lennadanvers - Tumblr blog

[lennadanvers]

Yes, Your Honor, my client did commit the murder. But, in his defense, he's babygirl.

[lennadanvers]

I'm afraid I've fallen for yet another morally grey, blue eyed, sarcastic, unnintentionally funny, depressed, good-at-fighting-and-terrible-at-communicatig-emotions man.

(I'm on s5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Spike is just the perfect combination of cringe loser and badass villain. Onto the list he goes.)

[lennadanvers]

What's with the "I love you so much" ????

Like ?

As opossed to what? "I love you so little"??? "I love you such a regular amount"??

Bitch if you love someone, you love them a lot. That's what love is about. If you love anyone any less than a lot, then you don't actually love them.

[lennadanvers]

oh my gosh, your writing is so great -- thank you for sharing! if you're taking requests, would you consider something featuring simon and a christian reader? (honestly, i'm really glad that there's a longfic writer in the fandom who doesn't focus on nsfw scenarios. the 'delirium' section in your masterlist is a really cute addition that i personally haven't seen before, and i'm older than you are. haha sorry for rambling, thanks again! <3)

Hi! I’m glad you enjoy my work!

I'm gonna be honest; I wrote a whole paragraph about nsfw-centered fics and what I think about them, and ended up deleting it bc it wasn't the point at all. It's too easy for me to start rambling sometimes. In short, I'm not in the mood to read nsfw sometimes, and I wish there were more sfw fanfics, so that's what I usually write.

Let me warn you, I’m not an expert in any religion, so there can be mistakes here (and this is kinda (very) nonspecific). I did my best though. Also, sorry it took me so fucking long. Hope you like it!

Mercy

Ghost doesn’t believe in your God.

Maybe Simon once did. He’s not sure. How could he, after everything he’s gone through? If he had any faith inside him, it should have survived. If a God like that existed, they should have helped him.

But there’s no faith left in him, and he hasn’t been helped by any God.

He knows only one pair of hands that are holy. Only one forgiveness he’d spend this life- and any other- seeking. Only one name he mutters before falling asleep. There is only one place he goes to every Sunday, and one face he wants to see when he dies.

Yours.

Maybe he does believe in god -he believes in you, after all.

He’s seen you pray. You close your eyes, sometimes move your mouth without talking, the words taking possession of your lips. It’s the same when he mouths “I love you” under the mask, in the shadows. He thinks your God hears you the same way you hear him: you don’t, but you know.

He's noticed how you pat the cross hanging around your chest when you need support. When Ghost is about to jump into a storm of bullets, when Johnny is messing with a suspicious wire, when he’s only got one magazine left… He pats his chest: the heart beating inside is yours.

He’s gone with you to church. You keep quiet when you’re there, reverential for the sacred atmosphere. When Simon is at your house, he doesn’t talk much either. He bows at the pictures on your walls, though, a savior depicted in all your glory.

He knows when you’re scared, you ask your God for protection. When he was injured in battle, the only thing he thought about was you. The only one at the hospital, the only one tending to his wounds for months, the only one.

Ghost doesn’t believe in God. He does, however, worship you. That’s why he’s standing at the altar, looking at you in your white dress. He is a religious man, after all. A devotee. One to whom you’ve granted entry to Heaven, now that you’re saying yes. One that is loved, even with blood under his nails and gunpowder deep in his pores.

Ghost is a sinner that’s been forgiven before even asking. A coarse attempt at being like you; so pure, good and loving. You let him kneel before you once, a ring in his trembling hand; you took him. You put one on his finger, a gift he’ll never be able to repay, but that he’s infinitely thankful for. He’s not perfect, he’ll never be; and he knows. But he’s doing his best, and you know that. So you kiss him as if he were.

When you leave church -hand in his, husband and wife- he speaks to your God for the first and only time. Says only two words.

Thank you.

