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pinkrelish · 2 years

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𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶ Dreams were meant to die in small towns like Hawkins. No amount of hours bleeding on the balance beam would pull you out of poverty and turn you into the gymnastics star your mother wanted. Some days, when it was just you and Eddie hanging out in the field behind his trailer, or in his room; it didn't matter. But, one day, an opportunity presented itself, and it's one Eddie would never forget. Nor forgive. ✶

NSFW — angst, eventual smut, best friends to enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, drug/alcohol mention/use, disordered eating by proxy of parent, depictions of poverty

chapter: 1/15 [wc: 2.7k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 1: Eddie's Favorite Memory

——1979——

Alone in his room, Eddie plucked the worn strings of his cheap acoustic guitar along to the music playing through his stereo, learning the song by ear. Missing a few notes, he lifted the needle off the record and dropped it back in place at the beginning, but as he did so, another sound caught his attention.

Was today the day?

He raced to the door. The trailer shook as he went, rattling the beginnings of his father’s eccentric mug collection hung on the wall. He threw the screen door open with such vigor it smacked the aluminum siding and wobbled on its hinges. Up the unpaved street, dirt clouds trailed a car like the flaming wings of a chariot.

The red Ford Pinto rolled to a stop in front of his home, and much to his disappointment, it was only the mail lady driving with her leg straddling the center console to control the pedals and her arm stretched across to the steering wheel, nearly running him over. She didn’t say anything; she merely continued to chew her gum and motion for him to take the tiny cardboard box from her hand.

Eddie snatched it and read the label. “Maybe today won’t be so shit.”

She scowled. “Cool it on the cursing, kid.”

He waited until she reversed onto the main road and drove away to flip two glaring birds in her rearview mirror. “Whatever, bitch.” Excited to rip open his package, he shredded it down the middle and tossed aside the bubble wrap.

A gust picked up the rustling plastic.

Rocks crunched under car tires behind him.

“I can’t believe it actually came,” he spoke aloud with raised eyebrows. He opened the plastic casing and inspected the clear cassette, looking over the handwritten tracklist on the inside. Weighing it in his hand, he reasoned with himself, “I must not be tempted to listen to this before she–”

“Eddie!”

He nearly dropped the treasure he’d been anticipating since he met that weird old man at the flea market who swore Eddie’s $5 could get him a bootleg live recording of Pink Floyd’s Oakland concert from two years ago. Of course he paid and jotted down his address without a second thought.

“Eddie!” you shouted again, jumping out of the moving car because you couldn’t wait for your mom to park in the dead grass next to the trailer across the street. You scooped him into a bone-crushing hug, extending your back to lift him off the ground. At least, you thought you did, until his Converse nudged your toes, firmly on the ground.

He grew another damn inch.

Cackling at your pitiful efforts, he mocked you, “That’s what happens when you’re gone too long.”

“It was only a month,” you grumbled.

Eddie wrapped his arms around you, clasping his forearms across the span of your shoulders. Holding you tighter than he meant to since he was still regaining his balance..

No. He did intend to embrace you until you laughed in his ear, telling him it hurt.

It was unfortunate; the impending societal awareness that crept into every innocuous action, every clothing choice, every decision to buy nice-smelling shampoos, or forgo them in lieu of generic deodorant. It existed in his muscles tensing you against him. It spelled trouble in his sandy blond hair darkening, and the wispy growth above his top lip thickening. No one could point out the exact time in a young person’s life when it became inappropriate to hug your best friend, but he was on the cusp of discovering it with how your mother stared him down from behind your back.

Smoke billowed in front of her face. “Be back for dinner,” your mom muttered around the half-burnt cigarette between her lips. Grabbing her gaudy purse and empty beer can from the dash, she used her hip to close the door, and went inside to pass out on the couch for the rest of the day.

“Whaddya get?”

“Hm?” Eddie blinked away his glare and separated himself from you, putting a significant distance between you. “Oh, ho! You have spotted my newest acquisition. Delivered by boat just this morn’.”

You pulled a grimace. “Talk normal, please.” Smirking, he flipped the cover of the cassette towards you. “Shit!” You covered your mouth. “Oops..” After a thought, you shook your head and relaxed your shoulders, knowing your mom couldn’t hear you out here. Still, you kept your voice down out of instinct. “Are you fucking serious? I’ve wanted to listen to this concert for so long; I can’t believe you just– Wait.. You don’t even like Pink Floyd that much. You said they’re too ‘soft.’”

“Yeah, but you like them.”

“But it’s your birthday.”

“Who cares?”

“Was it expensive?”

Again, he said, “Who cares?”

You scanned the rundown trailer park. “Uh, we do?”

Fluttering his fingers about, he waved off your incessant questioning. “What’s with the third degree? Are we listening to it, or not?”

“Duh,” you scoffed. You headed for his room, assuming you would play it on his tape deck, but of course, he had something else up his torn sleeve. You almost ran face-first into his outstretched arms stopping you from taking another step. “What now?”

