus. I've seen the signs of cadmium, selenium, and arsenic poisoning since the water from the mines is tainted from it.” You bluntly told the platinum blonde while standing to your feet. Walking up to him, you said, “You have the signs. You're coughing up blood, you're pale and your face looks sunk in.” His icy blue eyes narrowed at you. “Bet you got a sore in your mouth, if not then it'll pop up soon.” Pointing to his stomach, you warned, “Watch yourself, metal based poisons are notorious for causing bleeding ulcers.”
Coryo's jaw twitched as he looked down at you. “I see you're well educated for a girl from District 12. Let me ask you, how do you feel about what I did tonight?” A dark smirk twisted on his bloodstained lips as he asked, “Are you going to be a loose end for me, my darling rose?”
“Honestly, I'm not upset that you killed your wife. What I'm upset about is that you drank that poison too. You drank it without even worrying about what would happen to me if something went wrong and you dropped dead too.”
“Darling,” Coriolanus reached out with his hand, attempting to pull you into him and comfort you, but you pushed him away.
He weakly stumbled, but balanced himself by grabbing a nearby the back of a nearby sitting chair.
“Did you even stop and think about what happens to me if you died or are incapacitated? Huh?!” You asked, on the verge of angry tears. You didn't even give him the chance to answer you. No, you just barreled on with, “Would I get sent back to 12 even though Victor's Village hasn't been built yet or would I be passed onto your successor, whoever would take your place as head gamemaker?"
“Nobody will ever get their hands on you, my darling rose.” Coryo swore as he weakly collapsed in the sitting chair. “I’ll kill anyone that tries to take you from me.” He darkly vowed while coughing up blood.
“You're going to be laid up in bed for a week, maybe 2.” You told him, watching as he took his handkerchief from his breast pocket; coughing into it. The blood spurts from his coughing stained the white cloth red, as if little rain drops had drizzled on it.
You felt bad for him, watching him struggling to breath as his chest rattled with every bloody cough he let out.
You went over to his chair and knelt by his side. You knew he wouldn't stop poisoning people. Not with the outburst that he just had. But you knew that you couldn't let him keep using dangerous metal based poisons either.
Whether you wanted to admit it or not, your red string of fate was tied to the head gamemaker. You needed him for your survival.
Taking one of his hands in yours, you revealed, “Coryo, I have an apothecary book back in my room in District 12. It has recipes for herbal remedies, medicines, poisons, and antidotes in it.”
God, you were going straight to hell for what you were going to say next.
“If you can somehow get me that book I’ll help you make poisons that won't hurt you. That you can take an antidote ahead of time for; that won't make you sick.”
Coriolanus let out a rumbling cough, soaking his handkerchief, only to look at you with a mix of astonishment and admiration in his baby blues. “You'd do that for me? Make me poisons to use on my enemies?”
You remembered what he told you in the hospital, that the Capitol was a dangerous place. Was a chess game of life; that he'd teach you how to play and master it in time.
Well, no time like the present.
“You're enemies are my enemies too, aren't they? Maybe moreso since I'm district.”
Coryo's calloused thumb ran over yours knuckles and he gave you a crimson stained smile. “You're not district, my darling rose. You're a victor, like me.”
If only you knew how damning those words truly were. Would you have tried to get away or would you have still let the white snake wrap himself around you.
But you were a snake as well, weren't you? For only a snake could truly feel safe with another snake.
Where you always a snake or did you just choose to become one because you were drawn to the dark beauty of a beautiful devil?
Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi , @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch , @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1
#coriolanus snow#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games#thg#coryo snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus x reader#tbosas fanfiction#coriolanus imagine#corionalus snow#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coryo snow x reader#coryo x reader#coryo x you#tbosas x reader#tbosas fic#dark!coriolanus snow x reader#dark!coriolanus snow
244 notes
·
View notes
Text
stans are actually very funny bc they often time talk themselves into the weirdest corners.
the whole point of criticizing acosf and its handling of nesta's character is to prove the point that sjm...doesn't like nesta as a character. that's is literally THE point - that sjm often abandons her moral themes (abuse, trauma, assault, etc.,) for character's deemed as undesirable or villainous to a capacity - and its through the handling of those 'vilified' (i.e. main character opposed - not even villianous) that we can gauge the extent to which sjm actually believes the ideals of her story. like - it is alarming that the only tolerable, empathetic parts of the a court of silver flames were the moments you could tell where ripped straight from sjm's own life (the hiking, training, mind-stilling etc.,). any actual characteristics about nesta weren't explored...like at all. her relationship with feyre and elain, with her mother, her trauma from her sexual assault, her conflicted relationship with her grandmother, her life before the cabin, her life during the cabin. in 800 pages - i still don't know mama archeron's name. what was life like in the cabin? what did nesta do all day? what was the dynamic? what was going on between elain and nesta?i don't know anything about her and nesta, we don't know anything about nesta's human life, her conversation with clare bedor, her relationship with clare beddor, moments with her dad - not even touching moments with him (and part of this story is her finding love for her dad). mind you we read 800+ pages and we learned absolutely nothing about her.
we essentially read sjm's emotional journey in one part, and a taming of the shrew narrative in another. i think the only way sjm had genuine interest in exploring nesta's story is through essentially self-inserting herself and avoiding the actual plot-points she set up in the first three books. like did nesta have childhood friends? if losing the wealth so drastically affected her life wouldn't she reminisce about it a lot? would she yearn for her mother? who were her childhood friends, how did she function at court?
and the whole point of saying alll of that is to argue the misuse of these topics - serious discussions abuse are only reserved for certain situation, and others its completely undermined in a way that only reinforces the negative ideals to begin with. (i.e. nesta needs to abused bc..." "the intervention was harsh but" - pair that with discussion around what feyre needed in acomaf - and it makes much more sense).
nesta antis often jump between the fact that nesta is so favored that sjm nerfed feysand to 'redeem her' and arguing that sjm secretly does everything in her power to embarrass and secretly laugh at people who like nesta's character. (1) we've gotta pick one or the other (2) in my humble opinion - sjm would have always given feyre a pregnancy plot like this regardless of whether this was nesta's book or elain. its literally so sjm. im shocked people are surprised she pulled the pregnancy as she did.
as with the tamlin discussion we had under this post - i think the story undermines its discussion of abuse with feyre/tam by essentially insinuating that tamlin (when placed in the same victimized position as feyre) should have sucked it up and braved out his abuse with amarantha (and the same with rhysand as well - esp with the deliberate foil of rhysand's 'willingness' v. tamlin's unwillingness). and when we start to have a real conversation ultilizing our own irl analysis and standards we really see how harmful and rather sisyphean the conversation becomes. instead of engaging with these topics earnestly, they only engage in them to prove a point - which is how the issue began in the first place. the whole issue with rhysand isn't the fact that he engages with harmful, potentially villainous positions. no - its that the book wants to prove that tamlin is wrong by justifying rhysand's actions. so even though rhysand and tamlin almost always have the same written and expressed intentions in their abuse of feyre, the book flocks to justify one, and eschews the other. and thats why we get so much reactionary critcism of rhys that is surface: people only admit the problems because they know antis will, not because they actually believe their are issues in the story.
and perhaps im still speaking into a void here but i can tell there's tension between pro stans wanting to have these serious conversations but understanding they can only really introspect so far until the conversation begin to prod at the validity of the topics being brought forth. so stans have to jump between invalidating the romantasy genre ("its just faeries") and treating this book as a serious topic (cue: "sjm put a hotline in the back of the book"). this is also the exact reason why the racism conversations stall (i.e. why inherent superiority is always passively emphasized - despite cc1 + 2 centering human oppresion there is no human in the ensemble cast. despite the fact that illyrian women are the most oppressed - rhys has no illyrian women - or reg illyrians (not his brothers) in his inner circle. aelin 'sacrificing' her human body).
#anti sjm#anti rhysand#anti feyre#anti acosf#anti feysand#anti sjm: nesta archeron#anti nessian#queue0118
222 notes
·
View notes
Note
Thoughts on remadora?
thank you very much for the asks, anons!
while they are by no means my otp, i really enjoy remadora as pairing - and i think they’re fully up there among the canon couples in terms of being an amazing vehicle through which to explore all sorts of questions about life and love - which i am aware is a sufficiently controversial statement that it involves an immediate engagement with some discourse…
because remadora girlies [gender neutral] get an enormous amount of shit within the fandom, particularly from fans who consider wolfstar to be a more plausible pairing for lupin than tonks. i have seen remadora shippers called homophobes for simply enjoying the couple, justified with the bizarre idea that it disrespects remus' relationship with sirius [so... the non-canon one?] to put them together. i have seen tonks turned into a pathetic shrew who is trying to keep remus from the real love of his life by trapping him with an unwanted baby. i have seen remadora shippers get a lot of the usual stuff that people who prefer the canon-endgame couples do [that to ship a canon pair is boring, that it is indicative of a lack of talent, that it indicates an uncritical support for jkr] magnified to eleven because tonks has the temerity to be a barrier to remus’ relationship with the fandom’s favourite hot and brooding man.
obviously, this is bullshit - primarily because its unreasonable and cruel to invest so much time and energy being mean to people because of their harry potter shipping preferences [fandom should never be that deep].
but it’s also a disappointment to me personally because it means that it can be very hard to find the sort of remadora i like without looking like i’m coming to contribute to the pile-on. because where many remadora fans and i don’t see eye-to-eye is that i have absolutely no interest in thinking about them as a relationship which is actually functional. and, all too often, i find myself sifting through fics which do prefer to interpret them like this - as romantic and passionate and stable - largely, i think it’s fair to say, as a defensive move against the tide of “urgh, imagine shipping that” nonsense - even though all the evidence of canon is that they are… very much not.
i am aware of the pottermore article which smoothes the edges of lupin’s canonical reaction to tonks’ feelings for him in half-blood prince - but, while i read this as something of a retcon to make the relationship more palatable, i also don’t think that assuming that both tonks and lupin’s attraction to each other was sincere precludes them being as dysfunctional as they canonically are. i don’t go in for the common anti-remadora argument that tonks “forces” him into a relationship with her - it’s clear in half-blood prince that it’s not only her who has discussed her feelings with molly and arthur weasley, lupin is definitely flirting with her when they pick harry up in order of the phoenix, lupin is an adult man [no matter other power imbalances between him and tonks - such as the fact that she is an agent of the state which oppresses him] who possesses the capacity to refuse her advances, and - since teddy’s conception is not immaculate - he has no issue with enjoying a sexual relationship with her even if he then wants to run away from the product of that.
instead, what i like with remadora is that they reveal something which goes against the grain of the rest of the series: that love is not always enough. throughout the seven-book canon, we see time and time again the idea that love - and, crucially, love-as-noble-suffering and love-as-sacrifice - is enough to overcome any problem. entire civil service collaborating with a terrorist regime? don’t trouble yourself, love has won. your mother dying in childbirth leaving you to be neglected in a state institution? your own fault you’re not interested in love.
i understand the genre reasons for this, but i also love the way in which lupin especially exists on the margins of these genre conventions [just as he exists on the margins of wizarding society!]. i’m always struck in deathly hallows that he’s the only person who’s actually realistic about the demands of war - particularly when he tells harry that it is breathtakingly naive for him to think he can get through the fighting without having to shoot to kill - and that part of him having to be shuffled out of the way when harry tells him to return to the pregnant tonks is because, were the story focused on realism, the idea that a wanted man who is considered an unhuman by the state fleeing in order to guarantee the safety of his wife and unborn child becomes eminently reasonable and harry's defense of the nuclear family embarrassingly unradical.
and so i like the idea of lupin seeing tonks - and tonks seeing lupin - initially as just a bit of fun, as the two of them being just two chill single people who think the other is hot and interesting and want to bang because of it.
[which is something fandoms in general really struggle with as a concept. we like epic love stories - and you won't find me objecting to that! - but we're less good at thinking about casual sexual attraction or transient friendships, and how these can be transformative and meaningful without having to end up going any sort of distance.]
and i then like the idea of the relationship being forced into a profundity it doesn’t really have the juice to sustain by the sheer avalanche of grief which besets the two of them - sirius, dumbledore, mad-eye, ted - and by the pressure of the war and the fact that the order is scrambling and the hangover of remus' self-destruction in half-blood prince which makes each cling to the other as a life-raft. i like remadora as something codependent and messy and strange and sad, and i don’t think this prevents it being sincere and fun and based in mutual attraction, but instead that these positive qualities can exist in conjunction with the fact that, without the war, it would have been a summer of fucking and that was probably it.
on tonks herself, i don’t think i can say it better than @evesaintyves in this meta on her character. i’ve been really uncomfortable with quite a lot of stuff i’ve seen recently which has taken against the idea that tonks can be meaningfully read as queer on the basis of what we find in the text, above all because it so often comes with the implication that one cannot imagine her in her canon endgame pairing and presume that she’s something other than straight or cisgender. eve sets out an excellent case for tonks as bolshy and liberated and in tune with herself and fun and confused and in flux and still figuring stuff out about who she is and where she’s going - and this translates, may i say, to an astonishingly beautiful way of writing her, lupin, and the dysfunction inherent between them which i highly recommend you read.
135 notes
·
View notes
Note
just me or is the whole 'saying this is like fanfic is homophobia' framing kind of frustrating? like just to list out the tropes that have come up so far in HH/HB:
female character is written as an evil shrew who gets in the way of the m/m pairing
relationship that starts with rape/dubcon rewritten into true love (this one is probably more common in bad BL manga but I'm willing to bet there's some overlap)
character is the child of a mob family
portrayals of rape/sexual assault treated as titillating / used for drama
portrayals of domestic violence/abuse used mainly to get viewers to feel sorry for a character instead of making them sympathetic on their own terms
abusers/rapists being all powerful monsters solely to torture the victim as much as possible
characters are either Good or Bad and writing is heavy handed about driving this point home
writers has one character they stan and baby above all others and not only the writing but the world bends around them as they eat up more and more screentime while the actual main characters are shoved to the side
writer has one character they hate and they hate other people liking them so they derail them in the most obvious way possible
writer has one pairing they despise and go out of their way to make them seem familial to shame the fans who ship it
writer has intended pairings in mind but they just kinda happen regardless of how much work has been put in to give them real chemistry
the plotlines jump all over the place with no consideration given to the differing stakes each create or audience fatigue when too much is introduced at once/too many hanging threads are left, similar to what happens in unplanned serialized fiction. consistency and worldbuilding errors abound. conversations/events that seem like they should change the status quo kinda don't but there's so little way to tell which one is which that audiences cannot gauge the stakes and either stop being invested or just take the show as it comes since there's no point anticipating anything being done with a lot of its characters & plot points
too many characters, often some of whom don't serve much purpose but the writer is way too attached to to ever cut out (looking at you, Andrealphus & Vassago)
characters are rewritten on the fly. due to the lack of planning their arcs start and stop or get quietly dropped when the writer tires of them
pervasive attitude of misogyny - female characters are underwritten, bitches, dumb or accessories to the men. The world revolves around the (usually white) m/m pairing/s
the main premise is dropped in favor of shipping drama or character shilling
etc.
There's probably more but those are the big ones - like s1 wasn't perfect but s2 really does feel like it became fanfic of itself. I understand Viv being frustrated if it seems like a broad dismissive brush instead of specific critiques, but there's a couple of problems here:
when people give specific critiques she either misrepresents their points to frame them as bad faith (tacitly encouraging her fans to do the same), complains people keep making the same point or writes defensive threads about how people just don't get it because, for example, the show totally demonstrates Millie has qualities other than Wife and Violent
when people say something 'feels like fanfic' as far as I've seen they aren't immediately using it as shorthand for 'it has LGBT characters'. usually when they expand on their points what they're getting at is a lack of planning and a lack of experience or competency in the writer that gives the whole thing impression of being done by an amateur who's either young or still learning their craft, or both
it's the same lack of experienced hands that resulted in the opening of Hazbin being so amateurish and lacking the sense of having actual episodes until other staff writers were brought in to clean up the mess
like yeah I don't like the implication that 'fanfic=automatically bad' since I've read some good stuff myself and maybe people could be more specific; but usually this critique is coming from people who actually like fanfic, who've read a lot of it and who recognize the tropes from the worst fanfics out there in Viv's work
Viv's little "Um, actually, fanfic is good and queer and so if you use it as an insult towards my shows, you're homophobic" snit is one of the more rancid things she's said. When you lay it all out like this, it really does go to show how her stories embody all the worst, most harmful tropes bad fanfic -- and bad writing in general -- has to offer.