[lennadanvers]

The way Wayne, who hadn't been able to step into his home for days because a girl had died there, who was alone in a town literally split down the middle by what could have easily been a gate to hell, who was frowned upon by most of his neighbors, was not only sure of Eddie's innocence, but willing to defend him. The way he was looking for Eddie; the way he, in the middle of the chaos and the cops, found time to craft a missing sign in hopes to find his nephew.

The way Eddie made being demonized into a big joke, reading the articles accusing him and his friends of being devil worshippers with funny voices. No one felt bad at his table, no one felt like they were doing something wrong, or like they should quit playing this game they loved. The way Eddie made sure they wouldn't take it seriously. The way he fought hate with humour.

The way that, even though he considered himself a coward, Eddie would defy societal norms during any lunch, yelling on top of a table for everyone to hear.

The way they were looking for Eddie for homicide and, instead of focusing in running away/saving his ass, he stuck by his friends -trusting them with his own safety- and fought to save the world. The way he wasn't going to abandon them.

The way Eddie promised himself he wouldn't follow his father's steps. The way he didn't use what he had taught him -like how to steal cars- when the police was looking for him. But he did when his friends needed his help. The way he broke a promise he made to himself to protect somebody else.

And there's even more.

the way Eddie welcomed Erica to Hellfire grinning like the Cheshire Cat after she handed him his ass like that

the way Dustin - smart ass, cautious, knows what it's like to be bullied-Dustin - yelled NO WAY YOU DON'T KNOW EDDIE LIKE I DO

the way Eddie handed Steve - dirty ass, bleeding Steve - his vest, probably the most cherished piece of clothing he owns without second thought while he had a leather jacket to spare

the way Eddie was jealous of Steve for his relationship with Dustin but so very uninterested in competing with him in any other situation, had no impulse to be the 'better man', like when Steve had his hairy tits out about to do some brave deeds

the way Eddie explained to Dustin and Mike that he didn't want to move Hellfire by explaining that his friends could miss out something that was very important to them if they postponed (subtext: what if we don't manage to find another time to get together?) and not just told them to fuck off

the way Jason had to put his foot on Gareth's fingers to the point the where cracking before Gareth gave away something

I'm sure there is more...

[lennadanvers]

Pure Imagination: going to the thrift store with him

Eddie Munson x Reader

Eddie’s clothes are rarely new-new. Money’s always been tight, and you can’t get most of his favorite bands’ merch brand new in the tiny and boring Hawkins. So he goes to the (only) thrift store in town.

He’s bought some of his signature pieces there, and there’s always fun stuff. He used to go with Wayne all the time, whenever his uncle had a couple hours to spare. It’s one of the first places they went to when Eddie moved in with him. He didn’t have more than what he was wearing when he knocked on the trailer’s door, so Wayne helped him find some badass t-shirts and a couple jeans. He bought his first patch there.

As he grew up and started being able to take care of himself, his uncle stopped going with him. Wayne had to get as many shifts as possible to provide for the both of them; so he was always working or sleeping.

It’s okay. Eddie hasn’t needed help to try on clothes for a long time, and his uncle always let him decide what to wear anyway. But he likes to talk. And he gets bored easily. Besides, it’d be a shame if you missed the absolute treasures he’s found hidden in the racks.

Also, Eddie saw you once in there.

It was summer. The boiling sun came across the dirty front window and made your legs look golden. Your not-so-clean sneakers tapped on the floor at the rhythm of the music the owner had playing. Your dress- a sundress that had his nerves at risk of extinction- was short and light, flowing in the hot air the standing fan blew uselessly. You had your hair up. On one hand, it was a shame because he likes the way it moves. On the other, it left your neck naked. Eddie is almost sure he saw a tiny mole under your jaw. He wonders how it tastes.

You were looking through the teacups. As you lifted a small one with a silver edge and blue flowers, you smiled. Eddie found himself wondering if there were any castles around Hawkins- maybe he would get lucky, find one with an egocentric prince, get cursed and become a teacup. Would you like a black, metal teacup?

