#<-I GUESS. it would resent that. sorry mother | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neteyamsilly · 1 year

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer.

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.”

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him.

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.”

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said.

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?”

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.”

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant.

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again.

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.”

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!”

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped.

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.”

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?”

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.”

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?”

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight.

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s. “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated.

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!”

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while.

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk.

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows.

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.”

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand.

Just what was happening? What had you done?

Eywa, it had to be sky people.

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind.

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline.

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known.

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought.

It was mom.

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix.

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you.

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off.

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father.

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point.

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that.

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches.

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you.

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin.

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired.

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life.

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word.

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain.

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right.

Got an ikran for nothing.

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it.

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone.

A ticking time bomb.

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful.

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction.

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know.

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way.

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety.

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves.

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily.

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to. “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you.

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories.

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony.

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it.

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.”

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!”

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air? “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry.

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute.

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance.

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking.

And you fulfilled his wish.

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily @n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝#📖: light

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

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And I cried when you first said, "Oel ngati kameie" - Neteyam x Metkayina ! reader (forbidden love)

summary: despite her father's wariness of the sully's and their 'demon-blood,' y/n can't help but feel drawn to neteyam. as the two of them bond over their similar experiences of parental pressure, he finds himself falling in love with her

contains: love triangle, friends to lovers, forbidden romance/love, daddy issues (idk where that came from), fluff

wc: 5.7k

a/n: damn, i was hoping to post this like six hours ago but i did not expect for a oneshot to take a whole day to edit. please don't question me about neteyam and y/n's father, i don't want to develop that plot further bc this is a oneshot, so just assume it's a happy ending

masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Ever since the Sully family moved to Awa’atlu, whether for better, or for the worst, they became the center of attention. Despite the initial wariness of their nature, villagers eventually seemed to warm up to them, making their stay more comfortable. But unlike the others, you remained hesitant to approach them, your father's warnings of their 'demon-blood' weighing heavily on your mind. It was only in these rare moments, when you couldn't help but notice their oldest son, Neteyam.

“Where were you? I needed you there exactly for situations like this,” Jake raised his voice at Neteyam, “You’re supposed to look after your siblings!”

You watched from a distance, observing the way Neteyam hunched in shame and nodded his head in acceptance of the fault, the way he’d blink rapidly to avoid the tears welling up in his eyes, every time his father’s voice would get louder. It was a familiar sight to you, one that brought back memories of your own father raising his voice at you for disappointing him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Neteyam expressed with sincere guilt in his voice, “I promise I’ll do better next time.”

“I know,” Jake sighed, “Dismissed.”

Jake's pained expression mirrored the face of your own father after his angry outbursts. Ever since your mother's passing, the responsibility of caring for your younger brother Tewtxey had fallen on your shoulders. Your father was tough on you, stricter than the other parents. He believed that protection meant safety, rarely showing you any tenderness. But he had no idea how much his tough love only made you rougher around the edges and deepened the resentment you felt towards him. You despised him in the depths of your heart, unable to make up for his harsh ways with the love you craved from him.

The sight of Neteyam rushing off into the trees tugged at your heartstrings. You guessed that he was in a hurry to find a private corner where he could finally break down. But as much as you wanted to trail after him and tell him that you understood, that it was no big deal to mess up sometimes, you couldn’t. You weren’t close like that, in fact, your interactions had been limited to mere greetings exchanged in passing. Yet, you had witnessed the way his father scolded him for his siblings’ troublemaking on many occasions now, and it felt like you knew him. You were already struggling to take care of one sibling, you couldn’t imagine how hard it was on him to keep an eye on three.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“And what were you thinking leaving Tewtxey alone?” your father was pacing around your marui, tail swishing aggressively from side to side.

You winced when he halted directly in front of you, waiting expectantly for an answer. It was easy for you to tune him out whenever he went on long angry rants, counting down minutes for him to cool down, but whenever he wanted you to answer him, that was when you felt your blood boil. Admitting to your mistakes verbally, without sounding defensive, was a challenge.