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
contains adult themes such as sex and sexuality, drug use, violence/assault, and misogyny; other things to be prepared for include complete irrelevance to the canon of stranger things, 17-year-old jason is trying to bang 15-year-old elle which makes me wanna peel my face off (but it's accurate to the film), reader is adopted and has some issues with her bio parents, mileven and lumax with background robin/vickie, and dad!hopper being MVP as per usual
note: significant sections of dialogue were lifted directly from the film, because why mess with perfection? I still took liberties with it, but for some of those really iconic scenes, please know that I'm not the reason those lines are so hilarious. credit for the scenes I transcribed go to Karen McCullah & Kirsten Smith, the screenwriters of 10 Things I Hate About You, who of course themselves based the work on The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare.
length: 20k words
for @get-your-fics midsummer night's writing challenge!! thank you for hosting rosie!
As his hand slid up her creamy white thighs, she could feel his huge member pulsating with desire…
Mike was looking down at his hands, interlaced in his lap, until Ms. Kelley shut her laptop. She smiled at him politely, and he smiled back. “So!” she began, checking his file again. “Michael—”
“Just Mike,” he nodded.
“Right. Well, we’re glad to have you at Hawkins High— it shouldn’t be too different from your last high school! You were well-behaved your freshman year, correct?”
“Uh, mostly… one or two tardies, that’s it,” he assured.
“Great! That means if you see me again, something’s gone horribly wrong.”
“Huh?”
“This is where kids with behavior problems get sent. Deviants, misfits, sluts, weirdos, creeps— they all have to come in and chat with me to get their shit straightened out.”
“Their what?” Mike repeated. “Are you— am I in the right office?”
“Not anymore, my novel isn’t gonna finish itself,” she announced. “So scoot.”
He didn’t, at first, too stunned.
“Scoot!”
He jumped up, trying to process what conversation just occurred, only to bump into someone as he backed out of the doorway. “Watch it!” a firm voice warned him, and he spun to look up in ill-suppressed terror at the guy he’d just collided with.
Mike was too intimidated to even choke out an apology; it’s hard to say where to start with what scared him most. Maybe the chains, maybe the leather jacket and denim vest, maybe the glare? Yeah, it was definitely the glare— that was what made Mike cower and dart away before it could get any worse.
“Ah, Mister Munson!” Ms. Kelley greeted with faux sweetness. “I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual.”
As her smile fell, Eddie’s grew. “Only so we can have these moments together,” he cooed, taking another step inside. “Should I hit the lights?”
“Oh, very clever, trailer park boy,” she offered flatly as she examined the incident report already in his file. “Apparently you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”
“I was just joking around with my bandmates,” he promised. “It was a bratwurst.”
“Bratwurst,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing down— ostensibly at his handcuff belt buckle. “Aren’t we the optimist?”
A hint of Eddie’s resolve faded as she tilted her head and smiled at him cheerily again.
“Next time, keep your dangler in your Wranglers, mkay?” she suggested, chipper yet hollow.
Eddie shook his head as he left, leaving Ms. Kelley to return to her desk and re-open her computer. Examining her screen, she erased one word and replaced it.
…she could feel his huge bratwurst pulsating with desire…
~
“Hey! Mike, right?”
Mike turned, seeing another sophomore standing in front of him with a high top on his head and hightops on his feet. “Yeah!” Mike answered.
“I’m Lucas,” the other student offered with an extended hand for a shake.
Mike sighed with relief as he returned the handshake energetically, noticing Lucas’ basketball uniform. “You know, normally they send down one of those audio/video geeks.”
Lucas nodded; “Yeah, I know— I know what you mean.”
Right on cue, Dustin Henderson rolled by with the A/V cart. “Hey, Lucas,” Dustin nodded, “where should I put the radio equipment?”
Lucas coughed and brushed Dustin away. “Lucas?” he shook his head, pretending he had no idea who that could be, as he ditched a bewildered Dustin and guided Mike along down the hall.
As they walked past a crowd of popular seniors, Lucas motioned towards them.
“So, over here, you’ve got your basic beautiful people,” he explained, “unless they talk to you first, don’t talk to them.”
“Is that your rule or theirs?”
“Watch,” Lucas offered, nodding in their direction. “Hey there,” he greeted.
“Who are you talking to?” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington asked with a sneer.
“See?” Lucas smiled at Mike, who shook his head as they moved along. “Anyways, you’ve got your Diet Coke drinkers,” he explained as he motioned toward a crowd of students all holding red cans. “Very edgy, don’t make any sudden movements around them.”
Mike nodded in understanding, trying to keep up— literally, since Lucas kept walking quickly, but also in terms of the explanation of Hawkins High’s social dynamics.
“You’ve got your basic stoners—”
A senior with long black hair and bloodshot eyes caught Mike’s attention. “Hey, nice threads, man,” the stoner complimented with a smile, “Ocean Pacific?”
“And your surfers—”
Mike gawked at the muscular, tan guy with a blonde mullet and, for some reason, no shirt on. “Does he walk around like that at school?” he wondered aloud, but Lucas didn’t notice.
“— even though the closest they’ve been to the ocean is when they drink Ocean Spray cranberry juice.”
As Lucas laughed at his own joke, they walked through the courtyard.
“And this is our fearless Hawkins High basketball team!” Lucas explained, setting his hands on one of the player’s shoulders as they passed their lunch table. “Go Tigers, huh?”
The players scowled at him as Lucas’ hand was shrugged off; he crossed his arms.
“Yesterday I was their up-and-coming star,” Lucas recalled with a roll of his eyes.
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“Patrick McKinney started a rumor that my Converse were fake,” Lucas explained with a sigh.
“So they’re freezing you out?” Mike realized, offended on his behalf and concerned that everyone here was that superficial.
“I’ll get back in, don’t worry,” Lucas assured, but Mike wasn’t really worried about him so much as himself.
It was right then that Elle Hopper walked by, carrying with her the essence of youthful beauty and ingenue-ity. Her busy patterned jumpsuit was every bit as colorful as her spirit; she laughed lightly with the redhead at her side, a few words of a conversation about a trip to the mall floating through the air.
As time seemed to slow just for her, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a wave of the scent of candy-sweet perfume right in Mike’s direction.
“Oh— wow,” Mike sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Who’s she?”
“She’s out of your league is who she is,” Lucas warned.
“And?”
“And she’s got this super scary dad— won’t let her or her sister date. Ever,” Lucas announced firmly.
“How bad could he be, is he a hardened criminal or something?”
“Worse,” Lucas shook his head, “he’s the sheriff.”
“That’s worse?” Mike frowned.
“A criminal will just kill you. The sheriff will actually get away with it.”
~
“So,” Ms. O’Donnell began, “what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?”
Bethany Walters raised her hand instantly, and you rolled your eyes— because of course she would. “I loved it,” she cooed when she was called on. “I was soooo romantic!”
You grimaced, unable to stop yourself from commenting (a habit of yours). “Romantic? Hemingway?! Please— he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist—”
The rest of the class was already groaning and rolling their eyes, a few mutters of not this again here and there, but you kept going.
“— who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”
Yes, it was just like you to say something like that when Bethany was just trying to express a perfectly harmless opinion, but it was just like Jason to take it further. “As opposed to an unlikeable, self-righteous loser with no friends?” he quipped.
You weren’t planning on saying anything, but thankfully Ms. O’Donnell stood up for you anyway. “Quiet, Jason,” she scolded lightly— she was never that hard on him, because he was the star of the basketball team, but she also didn’t let him bully you that openly in class.
“I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time,” you concluded, shooting Jason a look over your shoulder, who simply smirked back at you.
And if it was just like you to say something snarky and politically-charged, and just like Jason to use it to insult you, then it was just like Eddie to show up late as if it were no trouble at all. “What did I miss?” he asked with a smile as he burst in.
You answered instantly, without looking back: “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”
“Great,” Eddie nodded, spinning on his heel and walking right back out again.
“W-wait!” Ms. O’Donnell called out, but Jason spoke again and took her attention away.
“How about we make a new rule— don’t come to class if you can’t handle your PMS,” he suggested jokingly.
“Jason!” she snapped. “Watch your attitude.”
You smirked to yourself smugly, but that moment of righteous indignation didn’t last long.
“And you,” she added, turning her attention to you, “go to the office.”
“What? Why?!” you protested.
“Because— because you’re being disruptive!” she decided.
Sighing, you got up from your seat and slung your backpack over your shoulder. As Jason snickered at you gleefully, you ‘accidentally’ let your textbook swing into his face, smacking that shit-eating look right off of him.
It was only a minute-or-so walk to the office, where you heard Ms. Kelley calling out to her assistant as you walked in.
“What’s another word for engorged?” she asked her, stumping the receptionist.
“Tumescent?” you offered.
“Great!” she smiled, typing at her laptop; you had some inkling what she was using that word for, though you wish you were blissfully ignorant to her erotic exploits. “So, were you terrorizing Ms. O’Donnell’s class again?”
You frowned. “Terrorism is a pretty strong word for simply expressing my opinion.”
“How about the way you expressed your opinion to Billy Hargrove? By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you were wondering.”
“In my defense,” you smirked, “I didn’t know he actually had balls when I kicked him.”
“The point is,” he sighed, less amused, “you tend to make a bad impression on others, and that’s not actually something to be proud of. People see you as—”
“Opinionated?”
“The term used most often is ‘heinous bitch’,” she corrected.
The words themselves didn’t bother you too much— yes, they were sexist, but that was nothing new here— but the knowledge that people were actually saying this to Ms. Kelley gave you pause. Were you really so traumatizing that they had to discuss you with the counselor?
“So, you might want to work on that,” she offered. “Bye!”
You scoffed. “As always,” you began as you stood, “thank you for your excellent guidance. I’ll let you get back to writing about aching cores and quivering members.”
As you turned, quietly proud of yourself for standing up to her, you heard her ponder to herself, “huh… quivering member, I like that…”
~
In the parking lot, you and Robin were walking side-by-side to your car (since she’d gotten a ride from you today, and also every other day for the past year and a half) when you were nearly run over by Jason screeching up to the curb in his car; it was just like him: shiny and new, overvalued, a fabulous body with subpar machinery under the hood.
“Hey,” he nodded at you, flashing that taunting grin, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that you dress like a bog witch?”
“Aw, do you really mean that?” you beamed excitedly, and he frowned at his failed insult as he pulled his car up a little further. If only he would’ve kept driving straight forward forever— he would’ve gone over the edge of the quarry eventually; but instead, he stopped… in front of your sister.
“Hi, ladies,” he greeted suavely, “care for a ride?”
You and Robin watched from beside your car— it was just like you, too: classic, older on the inside than it was on the outside, and debatably in need of a polish— in horror as Elle and Max hopped into the back of Jason’s convertible with all the girlish glee of two ingenues in over their head.
“Well, that’s a… charming new development,” Robin frowned.
“It’s disgusting,” you spat, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over. As you pulled out of your spot, you nearly slammed into one of those varsity basketball dweebs speeding by on his bike. “Hey!” you shouted at him, leaning out your window. “Didn’t your mommy tell you to look both ways before riding that thing in the street?”
The kid cowered and biked away, and you shook your head as you pulled it back into the car.
“I swear, these kids are getting dumber every year,” you sighed. “I think there’s a little too much chlorine in the Hawkins gene pool.”
As Lucas pulled over by the curb by Mike, the new student stared at you and Robin driving away in the beat-up vintage. “Are you okay? She almost hit you,” Mike noticed.
“Oh, that’s nothing with your beloved’s older sister,” Lucas scoffed. “I’m lucky I still have all my parts.”
“Wait, that’s Elle’s sister?!” Mike realized.
“Uh huh, in the legal sense,” Lucas agreed. “Sheriff Hopper adopted them both when they were little— I assume he found his first daughter abandoned by a tribe of rampaging bitches or something.”
That was just one of many theories about how exactly your dad came to adopt you and your sister, though the real story was much less interesting; speaking of him, he usually got home from the station after you returned from school, with him working later in the afternoons and all. When he returned home that particular day, he found you reading Jane Eyre on the sofa, and he smiled at you.
“Hello, honey,” he greeted. “Make anyone cry today?”
“Not yet,” you returned, “but it’s only four-thirty!”
He hummed and leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as you turned your page. Right about then, Elle walked through the door— and you knew that she thought she would’ve just made it in time to beat Dad home by the cringe that crossed her face when she saw him. “Hi Daddy!” she beamed, trying to play it cool.
“And where have you been?” you asked, getting a grimace from her for your shameless sell-out.
“Nowhere,” she dodged.
But Dad missed the exchange entirely, still going through the mail. “What’s this?” he asked when he saw a massive white envelope. “It says Sarah Lawrence?”
You hopped up off the couch at lightning speed, snatching the letter away and shredding it open like a kid on Christmas— but not you, some other generic kid, because even when you were little you liked to open presents carefully (it helped you temper your expectations). “Oh my god!” you shrieked when you saw a massive congratulations. “I got in! I got in!!”
“Honey, that’s great,” your dad offered, “you can use that to negotiate better scholarships at Indiana State!”
You frowned. “I know you want me to stay here—”
“We decided that you would stay here,” he countered.
“You decided.”
“So, what, you’re just gonna leave?” he realized with a saddened frown.
“We can dream,” Elle mumbled to herself— but not quite enough to herself, because you caught it and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.
“Why don’t you ask Elle who drove her home?”
“Don’t change the…” Dad trailed off, turning to Elle as he took the bait completely. “Who drove you home?”
“N-now, don’t get upset, Daddy,” she pouted, “but… there’s this boy—”
“Who’s about as sharp as a marble,” you interjected.
“And I think he might ask me—” Elle continued, but this time your dad interrupted her.
“I think I know what he’s going to ask you. And I think I know the answer: No!” he announced proudly. “It’s always no! You know the house rules: one, no dating until you graduate. Two, no dating until you graduate! Pretty simple stuff!”
“Daddyyyy,” Elle whined, making you roll your eyes at her. “It’s so unfair!”
“You know what’s unfair?” he returned, looking at you too. “Last week I had to drive a girl to the hospital, she went into labor alone in her car on the side of the road— and she’s fifteen. You know what she said to me in between bouts of screaming in my backseat?”
“I’m a crackwhore who should have made my sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?” Elle assumed.
“No,” Dad frowned, “she said I should have listened to my father.”
“Oh, she did not,” Elle scoffed disbelievingly.
“Okay, no, she didn’t— but she was probably thinking it!” he insisted.
“Can we focus on me for a second please?” Elle pouted. Like everything isn’t already focused on you, you thought to yourself. “I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.”
“No you’re not— your sister doesn’t date,” your dad reminded her.
You chimed in quickly: “And I don’t intend to.”
“And, why is that again?” he asked you with a pleased smile.
“Have you seen the unwashed champions of idiocracy that go to that school?!” you replied.
“God, where did you come from? Planet Loser?” Elle spat.
“As opposed to Planet ‘Look at me! Look at me!’” you offered in your best passé, vapid voice with your eyes rolled back halfway.
“Okay, here’s a solution,” Dad decided suddenly, making you both perk up. “Old rule’s stricken, new rule: Elle, you can date—”
She lit up immediately.
“When she does,” he finished, pointing at you.
“B-but, she’s a total freak! What if she never dates?!” Elle whimpered.
“Then you’ll never date! Oh, I like that,” he announced proudly. “And I’ll get to sleep at night— the deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.”
His police radio went off and he sighed.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” he decided, directing his attention at you specifically for a moment: “We’ll talk about college later.”
Elle tried to get him to stay with a whine, but he was gone, and she was pissed at you once more. “Can’t you find some loser sad enough to wanna go out with you so I can be normal?” she pouted.
“Sorry,” you shrugged, “guess you’ll miss out on some fabulously witty banter with Jason.”
“You suck!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.
“You suck!” you imitated her quietly before you went to your own room.
~
Mike’s patient, anxious waiting paid off when Elle sat down at the library table, setting down her books with a sigh.
“Can we make this quick?” she asked, sounding a little exhausted already. “Tammy Thompson and Tommy Hagan are having a horrendous, public break-up in the courtyard. Again.”