He felt both like a stalker and a little kid seeing his crush out in the wild. Still does, whenever he catches a glimpse of you.

Catches is kind of an understatement, though. He hunts traces of you.

Eddie is a sunflower. Hawkins is a very dark, very depressing and closed place. He’s trapped in it. But sometimes, when he hears your name or your laugh, he swears there’s a ray of sun in the corner. Like the very dark, very depressing place isn’t as closed as he thought. Like there is, in fact, a way out. Like you’re there, and that’s all he needs to survive.

So he stretches and stretches, grows in your direction- day and night, even when it looks like you’re not there anymore. Like a faraway ray of sunshine, you’ve never touched him, never made contact. Like a warm beam of light, you don’t know he’s there, don’t know his survival depends on you- it’d be impossible for you to know.

It's okay, though. He’s going to stretch as long and as far as he can.

He does so by pretending you’re telling him to try on the ridiculous jacket at the end of the rack. He chuckles to himself and pictures you wearing the awfully pink cowboy hat, and blushes when your imaginary voice smiles at him with a “’howdy!”. He doesn’t like cowboys- or cowgirls- particularly, but he likes you.

The phantom of you follows him to the fitting room, where he tries on jeans and t-shirts. Eddie has always been a little histrionic, so he enjoys having an audience. Even if it is an imaginary one. He twirls around, hoping to make you giggle. Agrees with you that those pants are a little too tight, but that he should get the shirt, though. And the sweater. He jokes- internally- that you’re going to wear it more often than him, he wishes.

Sometimes he spends a little too long daydreaming. Looking at you trying on skirts and boots, listening to your laugh, inventing stories to explain how each thing ended up in the thrift store.

Eddie likes talking. A lot. And it’s a little lonely going shopping all by himself.

He’s so lucky to have you.

I'm sorry it took so long. I have this thing where I start writing and then it sits there forever until I force myself to finish things. I like this, though. Hope you guys liked it <3

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @whataboutbibi @hellfirenacht @daisyridleyss

Masterlist here

[lennadanvers]

don't mind me i'm just thinking about how Eddie Munson would SO pretend to be someone you know if you come up to him in a store or so and whisper to him how this guy has been creeping you out for ages 'n he would take to his role so well 😭 i need to shift dimensions I need to be with this guy

i'd commit unspeakable horrors to be his girlfriend

--

You almost feel bad practically tackling the man from behind. All he was doing was grabbing a can of soup off of the shelf, and you made him your impromptu best friend.

He lurches forward at the contact, and turns to look at you with fire in his eyes. You're absolutely certain he's going to scold you, but he sizes you up at his eyes soften slightly. He raises one eyebrow, a silent 'what the fuck do you want?' and you ramble breathlessly.

"Please pretend you're my friend," You whisper, the squeaky wheels of the cart you're dreading the owner of coming towards you down the aisle, "He's following me and I don't know what to do."

He doesn't even blink. His face doesn't shift in the slightest, and for a quick moment you're unsure whether he heard you at all. But his arm curls around your own, and he spins you to face the soups.

"-so I was thinking chicken and stars, but R2-D2 absolutely kills as a noodle," He drawls, ringed fingers gesturing vaguely at each can that he names, "'S whatever you want, babe."

You hear your supermarket stalker's wheels squeak to a stop at the end of the aisle, and you don't dare turn to see his face. You'd prefer never to see it again, a reminder of the lewd comment he'd made in the produce section about melons.

"Star Wars," You decide, plucking the can off of the shelf and handing it to him, "Uh, thank you."

"Now we need," He squints at his list, tongue poking out of his mouth and sticking to his upper lip, "Ritz crackers, and chicken for tomorrow night."

He mimes looking for the crackers, noticing the man standing at the end of the aisle, waiting.