“He wasn’t alone,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“I said, he wasn’t alone. He was with Tuktirey, and her father was watching them,” you raised your head slightly to look at his face.

“I told you I do not trust that demon,” your father spat through gritted teeth, “How could you leave your little brother with him?”

“Dad, he is the Toruk Makto. Hasn’t he proved himself to be one of us?” you felt irritated with your father’s stubbornness.

You knew that it was a sensitive subject for him. Having lost his mate to a stupid, pointless interaction with sky people, he was forever in deep hatred towards them. He was conflicted when he first found out about Toruk Makto’s past. It was difficult to respect someone who was a dreamwalker, whose children were only 'half-Na’vi.'

“You dare to challenge me?” he raised his voice at you, sending a shiver down your spine, “All I ask of you is to protect your brother! Is it so hard to listen to me? Is it so hard to understand why your mother is no longer here?”

He hit a nerve with the last question. Of course, ever since her passing, you missed your mother terribly. She was the balance in your family, the gentle touch you craved. But instead of bonding over the loss, your relationship with your father grew more distant. Suddenly, you were too reckless for him, too distracted. He was scared of how much you resembled your mother, of the possibility of the same fate befalling you.

“I’m sorry,” you hung your head in defeat.

Your father began pacing around the room again, his mind searching for another reason to scold you for. It seemed like it wasn’t enough to make you understand how disappointed he was. He stopped, when his eyes landed on the spear resting against the wall. You drew in a sharp breath, realizing that you had forgotten to sharpen the weapon for his upcoming hunt.

“What is this?” he gripped the spear tightly, pointing it accusingly at you, “Are you abandoning your chores now?”

“I forgot about it,” you mumbled.

“I cannot understand what could be keeping you so occupied all day that you neglect your duties. What kind of behavior is this, Y/N?”

Taking the spear from his hand, you stepped back, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes. It wasn't his disappointment that frustrated you; it was his inability to see things from your perspective. He didn’t understand how hard it was on you to grow up without a mother, to always be strong in front of him.

“I’ll do it now,” you promised, taking another step back, “May I go now?”

“Go!” your father shouted.

You fled the marui, gasping for breath to calm yourself down. It felt like all the emotions you had been suppressing came crashing down on you at once. But before you could even begin to process them, the sight in front of you captured your attention.

Your brother was standing with his back turned to you, Neteyam crouched down in front of him not too far. They were playing some sort of game with their hands, when the pair of golden eyes followed your walk up to them. Your brother seemed to pay you no mind, but Neteyam lifted his gaze to greet you with his thick accent.

You only nodded, pursing your lips together and deciding to send away your brother after he’s finished with the game. As you watched them play, it wasn’t hard to notice how distracted Neteyam was by your presence. He’d constantly glance at you to read your expressions, and you guessed he heard the argument that was unraveling minutes ago. Taking advantage of his opponent’s distraction, your brother exclaimed in victory.

“Good job,” Neteyam smiled, patting your brother’s head.

“Y/N, did you see?” Tewtxey looked up to you with a bright smile. You were forced to return it, placing an arm around his shoulder.

“I did. Now go home and eat, alright?”

Your gentle approach has always worked wonders with your little brother, unlike your father's strictness. He usually obeyed you without hesitation. Tewtxey smiled at Neteyam one last time before leaving the two of you alone. Neteyam stood up, looming over you with his frame.

“He was bouncing around here and looked scared to go in,” he began to explain, “I just wanted to distract him before things cooled down.”

You nodded in agreement. You were always worried that Tewtxey would get caught in the crossfire of your arguments with your father. He was too young to be involved.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Neteyam’s gaze softened, eyes roaming over your features again.

Given the distance from your marui, Neteyam had likely heard everything. He seemed to be curious about how much you were hiding, how the pained expression on your face a few minutes ago was now replaced by a neutral one. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, the weight of the spear in your hand suddenly seeming heavier.

“Well, I have to go,” you cleared your throat, stepping back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

You nodded, turning to leave. Neteyam trailed after you as you walked towards the far end of the beach. When you sat down to sharpen the spear, he joined you and plopped down quietly beside you.

“Are you sure you’re alright? That sounded harsh,” he broke the silence.