“Wait out back in our spot. I have another surprise.. And you wouldn’t happen to have two double AA batteries, would you?”

~~~

After several minutes, and many, many, uses of the Lord’s name in vain later, Eddie found what he was looking for in his messy closet and bolted outside to meet you. He waded through an endless sea of wispy dry weeds parting the horizon from the deteriorating trailers to the edge of the woods where the top of your head poked above the grass. You gave him time to settle in next to you before you were laying down on the slope of the withered ditch littered with remnants of previous misadventures.

“Look,” he said. You opened your eyes to mostly a view of his ratty jacket overtop his Judas Priest tee. He flaunted the box over your face. “A gift from my old man. He thought I turned thirteen in June.”

You gave him a look. “A gift, huh?”

He opened the blue and silver metal Sony Walkman by slicing down the middle of the hefty price sticker with a pocket knife and bounced his eyebrows. “He got it for me the day it came out while you were gone.” As if it weren’t obvious, he wiggled his five fingers.

“I got it, Eddie.”

Clearly having a disdain for the environment, he lobbed the styrofoam trash amongst the other trash partially petrified in the mud; cigarette stubs, crushed cans, the odd broken plastic item, a bent butter knife, an old lighter, a pile of burnt magazine pages; truly random things. He placed the batteries in the Walkman, put in the tape, and scrolled the volume wheel all the way up.

Faint music played from the tiny earmuffs. He laid next to you, and without discussing it, he flipped the headphones upside down and you both rolled onto your sides, cupping one side each around your ears. Leaning your heads together to listen to the beginning chords of Pink Floyd’s Sheep.

In the early golden sunset, Eddie asked amongst the calm, “How was gymnastics camp? Learn any new tricks?”

“I landed a handspring front layout into a double twist.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m gathering it’s impressive,” he said, brimming with a toothy grin to match your own.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Will I be getting an invite to the Olympics?”

You rolled your eyes in a playful way; however, he perceived the flicker of resentment lurking in the background, and it was impossible to ignore how quickly your smile faded considering how close your lips were to his. “Like hell they’d come to some place like Indiana, much less Hawkins, to scout talent. They go to big meets in big cities. Doesn’t matter anyway, you know they don’t bother with people like us who can’t afford to keep the lights on at the start of the month, or whose water pipes smell like rotten eggs on the regular.” Not exactly a funny statement, but he snorted at the accuracy. With a defeated sigh, you turned onto your back and folded your arms across your chest. The hem of your tattered shirt slid against your leotard, revealing the shimmery fabric under the fading sky. “Besides, they want girls younger than me, better than me.”

“Damn. And I thought I was supposed to be the pessimistic one.”

“You’re right.” You gave him an apologetic look. “I’ll join the circus instead. Anyway, how was your summer?”

“Boring. We put together a song or three,” he said about his band. “Third one isn’t anything worth bragging about. It’s still in the jamming stage. Another session and it’ll be shaped into something presentable, maybe.”

“Nice, can’t wait to hear it.”

You bumped fists and resumed focusing on the concert playing in a suboptimal manner, of which neither of you could fully enjoy. It would’ve been easier to stay inside and play it over the stereo, singing along to the lyrics while you sat on his bed, and he on the floor. But inside meant being reachable by phone. Inside meant parental intervention. Inside meant being controlled.

Outside sucked, too. There were bugs, the grass was itchy, and a chill was creeping in. But no one could find you out here. This sanctuary belonged to you and Eddie. No one else.

In this substantial field, there was only space for you and him. Just you and him. Like always.

Coming to life at the end of a song, you jabbed his hand holding the Walkman. “Rewind it. Play Wish You Were Here again.”

“Jesus, corpses have warmer hands than you,” he hissed, obeying your request and hitting the rewind and play buttons. Then, he sat up and shrugged his jacket off, being gentle where he pulled at the cuffs due to the holes he’d worn in them. He dropped it on top of you. You opened your mouth, ready to refuse, and he shook his head. “You can keep it.” Keep it. Wear it often. Occupy yourself by snuggling into his warmth, because even in the pitch black night, he swore the stars would rat out his burning cheeks.

The Walkman clicked. The tape stopped whirring, at its end.

Holding shy eye contact in the sliver of moonlight, he laid back down.

Play it again.

Click.

Play it again.

Click.

Play it again.

The recording wasn’t a high grade one. It had static interference, there were loud thuds that scared the both of you the first time they happened, but.. This is where you wanted to be. Where he wanted to be. Propped cheek to fist, idly shoveling dirt with your fingers until your eyelids drifted closed. Obligations, anxieties, fears did not exist in the comfort of one another’s presence.

Click.

You interrupted the sleepy cricket’s song, “I guess it’s time for me to go home.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he whispered.

“She’s easier to deal with when I’m only two hours late,” you said, standing up, putting on his jacket. “Wanna come over for dinner?” Your sarcasm could be detected for miles.

“I have a box of stale cereal with my name on it, but thank you for the gracious invitation, oh Benevolent One.”

He performed a waist-deep bow. You curtsied.

Giggling, you walked away and promised you’d see each other tomorrow. “Bright and early, Munson! Maybe even before noon this time.”

“Ab-so-lutely not!” he yelled back, biting his lip to rid himself of the widest smile he’d had all summer. How could he not smile when you were back?

In fact, he couldn’t imagine a world in which he wouldn’t smile this big when you were next to him.

~~~

Daring to open the creaky front door, you knew not to expect the savory waft of cooked food, but the sting of alcohol in your nose was stronger than usual. More powerful than the usual rank mildewy smell of dust-covered garbage. The TV was blaring. Your mom was slouched into the corner of the couch; an opened six pack beside her and a bottle of spirits tilted in her hand. Her glazed over eyes were watching the news, though you suspected she was taking none of it in.

Your senses were on high alert. If you were quiet, meek like a mouse, you may be able to–

“Uh-uh.” Your body responded to her voice on instinct, closing the refrigerator. “No dinner. Not until your sets of fifty.” She snapped repeatedly and pointed at the middle of the floor where normal families had a coffee table. “Crunches, sit-ups, push-ups, whatever else Coach said. You looked sloppy next to that Level 10 girl, and it won’t happen again. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And take off that jacket. It smells like pot. People will get the wrong idea about you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

——1985——

As if your heart wasn’t in your throat already, your stomach churned and sank the moment you saw the Forest Hills Trailer Park sign.

Broken out in cold sweat. Wet palms struggling to turn the thin steering wheel towards the set of two trailers across from each other at the end of the lot. Shaking to the brink of exhaustion. You ran on black coffee and the pure adrenaline of almost hitting enough deer, it made you think twice about crying when Bambi’s mother died.

The car engine purred as you sat there thinking about why you were here again. Not a nice purr of a kitten, more like a sickly lion locked a zoo that needed to be put down a year ago.

Sucking in a breath, you decided to get it over with. You grabbed the white envelope in the passenger’s seat and stepped out into the sun, squinting. The stairs to the front door were concrete. An upgrade from the weathered wood they used to be. The screen door was missing–ripped off its hinges, so you knocked on the main one; it sounded hollow and metallic. Nostalgic in a way.

The knob turned.

“Oh, God,” you exhaled at the peephole.

When the door was replaced by someone other than the person you were expecting, you assumed your face painted in dread did wonders to alleviate his equally confused expression.