“O-oh, yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, still a little stunned that he was sitting across from the object of his affection. “I thought we’d start with pronunciation…”
“That’s the worst part,” Elle pouted, “I feel like I’m trying to cough up a loogie.”
“Well, then how about we start with cuisine?” he suggested, heart racing even though he’d practiced this a thousand times in the mirror at home. “We could go to that French place on the square, maybe Saturday night?”
“You’re asking me out?” Elle realized, gentle shock lifting into a wide smile. “That’s so cute!”
Mike’s eye twitched.
“What’s your name again?”
“Uh, it’s Mike,” he answered, “listen— I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought if it was for French class—”
“Wait a minute, Mark,” she interrupted.
“Mike.”
“My dad just came up with a new rule! He says I can date if my sister does,” she recalled.
“Really?” Mike perked up. “Well, then let me ask you, do you like D&D? ‘Cause we should totally do a oneshot together—”
“Uh, big problem, Mick,” Elle reminded him, “my sister is a perfect specimen of freakazoid.”
“Yeah, I noticed she’s… antisocial,” Mike offered sympathetically. “Any idea why?”
“I don’t know,” Elle considered, glancing upward as she thought about it. “She used to be, like, really popular, but it was like she got sick of it. I’m pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction. That or she has a brain tumor or something. Either way, she’s a bitch.”
“Well, yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly, “but there’s plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a… difficult girl. I mean, she’s not ugly; and people do crazier stuff all the time! Jump out of airplanes, ski off cliffs, swim with sharks… it would be like extreme dating.”
Elle knitted her eyebrows together. “You think you could find someone that extreme?”
“Why not?” Mike shrugged.
“And you’d do all that for me?” she pressed softly, reaching out to brush her hand over his arm.
Mike would do anything for her to touch his arm like that again. “I-I mean, I could look into it…” he offered as his brain short-circuited.
And so he was determined. Which was why he and Lucas weren't actually paying any attention in science class that same day.
As they pretended to make progress on their frog dissection, Mike and his new friend were really scoping the room for local talent to potentially date Hawkins’ resident mega-bitch. Their search so far had only turned up men like themselves: that being men afraid to get the Hargrove treatment and have their future generations compromised. Turns out guys are generally pretty protective of their nuts.
“I told you it was impossible,” Lucas sighed, “no one will go out with her.”
Mike’s attention was taken by the partners two tables over— a massive, freckled kid with a leather jacket, and his buddy with a mess of rocker hair and a custom denim jacket; the latter was fooling around with butterfly knives, before using them to impale the frog carcass, because apparently the little pins provided just weren’t doing it for him.
“Hey, what about him?” Mike wondered, watching with a tilted head.
“Woah, no, you don’t want to mess with that guy,” Lucas shook his head, “don’t even look at him. He’s a criminal, he deals the harder stuff around school— you know, more than just pot. I heard he lit a state trooper on fire. He just did a year at Rikers.”
“Hey, well at least we know he’s horny,” Mike shrugged.
“I’m serious, he’s unhinged!” Lucas warned. “He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers.”
Meanwhile, the metalhead had taken out a cigarette and was leaning down to light it on a Bunsen burner. The display should’ve deterred anyone, but it made Mike smile optimistically. “He’s our guy,” he insisted.
~
The basketball team was joking around at lunch as Chance shared an X-rated story from his date the night before, and Lucas took a deep breath as he waited for the perfect moment.
When all the guys laughed at something Chance had said, Lucas quickly slipped in and tried to blend in as he laughed along.
“Oh my— oh my god,” he got out breathlessly as he laughed, “wow, Chance, you’re hilarious.”
He wiped his eye, still laughing as the rest of the table’s reaction died down and they all glared at him.
“Are you lost?” Jason asked coldly.
Lucas sighed. “No, I just… I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge by now.”
“It’s been less than forty-eight hours,” Andy noticed.
“Wow, nice counting, Andy— tomorrow we’ll work on shapes,” Lucas encouraged flatly.
Andy nearly jumped across the table, but Jason put a hand on his chest to hold him back.
“Actually, truth is, I came here to… make a suggestion,” Lucas added, making Jason’s eyebrows raise.
“Go on…”
“You want Elle Hopper, right? The sophomore?” Lucas continued.
“Yeah,” Jason shrugged, “she’s cute.”
“But she can’t date until her sister does,” Lucas went on. “Your problem could be solved if you found someone to take her out.”
Jason laughed. “Does anyone hate themselves that much?”
“Probably not, but people do like money…”
As Lucas bounced his eyebrows up and down, Jason seemed to put together what he was implying. “You want me to pay someone off to date her?”
“I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s an idea,” Lucas corrected.
“Do you know anyone that desperate for cash and unfazed by the prospect of emasculation?” Jason returned.
“Meet Eddie Munson,” Lucas beamed, motioning to the opposite end of the cafeteria where Eddie was ‘subtly’ trading a bag of pills for a twenty-dollar bill with another student.
“Munson? The Freak? I heard he ate a live duck once,” Jason grimaced.
“Everything but the beak and feet! Clearly he’s a great investment,” Lucas beamed, but Jason remained suspicious.
“What’s in this for you?” he wondered.
“I think you know,” Lucas sighed, “I want back in— I know I’m still on the team, but I wanna be really on the team again. I miss you guys!”
“You miss your chance to be popular,” Jason corrected.
“Also that!” Lucas agreed in a continued upbeat tone.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Jason agreed cautiously. “Now, back to the loser table with you.”
As Jason shooed him away, Lucas moved across the way to the table where Mike was watching it all go down disapprovingly. “Why do we need to get him involved again?” he wondered with a shudder.
“Calm down, he’s just our money man,” Lucas soothed. “We let him think this is all his idea, meanwhile he’s busy dealing with Eddie and you have time with Elle.”
Mike sighed, concerned, but knowing he was out of other options. Still, in a battle for ‘the girl’, he didn’t feel equipped to face a popular, handsome senior.
But when Eddie looked at Jason, he didn’t see a popular, handsome senior; none of that mattered to him. He just saw: douche with a quaff. So, while he was out taking a smoke break on the stands by the soccer field, he was surprised to see that very quaffed douche approaching him.
“Hey,” Jason offered Eddie with a nod— that very nod that made girls want him and guys want to be him, but it was powerless on Eddie, who just glared back at him while exhaling a cloud of smoke. “How are you?”
Eddie blinked forward, barely aware of the Tiger-pride-green blur beside him.
Jason stammered as he tried again to break the ice. “I, uh, had some great duck last night—”
“Do I know you?” Eddie wondered. “Shit, are you buyin’?” He didn’t seem the type, but hey— as long as he had cash, he was Eddie’s type, customer-wise.
“Uh, no,” Jason shook his head nervously. “Well, actually, yes— but—”
“I don’t sell roofies, Romeo,” Eddie warned him.
“I’m not buying drugs!” Jason barked, a little too loud for something that’s supposed to be secret. “I’m buying a date.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “Listen, Carver, you’re a good-looking guy, but—”
“No no!” Jason rushed out, face turning pink. “Not for me! For her!”
Jason pointed down the field to where you were running drills, sweating and determined, grunting as you kicked the ball across the grass. “The Hopper chick?” Eddie noticed.
“Yeah!”
Eddie laughed sharply, and so did his friend beside him. “Yeah, sure thing, champ— I’ll get right on that,” Eddie agreed sarcastically.
“Look, until someone goes out with her, I can’t bag her sister,” Jason explained with a sigh.
“What a shame,” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, “how many years of therapy will you need to cope with this trauma?”
“I know you don’t care about me,” Jason crossed his arms, “but I’m thinking you care a bit about Andrew Jackson?”
“That racist son of a bitch? He was a piece of—” Eddie began, but then Jason pulled the twenty out of his pocket and brandished it proudly, making Munson shut his mouth.
“Whaddaya say?” Jason prompted. “For a crisp twenty, you could take out the lovely Miss Hopper—”
As they glanced down the field, the guys winced at the sight of you roughly body-checking another player, who fell to the ground with a cry.
“For a crisp thirty—” Jason began again, summoning a ten from his pocket.
“Well, now, let’s think about this,” Eddie pondered aloud. “You’re paying me to take her out, but I’ve gotta actually take her somewhere: we’ll say the movies. That’s fifteen bucks for two tickets. We get popcorn, that’s… fifty.”
Jason scoffed. He knew there was more than a little inflation going on in those numbers, but he also knew that the freak had him under his thumb in these negotiations.
“She’s gonna want Junior Mints, what do you know, we’re looking at seventy-five already,” Eddie smirked.
“What kind of gold-plated Junior Mints are you buying?” Jason rolled his eyes.
“What kind of girl is this chick’s little sister?” Eddie countered. “Is she really worth it, or are you just blowing hot air?”
Jason was powerless to even such an obvious trap— he could never say no to a dare. Eddie was really saying, are you chicken? And Jason could probably be talked into fighting a bear while only armed with a butter knife if it was all to prove he was not, in fact, chicken. “Fifty,” Jason spat, “final offer.”
A bill was produced from Carver’s designer wallet, and Eddie’s ring-covered fingers snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Eddie offered with a sarcastically-saccharine smile, but Jason only rolled his eyes and wandered off.
Just then, Coach Hastings blew the whistle. “Good hustle, girls, good hustle!” he offered to the team. “Take a water break!”
Seeing the group of players disperse, Eddie waited until you were on your way to the cooler to snuff his cigarette and jog up beside you. You shot him a look before he even said anything. “Hey there, girlie,” Eddie greeted you, “how ya doin’?”
“Uh, sweating like a pig,” you answered, wiping your face on your uniform, “and yourself?”
“You sure know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?” he laughed nervously.
You seemed amused, but in more of an at way than a with way. "My mission in life," you quipped. "But, hey, clearly I captured your attention. Lucky me."
He grinned as he watched you chug your water. "So I'll pick you up Friday then?"
You choked, laughing as you nearly spit the water right onto him. "Yeah," you agreed sarcastically as you wiped your chin, "sure, Friday."
"I'll take you places you've never been before," he promised lasciviously.
"Like where, the crackhouse on Miller Street?" you rolled your eyes. "Do you even know my name, screwboy?"
"I know more than you think," he challenged.
"Well, for that to be true," you returned, "you'd have to know more than the average eighth-grade dropout."
You turned to leave, walking away with a shake of your head. "Well that's easy!" he laughed as he called after you. "I did eighth grade twice!"
From across the field, Mike and Lucas watched you ditch Eddie with cringes on their face.
"We're screwed," Mike sighed.
"Now wait a minute, where'd all your optimism go? I wanna hear you upbeat!" Lucas beamed.
"We're screwed!" Mike repeated, a forced, cheesy smile glued to his face between two thumbs-up.
"That's better," Lucas approved, patting Mike on the back.
~
As you exited the local records store, empty handed due to the continued lack of good punk records available, you sighed at the sight of Eddie Munson leaning against your hood.
"Nice ride," he noticed. "Vintage fenders?"
"Are you stalking me?" you asked instead, brushing past him to try to unlock your door, but he slid in front of you with crossed arms.
"I was in the laundromat," he assured, tilting his head to the washateria across the street, "I saw your car, that's all."
"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who washes their clothes," you mocked.
"Well, if you must know, I was there to make a sale," Eddie admitted.
"And what are you here for, blocking my door?" you wondered.
"To say hi!"
"Hi."
You tried to reach around him again to get the key in the lock but he put his hand over it. "Not much of a talker, are you?"
"Not much of a listener, are you? I'm not interested."
"Are you scared of me?" he asked— not a threat, not hopeful or disappointed, just a genuine question.
"Why would I be?"
"I dunno, most people are."
"Well, I'm not."
"Okay, you're not scared of me— but I bet you've thought about me naked," he purred, leaning in a little closer.
"Am I that transparent?" you gasped, faux worry dropping into deadpan disdain. "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."
Just when he let you get into your car, finally, Jason Carver and his dick-compensation-mobile pulled up and screeched to a halt right behind you, blocking you in.
"The fuck?! Is there some kind of creep convention going on at the record store?" you groaned, laying on your horn. "Carver!" you barked as he hopped out and strolled by you. "Move your gaudy-ass car!"
"No, thanks," he smiled at you as he walked along towards the storefront.
You felt helpless, until you got a dangerous idea— and fed up as you were, you couldn't resist it. Flooring it in reverse, those vintage fenders of yours piercing right through the cherry-red paint and imported metal underneath.
Jason sure whipped his head around fast and gaped his mouth at the damage. "You bitch!" he screeched.
Hearing Eddie's belly laugh, you looked at Jason and offered him only a flippant shrug and a "whoops!"
"WHOOPS?!" your dad repeated, pacing around the kitchen as you sat at the table. "My insurance doesn't cover teen angst!"
You shrugged again. "Then tell them it was a seizure or something."
"Are you punishing me?" he wondered. "Because I don't want you to go to Sarah Lawrence?"
"Are you punishing me for standing up for myself?" you countered.
“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it in such an expensive way!”
You scoffed. “I’d prefer that you stopped making my decisions for me.”
“Well—” he began, but he was cut off by his police radio sounding off.
“Chief Hopper, come in— Chief Hopper, this is dispatch, we have a 10-54…” the nasal feminine voice came through.
You both sighed and he picked up the radio. “Chief here, I’ll head there now.” He turned to you with a pointed finger. “We’ll discuss this later,” he promised, or threatened, depends on how you look at it. As he left, Elle stormed in, fuming at you.
“Did you just maim Jason’s car?!” she yelped.
"Allegedly," you grinned. "Looks like little miss princess is gonna have to ride the bus with the unwashed masses.”
~
As Eddie shut his locker, he was startled by Jason glowering on the other side. “Shit,” Eddie blurted out.
“When I shell out fifty, I expect results,” Jason frowned.
“I’m working on it,” Eddie insisted, brushing Jason off as he grabbed his books and shut his locker.
“Standing by while she violated my car doesn’t count as a date,” Jason reminded him. “I don’t get any if you don’t, so you better figure out how to charm this chick or—”
“I just upped my price,” Eddie decided suddenly.
Jason had just turned to walk away, but that made him look at Eddie again. “Excuse me?”
“A hundred bucks a date, in advance,” Eddie announced.
“Forget it,” Jason dismissed.
“Then forget her sister,” Eddie shrugged.
Jason hesitated, wondering if Elle was really worth all the trouble. Maybe she wasn’t, to him— but the street cred he’d get if he deflowered her was. He groaned as he reached for his wallet, and Eddie grinned proudly. “You’d better be as smooth as you think you are, Munson,” Jason warned as Eddie snatched up the bill.
The interaction still had Eddie in a particularly bad mood during shop class, making Mike even more hesitant to approach him;
“Wh-why can’t you talk to him?” he asked Lucas.
“I talked to Jason,” Lucas replied.
“Yeah, but you know Jason,” Mike reminded him, “and Jason isn’t… unstable.”
“Just go, chicken,” Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving Mike forward— and he stumbled, but made his way over to Eddie’s workstation.
When he got a glare from under a curly fringe, Mike just blurted it out: “We know what you’re trying to do… with Hopper?”
“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” Eddie challenged.
“Uh— help you! We wanna help you,” Mike explained quickly.
Eddie wrinkled his eyebrows together, standing up straighter and crossing his arms. “Why, exactly?”
Lucas appeared behind Mike, resting his hands on his shoulders. “You see, my friend here is… mildly obsessed with her sister, Elle.”
“What’s the deal with this girl, her tits shoot fireworks or something?” Eddie scoffed, and Mike nearly jumped on him for saying that— as if that fight wouldn’t be pitifully uneven.
“Mike’s love for her is… a little purer than that,” Lucas promised, “especially purer than Jason Carver’s.”
“Look,” Eddie leveled with the two of them, “I’m in this for the cash. Carver can plow whoever he wants.”
“Okay, there will be no plowing!” Mike exclaimed, voice cracking.
“Listen, Eddie— uh, Ed,” Lucas smiled, “this whole thing— we set it all up! We told Jason to pay you off, so Mike can get the girl. Mr. Popular is just a pawn.”
Eddie seemed to like that; maybe even someone as detached from the popularity hierarchy could still enjoy a little humiliation for the star point guard. “So, are you gonna help me tame the beast, then?”