You blinked rapidly, not daring to meet his golden eyes. Instead, you tried focusing at the task on hand, your motions quick and rough, attempting to make the tip of the spear as pointed as you could. The wood occasionally nicked your fingers, causing stinging pain, but you paid no attention to it. Neteyam watched you silently for a moment, before he reached out and took the spear from your hands, setting it aside. You exhaled, finally meeting his eyes.

“I'm alright. My father just doesn’t know how to handle this by himself."

“Handle what by himself?”

“Me, I guess…raising me. Without mom by his side.”

You were a mystery to Neteyam from the first day of his arrival, always keeping a distance with him, as your father’s harsh gaze grazed his family whenever they crossed paths in public. Neteyam didn’t really understand the reason for the dislike but the argument he overheard earlier helped him piece together some of the puzzle.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said quietly, “Ao’nung mentioned it once to us. It must have been hard without her.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, turning your gaze towards the horizon.

The gentle sound of waves crashing against each other accompanied the sunset, casting a sparkling glow on the water.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After that moment you shared with Neteyam, you often found yourself running into each other. Whether it was after a fight with your father, or a stressful day for Neteyam, you somehow managed to offer each other a listening ear.

It was easy to open up to him, when you knew he could relate. His eyes always softened at the sight of you, arms instinctively reaching out to pat you on the back whenever you sobbed into his chest after another heavy argument. It seemed like with age, your father was becoming more unbearable, and refused to understand you on any given matter.

“What did he say?” Neteyam asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Well, he saw us hanging out, so make your guess,” you let out a bitter chuckle, wiping your face.

Neteyam couldn’t help but feel partially guilty for the treatment you were getting. He knew about your father's disapproval of him, but he couldn't resist spending time with you and offering comfort after a fight, even if he was the cause of it. You were the only person with whom he could share his own struggles, and feel accepted.

Of course, hanging out with Neteyam was also a way for you to rebel against your father's orders and show him that he couldn't control you. He didn’t realize that it was his hatred that pushed you further into Neteyam’s arms.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

As the weeks passed, your friendship with Neteyam grew stronger. There was something special between you but you failed to see the impact you were having on Neteyam's life. You had become the first thought on his mind every morning, his trainings passed in hopes to see you. When he was with you, he wished for time to stand still. And when he went to sleep, he anticipated dreaming about you. But Neteyam was fully aware of the risks of catching feelings for someone whose family despised him.

So he bit his tongue, hoping that you wouldn’t notice it. That maybe with time, things will get better. He was from a different clan, and your father had a clear disdain for him. Even if you reciprocate his feelings, pursuing you would be complicated, if not impossible. But he couldn't deny the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, the way his heart fluttered when you laughed at his jokes. He couldn't help but wonder if there was a chance for something more between you two, yet he was forced to push the thought aside.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

But jealousy is a disease that brings out the worst in one. Neteyam felt it brewing inside him, as he intensely watched you talking to Ao’nung. Despite knowing about your close friendship with Ao’nung, Neteyam didn’t like him. The way his smile widened every time you said something, the way he stood so close to you…it made his blood boil.

He tried hard to focus on sharpening his arrow, not to raise suspicion in Tsireya and Lo'ak next to him, but his eyes kept drifting to you and Ao'nung. With another stroke of his knife, he accidentally grazed his finger, catching Tsireya’s attention.

“Lo’ak, could you please bring me my shawl? It’s getting chilly,” she asked, her eyes big and innocent.

Lo’ak stood up without a question, not paying attention to his brother’s strange behavior. As soon as he was out of earshot, Tsireya turned her concerned gaze back to Neteyam. He was still watching you with Ao’nung, now sitting down on the sand, your knees touching, deep in a conversation. He had never even heard Ao’nung speak to his friends for more than five minutes, what could he possibly be saying to captivate your attention for so long? Neteyam scoffed in disbelief.

“Is something bothering you?” Tsireya asked. His head snapped to her, embarrassed that he got caught.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, returning to the task at hand.

For a moment, Neteyam pondered whether he should ask Tsireya about her brother. Find out if the rumors he had heard from Rotxo were true, if there was a possibility of you being promised to Ao'nung.