“Boy, I haven’t seen you in a long time, Girlie.”

“Mr. Munson!” You brightened upon seeing Eddie’s uncle. Relieved, actually. “How have you been?”

His grayed mustache lifted at the corners, showing off his teeth in a rather innocent way despite his gruff exterior. “Could be better, could be worse.” There was a deep grog to his voice, having just been disturbed from sleeping off his night shift at the plant. “You lookin’ for Eddie?”

“Yeah, is he here?”

He rocked his head back and forth as any guardian would when speaking about their miscreant nephew with a twinkle in their eye. “He should be in summer school right now, which is to say, he’s probably out getting into trouble. At the Hideaway, maybe? Or getting high with one of his friends, but don’t ask me where.” He sucked his teeth and crossed his arms.

“School?” you lead, an airy warble of optimism present in your voice.

Sighing, he delivered you the bad news upfront and honestly. “High school. He failed senior year.. again.”

Any hope he meant something different died. “Ah,” you said. “Well, uh.. Could you give this to him in case I don’t run into him?” You handed him the white envelope you spent far too long writing Eddie’s name on.

“Sure can.”

“Thank you.”

“It was good seeing you, again.. If you do run into him, I.. Well.” He paused to organize his thoughts. “Now, I don’t know what happened between you kids, but I hope you do find him.”

Taking his parting words as rather ominous, you nodded and hopped back in your Ford Pinto, beginning your search for Eddie.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

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sionisjaune · 6 months

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For powerful em's powerful birthday month, a few vignettes from fucked up brocedes hg au. Thank you for bringing your wonderful, kind, generous self to everything you do in fandom! @powerful-owl

The chariots race by, spewing fireworks and glitter. The procession is headed by the blonde Career that was supposed to volunteer for Nico’s Games. All of the bookies are already saying he’s going to win. The Games are going to be boring with those odds.

Nico wrinkles his nose and squeezes Lewis’s hand tightly. He flicks his hair behind his ear and straightens his posture. The video screens cut to a technicolor image of him and Lewis sitting side by side in the front row with the rest of the victors. Lewis looks beautiful and deadly in artfully bloodied scraps of lace and leather, and Nico looks embarrassingly like a dessert, decked out in cherubic feathers. Everyone cheers. For Nico and Lewis and for the new tributes—twenty-four teenagers that are slated to die on film.

“Are you booked after this?” Nico says, turning his mouth towards Lewis’s ear.

“Yeah,” Lewis murmurs, looking ahead. “I’m some old fuck’s date to the afterparty.”

Nico knew that. He feigns surprise anyway. “Weird. So am I.” Lewis rolls his eyes, but Nico can feel the tendons in his arm jumping underneath Nico’s palm. It’s funny, Nico thinks, how Lewis has been at this a handful of years longer than Nico, and he still reacts to every little injustice like a knife to the gut.

Nico laughs a little to himself, and Lewis shoots him a weird, sidelong glance, rubbing his thumb along the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico wouldn’t know what that’s like—feeling.

Nico collapses on top of Lewis’s sweaty chest, inhaling a lungful of body glitter. He chokes on it, coughs and hacks a few flecks out of his throat, and drags a shuddering breath of oxygen into his chest. He and Lewis have been fucking for so long he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to not have someone else inside of him. Lewis groans and whines underneath him, panting.

It’s approximately one billion degrees under the floodlights. It's so bright that Nico can’t see anything of the party surrounding them, just blobs and smudges behind the retina-scalding curtain of light. He knows they’re in the center of everything though, and that everyone is looking at them, and that people are cheering, because he can hear it faintly behind the beating of his own blood in his ears. He’s on the good shit too. He can’t usually stay hard for this long, even if it’s Lewis.

Lewis whines again, and Nico pushes himself back up and starts moving again. Lewis groans, his head thudding against the arm of the sofa he and Nico are perched on and his eyes rolling back.

It’s almost worth it, Nico thinks. Everything is almost worth it.

Nico can’t fall asleep alone anymore. When he shuts his eyes all he can see are glittering, multifaceted crystals, pools of blood as thick as velvet carpets and the inky blackness of endlessly dark caverns. Sometimes he gasps awake, and it feels like there are still shards in his throat, rending sensitive flesh on each juddering exhale.

When Lewis is in his bed, it’s a little bit easier. They don’t fuck when they’re alone—Nico would be so lucky—but Lewis holds him and Nico bites back his usual complaints.

Lewis has his lines memorized now. Nico doesn’t have lines, because all he has to do is moan on the floor with a gash in his stomach large enough that he can feel the heat seeping out of his shredded entrails. They’re reenacting everyone’s favourite part from Lewis’s Games where he saved a rival victor that had been left for dead behind a waterfall. This is the X-rated version, though, so Lewis is going to bandage Nico’s wounds and then fuck him back to health.

Nico can hear himself gurgling, notices the shadows creeping into his periphery. Then Lewis’s hands are on him, and the shadows are receding and the knife-like pain of consciousness is making itself known, like a bright light irritating dilated eyes.

Lewis rubs his thumb across the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico twitches, prone. His insides are knitting themselves back together. His wounds are sealing themselves up. This is the best part. The worst part is the tenderness after.

The theme is sharks. And sex. Sex and sharks. Sharks and sex. The theme is Nico and Lewis have sex in a giant fishtank while shark mutts swim from end to end, gnashing their teeth and snarling. They’ve given Nico a drug that eliminates his metabolism’s need for oxygen, but it feels like he’s drowning all the same. The capitolites think this sort of thing is funny.

Nico clutches at Lewis’s tattooed bicep. His stylist has inked him up with images of angel fish that dart across his abdomen and octopuses that twine around his shoulder blades. Nico is wearing pearls. Lewis has a look on his face like he hates that he’s been made to do this and hates himself even more for being unable to dissent.

That’s the Lewis he knows, Nico thinks. That’s the Lewis he fell in love with, when he was sixteen watching Lewis’s Games with his father. He turns his head to gaze through the thick wall of glass that warps his view of the venue outside. Slim figures wisp by, toting flutes of champagne and tiny canapes. They’re not even looking.