“Are you talking about Hopper, or your hair?” Lucas joked, though he dropped his smile when Eddie glared at him. “O-okay, yeah, we’re gonna do some research, we can find out what she likes and stuff. We’re your guys.”
“In a strictly non-prison-movie way,” Mike added anxiously.
~
Mike and Elle were walking around the old bridge— she promised to show him the prettiest place in Hawkins, he thought about turning it into a line but he resisted the urge, and he delicately broke the pleasant silence. “So, have you heard about the party Steve Harrington is throwing at his parents’ lake house?”
“Yes,” Elle pouted, “and I really really wanna go, but I can’t. Not unless my sister goes.”
“I’m working on that,” Mike promised, “but she’s not going for my guy.” He paused before he continued, narrowing his eyes. “She’s not a, uh…”
"A friend of Billie Jean?” Elle finished.
“No, I’m not asking if she’s a Michael Jackson fan,” Mike corrected, “I meant—”
“I know what you meant!” Elle rolled her eyes. “Billie Jean King? Tennis player, women’s rights advocate, giant flaming lesbian?”
“O-oh,” Mike stuttered, “I don’t really watch tennis…”
“Or the news, apparently,” Elle sighed. “The point is, no, I don't think so. I found a picture of Rob Lowe in her drawer once so she's at least got some interest in men. Jury's still out on her bestie Robin Buckley, though…"
"But that's the kind of guys she likes? Pretty guys?"
Elle shrugged. "All I know is she said she'd never date a smoker."
“Okay, no smoking,” Mike nodded, “what else?”
“Listen, I try not to get too deep into my sister’s twisted psyche,” Elle sighed.
“But we need to know more!” Mike insisted. “We need to go behind enemy lines…”
Even though it was his idea, Mike felt a little out of his depth watching Elle go through your room; it looked sort of how he imagined it might, except for missing a giant cork board with pins and red yarn outlining your plan to cause men as much suffering as possible.
“Okay, here we go!” Elle announced excitedly as she rifled through a drawer. “Class schedule, reading list, concert tickets… ha! Black panties!”
Mike cleared his throat as she held up the offending pair of lacy underthings. “What does that tell us?”
“That she wants to have sex some day.”
“Couldn’t she just like the color?” Mike wondered, flustered.
“You don’t buy lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Elle insisted.
“Oh,” Mike nodded, perking up slightly. “So… can I see your room?”
Elle blinked quickly, getting a bit tender all of a sudden. “No… a girl’s room is very personal…” she explained shyly.
“Right,” Mike agreed nervously.
~
Two sophomores didn’t exactly blend in at The Hideout— it was a dingy old hole-in-the-wall, with grimey old bikers getting drunk in every corner… and Eddie, shooting pool by himself in the back. He straightened up when they approached him, nursing his beer with a raised eyebrow.
“We have information for you,” Mike explained.
“Don’t say it like that, it sounds weird,” Eddie frowned, “she’s just a girl, not a… spy or something.”
“Right,” Lucas agreed as Eddie took another sip from the brown bottle.
Mike narrowed his eyes. “Should you be drinking alcohol when you don’t have a liver?”
“What?!” Eddie scrunched up his nose.
“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head.
“The first thing is she hates smokers,” Mike explained.
Eddie groaned. “I’m gonna have to quit? Fuck, this is getting more unpleasant by the minute—”
“Just for now!” Lucas bargained.
"And there’s another problem: Elle said that her sister likes, uh, pretty guys,” Mike added.
There was a tense pause, until Eddie’s eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”
“H-he’s very pretty!” Lucas smacked Mike on the back. “He’s gorgeous, look at him!”
“S-sorry, I wasn’t sure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly.
Eddie brushed off the insult quickly, taking a big puff off of his cigarette— maybe he appreciated it more, knowing he’d have to cut back for a while after this. Meanwhile, Mike pulled out a folded up piece of heart-shaped mini-notebook paper (borrowed stationary from Elle, obviously) and read the list aloud.
“Okay, ‘likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and—’” he cleared his throat before he continued— “‘angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion.’ Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room.”
Eddie looked at the list in disdain. “So I’m supposed to, what, take her out for noodles and spoken word and sit around listening to chicks who can’t play their instruments?”
“Have you ever been to Club Nina?” Lucas wondered.
“Her favorite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Mike explained, and Eddie sighed as he pressed his lips together.
“I can’t be seen at Club Nina,” Eddie shook his head. “First of all, that’s rival turf, second of all—”
“She’ll be there, she’s already got tickets for her and Robin,” Lucas pressed. “Just… tolerate it, for a night. And maybe don’t deal any drugs there.”
“Can I at least do some drugs there?” Eddie frowned.
“As long as you’re not too out of sorts to do some major seducing,” Mike offered. “She has a pair of black underwear! If that helps.”
“I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Lucas elbowed Eddie playfully, who jerked away.
As stupid as it was, Eddie found himself still wondering about your alleged black panties as he walked into the club to look for you the next night. He found you horribly frustrating, sure, and the feeling was mutual, but picturing you in something like that was... not too terrible.
Eddie noticed the looks he was getting from the girls at Club Nina, and they weren’t exactly approving; a man invading their space was bad enough, but a metalhead in the land of the soft-rockers was turning heads.
He ignored it for the most part and sat down at the bar, ordering something light enough that he could keep his wits about him, but hard enough that he could tolerate this whole situation. Believe it or not, he didn’t actually like getting repeatedly insulted and degraded by you— it wasn’t even the sexy kind of degrading, just your incessant hatefulness chipping away at his dignity. But damn, he could feel the added weight of Carver’s money in his wallet, and he liked that.
Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for you to show up at the bar, ordering two waters like the lightweight you were. He pretended not to see you, but you didn’t offer the same courtesy, making a groan of disgust at him. “If you’re planning on asking me out again, just get it over with,” you pleaded distastefully.
He looked at you with an irritated frown, pointing at the band behind him. “Keep it down, maybe? I’m trying to listen.”
That seemed to throw you off, and he enjoyed your moment of bewilderment. “Did you leave your cancer sticks behind?” you asked.
“Yeah, permanently,” he nodded. “Turns out they’re bad for you.”
He shrugged, and you dropped the sarcasm for a split-second. “You did?” you pressed, surprised.
“You know,” he changed the subject instead, “these guys are no Adolescents or Souixsie and the Banshees, but they’re alright.”
“You know Souixsie and the Banshees?” you repeated, flabbergasted.
“Why, don’t you?” he joked. He got down another sip of watered-down liquor, before turning to face you directly. “You know, I was watching you before,” he admitted, yelling to be heard over the crescendo of the song, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy!”
Of course, that was right about when the song ended, and Eddie looked around the club as he realized the entire swarm of alt chicks had heard him. As they laughed at the scene, he smiled awkwardly and watched you get visibly embarrassed— good to know you had emotions other than rage, contempt, and boredom.
“Why don’t you come to Steve Harrington’s party with me?” he challenged, and the moment faded as the next song began.
“You never give up, do you?” you frowned, starting to walk away and back into the dancing crowd.
“Was that a yes?” he wondered.
“No!” you shouted back to him.
“Was it a no?” he added.
“No!” you said again, and he smiled.
“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty, then!” he called to you, but you were lost to him again— for now.
~
Elle and Max, dolled up in their finest party gear, crept carefully across the foyer towards the front door. Elle knew all the creaky floorboards to avoid, yet even in their silence they seemed to trigger Chief Hopper’s sixth sense. “You should have used the window,” he announced as they deflated.
“H-hi Daddy,” she greeted as if all were normal.
“Hi,” he returned as he looked at them. “Where are we going?”
“Um, just a small study group of friends,” Elle insisted, and Max nodded along.
“Otherwise known as an orgy?!” Dad barked.
“Mr. Hopper— Chief, sir— it’s just a party,” Max soothed.
“And Hell is just a sauna!” he returned.
As you came walking down the stairs into the middle of the argument, oblivious, your dad snagged your attention.
“Are you aware of this party?” he asked. You simply shrugged, on a mission for snacks.
“People expect me to be there!” Elle complained. “I have friends waiting for me! Daaaddddyyy!!”
“If your sister’s not going, you’re not going,” he stood fast.
Of course, that turned her ire towards you. “Why can’t you be normal?” she whined.
“Define ‘normal’,” you challenged as you crossed your arms.
“Going to Steve’s party is normal!”
You scoffed. “Steve’s party is just a lame excuse for all the youthful morons of Hawkins High to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves the pathetic emptiness of their—”
Elle and Max interrupted to finish your rant: “meaningless, consumer-driven lives,” they groaned in unison.
You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, and your shock gave Elle an opportunity to make one more plea.
“Can you just, for one night, forget about your crusade against all things enjoyable and just be my sister? please? C’mon,” she begged, stepping up closer, “please, do this for me.”
It was more sincere than you were used to from her, and it reminded you of simpler times, of when she thought you were the coolest big sister ever and she was your favorite person— before she was spoiled by the world and you were soured by it. Those memories were what convinced you to somberly nod. “I’ll make an appearance,” you agreed, and she squealed as she hugged you joyfully.
“Oh god, it’s starting,” your dad mumbled to himself in a daze.
“It’s just a party,” Elle promised him, but he stiffened up suddenly.
“I want you to wear the belly,” he announced.
Elle whimpered out her “Daddy, no!” but it was too late, he’d already gone to fetch it from the closet, and you watched with schadenfreude as he pulled out the padded faux-pregnancy jacket.
“Not all night,” he promised, “just around the living room for a minute while you contemplate the weight of your decisions.”
She held her arms out in defeat as he slipped it on over her dress, smiling proudly at his work.
“Every time you even think about kissing a boy,” Dad lectured, “just imagine wearing this all the time.”
“You’re such a space cadet,” she sighed.
“Okay, we’re going now,” you announced as you headed for the door, but he stopped you.
“Wait a minute: no drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no getting in vans, no— no ritual animal slaughter!” he enumerated. “Oh god, I’m giving them ideas…”
You startled when you opened the door and saw Eddie standing there, fist raised as he was about to knock. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.
“Nine-thirty, right?” he smiled, “I’m early.”
“Whatever, I’m driving,” you insisted.
He leaned to the side to look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Who knocked up your sister?”
~
Lucas held on tight to his drink in a plastic cup as he attempted to keep Max Mayfield’s attention for at least a few minutes at a time.
“You know, I’m on the basketball team,” he reminded her with a grin.
“Right,” she mumbled, unimpressed, but he was a little too tipsy to notice that his lines weren’t working.
“Do you, uh, play any sports?” he asked.
“I skate, if that counts,” she shrugged.
“Oh, rollerblading is cool!” Lucas beamed, but Max rolled her eyes and walked away at his incorrect guess of what kind of skating she meant. “Ever been to Rink-O-Mania?” he called after her, sighing when he realized he’d officially struck out.
You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as he pouted. Eddie was still following you, for some reason, dodging dancing girls and kissing couples along the way.
Jason clicked his tongue at you as you passed by. “Lookin’ fresh,” he cooed, in that way that was mostly mocking yet probably a real come-on if you went for it: Schrödinger’s pick-up line, if you will.
“Oh my god, did you feel that?” you looked around at the air. “My pussy just dried up so fast it actually dropped the humidity in here!”
Jason seemed a little too interested in an update on your genitals, but you were already walking away, trying to lose him and Eddie now. “Hey, is your sister here?” he asked you loudly.
“Stay away from my sister,” you warned.
“I will,” he promised, “but, you know, I can’t guarantee that she’ll stay away from me…”
You shook your head as you shoved your way into another room of the Harrington’s massive lodge, accidentally stumbling upon two jocks wrestling and throwing punches on the floor. A crowd had gathered around the scene to cheer them on, and you sneered in disgust at the uncivil display.
“Hey, hey!” Steve himself appeared, trying to break it up. “Take it outside!”
One jock pulled the other up by his shirt, and the two of them went tumbling back— right through the window. They didn’t even stop swinging as they fell onto the grass, and Steve’s face went blank with numb shock.
“Th-thanks,” he mumbled to himself, and you gave him a pat on the shoulder as you passed by.
“At least we’re on the ground floor,” you offered him quickly, but a tap on your shoulder pulled your attention away.
“Hey,” Jason smirked as he let you get a good look at him with his arm around your sister’s shoulders, “look who found me.”
You weren’t even angry— which was a nice break, really— you were just worried now. “Elle, wait,” you called to her as they walked away.
“Please don’t address me in public,” Elle requested with a roll of her eyes.
“I just wanna tell you something!” you pleaded.
“I’m being a normal teenager for a night— you should try it,” she suggested, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd again.
Just in time for your impending breakdown, some guy walked by holding a tray of shots. “Shots, anyone? Ladies?”
You grabbed one with each hand and tossed them back in rapid succession. You reached for a third when Eddie reappeared, snagging it out of your hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.
“I’m getting trashed, dude,” you offered in a fake party-boy voice. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”
Eddie shrugged. “Think the point is to just… be yourself.”
You snorted. “You might be the only person who thinks I should be myself.”
At the same time that you were ditching Eddie again, Mike was finding Lucas. “Have you seen her around anywhere?” he asked as he scanned the crowd. For all his excitement to find her, he seemed to get overwhelmed when he saw Elle coming down the stairs with Max.
“Come on, man, relax,” Lucas assured as he patted his shoulders. Mike took a deep breath. “Just be yourself.”
Nodding, Mike summoned his courage and approached the girls. “H-hey, Elle,” he greeted politely.
“Hey,” Elle returned, “Mike, um— do you know Max?”
Elle grabbed the redhead and shoved her towards Mike so she could try to break away.
“Oh, yeah,” Mike nodded, “we have Math together, right?”
Max hummed as she crossed her arms; “Great,” she offered unenthusiastically.
“You, uh, look really amazing tonight,” Mike offered Elle, and Max cringed as he failed to take the hint.
“Oh— um,” Elle stalled, and Jason descended the stairs to slip his arm around her.
“And we all know I look amazing,” he interjected, making the girls giggle and Mike roll his eyes. “C’mon, Elle, let’s go— there are jell-o shots in the kitchen.”
He was already turning her around to guide her away, forcing her to look over her shoulder to wave at Mike: “See you around, okay?”
Mike watched helplessly as Jason took his dream girl from right in front of him— the blonde even offered him a thumbs up on his way out, to add insult to injury.
Eddie found you again in the study, starting to work on another drink. “Hey hey hey,” he interrupted as he gently lifted it away from you, watching you whine and make grabby hands for it. “Why don’t you let me have this one, hm?”
“No!” you pouted, jumping for it, but he held it up higher— it forced you to push yourself up against him to try to get it, and he forced himself not to notice how it felt to be close to you.
Someone walked by with their own drink, just about to have a sip when you snatched it away instead, running off before Eddie could set down the cup and catch up. “Shit,” he hissed to himself.
As he tried to navigate past other partygoers to get to the kitchen, he heard the blasting stereo change songs to something not actually awful (in his opinion): Def Leppard. Unfortunately, you seemed to like Pour Some Sugar On Me, too— considering you hopped up on a table and started dancing there instead.
“How’d you get her to be normal?” Jason laughed as he appeared beside Eddie— and he couldn’t decide if he was more disgusted by Carver’s glee watching you, or Carver’s chumminess with him.
“Hey!” Eddie called to you, getting through the crowd of cheering guys as quickly as he could, but you couldn’t hear him through the overwhelming sound and the haze of drunkenness. He watched you dance, a mix of concern, embarrassment, and arousal stirring in him as your moves became more and more suggestive. “HEY!”
When he shouted the second time, it didn’t quite get you to look at him but it did startle you, making you whack your head on the chandelier— which in turn made you stumble and fall. When you came down dramatically, he held out his arms and managed to catch you, looking at your startled, panting face.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, but you looked angry at him again.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but failing.
“You’re not fine,” he groaned, “c’mon…”
He didn’t exactly carry you, mostly because you wouldn’t let him, but he didn’t let you walk on your own when he saw how wobbly your legs were.
The sounds of the party faded into the distance as you walked in the grass, up to the shore of Lover’s Lake where the Harrington’s had some rustic old swings hanging from under a massive tree by the water.
“I-I just need to lie down somewhere,” you insisted, stumbling again as Eddie had to grab at your waist to keep you upright.
“No, you can’t lie down right now,” he sighed. “If you lie down you’ll go to sleep.”
You pouted as he set you down on a swing. “I like sleep,” you protested.