“Tsireya, can I ask you something?” he lowered his voice.

“Sure,” she nodded. When Neteyam hesitated to continue, looking around, she reassured him, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Um…Is it true that Ao’nung and Y/N are to become mated?”

Tsireya frowned slightly, and Neteyam couldn’t tell if it was because of his sudden interest in the matter, or because it was untrue. He gulped, secretly hoping it was the latter. She took a long pause before answering.

“Sorry, you caught me off guard,” she apologized, “I just haven’t heard that rumor in a long time.”

“So, it is a rumor?”

“They haven’t promised themselves to each other as mates, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Tsireya elaborated, making Neteyam cringe in embarrassment, “But I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“What do you mean?” his ears perked up at the implication.

“Well…” she sighed, “Ao’nung and Y/N always have been close friends. And my father is quite vocal about his admiration for her. He thinks she can be a good mate to Ao’nung, when he becomes the chief.”

Neteyam's eyes darted all over Tsireya's face, trying to understand if there was anything else she wasn’t saying.

"What about Y/N?" he asked, quickly glancing in your direction, "Does she like him? Does she feel pressured because of your father or something?"

“Any girl would feel pressured by my father, but I cannot speak for Y/N,” she answered honestly, “If it makes you feel easy, Y/N and Ao’nung never crossed their boundaries.”

Neteyam hummed in agreement but he didn’t understand anything. His mind was racing with questions, yet he didn’t have the answers. How come Tsireya did not know if you liked her brother? Were you into him? Even if you weren’t, wouldn’t you reciprocate the feelings of the future chief? Surely, Ao’nung wasn't the easiest person to be around, but he seemed different with you.

“Maybe you should ask her about it. You’re friends,” Tsireya nudged him.

Friends.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“You’re quiet,” you pointed out, as Neteyam dragged his feet after you, deep into the trees.

“I’m usually quiet,” he muttered.

“Not like this,” you disagreed, gauging for further clarification but Neteyam remained silent.

You did not know that there was a burning desire to confess his feelings to you raging in Neteyam’s mind. Despite Tsireya’s uncertainty the evening prior, Neteyam had already convinced himself that there was something going on between you and the future Olo'eyktan. So he felt rushed to tell you about your feelings, to prevent you from mating with Ao’nung.

But he couldn't help but wonder if he would truly be the best thing for you. What could he offer to you? He was a forest Na’vi, who did not know the way of water, who was useless in the sea. He was unfamiliar to your traditions, his whole life Neteyam prepared for leading the clan, but in Awa’atlu he had nothing to give.

To make matters worse, he found himself competing against the chief's son, someone you had grown up with and knew very well. And Neteyam could never replace that kind of relationship. Did you ever see him past your friendship, the way he saw you? The doubt and insecurity were consuming him from within.

“Is it because of my father?” you decided to guess, stopping in your tracks.

Neteyam walked past you, shaking his head. You pondered for a moment, before following him.

“Did my little brother break something when you let him play with your stuff the other day?”

Neteyam ignored your guess, holding back the big leaves in your way, waiting for you to catch up. He was deep in his thoughts, yet remained gentle and caring with you. Your gaze softened at the gesture.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He held your gaze without answering. That was it.

“What did I do?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Nothing, you did nothing wrong.”

“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be tuning me out. I must have done something wrong,” you nudged his shoulder for a reply.

“I was just thinking…” he sighed, meeting your eyes, “Is it true about you and Ao’nung?”

“What about me and Ao’nung?”

“That you’re going to be mates.”

You snorted in disbelief. Although it was a topic of countless conversations with your father, who was eager to arrange a match between his daughter and the future Olo'eyktan, you were too stubborn to comply with your father’s wishes, instead of your own. You and Ao'nung had a strong friendship, sharing almost everything with each other, but it was just that. Friendship.

“That’s ridiculous, where’d you hear that?” you quirked your eyebrow at him.

“Rotxo.”

“It’s just a silly rumor that’s been going around since we were kids,” you rolled your eyes. You especially despised it a few years back, when people started teasing you for hampering other girls from pursuing Ao’nung.