"Oh, sorry," He lifts the back wheels of the cart with the handle, scooting it sideways so that the man can pass, though you both know he doesn't want to, "Were we in your way? Go ahead, we're gonna be here for a while."

The man stares at you, you can feel it. But your new best friend sets a hand gently, politely on the small of your back, leading you around him and sandwiching you between the aisle and him. He holds the list out in front of you, "Babe, can you tell what that says? Can't even read my own writing," He laughs good-naturedly, "I think it says 'blueberries'?"

"Or blub errands," You try deciphering his messy scrawl, weight lifting from your shoulders as the man finally decides to move, crossing your path and bumping the wheel of your new cart as he does.

"Definitely blub errands," The boy beside you snickers, glancing at the reflective panel of the aisle beside him to watch for when the man finally turns a corner, "Some nice improv, babe."

You're not sure why he's still using the nickname, the man is out of earshot. But you're too relieved to care, physically relaxing as your shoulders slump.

"Oh my god," You let out a much bigger breath than you intend to, almost dizzying yourself, "Thank you so much. I just- he was always there and I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry I almost knocked you over," You turn sheepish, eyeing his ankle that you're fairly certain he'd twisted in the meetup, "Are you okay?"

"You're fine," He waves off your apology, rolling the ankle in question with a cheeky grin, "I'm tough."

"You look it," You eye him up and down, a silver chain dangling from his belt that's almost covered by a leather jacket, "Do you have, like, a really big tattoo of a heart with a knife through it on your arm? Bonus points if it says mom."

He laughs incredulously, shrugging the shoulder of his jacket off to prove you wrong, "Uh, no, but thanks for the idea."

You let out a laugh, something that seems impossible considering how scared you just were, but one that comes naturally. The boy you'd found seems to be the type you'd go for both in and out of a life-threatening scenario, and you're starting to wonder if you'll get this lucky with any real relationships you're in.

"Well, listen," He stuffs the list in his pocket, a scrap of the paper sticking out, "I've only got a few more things. If you want, we can check out together," He motions towards the hand-held basket you're holding, "'Cause I don't think that guy's gone. I'd offer you a ride home," He reaches a hand up to scratch aimlessly at the nape of his neck, "But I drive a van, and I think me asking you to get into it would be creepier than anything that guy did."

"It's okay!" You assure him, a light laugh escaping you at his earnestness, "I'm sure I'll be fine driving home. But seriously, thank you," You smile at him, clutching the handles of your basket tighter in an effort not to hug him, "I really appreciate this."

"Anytime, babe." There's that nickname again, paired with the grin you'd seen before, "Now come walk with me, you're helping me find the blub errands."

[lennadanvers]

Please, he would be the warmest boyfriend ever. A safe space/home turned into a person.

I NEED HIM TO LOVE ME😭

Soap being the absolute most passionate lover, not only in bed, but also emotionally.

In an all-consuming way, to the point where he literally won't shut the fuck up about how much he loves you. Proving it to you in every possible and known way. Giving you space when you need it, while being close to you in the most comfortable way.

The lad would actually pull down the bloody moon to give it to you if you just asked (maybe even if you didn't). He's a hopeless romantic.

And don't get me started on dad Soap, because I might burst. The man who's never shed a tear in his life (except the day he saw you walk down the aisle, his face and eyes all red) couldn't hold back a sob when you held his first child in his arms and said "You're a dad now".

[lennadanvers]

Obsessed with the idea that Simon is so in love that he doesn't even need to talk about it, it just shows. Like there's now this space around him with the shape of us, and the rest of the 141 just knows.

Would they keep you as a secret from the crew?

For Johnny, I honestly doubt that man could keep it on the down low. I mean, he practically graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Yapperism, like fr he’s the certified yapper of the force. Soap would praise you to the high heavens, saying stuff like “my baby is such’a good cook, lads. I miss their food already.” even if he just came back from deployment. You could be meeting them weeks later and Captain Price is like “Oh, how’s your new job going for you?”, leaving you completely bewildered that Johnny talks so much about you that the team is aware of what’s going on in your life. 