“Can’t sleep if you might have a concussion,” he explained, watching you slump against the rope beside you.
He was about to fuss over you a little more, try to keep you awake somehow, but he saw Mike storming down across the grass.
“Hey,” Mike greeted as Eddie stepped past you slightly to meet him. “We need to talk.”
“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Eddie informed him, gesturing towards you.
“Well— it’s over, okay? All of this— the deal’s off,” Mike frowned.
“Huh?”
“She never wanted me,” he realized with a sigh. “She wanted Jason the whole time.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Listen— do you really like this girl?”
“Yeah!” Mike assured.
“And she’s worth going through all this trouble?” he pressed, stepping forward towards the new kid.
“I— I think so.”
“Either she is or she isn’t,” Eddie frowned, “and considering we made it this far, she must be— so you need to keep fighting for her! You’re twice the man that Jason is, if she’s got two brain cells to rub together she’ll figure out she’s better off with you. Capice?”
Mike puffed up his chest a bit. “O-okay!” he decided. “I’m gonna go for it!”
“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Eddie cheered, slapping Mike on the shoulder before he ran off back to the party.
Eddie was smiling as he turned to you, only to lose his grin and rush over as you started to fall forward out of the swing.
“Woah woah!” he yelped as he knelt down in front of you and held your face with both hands. “Gotta stay awake, remember, sweetheart?”
You stuck your bottom lip out. “You’re so patronizing.”
He smirked. “Leave it to you to use your vocabulary words when you’re totally shitfaced.”
When you fluttered your eyes shut, he lightly smacked your cheek, the rings hitting a little extra hard on your jaw as you groaned. “What are you hitting me for?”
“Because you might have a concussion,” he reminded you.
“And you want to add to it?” you assumed, awake enough for him to let go of your face, which he did.
“If you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”
“You don’t care if I never wake up,” you dismissed.
He smiled at you, a little too amused by such a morbid sentiment. “Sure I do!”
“Why?”
He almost let his smile falter. “If you died, I might have to go out with a girl who actually likes me,” he answered.
“If you could find one,” you snorted, eyes still shut but face curling into a proud grin at your own joke.
“See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” he teased.
You sniffled and sat up a little straighter, so Eddie stepped back and sat down on the swing beside you.
“So, why’d you let him get to you?” he wondered, looking out across the lake sparkling under the glow of a half-moon.
“Who?”
“Jason. You’re normally so unaffected.”
“He always drives me crazy,” you admitted, “but messing with my sister is crossing the line.”
“Well, you’ve chosen some creative revenge,” he laughed, “by drinking through the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.”
You laughed along with him, a rare moment where you two overlapped— and not even in a negative emotion! “You know what they say,” you replied.
“What’s that?” he wondered. But you didn’t continue. He looked to the side and saw you falling down again.
“Shit,” he spat, leaning forward and catching you at your shoulders, tilting your face up to his. “Wake up! C’mon, look at me, sweetheart, listen to me— open your eyes…”
He was a little overwhelmed by the way you did exactly as he’d asked, fluttering your eyes open at him, something entirely new in them that he’d never seen on you before— or maybe anyone, at least this up close. “Hey,” you smiled softly. “Did you know your eyes are a little bit hazel?”
He smiled back at you, examining your face, wondering for a split second if he should go for it.
But before he could, you keeled over and wretched— right on his white Reeboks. “Shit,” he said again.
~
Elle was waiting out in the cool night air, her thin cardigan not doing much for her as she watched Jason drive off with a slew of girls in tow; he’d tried to get her to go to another party, but along with her curfew coming up, it turned out that he was sort of a dud. For all his alleged charisma as one of the most popular guys in school, he didn’t know how to talk about anything but basketball, plus his ‘boys’ and their misadventures— usually drunken ones. She tried to cut him some slack since he was likely a little tipsy, but she still couldn’t justify the way he talked about his ex-girlfriend. It was just tacky!
As she waited for you to hopefully reappear soon and drive her home, Mike brushed by. “Have fun tonight?” he asked, somewhat sharply.
“Tons,” Elle sighed, expecting him to stop and getting a little more shy when he didn’t. “Hey, um, Mike?”
He stopped and turned, and she gave him a pitiful look.
“Any chance you could give me a ride home?”
Eddie hadn’t driven a car as small as yours in a while— and it wasn’t even small, it just felt that way compared to his van.
You reached forward and turned up the stereo, a Patti Smith song getting louder as you did. “I should do this,” you announced.
“What?” he wondered.
“This!” you said again, pointing to the radio. “Make music, start a band! Aren’t you in a band?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew that,” he admitted.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do, too,” you decided with firm defiance. “My father would love that.”
“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about what your father thought,” Eddie noticed.
“Oh, so now you’ve got me all figured out?” you scoffed.
He shrugged. “I’m getting there.”
You deflated slightly as you looked out the window. “Nobody knows anything about me,” you admitted, “except that I’m ‘scary’ or whatever.”
He smirked slightly at your air quotes. “I’m not known to be particularly enjoyable either.”
When you looked at him, he felt a little penetrated by your stare, so he looked back at the road ahead.
“Look at us, having a little talk about real stuff,” he blurted out, trying to break the tension. “I mean, you’re usually so closed off and now I think you might spill your guts or something. Oh, right— you already did…”
And you stiffened up again. Right on cue.
Whereas your conversation with Eddie died a few minutes before you pulled up to your house, Elle and Mike’s only began when he put the car in park. “You never wanted to hang out with me, did you?” he realized, irritation tinting his voice.
“I— I did!” Elle lied, trying to be nice. But she was always trying to be nice, and that wasn’t enough; Mike scoffed in frustrated disbelief.
“You didn’t!”
Elle deflated. “Yeah… okay. Not really.”
“Well, then that’s all you had to say! You could’ve just said you weren’t interested and none of this would’ve happened— but then you wouldn’t have gotten your night with Jason. That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”
“But I—” she began, cut off by Mike’s rant.
“You know, you can’t just treat people however you want because you’re beautiful. Lucas told me you were vapid, and I defended you! I— I learned French for you! And then you just—”
She cut him off with a kiss— a sweet kiss, not too short, but exactly the sort of kiss two sophomores should share in a car after a party. When she pulled away, she smiled a little, and Mike blinked at her a couple times.
“Goodnight,” she offered softly, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to her front door.
Mike turned to face forward again, dumbfounded expression morphing slowly into a grin. “And I’m back in the game!” he beamed, pumping his fist triumphantly.
~
As you walked into class, you tried to avoid the eyes on you— but you couldn’t, just like you couldn’t avoid throbbing in your head.
“Nice moves last night, señorita,” one of the stoners in class nodded approvingly as you came in.
“That was radical, dude,” a surfer boy offered with a ‘hang tight’ hand symbol.
And then there was Jason. “What do you owe you for the table dance, babe?” he taunted.
Shuddering, you sat down as Ms. O’Donnell began. “Settle down, please,” she begged the class. “Whatever happened outside of school hours is not to be discussed now. Wouldn’t you rather hear about your midterm assignment?”
The class groaned in unison.
“You’ll be writing a sonnet,” she explained, “in the style of William Shakespeare.”
When you raised your hand, you saw the look on her face, and you knew what she was expecting. And you didn’t blame her. You spoke when she pointed towards you. “Should it be in iambic pentameter?”
She seemed suspicious of such a simple question. “Um, no, it doesn’t have to be,” she replied. “Why?”
“I just wanted to know…” you mumbled sheepishly. “Is that so wrong?”
“Um, no,” she decided. “That’s a good question, Miss Hopper… and it doesn’t. Thank you for asking.”
She wasn’t the only one shocked by your sudden interest in her teaching, and you noticed the way the entire class was looking at you. “What?” you scoffed, and you shook the moment off as Ms. O’Donnell began lecturing again.
~
Mike and Eddie sat beside each other as they watched your soccer practice from a safe distance. “What’d you do to her?” Mike wondered.
“What? I didn’t do anything— did you see how drunk she was?” Eddie shook his head. “What made you think something happened, anyways?”
“The fact that the plan was working,” Mike answered.
“Why do you care? I thought it was over.”
“It was,” Mike agreed, smiling, “until she kissed me.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Eddie congratulated, “I told you to go for it.”
Lucas, meanwhile, was running the track— and he stopped when he passed the two other boys. “Alright, I talked to her,” he informed them, “I got the scoop.”
“What’d she say?” Mike wondered excitedly.
“Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns,” he announced with a sarcastic smile. “That’s a direct quote.”
Eddie sighed, looking a little defeated.
“H-hey,” Mike tried to comfort him, “maybe she just needs a day to cool off?”
But the three of them had to lean away to dodge a soccer ball that came flying over, narrowly avoiding nailing Eddie in the head. When they looked up together at the source, they caught your glare coming their way.
“...or two,” Eddie added.
~
You groaned as you sat with Robin on the bench, watching the prom committee hang up posters all over the courtyard for the wretched event.
“Can you imagine going to that brainless display of teenage vapidity?” you rolled your eyes.
“Uh, I can,” Robin admitted, “if I had a date.”
“I thought things were going okay with Vickie,” you frowned at her.
“Well, yeah, they’re okay, but it’s not like that, yet,” she explained.
“You’re sparing yourself by not going,” you insisted, “the whole thing is a patriarchal sham anyways.”
“Even if you go with a girl?”
“Yes,” you groaned, “because you’re still supporting the institution. It’s basically a mating ritual you have to dress up for!”
“Alright, we won’t go,” she promised. “I didn’t have anything to wear, even if I knew how to ask Vickie…”
“You’re looking at this all backwards,” you sighed, “we’re not missing out— we’re making a statement!”
“Oh, great,” Robin beamed sarcastically, “something new and different for us!”
Across the courtyard, Elle was busy reviewing her Science homework at a table when Jason popped in beside her. “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed.
“Hey…” she mumbled, focusing still on her textbook, in fact she hadn’t even looked up at him.
“Studying hard, huh?” he noticed, trying to prompt her again.
“Can I help you?” she wondered flatly.
“Well, it would help me a lot if you say yes when I ask you to prom,” he quipped.
Elle only sighed, turning the page in her book. “You know the deal, Jay— I can’t go if my sister doesn’t go.”
“Good thing she will.”
That got Elle to tear her eyes away from cell biology so she could look at the senior beside her. “Since when?!” she gasped.
“Let’s just say,” Jason purred, scooting closer to her, “I’m taking care of it.”
~
Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek as Jason rambled about the money he’d just handed him. “That’ll cover flowers, limo, tux, the whole enchilada. I don’t care what you do, just make sure she gets to the prom.”
Eddie suddenly handed the money back. “You know what? I’m sick of being a pawn in your little game, okay?”
Jason scoffed at the money. “Then make it two hundred,” he decided, summing another bill to add onto the small pile in Eddie’s palm.
Hesitating, and then sneering, Eddie stuffed it into his pocket. The money felt like it would burn a hole through the denim if he left it there too long— he went to the music store first, wondering if he should spent it; wondering if he should try to talk to you instead of just watching you play around on a bass you’d borrowed from the wall of instruments.
In a moment entirely out of character for him, Eddie just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it, to tap you on the shoulder and get your attention. He could stand on tables in the cafeteria and make a fool of himself playing at the Hideout for whatever crowd of drunks accidentally stayed for Corroded Coffin’s show, but he couldn’t just… say hi to you. You just looked so at peace sitting there on the amp, rocking your head between the big headphones that dwarfed your face; he was happier just watching you play for a few minutes, leaving before you opened your eyes and noticed him.
He watched you from between the stacks at the bookstore, too, swallowing as you flipped through Sylvia Plath. What was it that was making him so nervous to approach you all of a sudden? It’s not a crush, is it? No… no, it’s probably my natural aversion to pain.
Just when he was afraid you were about to leave and he would miss his chance, he jumped up from behind Adult Non-fiction and surprised you before you could head for the door. “Excuse me,” he smiled, “have you seen The Feminine Mystique? I lost track of mine.”
You looked appropriately disappointed and unamused, but he was used to that by now. “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.
“I heard there was a poetry reading,” he replied, not even trying that hard to sound believable, since you’d never believe it. You knitted your eyebrows together and opened your mouth, apparently searching for the exact words to cut him down.
“Y-you… you’re so…” you started a few times, and Eddie grinned as he realized he’d stumped you for the moment.
“Charming?” he finished for you.
And in a moment entirely out of character for you, you gave up, shaking your head and trying to step past him to walk away. He side-stepped and planted himself in front of you.
“Irresistible,” he offered instead.
“Unavoidable,” you corrected.
“Inevitable,” he agreed with a wink. “Love always is.”
“Love?! Jesus Christ,” you spat, laughing sharply at how absurd it was.
“You do realize you’re not as mean as you think you are, right?” Eddie wondered, following you closely as you kept marching towards the door to leave.
You spun to look at him as you replied, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”
“Ooh,” he winced playfully, “someone still has their panties in a twist.”
“Don’t even for a minute worry that you have any effect whatsoever on my panties,” you snapped.
“Then what did I have an effect on?” he encouraged.
“Other than my gag reflex, not much,” you frowned.
“Gag reflex, huh?” he purred, and you grimaced as you rolled your eyes.
“God, you’re barbaric!” you announced as you shoved a book into his chest— The Feminine Mystique, of course— and utilized the moment he spent looking at it to exit the store. He didn’t even really process that you were already gone until he heard the little bell on the door chime, and he sighed.
~
Eddie just wanted to get his lunch in peace, but those two pipsqueak sophomores flanked him as he moved through the line. “What’s the word?” Mike asked.
“Well, you were right— she’s still pissed,” Eddie replied.
“Sweet love, renew thy force!” Lucas exclaimed, and Eddie made a face at him.
“Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” Eddie warned him.
“Look,” Mike interjected, “she’s embarrassed! Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity and even the score.”
Rolling his eyes, Eddie departed the lunch line early— he didn’t want green bean casserole anyways— and left Mike and Lucas to look at each other. “Don’t say shit like that to him,” Lucas soberly instructed Mike, “people can hear you.”
They were right, though, and the next day, he acted on their advice.
You were out on the field with the team, running drills, clearing your head in the only way you knew how. Of course, Eddie couldn’t stay out of your head for long— or out of your way.
You didn’t notice the speakers turning on at first; you heard it, but you didn’t think much of the static buzz of silence. It wasn’t silent for long, though, and everyone turned their heads when they heard an electric guitar begin playing. You looked up in the bleachers, and widened your eyes at the sight of Eddie hopping up into view as he played, a long black cord trailing behind him. The marching band had left some of their equipment up after practice, including the microphone intended for the national anthem singer, and Eddie leaned into it as he began to sing along with his own playing.
“I gotta tell you what I'm feeling inside, I could lie to myself, but it's true—”
“Oh my god, is that—?” you heard a teammate of yours whisper to another, and they were all looking at you suddenly— and so was he.
“There's no denying when I look in your eyes,” he continued to sing, “girl, I'm out of my head over you…”
You turned around when drums and bass began to play as well, from the other side, and you laughed at the sight of the other members of Corroded Coffin— the logo made in tape on the kick-drum was a good sign that that’s who they were.
“And I lived so long believing all love is blind,” Eddie continued, “but everything about you is telling me this time, it’s forever—”
You finally recognized the KISS song and laughed in some impossible combination of disbelief and unsurprise: because of course Eddie would pick a KISS song to serenade you, but oh my god, was he really serenading you right now? In front of everyone?
“This time I know, and there’s no doubt in my mind,” he sang passionately as he played, “forever, until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever…”
The other musicians were singing harmonizing vocals, and your team was staring at you in shock as Eddie pointed at you in a break from his guitar playing; they knew before then that he was singing to you, but apparently even further confirmation continued to blow their minds. You couldn’t believe it either, because, you know… it was you, and this was some kind of modern-fairytale bullshit, and you realized that you only never wanted it because you never thought it could happen. Romantic surprises, sudden music, kisses in the rain? Maybe for other girls— girls like Elle— but never for you.
Except here it was happening to you. “I never thought I’d lay my heart on the line,” Eddie sang into the microphone, “but everything about you is—”
It came to a literal screeching halt, and everyone covered their ears at the feedback from the speakers. Vice Principal Owens apparently didn’t take too kindly to the noise and disruption, as he appeared on the side of the field to chew Eddie out. “What is the meaning of this?!” he yelled, and the drummer bailed first, tossing his sticks and grabbing a hi-hat and tom and making a break for it. As the soccer team cheered and clapped for the performance, Eddie unplugged his guitar and sprinted from the Vice Principal. “That’s school property! That’s school equipment you stole!”