Bile rises in Nico’s waterlogged throat. They need to look.

Lewis is watching the Games. When he turned it on the television in Nico’s room, Nico almost vomited, but Lewis was adamant that the broadcast stay on. He watches the Games even when the Capitol doesn’t parade him around at viewing parties to provide expert analysis. He tells Nico that it’s important to bear witness to what the Capitol is doing to the children of Panem, but Nico doesn’t buy it. He knows that Lewis just likes to torture himself. He’s always been a martyr.

Nico curls up underneath Lewis’s arm and tunes out the sounds of slaughter. Of exploding canons and warbling mockingjays.

When Lewis utters a disgusted sound at the TV, Nico looks up. The flatscreen is displaying the gory remains of at least three tributes splattered on the face of a snowy mountain. The Career that Nico replaced is standing in the middle of it all, an impish grin on his face and blood up to his elbows. He sticks his tongue out and wags his index finger at the camera.

“Typical District 1 overindulgence,” says Lewis, repulsed. “You can tell he’s never thought about anyone other than himself in his life.”

Nico smiles smugly where Lewis can’t see it.

#tw for some gore and dubious consent throughout #fucked up brocedes hg au #i wrote this

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fictionadventurer · 4 months

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The good thing about listening to the Little House series on audiobook: I get to learn the tune to most of these songs, which really elevates a lot of scenes.

The bad thing about listening to the Little House series on audiobook: I'm going to have "We'll Roll the Old Chariot Along" stuck in my head at regular intervals for the rest of my life.

#little house #the long winter #laura ingalls wilder #the narrator doesn't have a great voice #so some of the songs suffer for it #and it doesn't help that i'm listening to it at 1.5 speed #but that one worked sped up and it's too catchy

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oolathurman · 3 months

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Space Shanty, Mandalorian Edition

Just cuz I've been working on a mandosona who likes shanties! I'll try to provide notes and translations beside the phrase of interest, so y'all don't have to scroll up and down too much.

This is to the tune of A Drop of Nelson's Blood / Roll The Old Chariot Along.

"And we'll roll the old chariot along" has been replaced with "And we'll all march to-wards to the stars."

In addition, "And we'll all hang on behind" has been replaced with "Gal ori'skraan, riduur, yaim dab." (The phrase refers to R&R, and literally translates to "Beer, big eats, good company and return to camp." I've shortened "dab'ika" to "dab," since that can be interpreted as one's current place of stay or rest.)

Common verses:

And a drop of net'ra gal, wouldn't do us any harm // Net'ra gal, a black ale.

And a drop of spiced tihaar, wouldn't do us any harm // Tihaar, a strong clear alcoholic spirit.

And a game of meshgeroya, wouldn't do us any harm // Meshgeroya, a Mandalorian game.

And a plate of tiingilar, would fill us up real good // Tiingilar, a spicy mandalorian casserole, dish made from leftovers.

It'd be alright if we make it 'round Krownest // Krownest, ancestral home of Clan Wren

It'd be alright if the Void of Blue eats us // Void of Blue, a reference to the lights of hyperspace

And a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm

And a moment of aay'han, wouldn't do us any harm // Aay'han, bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - remembering and celebrating.

And rolling with our vod, wouldn't do us any harm // Rolling, in this case used as innuendo or as a suggestive comment. Vod as in, sibling, brother, sister; comrade, close mate. In this case, the latter 'comrade/close mate' is used.

And a night planetside, wouldn't do us any harm

And a big ol' ori'skraan, wouldn't do us any harm // ori'skraan, a feast.

What I love about a shanty like Nelson's Blood is the ability to easily make up verses on the fly, and I imagine that whoever starts the song would encourage others to throw in random verses as the song goes on. What verse would you add? :D

#star wars #mandalorian #the mandalorian #mando'a bes'niiv #oya!#my stuff

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twoidiotwriters1 · 7 months

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Daughter of Olympus (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: One thing I love about these two is how blatant they are about their feelings, there is no hesitation (there is a lot and is drowning them) -Danny Words: 2,634 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter / Next Chapter Listen to: 'Message In A Bottle' -by Taylor Swift

XXVII: I Don't Have High Hopes but I Think Leara Should Be Our Ship Name

"You remember when Annabeth explained to us how Athena kids are born?"

"Yeah?"

"I get it now," Ara mumbles absentmindedly. "The meeting of minds thing."

Lily peers over the chariot. "What?"

"I've got a crush," Ara tightens the nave, hunching so she doesn't have to face Lily.

Her friend gasps and pulls Ara up, dragging her to a tall bench. "Who is it? You always go for the craziest option available!"

"That's not true!" She scowls.

"I always thought Aphrodite kids had good taste, but you don't."

"I'll ignore that," Ara leaves her tools on the workbench. "Cause I really wanna tell you."

Lily smiles eagerly. "Okay. I'm listening."

"Well... It's a boy."

"Yikes," she sits on the bench next to Ara's and supports her elbow on the workbench. "Do I know him?"

"Yeah, er... just met him."

"Oh," Lily's expression shifts. "Oh no, Ara."

"What?" She pouts. "You can't say that's a bad pick!"

Her friend wrinkles her nose. "Leo Valdez? Are you sure?"

"You don't approve," Ara sighs knowingly.

Lily rolls her eyes. "I get why you like him... but is he really the safe option?"

"Lily!"

"Well," she frowns. "All I'm saying is, you get along with Jason just the same!"

Ara's taken by surprise. "Jason?"

"Why not?" Her friend insists. "Your siblings love him, like, they're obsessed—"

"Piper likes him, Lily," Ara makes a face.

"Ugh, fine! But Leo is bound to get you hurt," Lily explains like it's obvious.

"No, he wouldn't! Why would you even think that?" Ara's getting upset for no reason, she has to wrap it up.

Lily crosses her arms and Ara knows she's in for a lecture. "He's insane, Ara. Have you talked to him for more than just five minutes? I have the feeling he doesn't even like people at all."

"That's not fair, you don't like talking to people either," she reminds her.

"Yeah, but I like you, and I make an effort for you," she insists in an exasperated voice. "Nothing against him, he just doesn't have time to be a good boyfriend, and you know it. Don't pursue him, Ara."