“So you’re just friends?” Neteyam asked, his tone more hopeful.

“Just friends,” you confirmed, “He is like a brother to me.”

“I don’t think he sees you like a sister, Y/N.”

“Why do you care?” you teased him, “Are you jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of Ao’nung?” he scoffed.

“No reason,” you snickered, walking past him into the clearing.

Neteyam followed after you eagerly, his steps quickening to catch up. You tried to hide a devilish smirk, knowing that you'd pique his interest.

"What is it that Ao’nung has that I don't?"

"Let it go, Neteyam," you swatted at him with your hand. "I'm not going to compare my two friends to each other."

Neteyam pursed his lips, annoyed that he had to drop the subject. He knew that if he pushed too far, he'd be caught in his own trap, coming undone in front of you. There was something about you that made him feel exposed, and he was afraid that you would see right through him.

“Here it is,” you pointed at the spear on the ground. You had lost it the evening prior, and Neteyam was sure you dropped it around here.

“Told you,” he murmured, beating you to it and picking up the spear for himself.

“Thank Eywa,” you grinned at him, “Now let’s go back. If father sees you carrying my spear, he’ll be so annoyed!”

It was an innocent joke. The way you said it wasn’t mischievous, at least not towards Neteyam. You only enjoyed the irritation growing in your father, whenever he saw you spending time with the ‘demon-kid.’ In a strange way, you felt like you were fighting him back. But to Neteyam it was stressful to bear your father’s angry glances. He didn’t like pushing it.

“Is that all this friendship is to you?” his sudden insecurity caught you off guard.

“Huh?”

"Getting back at your father? Is that the only reason you hang out with me, just to piss him off?" his voice grew more accusatory.

“Where is this coming from?” you chuckled in disbelief, “Are you serious?”

“I am,” Neteyam gulped down, “Would you still spend time with me, if your father didn’t hate me so much? I can tell this is how you repay him for being harsh with you. But it’s unfair to me. You don’t get to use me as a tool of your rebellion, don’t get to play with my feelings like that.”

“Neteyam,” you exhaled, now speaking seriously, “I would never let him control my life to the point where he decides whom I befriend. I like spending time with you because of you. You’re very dear to me.”

Neteyam fell silent, doubts bouncing around in his golden eyes. You held his gaze, trying to convince him of the sincerity of your words.

“Do you believe me?”

“I guess,” he shook his head, “I just have a hard time believing anyone genuinely likes me.”

“What are you on about?” you neared him, “The whole village has grown fond of you. I mean, even Ao’nung… He used to fight with you, but now he’s hanging out with Lo’ak like nothing happened.”

“Exactly, he’s hanging out with Lo’ak, not me. He still doesn’t like me,” Neteyam said, his lips twitching with a hint of a smile.

“You dislike him,” you disagreed.

“Only because he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, he just…” you sighed, already regretting what you were about to reveal, “He just thinks that you’re stealing me from him.”

“Stealing you? Is he jealous or something?” an amused smile creeped onto Neteyam’s face.

“I guess. Ao��nung is possessive, you know, he doesn’t like to share.”

“Well then, I guess he’ll just have to deal with it.”

As Neteyam turned on his heels, his braids swayed around with a mind of their own. You watched him walk towards the village, gripping your spear, a slight spring in his step. You could already feel the punishment you’d get, once Neteyam uses this new information against Ao’nung.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Hey, play nice,” you called out to Tuk and your little brother, as they were actively splashing water over each other.

While it was mostly playful, kids their age could easily get too competitive and excited. You propped yourself on your elbows, watching them play in the shallow water. After a fight with your dad, it was now your responsibility to watch Tewtxey whenever he played with Tuk. If it weren’t for your protests, your father wouldn’t even allow their friendship to flourish, so this was the only compromise that you managed to agree upon. You grinned as you watched how happy your brother was, his little giggles filling the air around you with a warm glow. It was in moments like these that you especially missed your mother. You wished she could be there to see her youngest making a friend.

“Babysitting duty?” a thick-accented voice called out, before Neteyam came into your view.