You laughed as the chase began, and Eddie caught your gaze for a second to give you a shrug as he swung the Gremlin over his back and dove off the bleachers.
“I hope you enjoy detention, Munson!” Owens yelled his threatening promise as he shook his fist— obviously incapable of keeping up with a freak on the run.
~
Coach Hastings stalked the columns of uniform plastic seats-and-desks, eyeing his quarry of quivering detention-goers. A split-second of eye contact with one of them, before the kid jolted and stared down into his lap, made the coach smile somewhat menacingly and approach his desk.
“You look nervous, son,” he noticed with a grin, and the boy hesitantly blinked up at him.
“Yes, sir,” he agreed.
“You’re sweating like a pig,” the coach continued.
“Y-yes, sir,” the student agreed again.
“Your eyes are red! You’ve got pot, don’t you?”
Apparently too scared (and stoned) to deny it, the kid awkwardly pulled a baggy out of his pants pocket and let Hastings snatch it away.
“I’m confiscating this,” he announced as he took it, marching back down the row and snagging a snack bag of Cheetos on his way as well.
Eddie scoffed slightly to himself as he saw it; not exactly a subtle plan, especially to Eddie, whose occupation at the school’s main dealer gave him unique knowledge of the coach’s habit.
He was just preparing to space out for an afternoon of mind-numbing boredom when you came in through the door, and he sat up slightly in surprise.
“Um, sir?” you got the Coach’s attention, meeting him at his desk at the front. “I… have some ideas for practice tomorrow.”
“Now’s not the best time, Miss Hopper,” he replied quickly.
As he turned his back to the class, you made quick eye contact with Eddie to motion to him, pointing towards the window. He sat up further, but tilted his head. “The window!” you mouthed.
When Hastings turned around to look at you again, you played it off with a forced laugh.
“Y-you know, we have that really big game soon against the Paxville Poodles…” you began again, stalling poorly. Eddie quietly got up from his seat, just as Hastings made a move to turn around, and you unthinkingly reached out and grabbed his arm, making him look at you suspiciously. “Your bicep is huge!” you blurted out. “Wow— and look—” you grabbed the other— “this one’s even bigger. You don’t take steroids, do you? Because I’ve heard steroids can cause some shrinking of the, uh, package.”
The other students murmured and snickered to each other as Eddie crept around the back of the room, towards the open window at the front; you repositioned yourself and Mr. Hastings to keep Eddie’s path exactly behind him.
“But I didn’t come here to talk about your package!” you added.
“God, I hope not,” the coach agreed.
Eddie’s next step made a bit of noise— that damn chain on his jeans wasn’t very quiet— but you stopped him from turning to look by talking more. “The point is, they always beat us,” you continued, “and I’ve got this plan to help us win this year!”
“Which is?”
“That… thing you taught us!” you answered chipperly as Eddie kept creeping towards the open window.
“What thing?” Hastings wondered.
“Misdirection.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I taught you that?”
“Yeah! You, o-or, you know, Siegfried and Roy— anyway—”
When he tried to turn his head over his shoulder, you had to reach out and grab his chin to turn his bewildered face towards you.
“They look left, we go right! Bang, we score, we win,” you tilted your head and smiled wide. Panic was setting in because you really thought Eddie would’ve made it out by now— he was close, but not there, and the coach was clearly losing his patience.
“But, how do we make them look left?” he wondered. Eddie was halfway out the window, no looking back now… literally, meaning he didn’t see what you were about to do.
“Uh— like this!”
A rush of adrenaline compelled you to do it— or maybe it came right after you did it, honestly it was all a blur— and you lifted the bottom of your shirt up to your chin. The classroom gasped, the coach’s chin dropped, and you cringed internally as you realized how far you’d gone: but you didn’t regret it, yet. Actually, it was pretty funny, if you thought about it… not that you had exactly thought this through.
Hastings stared at you, dumbstruck and more concerned than aroused, the thoughts of what the hell is wrong with this girl? and oh god, am I gonna lose my job? obvious on his face. The detention attendees began to whoop and holler as you dropped your shirt and Eddie was long-since freed. “Okay!” you said with a thin voice, clearing your throat. “Well, now that you’ve seen… the plan… I’m gonna go… and show the plan to someone else. Okay.”
He said nothing, watching you walk away, and the classroom applauded you on your way out.
~
“I can’t thank you enough for breaking me out,” Eddie smiled as he paddled the rickety canoe.
“Oh, I do that all the time,” you dismissed jokingly.
“How’d you keep him from seeing me?” he wondered.
You snorted a bit. “I, uh, dazzled him with my… wits.”
Eddie shrugged and looked out at the water on every side, pulling the oars in now that you were stuck in the smackdab middle of Lover’s Lake. “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked suddenly.
“Hm?”
“For acting the way we do.”
You considered that for a second, glancing out over the lake. “Maybe it’s, like, daddy issues— ‘cause I don’t know my biological parents or anything. Elle’s write her letters and stuff but mine don’t want anything to do with me.”
“Okay, maybe it’s that,” he nodded, “or…”
You sighed. “I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”
He smiled, clearly proud of himself for getting you to fess up. “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?” he suggested, and you shrugged.
“Something like that.”
“Then you fucked it up,” he laughed.
“Huh?” you frowned.
His eyes seemed to sparkle more right before he said it— did he have some way of voluntarily doing that? “You never disappointed me.”
You smiled a bit, but hoped he wouldn’t see that stupid, girlish emotion on your face. “What about you?” you countered quickly. “What’s your damage?”
“Oh, gosh, where to start,” he began, tapping his chin as he looked up and to the right like he was picturing it all, and you laughed. “Daddy’s in prison, mommy’s… god knows where— last I heard she was in Washington?”
“Wait, the state, or D.C.?” you asked.
“I don’t even know!” he chuckled..
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got no clue where my mom is, either,” you shrugged.
“I know misery allegedly loves company but, no, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“There were a lot of rumors about what your parents were up to,” you admitted. “Cult and traveling band were both popular.”
“Well, there are a lot of rumors about a lot of things,” he replied, “but they’re all bullshit.”
“So, the state trooper?” you challenged.
“Ridiculous,” he shot it down. “You made out with a chick at a party?”
“Fantasy,” you rolled your eyes. “Of theirs! Not mine— I don’t wanna kiss anyone in public. The duck?”
“Hearsay,” he smirked. “Billy Hargrove’s balls?”
“Well, that one’s actually true,” you admitted, “but he deserved it! He groped me in the lunch line.”
“Ah, don’t tell me that,” Eddie warned, “or I’ll go kick ‘em back up again myself.” He clicked his tongue and tossed his fist as if to demonstrate.
“Why were you held back again? I know the porn career’s a lie.”
“Do you?” he challenged.
You tried not to get too flushed imagining that. You were strictly against porn, on feminist grounds, but… it was an interesting mental image.
He laughed first, then you followed suit. “I missed a lot of classes, yeah, but I don’t have any good excuse. I— to be honest, I have a lot of trouble with reading. It takes me hours, gives me a headache… so I keep failing English. And it’s not like I’m making ‘A’s in anything else…”
You tilted your head as you looked at him. “Eddie, are you dyslexic?”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m bisexual,” he corrected.
“Dyslexia is a learning disorder, it causes difficulty in reading,” you explained.
“Not even gonna react to the bisexual thing, huh?” he pressed.
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” you encouraged.
“No cure for it,” he shook his head.
“For the dyslexia, dumbass!” you snapped, and he laughed.
“Okay, okay, I will,” he promised, “if you go see about getting that stick up your ass surgically removed.”
You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn’t stop a smile from filling your face. “I thought you didn’t mind it.”
“I don’t,” he smiled. “‘Cause I know you’re actually just a hopeless romantic under all that venom.”
You glanced down at the floor of the boat, at Eddie’s Reeboks across from your worn-out Converse. You heard him whisper your name, so you looked up again, and he pulled you into a sudden kiss.
Kissing in a boat on Lover’s Lake— a little on-the-nose, maybe, and another one of those things you never expected to happen to you. You never expected to like it so much, either, but you smiled into it and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pulling you back with him, he fell into the front end of the canoe with you on top of him, kissing you harder.
Unfortunately, you both got a little carried away… and when he tried to roll you onto your back so he could lay above you, it knocked the small boat off-balance and sent you both tumbling into the lake.
You came up with a gasp, and a laugh, as Eddie came back facing the wrong way and yelling your name fearfully— like you’d drowned in the last three seconds. Hearing your laugh, he spun around and put on a self-effacing smile before swimming a little closer and kissing you again. You let him, even though that warm feeling in your chest was just getting hotter until you worried it would burn you up from the inside out; you brushed dripping, limp curls out of his face and grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him close.
~
Half-dry from the journey home, Eddie walked beside you up to your front porch. Not exactly wanting to bring in a lake-damp drug dealer, you guided him to sit next to you on the steps, and he seemed to look somewhat reverently out at the surrounding neighborhood. “Beats the trailer park?” you assumed.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “but it’s not as bad as people think it is— I guess neither are we, though.”
“Okay, then tell me the truth,” you requested.
“The truth? I’m afraid of the dark,” he grinned.
“No, something real,” you protested.
“Okay…” he agreed, lowering his voice and leaning in to kiss your neck. “You’re sweet.”
You smiled, and he moved around to kiss the other side, giving you an eyeful of his fringe.
“And sexy,” he added. “And completely hot for me.”
“You’re… very self-assured,” you giggled, “anybody ever told you that?”
“I tell myself every morning,” he agreed with a smile, “part of my daily affirmations.”
Your eyes drifted over his face— over his gentle eyes and soft lips and strong jaw— and you wondered how you never noticed how perfect he was before.
“Go to prom with me,” he said suddenly.
The moment left and you felt a little suspicious. “Um, are you asking me, or telling me?” you wondered with a raised brow.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he promised.
“No it won’t, it’ll be a circus of patriarchy and the hypersexualization of the American teenager,” you insisted.
“It’ll be fun if you come with me,” he clarified. “I thought you liked doing what nobody expects? The only one who expects you to go to prom is me.”
“Why do you even wanna go to the prom?!” you wondered.
“Maybe I’m more conventional than I look!” he defended. “Maybe I only never went because I never had a beautiful girl to take.”
“I don’t buy it,” you scoffed. “Why are you so insistent on this? What’s in it for you?”
“Do I need to have a reason to want to be with you?”
“You tell me,” you challenged.
“You know something? You need therapy,” he frowned. “Maybe a shrink can help you unpack this inability to accept affection. Were you not hugged as a child or something?”
“Right,” you snapped, “because all my problems are caused by being adopted— I forgot.”
“I didn’t— that’s not what I was saying,” he defended.
“So, what are you saying? If I’m not madly in love with you, something must be wrong with me?”
“I think if you don’t trust me by now—!”
“By now? One kiss and you’re totally trustworthy?” you tilted your head.
“We kissed twice,” he reminded you.
“Yeah, my mistake,” you scoffed, leaving the question of whether the number or the kisses were the mistake hanging in the air. Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.
“Damn it, they’re soaked,” he groaned as he opened it.
You snatched it away. “I’ll throw them out for you,” you offered sharply as you stood up and stormed inside, slamming the door behind you.
~
Max Mayfield startled when she opened her locker, a flood of folded papers spilling out— origami stars. She tilted her head as she knelt down, picking one up to unfold. Because you’re funnier than people realize, it had written inside in somewhat poor, yet meticulous, handwriting. Wrinkling her eyebrows together, she snagged another from on top of her textbooks. Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in class, listening and thinking. It was cheesy, but she bit her lip as she imagined who this… extravagant secret admirer might be. About to unfold another, Lucas leaned beside her at the lockers.
“Huh,” he noticed, “wonder who did all this just to ask you to prom.”
As he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she noticed the band-aids around the ends of many of his fingers. “Basketball injury?” she assumed.
“No,” he denied sheepishly, “just, uh, papercuts…”
She smiled as she raised an eyebrow at him. “So, you think this… stalker guy is asking me to prom?” she noticed.
“I— um, I assume,” he shrugged.
“That’s presumptuous of you,” she laughed.
Across the hall, Vickie was emphatically agreeing to Robin’s more tree-friendly prom invite: no letter or origami or notes or anything, just the courage to finally ask, and that was all she had wanted anyways.
All across the school, plans were being made, except for Elle: she had more options than most for her date, yet was forced to choose none because you were still resisting Eddie with what little fight you had left in you.
After catching her glare each time you passed in the hall at school, you decided to attempt a peace offering at home.
You hesitantly knocked on her bedroom door after dinner. “Come in,” she called from the other side, but her annoyance was obvious. Especially when you entered and found her sitting on the bed, reading a book, ignoring you completely.
“Listen,” you sighed, “I know…”
She didn’t shut her book or look up at you. You sat down near her feet and carefully took the book away; she crossed her arms as she finally returned your gaze— though hers was much sharper.
“I know you hate having to sit around at home because I’m not, you know, popular or dating or anything,” you informed her.
“You don’t care,” she rolled her eyes.
“I do care!” you insisted. “But I believe you should do things for your own reasons, not someone else’s.”
“I wish I had that luxury,” Elle snapped, “but I can’t do anything because you don’t want to! You know I was the only sophomore asked to prom? And I can’t go because you’re too uptight and feminist-y to just go out with that Eddie guy.”
You frowned. “How do you know about Eddie?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sixteen, I’m not stupid. And everyone heard about him serenading you on the soccer field anyways.”
Your cheeks warmed at the memory. “Well, that’s not the point. I can go out with him if I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prom.”
“Prom is actually gonna be fun you know, it’s not this horrible institution that you think it is,” Elle promised. “And Jason asked me and—”
“He never told you we went out, did he?” you interrupted, and Elle’s jaw dropped.
“You’re joking, right?” she assumed; you shook your head. “You and Jason?!”
“For a few months, freshman year.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because he’s sooo cute,” you answered with a Valley-girl-voice, but it didn’t do as much to diffuse the tension as you’d hoped.
“You hate him!” Elle noticed.
“I do now.”
“What happened?” she wondered, and you looked away because you thought it might be easier to say it if you weren’t looking right at her. Even if she hated you, you didn’t want your little sister to think of you in the way she might when you admitted it.
“Well…” you trailed off, but she beat you to it.
“No,” she sighed, “you didn’t— you did it?!”
“Once,” you interjected firmly, as if that made it any better. “Just once, because, you know, everyone was doing it. I wanted to be cool— I wanted to feel normal. But afterwards, I told him I didn’t wanna do it anymore because I wasn’t ready. Aaaaand he dumped me.”
Elle blinked at you in bewilderment.
“After that, I decided to never do anything else again just because everyone else was doing it. I haven’t since! Well, except, you know, going to Steve Harrington’s party and getting wasted.”
“How did I not know about this?” Elle wondered. Apparently she confused being popular with being omniscient.
“I warned him that if he told anyone, all the cheerleaders would find out how small his dick is,” you snorted. Elle didn’t seem as amused, though.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.
“I wanted you to make up your own mind about him,” you replied.
“Then why did you help Daddy keep me hostage here?!”
She got up off the bed and stood, frustration switching to anger, and you wrinkled your eyebrows as well. “Because I wanted to protect you!” you replied.
“By not letting me experience anything?” she countered.
“Not everything is worth experiencing, Elle!” you snapped. “Not everyone can be trusted!”
“I wouldn’t know!” she announced furiously. “You were too busy worrying I’d make the same mistakes as you to let me make my own!”
She stormed out of her own room and left you alone in it with a slam of the door. You sat on the bed for a minute, considering what she’d said. Noticing the picture on her nightstand, you sighed at the shot your dad had taken of the two of you, years ago, in line at Disneyland. She used to think you hung the moon back then… why couldn’t things still be that easy?
~
You glided down the stairs quickly, holding up the end of your dress, and passed Dad as he watched TV. “Bye, I’m going to prom,” you offered him flippantly as you passed.
“Ha ha, very funny,” he returned flatly. Of course, when he caught you and your outfit in the corner of his eye, he realized you were serious.