Ghost will definitely keep your relationship on the quiet side at first, since he’s genuinely certain that it will not last with his emotional baggage. However, you prove him indefinitely wrong, loving him through thick and thin even in his darkest days. Despite him not having said anything specific to the team, his body language tells the team that there’s someone special lighting up his days. Maybe it is the curve of his masked mouth as he smiles at your messages, or the way Simon stares a little longer at beautiful sceneries that remind him of you. And the beaded bracelet he wears on his wrist is the dead giveaway all the team needs to confirm that you are there waiting for him to come home. 

Now, Gaz is the one that I am not entirely sure about. Since he isn’t as open about his personal life as Johnny but not as secretive as Simon, he may not treat your relationship as a complete mystery. Somehow, it makes it sweeter if Gaz were to let it slip from a conversation with the boys yet act completely nonchalant as if it wasn’t a secret to begin with. “Didn’t take you for a flower kinda guy, mate.” Soap commented when he watched Kyle stop by a florist to get a bouquet on the way off their base area. “Wanted to get something to surprise the darling back home,” Kyle replied without a blink, as if he had not said anything out of the ordinary. Also the one to comment that the team didn’t ask when Soap shrieks out why he hadn’t mentioned a loved one.

  As the Captain on the task force, Price is no doubt not the type to dish out that kind of personal information straight away. Rather, your existence is evident in the necklace that has your promise ring looped on his neck at all times (yes, even on missions). In private, John kisses the ring with your initial engraved on the inside of the band as if a sort of subconscious reminder of what he’s fighting so hard for. I do believe that Price would be more open to talking about you to old friends, so Laswell knows of you well and would definitely have your contact in the scenario that anything goes south. Even with his expertise, you still worry about your lover on the field.

[lennadanvers]

My name has three words. The first is useful. The third is my favorite grandfather's.

The middle one is awful. It's a rotting limb, a pice of me that is me, but is also poisoning me.

The middle one I did not ask for; I do not want. It's been part of me since the beggining. It's half of me, the bruised part.

I should amputate. I should go to a judge and say "I don't want this. I did not ask for it. I don't want his name in mine. I want his name and all of his words away from me. Change it. Erase it. Take it away".

But the judge can only change my last name. The judge can't make it stop poisoning me. The judge can't cut off the phantom limb.

My name has three words. That's too many. But if I change it now, I have to change.

I shouldn't have to cut off a limb. I shouldn't have a part of him. I don't want it. I didn't ask for it.

The judge is a butcher, and my only hope. Amputation or poison.

[lennadanvers]

❤️‍🩹

the person reading this is going to survive the rough patch they’re going through

[lennadanvers]

I just finished watching the Dead Poets Society and:

I am mad that they are so many men and so few women (though I understand given the time, but I'd still love a Dead Poets Society with women as main characters, thank you very much)

I now can appreciate even more the "Oh, Captain, my Captain!" Marauders tiktoks

I feel the need to know poetry by heart

I am even more in love with culture than I was two hours ago (which is a lot)

I'm so happy to be making my thesis about fanfiction, because I'll get to link all this renowned works to something that so many people think silly or even worthy of shame; but that actually is a fascinating and fertile field

[lennadanvers]

Rebloging this while I finish the next part bc my baby needs more attention🫡

Pure Imagination: braiding his hair

This has been sitting in my drafts for too ling and I'm not sure how much I like it anymore. Still, Eddie is a smol overstimulated boy with sensory issues and he deserves comfort. Thanks for reading, please consider reblogging and/or commenting on top of liking, it makes me kick my feet and squeak.

Sometimes, Eddie hurts himself. Not physically, but his head just spits horrible thoughts at him. He has to find something to soothe the hurt.