Telling Ara she can't do something is giving her entrance to prove others wrong. "But I like him, isn't that enough?"

"Listen, if you date Leo, you won't be his priority," Lily tries to reason. "You shouldn't settle for the bare minimum. Also, you're Olympus's go-to girl—"

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you," Ara snaps defensively. "You go on about common sense like it's so easy. I know better."

It's not up to her to decide anymore, Leo's soul light matches hers, and all she can do is come to terms with it. Lily's observations aren't wrong, but she doesn't understand just how much of a dead end Ara is facing.

Lily's eyes darken. "Right, because you have always made the right choice."

Ara knows what she's insinuating, and she won't allow it. "Thank you for helping me with the chariot, you're dismissed for the day."

"Naí, Strategus."

Lily grabs her stuff so she can leave, but someone else storms into the room before that can happen.

"I'm going to gut you!" Nico Di Angelo stops in front of Ara, holding the old aviator jacket to her face.

We convince Nico to stay for the rest of the summer, but it doesn't matter how much we try to include him in our routine, he doesn't like it here.

Lily hands him a bag with food and drachmas. "Thank you for helping us this summer."

"You won't try to stop me from leaving?" He asks reluctantly.

"We know you'll be careful," I smile. "Ghost King."

Nico makes a face. "Shut up."

"It suits you," Lily teases him. "It's an honor to be friends with a king."

"Whatever," he turns away.

"You didn't deny we're friends, though!" I laugh. "Wait! We have one last favor to ask you!"

He glances back over his shoulder. "What?"

"Look for the children of Olympus!"

"What's that?"

"Nothing important, just... if you contact any of them, ask them how they became it. Heracles and Achilles."

Nico's face is hard to read, but he nods. "I'll try."

"See you later, Neeks!"

"Maybe," he replies shortly.

Percy runs into us at that moment. Lily goes away claiming she has business to attend to with the Stolls, but I know she wants to be sad in private. Nico's the only kid who resembles her around here, and now he's leaving, claiming this is not his place. I wonder what that makes her think.

Mr D asks Percy and me to walk with him. He takes us to the campfire, where Clarisse and Chris are having a moment.

Percy doesn't understand Mr. D's sudden change of heart, but I do.

"...remember that a kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword. As a mortal, I was never a great fighter or athlete or poet. I only made wine. The people in my village laughed at me. They said I would never amount to anything. Look at me now. Sometimes small things can become very large indeed." He gives me a look. "That weapon you carry is flashy... Make sure it doesn't dim your brains."

He leaves us, and I stare at the purple aura surrounding Clarisse and Chris. Percy speaks beside me. "Hey! That's right, you got a sword!"

I smile. "Hephaestus gave it to me. It's called Pantodýnamos."

Percy cocks his head to the side. "That's weird... I feel like I've heard that before."

"Almighty? Yeah, about a hundred times in every book of ancient history."

"Right," he grins. "And it sure is almighty, I saw you killing all those monsters—How did it feel?"

"Like small things can become very large indeed," I quote for Percy's amusement.

He pauses for a moment, suddenly worried. "But why did Hephaestus give it to you? He didn't seem to like you at first."

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm his little sister, he'll freak out if I tell him what my fate is. "I guess he changed his mind," I lie. "Maybe he likes that I chose him over my mother."

Percy seems to believe it. "Well, I feel better knowing you have a good way to defend yourself."

He ruffles my hair and walks me to the campfire. Lily's with the Stolls, next to her is Michael, and he's staring at me. When we lock eyes he smiles and winks. I look away feeling self-conscious, and a golden light brightens my skin.

"Oh, crap..." I mutter in distress.

During the campfire, Ara realizes Leo is nowhere to be found. It comes to her that if he's not here then he probably didn't have dinner either, and she can't ignore that.

The girl leaves the amphitheater and goes to get drinks and her on-the-verge-of-dying T-Rex bag, then approaches the forest, where she whistles and Apollo is quick to appear on her side. Ara rides him to the bunker, it's dark out and she's not looking to fight monsters at this hour.

She enters the bunker quietly, all the lights are off with the exception of one on top of Festus's platform, next to it Leo is scribbling something on a blueprint.

"Holy, Hephaestus!" Ara gasps. Before her, the ship's shell is already being built.

Leo gives a start. "Hi, doll!" He hastily tries to clean his workspace. "I know, I know, dinner time. Let me just—"

"Dinner was two hours ago," Ara walks up to him.

"Oh," he blinks. "Whoops."

The girl places a soda and a sandwich on his workbench. "You forget to eat and your reaction is 'Whoops'?"

"You can't judge me, Miss 'Huh'," Leo grabs the food. "I just thought—"

"You can think?" Ara sits on the platform and pats Festus' head, Apollo curls next to Leo's workbench ready to take a nap.

"Ha ha," Leo rolls his eyes. "I'm a genius, you know..."

"Don't get too comfy, boy," she speaks to her lion. "We'll head back in a moment."

Leo pouts. "You're leaving already?"

"You're coming with us," she raises a brow. "I can't let you stay here."

"You're no fun," he sighs. "My mom and I used to sleep in her workshop sometimes."

"You have a good bed in cabin nine," she insists calmly. "And I'm a fun girl, you just push my buttons."

"I've noticed," Leo smirks. "But you keep coming back, so maybe I don't push them enough."

"Hm," Ara looks around curiously. The bunker's full of life already; Annabeth was right after all, she's dying to work here. "Anyway, hurry up and eat. I gotta leave Apollo with the pegasus, he'll spend the night chasing the poor harpies otherwise."

Leo makes a face. "You know how batshit that sounds?"

Ara smiles a little. "You'll get used to it eventually."

Leo walks over to where she is. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Is it true what they say? That you can't fall in love?"

Ara laughs. "Who says that?"

"Malcolm."

She shakes her head. "No! That's nuts!"

"It's not true?" He asks, sitting next to her.

Ara notices the faint glow of his skin. "Love is the one thing that keeps me going."

He tilts his head. "Really?"

"I mean, if I were incapable of loving, my life would be pointless."