Before he could even ask what was going on, you were out the door. He would’ve chased you in search of more information, but he was distracted by Elle marching by next in her sparkly, colorful gown.
“What’s that?” he asked when he saw the midriff-baring garment.
“A prom dress!” she answered joyfully.
“I seem to be hearing that word a lot lately,” he frowned.
The doorbell rang, and Elle scampered across the foyer to answer it. On the other side, Mike was waiting in a suit with a corsage in hand ready to give her— but he stalled when he got a look at her all dolled up (even more than usual). “Wow,” he beamed, “you look… bitchin’.”
She smiled and started to leave with only a wave to her dad, but he crossed his arms. “Stop,” he insisted, and Elle sighed as she froze. “Turn.”
The young couple turned, Mike looking a bit anxious as Elle prepared for the usual.
“Explain,” Hopper demanded.
“Well, you know how you said I could date if my lovely, wonderful big sister dated?” she batted her eyelashes. “Turns out she found this guy who’s sort of perfect for her, which is sort of perfect for me, because Mike invited me to the prom—” she squeezed her date’s hand for emphasis— “and I really wanna go and I’m technically allowed since she’s going, and I know you’re a man of your word so you’ll stick to the rule you made. Right?”
There was a heavy pause; Mike extended his hand to the Chief politely. “Nice to meet you,” he greeted.
Elle took his hand instead and guided him out the front door. Powerless, Hopper stepped up to the open doorway and watched them run to the waiting limousine together. “Back by eleven, you hear me?” he called out. “One minute past and the entire police department will be looking for you!”
They got in the car and drove off as he watched with a sigh.
~
You’d sort of been expecting Eddie to wear a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern printed on it… maybe that’s what everyone expected of him. But he was wearing a real one, in a dark cranberry color that seemed to bring out that little bit of hazel in his deep brown eyes.
It was stupid how easily his one simple glance over your body could make you fight the urge to blush. You knew you looked good, you actually felt good, but it was different to see Eddie acknowledge it. “Wow,” he offered with a wide smile.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “uh, you too.”
He handed you a rose before you hooked your arm in his to walk inside to the decorated gymnasium.
“Where’d you get a tux?” you wondered.
“Wayne had one,” Eddie shrugged.
“Really?” you pressed, and Eddie laughed.
“Hell no, he couldn’t even help me with my tie! I… had a friend help me get this,” Eddie admitted, internally disgusted with himself for referring to Jason Carver as a friend. Then again, he was disgusted with himself for doing this for Jason’s benefit at all, but at least there was a real benefit for himself, too: the only girl he’d ever really fallen for walking arm-in-arm with him to prom. “Where’d you get the dress?” he wondered.
“Oh, um,” you blinked quickly, “I guess I really was a hopeless romantic deep down after all… ‘cause I had a nice dress in the back of my closet, just in case someone ever wanted to see me in it.”
There was a little moment of pause as Eddie imagined you saving a dress like this for someone special, hardly believing it was him.
“Listen, I shouldn’t have questioned your motives for asking me out,” you blurted out suddenly. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
He’d never seen you so… humbled? And it made his heart twist. “Don’t sweat it,” he encouraged, “you’re here with me now— that’s all that matters.”
~
Jason was already wearing his tux— and a sparkling-white smile— as your father opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Hopper,” he offered charmingly, even though anyone with half a brain knows to call him Chief Hopper. “I’m here to pick up Elle for the prom?”
Saying nothing, the Chief shut the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.
~
As you walked in to the room, dancing and general merriment in every direction, you caught Elle and Mike dancing cheek-to-cheek not too far off— and your sister offered you a quick wave and a gentler smile than you’d seen on her (directed at you, at least) in years.
Robin and Vickie, as always, were dancing to the beat of their own song, ignorant and uncaring to the judgment of others; Lucas guided Max to the dance floor, and you were one of many who noticed how good the unlikely pair looked together.
You were so caught up in it that you almost didn’t notice the music changing to another song— your favorite song. Eddie nudged you with his elbow and pointed at the stage, where the band from Club Nina joined the musicians already playing, and you gasped. “Oh my god!” you choked. “It’s—!”
“I had a friend help me with that, too,” Eddie grinned at you, drinking in your ecstatic excitement. You looked like a kid in a candy store as the lead singer waved at you; first humbled, then unabashedly joyful… so many new emotions that Eddie wasn’t used to seeing you show, but he liked this one so far. He liked how beautiful you were when you let yourself be openly happy— it reminded him of the way you looked dancing to this song at that club all those weeks ago. He hadn’t just been putting on the moves, he really thought you looked sexy when you let go and enjoyed yourself. And now you looked that way again, but you were dancing with him. You looked, and felt, freer than ever.
~
Elle was on her way to freshen up in the girls’ room— because the last thing she needed now was a lifting false lash with everything else going so perfectly— when Andy and Patrick stopped her. “Woah, hey,” Andy said as he grabbed her shoulder, “what’s going on?”
“What?” she wondered.
“Where’s Jason?” they pressed.
“I dunno, probably off somewhere picking his nose?” she replied sarcastically.
“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed. “I knew he couldn’t do it!”
“Huh?” she asked.
“He was so sure he could pop your cherry tonight,” Andy explained, bemused, “but he was full of shit— as per usual.”
Elle stepped back. “What a creep!” she spat, but they weren’t even paying attention anymore, just chuckling to each other about how they wouldn’t let their team captain live this one down for a while.
As for Jason, he wasn’t too far away after all— he was angrily storming through the dancing crowd towards you and Eddie. “Hey, freak!” he yelped just before grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him aside, though not quite far enough away. “What’s Elle doing here with that pipsqueak?! I didn’t pay you to take out her sister just so some little weirdo could get with her instead.”
Eddie whipped his head around, praying to whatever deity would listen that you hadn’t heard, but it only took a split-second to see the look in your eyes. And there was a third emotion he’d never seen on you before: real heartbreak. No anger, no rage, just devastation.
“Wait,” he pleaded as you began to walk away.
“I can’t believe I was right about you,” you replied with a shake of your head, “the first time.”
Jason let Eddie go to unsuccessfully chase after you; he was disinterested in the Freak versus Bitch drama unfolding once again, much more focused on getting back at Mike Wheeler for screwing him over.
Lucas tried to intercept him, but he got shoved roughly to the ground on the way to Mike. “You messed with the wrong guy,” Jason informed him with a sneer, “and now you’re so done. You and that prissy bitch.”
“Watch what you say about her,” Mike warned angrily, but Jason wasn’t exactly intimidated— in fact, he almost looked amused right before his fist collided with the sophomore’s face. Mike crumpled to the ground, not exactly a match for Jason’s strength… but then again, neither was Elle, and she was the one who swung back— right in the nose.
“That’s for making my boyfriend bleed!” she explained as he clutched his face. “That’s for my sister,” she added as she kneed him in the gut, “and this… is for me.”
A swift kick to the crotch sent him to the ground, and Elle stepped over him to offer a hand to Mike. He took it, looking up at her in awe as she helped him stand again. “Uh, boyfriend?” he noticed.
It was the kind of move you would’ve been proud of, if you were there to see it; apparently ball-kicking ran in the Hopper family, and not just in the soccer sense.
“Please, let me explain,” Eddie begged as he chased you out of the gym.
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory!” you returned sharply. “It was all a set-up, by fucking Jason! I should’ve known it was too…”
Too good to be true. You couldn’t admit that, you’d already given away so much. “It wasn’t— that was just how it started!” Eddie promised. “But I really fell for you.”
“Yeah? Funny what money can do to a person.”
“I never cared about the money!” he insisted, and when you spun around to challenge that, he grabbed your shoulders. “I only cared about you.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you sneered, and he did want to show you— he wanted to wipe that all-too-familiar look off your face and go back to how things were. He kissed you, hard and forceful, but you pushed him off with a whine. “I hate you!” you spat as you managed to fight him off— not that he was trying that hard to force you to stay, he knew that was wrong… though he wished he could. He wished he could hug you tight enough to keep you here until you would listen, but you were too stubborn for it to work anyways. It was that stubbornness that made him resent you in the beginning, then it was one of the things he fell for— and now it was the reason you were walking away, and he was just watching you go, unwilling to hurt you anymore.
~
“You’re sure you don’t wanna come?” Elle asked again, pityingly, as Mike held her hand. You shook your head. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”
It was sweet, but it was a lie; a young couple didn’t want you chaperoning their movie date. Lies can be so sweet that way, the best ones usually are. You watched them walk together down the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t cheer you up to go with them. “Is she gonna be okay?” Mike whispered to his girlfriend, though not quietly enough.
“I hope so,” Elle replied softly.
As they left, your dad appeared and sat next to you on the steps, groaning as his older joints made it a bit more of a task. “Where’s she going?” he wondered.
“To meet a bunch of bikers,” you offered quickly. “Big ones… full of sperm.”
“Not funny,” Hopper frowned. You gave him a look, and he smiled slightly. “A little funny.”
It still wasn’t enough to make you smile back, and you looked forward at the houses across the street again.
“So… the dance,” he remembered, “was it groovy?”
Even that couldn’t make you crack a smirk, though you wanted to. “Some parts…”
“Which parts?” he wondered.
“The part where Elle beat the crap out of some loser,” you recalled— the stories around school were already glorious. You were pretty sure the rumor that she pulled some Karate Kid moves and spin-kicked him in the face was just a rumor, but you liked picturing it anyways.
“Elle did what?” he gasped.
“What, are you afraid she’s taking after me?” you challenged.
“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m impressed.”
You looked at him again, soaking in that all-too-rare approval. It’s not that he wasn’t affectionate… well, he wasn’t, but it was only because he had trouble expressing himself. It made his eloquence going forward even more unexpected.
“You know, fathers don’t like to admit when their daughters become capable of running their own lives,” he explained. “It means we’re obsolete… we’re spectators. Elle still lets me play a few innings— you’ve had me on the bench for years— and when you go to Sarah Lawrence, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”
You were about to complain about the baseball metaphor until you realized what he was really saying. “When I go?” you repeated excitedly.
“Don’t tell me you changed your mind now! I already sent them a check,” he answered with a slightly mischievous smile. Exclaiming in joy, you threw yourself on him for a tight hug.
~
“I assume you’ve all prepared your sonnets for today?” Ms. O’Donnell looked over the room. She frowned when she saw Jason sinking into his chair. “Mr. Carver?”
“Uh… I, uh, have a doctor’s note,” he explained.
“Oh— well, regardless, sunglasses are not permitted indoors,” she reminded him.
Sighing, he took the aviators off, and the class snickered at the sight of two black eyes on either side of his bandaged nose.
“Would anyone else like to read theirs for us?” she encouraged, and you waited a second before raising your hand.
That seemed to surprise everyone— most of all Eddie, who lifted his head from where it had been resting on his desk. Some of your classmates assumed the worst— here we go and time for a feminist lecture that rhymes and all that— but some seemed to sense what was really coming. Ms. O’Donnell, pleasantly surprised, stepped aside to let you come stand at the front.
You opened your notebook and did your best not to look at everyone looking at you.
Clearing your throat, you began. “I hate the way you talk to me,” you read aloud, “and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.”
Your reading was particularly flat and unemotional, just hoping to get this over with, yet at the same time, so many emotions were flooding you inside.
“I hate your stupid white Reeboks, and the way you read my mind— I hate you so much it make me sick, it even makes me rhyme.”
You spared one half-second glance up, and even just in your peripheral you saw Eddie’s face, and you had to fight getting choked up.
“I hate… I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie,” you whimpered, voice breaking, “I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when— when you make me cry.”
As a hot tear crossed your cheek, you fought the instinct to defiantly wipe it away— for once, you wanted to feel this, and you wanted to be seen even at your most vulnerable.
“I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call,” you continued, approaching the end. “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”
The way Eddie was looking at you was just too much; the way everyone was looking at you was just too much. You stormed out of the class, leaving them in stunned silence, crying harder as you ran down the hall.
~
Your face was dry by the time you got to your car; maybe you’d let Eddie play with your heart and invade your mind and cry way too much, but you decided that was over now— no more tears over boys. Especially dumbass, annoying, sexy, horrible, gorgeous boys who play you for a fool and have the audacity to fall for you in the process.
You were about you open your driver’s side door when you saw the sparkling white resin in the front seat, and you bent down, greeted by the Fender Stratocaster you’d been eying resting in your seat.
Reaching in through the open window, you pulled it out delicately and inspected it like it was magic— because maybe it was.
“Nice, huh?”
Eddie’s voice behind you made you jump and spin, and he smiled at you expectantly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels for a second. “A Fender Strat?” you noticed. “Is this— is this mine?”
“I figured you could use it,” he shrugged, “when you start your band. Or join mine.”
You smiled slowly as you looked at it again, and then back at him.
“Besides, I had some extra cash,” he explained. “Some jerk paid me to take out this amazing girl…”
“Yeah?” you smirked.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, uh, I kinda fucked it up. ‘Cause I totally fell for her.”
You loved the way he looked with a flush tinting his cheeks. “Really?” you pressed.
“Of course,” he grinned. “Very rare to find a girl who’ll flash someone to break you out of detention.”
It was your turn to feel your face warm, then, wondering how long ago he found out about that. Dropping your forehead into one of your hands in embarrassment, you laughed shamefully at the memory, hardly believing you’d done something so impulsive. As risky as it was, you actually kind of liked the person you were when you were with Eddie.
With a gentle grip on your wrist he moved your hand away from your face, the other tilting up your chin so he could kiss you. You let him, for a moment, but before you could properly melt into him you carefully pushed him back by his shoulders.
“You know you can’t just buy me a guitar whenever you screw up, right?” you asked.
“I know,” he agreed, “but hey! There’s always drums, bass, tambourine… triangle…”
You snorted your laugh and he kissed you again. You pushed him away again. “And don’t just think you can—”
He kissed you again, a little harder, and you gave in to it willingly.
Yeah, all that cheesy romance stuff? Sappy poems, public serenading, making out in front of everyone as the bell rang and the day ended? Turns out it really can happen for a girl like you. It can happen for a guy like Eddie, too; neither of you expected it to, but it did. And as you spent the rest of your senior year getting to know him better, you found a lot more things about Eddie Munson that you would've hated if you learned them before— but they only made you love him more instead.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#10 things I hate about you#mileven#lumax#rovickie#stranger things fanfiction#AMidsummerNightsWritingChallenge
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
the EW cover with emma and olivia It's ridiculous, I'm sorry guys
I agree 100%.
I’m not even going to get into the fact that Matt and Emma (representing the story’s OTP: Daemyra) have only had one interview together since the whole show started.
That cover shoot: why are they trying so hard to masculinize Rhaenyra in her interactions with Alicent??? Rhaenyra was the one who was supposed to be more feminine than that old shrew.
As for the whole chess thing, I was like: 😂😂😂
Cringy af!
At least they acknowledge that Alicent is a key player in this Dance and not the poor innocent bystander they tried to make her out to be.
I’m really not excited to watch this second season (doubt I’m going to watch all of it). I’m sick of the disgusting “rhaenicent” propaganda (because nothing’s better than portraying Rhaenyra’s relationship with her abuser as something everlasting), whilst Daemon is being vilified and basically removed from Rhaenyra’s life.
Screw Condal.
#anti hotd#anti house of the dragon#daemyra#anti rhaenicent#rhaenyra targaryen#pro rhaenyra targaryen#pro daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen#team black#pro team black#anti ryan condal#anti alicent hightower#asoiaf
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ranking Men's Costumes in Period Dramas - Part II: The Good
Part I: The Bad
This is the second part to my ranking of men's costumes in Renaissance period dramas. I selected 10 shows and films which I think have great costuming for the female characters and ranked them according to their costumes for male characters. I have noticed that even when women's costuming is great, men's costuming might be absolutely dog shit. And that's very much what we saw in the first part, where I ranked the five worst entries. For some reason shows and movies are afraid to put men, especially the characters who are supposed to be cool, manly and hot, into historical costumes. And I'm not even asking for historical accuracy, I just don't want my male characters living in the actual 1500s in basically modern leather jackets and pants. Like I don't watch period dramas for vaguely historically inspired modern fashion, I watch it for the historical setting, which costumes help create. This time we will be looking some rare gems that actually imo have really good costuming even for the male characters. For the five best entries, we'll go from worst to best.