On days like that, he gets easily frustrated. He opens the cabinets, and there is no coffee left. He goes out and the van doesn’t turn on until after the fifth try. The store is closed- he doesn’t even take the time to read why in the little note hanging by the door.

When he gets home, he takes a shower, maybe that’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. Eddie comes out of the bathroom with his hair all tangled and dripping down the back of his t-shirt. He’s frustrated, angry just because, tired and wants to punch his bed until it’s all out. But he’s learned that it won’t fix anything.

So he closes his eyes and drops the towel next to his bare feet. Takes a deep breath. In. His eyebrows relax, his shoulders go down. Out. His belly goes soft.

Your hands hold his. Thumbs going in circles, you ground him. In. Out. You breathe with him. Eddie can feel the air that leaves you caressing his neck. He sighs.

“Come on, Eddie” you direct him to his bed. “Sit down here. I’ll take care of it, it'll be alright.”

He knows.

Eddie does as the invisible version of you says. He bows and lets his body fall on the floor, back against his bed. He shivers when he feels the rough carpet scratching his thighs. It’s almost worse than the jeans he chose not to put on. At least he’s wearing boxers.

He bites his lip. In. Out.

Eddie raises his your hand and lets it softly fall on top of the wet mess that is currently his head. In. Out. You’re sitting on his bed, behind him. It feels like you’re caressing his hair more than detangling it. One curl at a time. He focuses on you.

Eddie finds your smell comforting. Sometimes he feels like a creep for thinking about it. For knowing your scent. But it was a huge help, back in school. When Eddie was having a bad day, he prayed he would walk past you in the hallways at Hawkins High. If he had class with you that day, Eddie knew he was saved.

He'd sit as close to you as possible. When Eddie he's having a bad day, it’s like his senses are heightened; so it was usually enough. He’d close his eyes, trying to ignore the awful yellow of the lights, the way his skin was crawling under his jeans, the screeching of chairs, the teenage laughs and any disgusting high school smell. Except yours, of course, that wasn’t disgusting at all. It was subtle. Soft. Not overwhelming, unlike literally everything else. Calming. Warm. Quiet.

When the world was horrible, rough, when it felt like his skin was raw and the noise made his nerves stand on edge, your smell was like a calming bubble. A balm for his soul. Maybe you didn’t really wear perfume, he isn’t sure, even after all these years. Maybe it was just your lotion, your conditioner, you. He had never been able to find either of those at the supermarket.

Your scent was a shelter for his stray senses. He used to spend the whole class calming down. After breathing you in, he felt like a person again. Like he was the owner of his own body.

Surviving the day after that was easy. He was horribly tired, of course, but felt a soft relaxation.

That’s what Eddie is desperate to feel now.

The detangling starts at the end of his hair, little droplets of water falling all over him (in, out). Fingers getting caught on small knots, gentle pulling, soft caress. One strand free. Wet skin, soft hair; in, out, another strand. Eddie slowly melts against whatever surface is there to carry his weight. The bed behind him is soft, it could easily be mistaken for your legs. And the hum of the neighbor’s AC sounds like your voice whispering something. Yes, definitely. Fingers, water, strand. In. Out.

Once his damp hair is (mostly) free of unnerving knots and falling over Eddie’s shoulders (in, out), it is separated on three wavy strands. You know how keeping it tied up in buns or ponytails bothers him sometimes. How the weight of his hair on top of his thoughts is just too much. In and out; your patient hands are braiding his hair away. Finally, it’s not dripping anymore. His shoulders are free. Eddie sighs.

Your perfect hands finish the braid and he’s never felt more thankful. He lets his body fall to the side and his cheek lands on the bed your lap, where it’s soft and safe. Eddie falls asleep like that. The next time he sees you (at the grocery store parking lot, are you in town just for the holidays?), Eddie has to stop himself from shouting “Thank you, mighty lady!” out of his van’s window.