You rolled your eyes at him, earning a low chuckle. Neteyam sat next to you on the sand, his hand brushing past your thigh. You tried to ignore the flush in your cheeks.

“Is your father okay with this?” he pried, gesturing at the kids.

“As long as I keep an eye on them,” you replied with a sigh, “But don’t worry about it, it’s only temporary. My father will get over it.”

“How come?”

“Well, it’s hard not to like Tuk,” you turned your face to look at Neteyam, “And my father has a soft spot for kids. He’s not good with me, but he’s good with Tewtxey and his friends.”

“You think if you have Tuk around enough, he’ll warm up to her?” Neteyam guessed.

“Definitely,” you nodded, “It’d take some time but he’ll like her. She’s a good kid.”

“Okay,” Neteyam agreed, “What about me, though?”

“Hm? What about you?” you asked playfully, catching a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Do you have any ideas on how to get your father to warm up to me?"

“Why would I want that? It wouldn’t be as fun,” you teased him.

“Well, I could argue that it's best for your father to like his daughter's future mate, don't you agree?" Neteyam's voice was light-hearted and playful, yet your heart started racing in your chest.

“W-what?” you stuttered.

“You heard me,” he chuckled.

He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your reaction, it was certain to him that you might have felt something for him too. It was the first time Neteyam blatantly tested the waters for a sign, and you didn’t let him down. He turned his face to continue watching the kids, acting nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Ao’nung pushed you down, his arm firmly planted on your chest, while his other arm quickly snuck around your back to try and flip you over. You protested, pushing against his ribs, trapping his legs with your thighs. You were fake wrestling on the sand, both of you trying to get the upper hand.

“Just give up,” Ao’nung huffed, as you struggled against him.

“Never, skxawng,” you huffed back, determined to win the friendly match.

“Get off her!” a thick accent cut through the air, and you caught a glimpse of blue hands grabbing Ao’nung by the neck and pulling him off you.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam attacked Ao’nung with a flurry of punches, one of them landing right on the confused boy’s cheekbone. Angrily, Ao’nung hit him back in the face, and before things could escalate further, you jumped in between the two with an angry hiss.

“Back off, both of you!”

“How dare you hit her?” Neteyam ignored you, trying to reach for Ao’nung.

“We were just playing, Neteyam, calm down,” you said, pushing him back slightly and taking a protective stance in front of Ao’nung.

“Who plays like that? You could’ve hurt her!” Neteyam growled.

“It is none of your business, anyway, skxawng,” Ao’nung stepped forward, looking him up and down.

“Ao’nung, stop,” you exhaled in frustration, then turned to Neteyam, “I’m okay, you didn’t have to protect me.”

“He thinks he has some sort of claim over you because he likes you,” Ao’nung let out a bitter chuckle, “She doesn’t need your useless ass guarding her.”

“What did you say?” Neteyam took an angry step towards him, but you quickly extended your arm to prevent him.

“Neteyam, stop,” you pleaded with him.

Neteyam hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Ao'nung. He clenched his fists, his posture still tense, but he took a step back. His lip was bleeding.

“Let's all just go to Tsahik,” you said softly, turning towards Ao'nung, “Are you okay?”

Ao'nung nodded, wincing as you touched his swollen cheekbone. Before you could even grab Neteyam’s arm, to make him follow after you, he was already storming off, a sense of betrayal pitting in the bottom of his stomach.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“No matter how much your father scolds you, it is never enough,” Ronal tsked in disapproval, as she treated Ao’nung’s wounds.

“I told you, that skxawng attacked me first,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes at his mother, earning a low hiss from her.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” you explained, feeling the urge to justify Neteyam in front of the Tsahik, “He thought that you were hurting me.”

“Neteyam is a good boy,” Ronal stood up, signaling that she was done, “You’re nice to Lo’ak, you should be nice to him too”

“Lo’ak is still a kid, he can learn from me,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes, “But Neteyam is too arrogant.”

“Neteyam is not arrogant. In fact, the two of you have many similarities,” you added, earning a supportive nod from Ronal.

Ao’nung ignored you, as he thanked his mother and walked out of the marui. You couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving Neteyam untreated.