5. Eizabeth R (1971)
Elizabeth R is incredibly committed to historical accuracy in it's outfits, especially for queen Elizabeth herself, many of her costumes being directly recreated from her portraits. It covers the whole reign of Elizabeth, so this commitment is especially admirable as the timeline is more than 40 years, including a stark shift in fashion from less structured and more toned down Tudor fashion to the extremes of the highly structured Elizabethan fashion. It's not perfect, The hair is not always great and like many others they fail at French hoods, though they are not upward pointing or pseudo crowns detached from the hood, so could be much worse.
The men's costumes are also very good. They are faithful to history, they wear stockings, very short trunk hose, ruffs and even have some structuring in their doublets and jerkins. However, the reason this is not higher is that the men's costumes especially, but also many other costumes beside Elizabeth's are looking a little sloppy. There's some structure yes, but the men's silhouettes are just not bold enough and they end up looking a little costumy. Even the codpieces are shrunk so small I'm not even sure if they are the half the time. Cowardice. Here's two Robert Dudley's costumes and an actual portrait of him. I think the second costume is probably an attempt at recreation of that portrait, but it's just kinda halfway there.
4. Taming of the Shrew (1967)
This film is set in Renaissance Italy, the women's costumes fit well to 1520s-30s. They are honestly really great and cohesive. My only gripe is that their bodices have a very 1960s shape and the make-up is a little distractingly modern. But the costuming is not attempting to recreate historical accuracy, rather they took the historical silhouette and basic elements and crafted a very over the top but cohesive look. I honestly love these very much.
An interesting choice is made with the men's costuming, especially the main male lead, whose costume is based much more on the Renaissance German men's fashion of that period. His costumes resemble the over the top fashion of the German Landsknecht (first image below). In Italy (second image below) the doublets were also very voluminous and quite colourful but not to that extent as by the Landsknecht and literally no one, not even the other Germans, rocked that slashed style as hard.
This is not really criticism though. In fact I respect that choice a lot. His costumes are certainly not historically accurate, but they do fit the bombastic aesthetics of the overall costuming, they are loud, large and not afraid to fuck around. This man oozes sex-appeal much more than any character with some modern plain black pants and leather jacket. This is how you costume a Renaissance man who fucks.
3. Tulip Fever (2017)
I am stretching the definition or Renaissance here a bit, I admit. This movie is set during the 1630s tulip mania, by which point the remnants of Renaissance fashion had already been left to the previous decade. However, I do think most of the movies and tv set in Baroque era also struggle with the men's costumes. Though not as much, because black was fashionable for everyone, the cod piece was gone, trunk hose were replaced by more palatable Venetian hose, fashion was much more stripped down from embellishments, leather was not uncommon in jerkins and appeared even in doublets and hose and the Hollywoods beloved boots became as actual fashion items. The men's silhouette in this period is very silly in my opinion and people seem to agree because it's usually skipped in costuming, but overall the period seems to fit modern masculinity standards much more easily than Renaissance era.
But I just really wanted to include this because the costuming is absolutely stunning. I have not watched the movie and probably never will because the post production was an absolute mess and it apparently came out as just a bad movie, which is a shame, but the costumes are so good. The ruffs are perfectly crispy. The buttons are dense and look just right. The shoes, both boots and otherwise are exactly right. The fabrics are honestly perfect. The silhouettes are just as goofy as they are supposed to be. And the women too have perfect silhouettes. All the details are just simply perfect. You rarely find costuming this meticulously created with historical details and great construction.
Honestly these top three could all be the best one. This final order was decided purely on which costumes i like more. And while I love the women's fashion of this period, I think the men's fashion is kinda stupid and boring, so I don't like these costumes on aesthetic level as much as the top two.
2. Romeo and Juliet (1968)
This movie is a perfect counterpart to the movie with the worst men's costuming which I talked about in the first post, Rosaline. They are both set in Italy around very end of 15th century and retell Romeo and Juliet. Both have very good costuming for female characters but obviously I think differ greatly in the male character costuming department. Romeo and Juliet costuming takes some artistic liberties to create a heightened reality quite similar to Taming of the Shrew costuming, but follows history much more closely. The colors are bright, the hose are tight, the giorneas are voluminous, the sleeves are long and massive and the cod pieces are prominent. Even the hair is perfect, even for women, they even use hairnets. I imagine the hair was quite easy to get right as hairstyles in 60s and 70s were basically lifted directly from 1400s Italian hairstyles. The men are even wearing appropriate hats??? Amazing.
The costuming perfectly captures the era, but they still clearly had fun with the costumes too. Honestly even though I appreciate the meticulously recreated historically accurate costuming, like in Tulip Fever, I tend to like more costuming that does take some artistic liberties to create a distinct look and atmosphere for the movie or tv show. There's some small things they don't get quite right, like having standard lacing instead of ladder lacing, metal eyelets (which would become a thing as late as in 1830s) and most egregiously Juliet in one scene has this very dumb supportive undergarment without even shift under it (first picture below)?? The outer garments were supportive during this era, there was no such thing as supportive undergarment. Shift was the only undergarment. But I will forgive these errors because the costuming is overall so fun and gorgeous. And they did get some details so so right, like look at Romeo's arming doublet (second picture below)! It has Lombardian sleeves!! This was a very specific style of arming doublet for this era and place. However those errors does prevent it from taking the first place. Which leads us to...
1. Orlando (1992)
This movie has Tilda Swinton in flamboyant Elizabethan men's clothing. That's all.
Okay, I that is all that needs to be said, but I will say more. This movie spans centuries and shows excellent costumes from several different periods, but I will focus on the Elizabethan costumes only for the sake of this post. The costuming is not super historically accurate in all the detailing, and clearly not trying to be, but it is always impeccable. Even while it takes artistic liberties and the story has an immortality fantastical element it still captures the men's fashion's silhouette much better than any other movie or tv show I know of set in this period. It does that better than the "we recreated these portraits" Elizabeth R. But what really makes this the best in my humble opinion, is that the movie is not afraid of the effeminate and emasculated modern perception of Renaissance men's fashion, no, it leans into it. The thole story is very much about gender and gender fuckery. Tilda Swinton plays the titular Orlando who is a cis man in Elizabethan era, becomes inexplicably immortal and later inexplicably turns into a woman for the rest of their several centuries. He is the embodiment of "I'm not sure if they are a butch or a twink" and as a bisexual I can only be grateful. But in all seriousness I think the costuming and the casting (queen Elizabeth is also played by a male actor) are so perfectly utilized to highlight the arbitrary construction of gender without needing to say it explicitly.
Conclusion
I have some closing thoughts. I took on this task as a way to show a point, which is that for some reason in Renaissance shows and film especially men's costuming is piss-poor, even when women's costuming is great. Male characters tend to have very bad costuming in Medieval media too, though this is also an issue for female characters. I don't think I have ever seen a Medieval show or movie with truly excellent costuming for anyone. In Renaissance media the issue is clearly not lack of skill or knowledge, they choose to do so. My thesis was that the producers think that the Renaissance men's fashion is too effeminate and too unsexy for the hot male very heterosexual lead, who the mostly female audience are supposed fawn over like the female characters. I still think it's very true.
Though there's an interesting trend I only noticed while doing this ranking; every entry (except the least bad) in the worst five list are from 21th century, and every entry (except Tulip Fever which is a little bit cheating anyway) in this best five list are from 20th century. I have some theories on why it turned out this way. First is that the studios have become increasingly more concerned with growing profits so they don't take risks and they put pressure on movies and tv shows to be as broadly appealing as possible. This means they can't just make period dramas for the core audience of period dramas, aka mostly women who are history nerds, so they pander to the modern sensibilities in costuming and not to the people who love to see actual historical costuming. Secondly, I think this might also tie to the broader conservative backlash against loosening of gender roles and broader queer acceptance. Among the core audiences of period dramas there are two distinct groups, queer nerds and conservative/centrist women, who don't want politics in their media, which is why they love historical stories because obviously queerness wasn't invented yet and people of colour didn't exist yet (they were and did). (They are not always this extreme, but you get the point.) As men wearing dresses has become a culture war issue, I think the studio executives are afraid that anything not masculine enough in modern standards might cause the more conservative audiences to turn on them. Even if they knew about the queer nerds, they wouldn't care about them.
This bears repeating: cowards.
As a thank you for reading all the way to the end I will leave you with the image of Tilda Swinton in mid 1600s men's clothing. You are welcome.
Part I: The Bad
#fashion history#history#historical costuming#costuming#renaissance fashion#renaissance costuming#film costuming#historical men's fashion
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dance of Wolf and Raven: Prologue
Hi guys, this is the new Romance serial novel I've started featuring our mother, Adelina!
There'll be new chapters every Friday on Patreon, that are already scheduled and primed to release using Patreon's scheduler thingy every Mountain Standard Time 4pm.
There's currently 11k words written to give me a head start, of which 2 chapters are released.
A lot of it came about due to the worldbuilding spree I went on last year, and since I didn't want any of it to go to waste nor include it in the main game cause of bloat or fatigue, thought this was a good idea to do it!
So without further ado, here's the prologue!
Dance of Wolf and Raven: Prologue
It is the winter of 599 A.L.
Almost 600 hundred years have passed since the Belthean people landed upon these shores.
600 years After Landfall.
600 years of blood and conquest.
Today, just weeks before the turning of a new century, the continent of Nareth is unified by way of the spear.
And her father is to blame.
"Princess?" A familiar voice whispers worriedly.
Adelina, youngest princess of the Belthean Empire turns to her lady-in-waiting, Lady Valerie. She waits for her to continue.
Lady Valerie fidgets, her eyes looking everywhere within the carriage except the princess, who offers the nervous girl a hand on her knee. "Speak Valerie, there's no one else in here but us two."
The words and gesture seems to calm her down, though she still gulps before asking, "Was the empress able to…?"
Princess Adelina rolls her eyes as she crumbles back into her seat, a heavy and long sigh escaping her lips. She slumps further and further into her seat before Lady Valerie giggles and helps her sit straight again. But the worried look remains on her face.
Hesitantly, she places her hand upon that of the princess's. Gripping softly, she whispers, "Wrinkling the dress would only serve to anger your father, my lady," she says this sadly, her expression that of defeat.
And defeat it may have well been.
Her mother had tried protesting her daughter's marriage to the Butcher's son, both in public and in private. But her father wanted this alliance badly enough that her mother was ignored and overruled.
Thus, she was betrothed to the prince of a kingdom who had betrayed their allies and sided with her father in his invasion of the western territories.
If that wasn't bad enough, the father of the prince she was to marry had become infamous for massacring entire noble families in a single bloody night. He was known as a cold and emotionless man, ruthless in his decision making. And she was to marry that man's son.
Princess Adelina grips her dress in anger, causing Lady Valerie who notices to bring her close for an embrace.
Again, the princess stifles a sob, refusing to let tears come out. She made a promise to herself that she wouldn't cry.
She had been alone for too long. Abandoned by even her dear brothers who'd always protected her in the imperial palace.
Her eldest brother, Gareth, had fought alongside her betrothed in the war against Lymark, and she had waited for any letter of his to reassure her. Or perhaps express his support in canceling this arranged marriage.
Anything.
But none had arrived.
She didn't know what to make of it, even Daerin her second eldest brother hadn't been able to communicate with her. No one had.
Alone in the capital she had waited.
Her brothers off to wage the war started by her father, later followed by her mother once rumors of a marriage were being whispered at court.
Those shrews for sisters had already married before the invasion to stabilize the empire.
It wasn't long after that she was ordered to ready herself for marriage, but not with a high lord from the empire, or someone she at least liked or knew how to handle.
But with a foreign prince from a kingdom that had betrayed its ally.
She was to be an offering of peace sent by her father, like something that could be given.
Like an object.
The iron inside her heats again.
She straightens herself, gently pushing Lady Valerie off her. She nods thanks to her lady-in-waiting.
'That's right…' she thinks to herself. 'That man pretends I don't exist until he needs a daughter to marry off.'
Her eyes narrow as she focuses on controlling the growing storm within her.
Her mind is set.
The emperor of the greatest nation ever forged, calling for the forgotten and unwanted princess to arrange her marriage without an honor guard. Without scores of retainers. With only one lady-in-waiting, who volunteered.
Only a temporary escort was given.
A single carriage, with a single cart loaded with whatever she could fit inside it.
Lady Valerie had tried defending her father when the journey started.
"Who would dare?" She said.
The princess knew deep within that it made sense. That the lands were now pacified, now moreso than in any other time period.
Who would dare face against the emperor of all Nareth? The king of kings, the Goddess' representative on the mortal plane, and most important of all… the wielder of one of two most powerful weapons in all creation, A'luthean Armor. Handed down throughout the generations by her family, it has impacted the world in numerous ways.
Depending on who is asked, it is either a curse or blessing that only a single member of the imperial bloodline could possess that artifact at a time, as it bonds with that person for life. No other, even with the Ravenea bloodline running through their veins, can use the holy relic crafted by the Goddess Herself for Her Champions during the A'lethic Era.
Her ancestor, Garland the Conqueror, founded the Belthean Empire with it.
Her great-great-grandfather, Emperor Saldwin, used it to bring a nation to its knees, and forced another to become "Imperial Friend and Ally".
These and other such acts forced the Archpriestess to ban the use of such relics in wars, or to proclaim excommunication upon those who broke the decree.
'But how could the Archpriestess force an imperial dynasty to not use its most powerful weapon?' was a question she had asked her tutors when learning of this proclamation.
Excommunication meant losing the accounts, support, legitimacy, and administration provided by the church, but was it enough to stop her family from imposing its will?
She knew it wasn't.
Princess Adelina feels her mind racing once more as she pictures executing her plan, and a small smile sneaks its way across her face.
"Valerie," she rests her left elbow the side of the carriage as she gets her lady-in-waiting's attention, "what can you tell me about the kingdom, or more specifically, my husband-to-be?"
Lady Valerie smiles at the informal use of her name, though she quickly regains her professional demeanor, "Why, you should kno-"
The princess cuts her off, "I'm only refreshing what I know, don't worry," she responds quickly waving a hand dismissively, "Please, think of it as an exercise or an escape from the daily boredom."
Her counterpart rubs her thighs as she knew all too well how uncomfortable it was to travel via carriage for so long a distance.
"Okay…" she replies, a bit absentmindedly as she begins to recount all that she'd learned over the journey to aid the princess.
With smile still in place, the princess innocently presses on, "What's so special about my betrothed?"
Lady Valerie, either ignoring or not catching the tone, answers immediately, "Why, that'd be either his eyes and hair, his status as the future king of Argent, or the fact he belongs to the only other A'luthean bloodline in Nareth."
Princess Adelina excitedly claps her hands, only to lean forward towards her friend, "And what exactly does that mean?"
A knot of worry forms on Lady Valerie's eyebrows as she carefully answers, "… it means he will be given his family's complete set of Blessed Armor, given to their line by the Goddess Herself, the A'luthean Armor of Argent?"
The princess laughs at her friend's textbook answer, "Oh Val! How long did you practice memorizing all that?"
Lady Valerie however saw the change in the princess' face when she gave her answer. "Lina… what exactly are you planning?"
Princess Adelina slowly sits back into her seat, making herself comfortable. "Nothing… just happy to hear my match is of such a Blessed bloodline!"
The smile on her face however, doesn't reach her eyes.
'The Archpriestess could only stop the imperial family from using their A'luthean Armor with the threat of another,' she thinks to herself as she leans back on her seat, her head on the puffed headrest. 'The other belonging to a royal family on the other side of the continent, in the Kingdom of Argent.'
She was to be the wife and queen of the one who would inherit such power, power enough to equal her father.
Princess Adelina was to become Queen Adelina. Here in this foreign kingdom she would be treated with respect. She would ensure it. Never again will she have to be under her father's control, never again will she be discarded and used in the negotiations of men.
And all she had to do was seduce her soon-to-be husband.
The plan going forward is this.
For the sfw thread, at the end of the month ill be posting the Patreon version of the revised demo.
The NSFW KaE Thread will receive the Silverhill Martial Route four weeks after the Patreons receive it.
No deadlines will be publicly given.
I'll be posting and releasing more things as time goes on, thank you!
83 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
instagramfont1
Untitled
atlasjavan
AtlasJavan
l-omega
CATOCALYPSE
cujo-the-ghost-dog
Cujo The Ghost Dog
star7075
Untitled