Pure Imagination Masterlist

Taglist: @hellfirenacht @whataboutbibi @daisyridleyss

[lennadanvers]

This is so stupidly cute. It made me feel things.

I love your writing <3 I saw “he so likes her” on the enemies to lovers but I so saw it pairing with the “me? I wouldn’t say I was flirting.” On the denial of feelings list. Eddie absolutely oblivious to the heart eyes he’s making as he pulls his hair in front of his face while chatting together

ty angel! hope you like it :D — eddie munson visits you at work every day, but not because he likes you (enemies to lovers-ish, fluff, 1.1k)

You hear Eddie before you see him. The clinking of his silver rings, the swishing of his leather jacket, the thudding of his worn sneakers. His musky cologne swaddles you in a cloud of his subtle scent before he’s even there. You’re smiling about it all before you mean to.

Crouched in the X-rated section of Family Video, you restock the vulgar printed tapes and glance up at the boy towering over you. Eddie’s smiling, too — perhaps bigger than he realizes.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to keep me company, Munson,” you tease with narrowed eyes.

“No,” the boy scoffs, a little less than convincing. He props his shoulder against the metal shelf and crosses his arms over his chest. “I have much better things to do with my Friday nights. Trust me.”

Your knees creak in protest when you rise to stand before him. You cross your arms to resemble his stance and try to be normal about your forearms brushing his. “Do you?” you lilt, obviously sarcastic.

“Yeah,” he nods with a crooked smile on his pretty pink mouth. “I could give you their names.”

“Spare me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and spinning on your heel. Eddie follows you like a lost puppy to the front counter. “You know, if you’re gonna flirt with me, maybe try not to mention other girls. I think that’s, like, rule number one.”

Eddie’s face swirls at your words. The cartoonish look of confusion makes you smile as you round the checkout station. He forces a chuckle and props his elbows on the countertop, leaning over it in a desperate attempt to be closer to you.

“There are no—” he starts, then cuts himself off. There are no other girls, he’d say if he weren’t a total coward. But, for the sake of keeping his cards to his chest, he settles on, “—I’m not flirting with you.”

Your brow arches in a playful look of inquiry. “No?”

Eddie almost caves, then. It’s almost like you want him to say yes — to admit that he’s been flirting with you this whole time because he’s loved you since the moment he met you. It would be the truth, anyway. One that he’s spent over a year shying from.

“No,” he echoes and shakes his wild head, surprising himself with his own self-control. “No, I’m— We’re just— We’re having a conversation. ‘Cause, you know, we’re friends. I guess.”

His face scrunches like there’s something sour on his tongue. He doesn’t even like the taste of his own words. 

You squint. “Do all of your friendly conversations typically include making heart eyes at the other person?” you joke with a poorly held-back grin.

Eddie falters for a moment, knowing he’s long been found out. He decides to lie anyway. Dig the hole deeper, as it were. “Yeah, actually,” he nods. “You’ve seen the way I look at Steve, haven’t you?”

You laugh before you mean to. The sunshine sound sputters up your throat and out of your mouth before you can stop it. Eddie must not realize how he often looks at Steve The Hair Harrington — with softly squinted eyes and gently furrowed brows — like he can never quite understand what the fuck the boy is talking about. 

“Right,” you nod, still giggling.

Eddie smiles at the pretty sound. The spearmint breath of your laughter fans across his cheek at the close proximity — one which neither of you seems eager to part from. “Yeah, so… Don’t let it go to your head, alright? There’s no flirting here.”

So you drove twenty minutes across town in a half-broken-down van to have a serious conversation? you’d ask if you felt like going around in circles.

Instead, you just nod. “Noted...”

“Now, tell me,” he starts, tilting his pretty head until his curls bunch at his shoulder. “What should me and my number of escapades watch for the evening? You know, as the resident expert and all?”