"So you're willing to date?" His voice turns a bit hopeful. "Let's say, a mechanic genius with amazing looks?"

"Are you asking me out?" She inquires with amusement.

"Yeah, I think I am," Ara's shoulder is touching his, and Leo's breath catches in his throat as he leans closer.

"Leo..." Ara's not sure this is how she wants things to happen. "I... I..."

A playful smirk appears on the boy's face. "Are you about to confess? It'd be great if you said something like 'You're so attractive it makes me insane', even if it's a lie."

"Are you teaching me how to flirt with you?" Ara's head is spinning but his teasing annoys her enough to clear her head.

"You look like you need help. And you're not threatening to maim me for sitting this close to you like the day we met," Heat spreads across his cheeks, and he finishes the sentence quietly. "I can stop if you want."

Ara blushes, looking down at where their hands are placed, one next to the other. "I've gotten used to you, that's all..."

Leo glances at their hands and he lightly touches hers with the tip of his pinky. He looks up to her eyes and waits. She's not doing anything, but his heart is throbbing painfully as he sits in expectation.

"You're doing a great job here, by the way," Ara tells him.

Leo nods, not listening to a single word of what she just said. He moves slightly closer, closing the gap between them until their faces are just a few inches apart. The boy tilts his head and softly brushes his lips against hers for a brief moment.

The proximity makes him so dizzy he pushes himself away almost instantly. He's in honest disbelief, no girl had ever allowed him to get that close, he nearly wants to ask Ara if she's in her right mind.

In spite of his attempt to stop, their noses are still brushing. He's right there, he could kiss her if he wanted to, and he is dying to, but he wants her permission.

"I know I don't know a lot about you," he places his hand on top of hers. "But since I met you I've had this feeling... I don't even know what it means, but I'll try my best to be whatever you want, just..."

Ara wants to kiss him so badly that her chest hurts. The girl clears her throat and moves away, desperately trying to de-escalate the situation. "I don't date guys that could set me on fire, though."

For a moment, the sound of his heart pounding is all Leo can hear and process. Then Ara's breathing, slow and strained. It takes him a while to make sense of her words.

The way she's acting gives him hope. He feels so close to getting all he ever wanted, even if he doesn't even know what that entails.

He moves away too, trying to calm down. He drinks half of his Coke in one gulp. "You're gonna talk about cons? Let me talk about yours, then."

Ara's mouth falls open. "You've known me for like three days!"

"Six, actually," he replies. "So it's a looong list." Ara punches his shoulder. "Ouch! That a yes or a no?" Leo laughs, he can't help but think how cute she looks when she's pouting.

"I'll give you one and you gotta say one in turn, alright?" She replies. "Let's see who's got more."

A devilish look appears on Leo's face. He tilts his head slightly. "You're bossy."

"You're a flirt with every girl you find pretty."

He grins. "That sounds more like a compliment."

"It's not."

"Are you sure?"

"Just give me a con!"

"You're impatient."

"Some of your jokes are cringe."

Leo gasps, pretending to be insulted. "That's harsh."

"I give you permission to be a little harsh, then," Ara grins.

"Alright. You're a terrible flirt."

Ara responds with a feisty look in her eyes. "You have no proper strength for a demigod."

"Dang, now this is just roasting," Leo takes a bite of his sandwich. "My powers are a work in progress, sunshine. I'd try my best to protect you though, if that counts for anything."

Ara sighs and stares at her feet. "If you're not sure you can, then don't do it," the girl nudges his arm. "Your turn. You said you had a long list, right?"

"I was lying," he admits casually. "But feel free to keep going, I need the reality check."

Ara groans and looks away. "I ran out of cons too."

Leo pats her knee. "At least we tried. Now what?"

Ara's knee is tingling where he touched it. "I'm not a flirt," she blurts out. "Silena taught me to be kind and hand out compliments to everyone. If I'm a terrible flirt it's cause I've never tried to flirt with anyone, this is just how I am."

Ara is kind of weird, but Leo is starting to get her. She isn't as hard to understand as most people, maybe cause she always says what she means. "I'm a bit of a flirt," he replies, "but I try not to flirt with you at all, 'cause if you were to flirt back, I'm pretty sure I'd drop dead."

Ara giggles, her face is as red as the strawberries they grow in camp, but she doesn't seem to mind. "You're so dramatic—But you make me laugh, like, real laughter. Can't do that easily nowadays..."

"Wow," he says, trying to sound like he's joking. "You like me a lot."

He lets the statement sink in, giving her the opportunity to deliver a firm rejection.

"I never said I didn't."

"What?" There is a whirlwind of emotions inside of him, too much data has entered his hard drive. He can't even feel his face at this point. "What do you mean?" He urges her. "Cause it's kinda sounding like you've got feelings for me—"

"I know how it sounds," Ara scowls.

"But... then..." He stammers.

Ara fixes her eyes on the lion. A sudden wave of panic is making her second-guess everything, maybe she should follow Lily's advice.

"Listen, Leo... You have a ship to build, and I have to find my brother. Those are the priorities. After that, we have to defeat Miss Dirt-face. We don't have time for feelings."

It's like she's trying to convince herself, but what he hates the most is that it's true, and it hurts like hell. The first time he meets a cute girl who's attracted to him, and they can't be together. His life is just that great.

"Right. Let's focus on the prophecies now, and maybe if we survive that, we can think about dating," he replies, sounding overly sarcastic. "Sorry for asking..." Every fiber in his body wants to scream. Is he destined to be rejected even by the people who want to choose differently?

Ara gets up as gracefully as possible. "Please, don't stay here for long. Go to sleep."

She heads to the door in silence. The boy doesn't go after her, all he does is reply under his breath. "See you."

Pollo gets up and follows Ara out of the bunker, leaving Leo alone with his longing.

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @ash-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #percy jackson and the olympians #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #doo

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hmserebusadjacent · 7 months

Text

Sea shanties

Part of A New Hope for Five Days of Izzy Hands

Izzy Hands x Male Reader (Developing Friendship, Established Friendship, Developing Relationship, Both Aromantic Asexual)

Summary: Izzy yearns for you and the community you create with your lute and your voice, rejoicing when he can be a part of that world.