“Tsahik, do you think I could take some of that balm to Neteyam?” you asked hesitantly, “I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’m done.”

“Take your time.”

You walked out, determined to find Neteyam, a bowl of white paste nestled gently in your hand. You were surprised to find Ao’nung lingering around the marui, kicking the rocks under his feet out of boredom.

“You should stop playing with him if you don’t want him to get the wrong idea,” he commented, acknowledging your presence.

“I’m not playing with anyone,” you frowned in response.

“Come on, Y/N,” Ao’nung looked up at you with a smug smile, “Surely, you can see that the boy is head over heels for you.”

“Who? Neteyam?” you were taken aback.

“Who else?”

“Nonsense, he sees me as a friend.”

“Whatever,” Ao’nung rolled his eyes at you in annoyance, “I’m just saying, you should tell him the truth. Whether you like him or not, he needs to know. I’m tired of him shooting daggers at me, whenever I talk to you.”

Did he really believe that Neteyam liked you? You could only hope that Ao’nung was right, that this was the only matter when you couldn’t see right through Neteyam.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you reached Sully's marui, you spotted Tuk standing at the entrance, as if guarding someone. Upon catching sight of you, she ran up to you, grabbing your wrist.

“Y/N, Neteyam is hurt!” she exclaimed, “He won’t let me get mom to take care of him.”

“Is he alone?” you asked, following after her. She nodded, “Don’t worry, I’ll help him, okay?”

Tuk hung back at the entrance as you walked into the marui. Neteyam was sitting on the ground, shooting an annoyed look at his little sister. She quickly ran away, before he could even open his mouth.

“How come you never listen to me?” you started light-heartedly, approaching him.

“Why are you here? Aren’t you too busy taking care of Ao’nung?” he frowned at you.

You only shook your head, crouching down in front of him. He had wiped away the blood, but you could still see the cut on his wounded lip. It definitely stung when he spoke.

“I wanted you to come with us to Tsahik, why did you run away?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt your moment with him,” Neteyam answered through his gritted teeth.

You were confused by his sudden behavior. Sure, it might have been a little embarrassing to misinterpret the situation and react to it, but you wondered if there was something else bothering Neteyam. Was Ao’nung right? Without talking, you used one of his shoulders to rely on him, as you leaned in. Neteyam relaxed under your touch, letting you apply the medicine to his wounded lips without much protest. You let your finger graze over his face for a little longer before pulling away.

“Better?” you asked, earning a grateful nod.

As the sight of his bruised knuckles caught your attention, you immediately picked up his hand. He must have been furious, thinking he was protecting you from Ao’nung. Neteyam flinched, when you brought his hand closer to your face.

“Mawey,” you whispered, before placing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He watched you quietly, trying to calm his breathing. You weren’t sure what exactly you were doing, but it just felt right to comfort him this way. To show him that you weren’t betraying him, that you wanted him to be safe. When you turned his hand for further examination of wounds, your fingers grazed over the small cuts and calluses on his palms. You guessed they were from his training, and your heart swelled a little with admiration at the thought. It was a reminder of Neteyam's dedication and strength, the very same reason why you started seeing him in a different light. You looked up at him, your eyes conveying your unspoken admiration.

“Why are you upset with me?” you asked softly.

“Because you chose him over me,” he mumbled, his tone offended, yet he allowed you to hold his hand in yours.

“I wasn’t choosing anyone. It wasn’t about picking sides.”

“But you did,” he shook his head, “Whether you admit it or not, your first instinct was to protect him.”

“You attacked him first, Neteyam. I was only defending my friend,” you tried to break through his stubbornness.

“I am your friend too,” he pursed his lips again.

"Well, I kind of hoped that you were more than just a friend," you exhaled, letting go of his hand.

Neteyam's mouth hung open in shock, and you wondered if he had picked up on the double meaning in your words.

"I don't understand," he sat up straight, his gaze fixed on you, "Are you saying that you don't want us to be just friends?"

"Yes,” you felt a wave of frustration washing over you, “You can be so dense sometimes. Has it ever occurred to you that I like you?”

Neteyam's face lit up with a smile, and he reached out to cup your face in his hands.