You laugh at the absurdity of his question. “I don’t know. Just— choose something,” you murmur unenthusiastically.

“I want you to choose for me,” he pouts.

“Why?” you retort, leaning against the counter to lessen the cavernous distance. 

The sudden closeness has a very obvious effect on the boy across from you. His adam’s apple bobs as his tongue darts across his bottom lip. You’re close enough to kiss now. He can almost taste you.

“So you can play it as background noise and think of me while you and this very fictitious person make out on your couch?”

“Well… I’ll probably be thinking about you either way, so…” Eddie answers when his senses return to him, shrugging with a stupid, lopsided grin. “Whether you recommend something or not doesn’t really matter.”

The look he gives you makes your stomach whirl. His eyes, made of melted chocolate, get all squishy at the edges when he looks at you. Something warm and fond swims in his gaze, speckles along his flushed cheeks, and sparkles in his smile. It’s so stupidly sincere for a boy who can’t seem to take anything seriously. The notion all but stabs you in the chest.

“You’re doing it again, you know?” you tease.

His fluffy brows pinch together. “Doing what?”

“The heart eyes thing.”

“There is no thing!” he insists with a loud, boyish laugh. “I’m just— I’m just looking at you! Is that a crime?”

“Just sayin’,” you singsong with an absentminded shrug.

Your gaze glimmers with knowing and something close to adoration as it flits up and down his form. Eddie squirms beneath your prying eyes. His ringed hands rise to his hair, gathering the untamed curls and hiding his blushing face behind them. 

“Here,” he mumbles behind his palms and chestnut locks. “Is this better for you?”

You giggle at his antics, slightly grieving his pretty face. “Much,” you nod despite yourself.

Steve and Robin watch the strange encounter from afar. They peer over the Action/Adventure aisle they’re supposed to be restocking — equal parts distracted and nosey. The boy’s scruffy face twists as he watches Eddie try hopelessly to flirt with you. “This is disgusting,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Do you think he knows?” Robin laughs, deep and gritty, as she stands on the tips of her toes to see over the metal shelf.

“Knows what?”

“That he’s obsessed with her?”

“Hell no! Look at him—” Steve scoffs, jutting his chin to the wild-haired boy across the room. 

Eddie’s got his rings all tangled in his hair now. His cheeks glow red as you help unknot the silver jewelry from his curls. He’s visibly embarrassed, but he can’t stop beaming at you. It’s borderline gag-worthy.

“—He’s got no fucking clue.”

[lennadanvers]

Thought this was pretty useful <3

I made a couple of flow charts for the ace and aro spectrums! Not meant to be taken 100% factual- you know yourself better than a basic flowchart. They’re mainly just for fun, though they can also be a good start for anyone questioning!

(Free to use as long as you keep my url on them and aren’t making money off it!)

[lennadanvers]

I have Modern!Eddie x YogaInstructor!Reader brainrot. Send help

(do not)

(send ideas. Thoughts. Comments.)

Like I just know Modern!Eddie goes to therapy. And I also know he hates doing things like running or going to the gym. He just doesn't consider himself the athletic type at all. But he also has anxiety. So his therapist suggests he starts with something that will help him calm down and burn energy.

Eddie has zero interest in yoga (nothing farther from his style), but he decides to go so he can at least say he tried. He gets to your studio, all dressed in black and with his hair in a bun, and feels so out of place.

And then he meets you. And you make him feel so calm and safe. And also how the fuck are you that flexible? And is he supposed to have balance? And why does it smell so good here?

He leaves feeling absolutely exhausted (who would have thought doing yoga could be so tiring?) and with the suspicion that he has a tiny crush on you. Maybe not so tiny.

[lennadanvers]

Listen, I'm all for biker!Simon with all black gear, black helmet and black bike.

But! What about biker!Simon with a white bike and all black gear and helmet? At night it kinda looks like the bike is moving on its own. Or like it has a ghost rider.

Just saying.