Lyrics (in italics) used are from Santiano by Santiano and from Roll The Old Chariot Along.

Word count: 710

Fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50934946

Izzy Hands loved your singing voice. Before you came along the Queen Anne had been such a quiet pace, and even then Izzy had thought that singing on board ships was largely pointless.

But then you had arrived with your lute. It was one of the things you were glad to have brought along from your previous life, which meant Izzy developed an odd fascination with it and you. If singing reminded you of your grief, why still sing now?

Why fill the ship at night with shanties, sonnets, lyrics?

Farewell now, my love

Send me off with a kiss

Heave away, Santiano!

Even more than that, why would you then encourage people to sing along with you? Most of the crew knew the sea shanties you sang, passed down through generations of sailors and pirates to give light and laughter and merriment to the long evenings.

We'll roll the old chariot along

And we'll all hang on behind

Izzy sat at the fringe of these groups with a bemusement that he didn't dare let show on his face as people opened up their hearts and voices to you. It wasn't exactly musical, given no one else had as beautiful a voice as you did, but it was a heart-warming choir nonetheless. In return for their voices you gave your heart too, belting out lyrics and even dancing with your feet if you could manage it whilst playing.

Izzy sat on the fringes and listened, never joining in out loud even if he quietly sang the words in his heart. He knew them all, he'd been a pirate long enough too. But it wasn't since he was young that he had joined in with his shipmates with a mug of ale in his hand.

Sometimes you looked over at him as if you could sense his want to join, his inner singing, smiling at him kindly in that special way you seemed to reserve just for him.

As the two of you grew closer, Izzy asked you why you had kept your lute and your voice. And you had told him that both things had been a joy you had clung onto when everything else seemed dark, keeping your dream of escaping to the sea and finding a community alive. So that was why you kept such good condition of your lute, checking every ship for new strings and indulging people in shanties as often as possible.

You had smiled at him and said that if it makes him happy then your work is doubly important. Izzy had asked why that would be and you had looked sad for a moment. Then you had told him that you hadn't met anyone else that deserved to smile as much as Izzy Hands did.

After that, Izzy had to tamp down his urge to sing even more in front of the others. He wanted to smile for you, to reveal in your talents properly, to make you happy in turn.

So one night on night watch, Izzy had crept off to your room to grab your lute, presenting it to you with such a delicate grip.

"Can I sing with you?", Izzy had asked.

Your grin was magnificent.

"Of course you can."

So the two of you had spent the rest of the night singing together. Izzy suggested some tunes and you suggested others, and your harmonies made the old pirate's heart clench with joy.

Farewell now, my love

Send me off with a kiss

At one point whilst singing that line, you had leaned over and brushed your fingers over Izzy's cheek, the question obvious. Izzy had nodded and waited with bated breath for you to lean in and kiss his cheek.

It was the first time in a very long time that Izzy had sung with anyone else, let alone be kissed on the cheek with care and intent.

Izzy Hands looked back on that night often, noting it as one of the best nights of his life. Every time he hears a sea shanty now he thinks of you, lyrics full of yearning for your love and adoration.

It was a good thing that for a long while your lyrics of love had solely been destined for him too.

#izzy hands #izzy fucking hands #izzy hands era #izzy hands our flag means death #our flag means death #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands x male reader #a new hope for five days of izzy hands #aro ace izzy hands my beloved

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zooophagous · 10 months

Text

The change in temperature was always so sudden from the earth to the sky. Especially when nude. The damp updrafts of summer air cut through Strauss’ sparse fur and the cold of it was making his joints ache. No matter, he was in a time crunch. The watch in his knap-sack was still pinging his location, and Artemis wouldn’t be able to talk security out of chasing him down for long.

Luckily, he wouldn’t need long. He was sure of it. Sylvain’s odd… obsession, for lack of a better word, would finally be a plus. Maybe he could finish this outing without broken bones. He did have a penchant for breaking things as soon as he foolishly left his safe house.

Finding her wasn’t his immediate problem, really. The largest immediate problem was that he was currently a giant bat, and being seen by the populace might land him a spot on the nightly news. That thin lipped snarky reporter with the bad suit would talk about him. He hated the thought. There had to be a place to land that was simultaneously well hidden while still being close enough to town to quickly find Sylvain before he could be darted and hauled away like a marauding grizzly bear.

A line of trees in a field, a “shelter belt,” as Troy had called them, offered the only real shelter on this piece of plain. He swooped low towards it, and finally touched down onto the grass, leaving a trail in the silver dew that sparkled in the dim moon. He dropped his bag from his jaws as he descended. He had no sooner made ground then he had begun his painful regression back into his human form.

Holding the shape of the great bat took energy and concentration. Releasing it felt like dropping a heavy weight. His back and shoulders ached and burned as muscle and tendon and bone slipped back into itself. His dark fur fell out in sweaty clumps. It stuck to him. He grunted and scraped the foul texture from his skin with his claws. He ran his hand along the dew drops and collected what water he could to wash it from himself.

Next time he had to do this, he resolved to remember to bring a towel. He retrieved his dropped bag and began the task of dressing himself while still covered in cold water and wet hair. The sensory stimuli of it was enough to put him in a biting mood. Thankfully there was currently nobody to bite. He was well hidden, yes. But still too far from town.

At least this time he was prepared. If nothing else, he at least had a shirt. One of his band shirts, the Rolling Stones this time, and a pair of blue jeans, with a comfortable pair of practical sneakers. It was the perfect disguise. He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the highway.

He’d seen this in a film before. The American phenomenon of the “hitch hiker.” Usually these things were the set up for some hapless fool becoming cannon fodder for some movie monster. Strauss wondered if he would make a good movie monster. He was a vampire, after all, but perhaps too mild mannered.

Perhaps he was better suited to the role of the hapless fool.

He stuck his thumb out in a pantomime of the hitchhiker and walked backwards, facing traffic, trying to make eye contact with a passing car. Hypnosis wasn’t an option, with the cars flying by at a high rate of speed. He would have to make due with his old standby. Charity.

With any luck, the first truck to pass by wouldn’t be Ursula with a taser. Headlights beamed into his face and momentarily blinded him. He blinked the green afterimage away. The wind of passing cars swept his hair. He was jealous, a little. He still hadn’t learned to drive one himself. Not for lack of desire, either, but being trusted with a vehicle was a tall order.

He wasn’t having much luck. Despite the trappings of an ordinary human, there was no hiding his height and his gaunt appearance. No doubt he was a creepier hitchhiker than most. He began to feel worry creep up in his throat when finally, a chariot arrived.

A white pick up, one that even Strauss recognized was a “beater,” but it slowed as it passed him, and finally stopped on the road up ahead. He jogged to meet it. Americans were perhaps stupid, but he could usually count on at least one of them to be kind.

Every nation had its redeeming qualities. He approached the door timidly. The window rolled down to reveal a round, jovial looking face within, illuminated by a cigarette. The man reminded him of Troy, though the hair color was all wrong. He smelled worse than Troy. Smelled of alcohol, really, which would explain perhaps why he was less than cautious about a stranger on the road.

“Hey buddy. You need a lift?”

Strauss hesitated. The car stank, and he was already heavily annoyed by his itchy clothes. He was reluctant to push himself. But time was of the essence.

“Yes… I am a transient. I am trying to make it to St. Joseph, up the road.”

“Well shit. You’re in luck then. I’m heading that way.”

“Excellent.” He glanced down at the door. “May I come in?”

“I stopped for you didn’t I?”

It was as explicit an invitation as he would get. He climbed into the grimy truck and immediately fought the urge to make a rude face when his hand slid over the slightly oily cloth texture of the nicotine soaked seats. The stranger was kind, and the ride was short. It would have to do.

“Danke sir. My name is Mr. Strauss. I am fortunate to have found kindness on the road this evening.”

“Mr. Strauss huh? Don’t have a first name you’re willing to start with? You can call me Jonny.”

The stranger snuffed his cigarette and started down the road while Strauss fumbled with his seat belt. “Transient huh? Where you from, then? And what are you doing out here after dark? It’s dangerous to be walking the highway in the dark. I was worried you’d get hit.”

“I am actually from Germany, sir. I am a ‘recent transplant’ to this state, I suppose. I had a bit of… an emergency this evening. I need to get to town to find someone.”

“Germany? Explains why you talk so damn weird. My mother was a German. Maiden name was Schumacher. You know any Schumachers?”

“I cannot say that I do. It is a large country.”

“Large? Pssh. Your little European countries basically all fit inside Texas. It ain’t that large.” Jonny snarked at him. “So, who is it you’re trying to find in the middle of the night so bad you had to walk down the road to go get em?”

“It is difficult to explain.” Strauss rubbed his neck shyly. “Suffice to say, Mr. Jonny, I am looking for a woman.”

“Oooh I get it. Girl troubles.” Jonny laughed. “I know all about that, bud. She what got you here all the way from Germany?”

“I suppose she did, in a way.” Strauss shrugged. “I very much desire to speak with her. I am not so sure she will be so happy to see me.”

“Eh, you’ll be fine. You’re tall and sort of effeminate, chicks love that sort of thing. That goth emo thing. And the accent. You can win her over.”

“I am glad one of us thinks so, sir.”

“So, this girl. What’s she like? Gotta be special to get you so worked up, hm? She got a name?”

“She is quite unique. A sort of rare breed, similar to myself. Her name is Sylvain. She is petit, she has a tan skin tone, very long black hair, and a wide smile full of razor sharp teeth.”

“Hah! Oh man, you should write romance novels. Sylvain you say? That’s another interesting sounding name. She French?”

“I am not sure.”

“Well, maybe if she is you two can bond over pastries and wine or whatever it is Europeans talk about. Soccer I guess. Or do you call it football?”

“It is called football. The entire world calls it that. Only Americans call it soc-”

Jonny hit the brake hard. Strauss’ words were crushed by the seatbelt that locked tight across his chest. The truck began to fish-tail and finally stopped.

“What was that about?” Strauss demanded. He grabbed the seat belt and with a firm yank, something internal had snapped and he could once again move freely.

Jonny sat stock still, hands on the steering wheel, staring blankly ahead.

“Mr. Jonny?”

Strauss tapped his arm. Perhaps his choice of substances had caught up to him. He turned his gaze out the windshield to meet the truth.

Just beyond the halo of headlights was a dim figure. She stood in the middle of the road, slightly illuminated by the truck, but with her face shrouded in night, except for her eyes, which burned like embers in her smiling face.

Strauss sat still, except to re-buckle his seat belt. Sylvain made her way to the driver door and forced it open. She put her hand on Jonny’s shoulder.

“Get out.”

And he did. And immediately fell face first onto the shoulder, before rolling to the ditch. Sylvain climbed in to claim his spot, and spent a moment adjusting her seat and steering wheel.

“So good to see you again Lu. It’s ok if I call you Lu, right?” She grinned as the vehicle slowly made its way back up to highway speed.

“You could have picked a nicer fucking ride, Lu. I’m gonna need to shower after this.”

“Did you just steal a car?”

“Hardly the worst thing either of us has done.” She rolled down her window and casually hung her arm out the side. “About time you showed up. I was worried you were avoiding me.”

“I was.”

“So what’s got you out and about looking for me, then? You had to know you’d bump into me.”

“I had a hunch.” Strauss replied quietly. He was definitely correct earlier, in this set up, he was very much the hapless fool.

“Don’t be so cagy about it. Did the VanHelsings cut you loose? Set you free? You’re rehabilitated enough for society now?”

“Not quite. Frau Harker will no doubt be on the hunt for me shortly, if she is not on the road already.”

“So this must be something important then, if she wasn’t enough to scare you into staying put.”

“I do not want to lie to you, Sylvain.” Strauss looked out the window, away from her. She was difficult to maintain eye contact with. Perhaps her advanced power of suggestion went so far as to affect even other vampires. “Listen. We need to talk.”

“I thought you’d never ask, Lu.”

She turned and smiled wide at him, showing off a grin of shark-like teeth. Both a greeting and a threat.

“Talk, then. But first, you and I are going to have some fun.”

#wayward souls #writing

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