"I could only hope for you to feel that way," he said, his eyes shining with pure happiness, “Oel ngati kameie, Y/N.”

“Oel ngati kameie,” you whispered, feeling tears of joy welling up in your eyes.

You had never cried out of happiness before, but in that moment, knowing that Neteyam truly saw you, the real you, and loved you for it, you couldn't help it. Neteyam let out a confused chuckle, but quickly gathered you into his arms, holding you close and comforting you, as you cried onto his chest.

“I didn’t want to make you cry, silly,” he whispered softly into your hair, amusement evident in his voice.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

forgot that i had a taglist :'( i hope you guys still get the notification

@bigdikzaddy @awriana @scarletrosesposts @abbersreads @mechformers @my-love-of-books @avatarbyamara @robin-the-enby @netemoon @minjix @nilrilie @jakes-babygirl @grierpilots @suntizme @jakesully-sbabygirl @mechformers @lovedbychoi @netemoon @avatarbyamara @live-laugh-neteyam @lovedbychoi @jakesullylongjuiscyshlong

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 days

Text

Dirty Work 54

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I am back to work tmrw.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You choose a simple dress. You like the shade of peach even as Loki eyes you archly. It might not be the choice that offends him but the state of yourself. Your nose is still healing, bandaged but not as heavily, and you have much left to recover. His own injuries remain tinged on his pale skin.

You shimmy the dress on and turn your back to him as he drones cynically. His fingers creep up along your bottom to meet the zipper and he tugs it up slowly. He’s reluctant.

“What is it? You don’t like the dress?” You face him.

“I’d rather prefer you naked,” he purrs with a wink, “but I am not overly fond of the colour, no.”

“Oh, but... you bought it?”

“Yes, my sister did have it included in the purchase but... it is rather bright.”

“I like it,” you run your hands over your stomach and hips, “it fits nicely but if you want me to change...”

“No, darling, do what you wish,” he crosses his arms, “I must learn to let you do so.”

You narrow your eyes. His malleability does not come without resentment. You shrug. You don’t have all day to be sussing out his preference.

“What is it you and my mother have planned?” He asks.

“I’m not certain,” you say as you search for your phone. The one he gave you.

“No? Hm, darling, what about a necklace?” He goes to the jewellery box and plucks out a golden chain with a peridot emblem.

“I guess,” you dig around in your work bag, most of your luggage still unpacked.

“You guess? It is a pretty necklace. What about amethyst?”

“Loki,” you fish out your phone but not the one you meant to. Your old flip.

You put it down on the nightstand stiffly and return to your search. It feels so long ago that you were that person. That sad girl living with your father and flitting through a meandering existence. You won’t say you’ve moved up very much, still at the whim of a man, but you feel distant from that person.

Perhaps Walpurgisnacht was more a rebirth than you could know.

“Pet...” Loki comes closer as you retrieve your work phone. It’s dead.

“I need to charge it,” you show him the device.

“You should toss the old one. Doubt it even works.”

“I know, I will. I have to back it up,” you say evasively. There’s not much on it but it’s the only connection you still have to your previous life. You’re not ready to slice through that last strand.

“Mm, right then, well, another to do for the list,” he steps nearer and tickles your waist, “suppose you delay your little outing with my mother and I take you to lunch--”

“She’s a guest, and your mother,” you rebuke. “Loki, I’m only doing what I need to do. Isn’t that what you want?”

He sighs, “yes, but... it is still my house. I would like more than my leave. I should say when you need go pick out flowers or tablecloths or whatnot.”

“Proposals typically lead to all that,” you say, “at least from what I know.”

“What you know?” He muses.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few Kate Hudson movies,” you quip and give a goofy smile but quickly repress it. “Sorry, that wasn’t... funny.”

His cheeks dimple and his nostrils flair, his lips slightly curved, “is that... humour? From you?”

“Well, I... yeah, why not?”

“Hm, it isn’t a slight but you are not one for laughter.”

“Or maybe you’ve never made me laugh,” you blurt out and quickly snap your mouth shut.

His brows drop and his smile too. You stare at him. Oops. You are getting to comfortable. Even if you are to be his wife, you aren’t his equal. You don’t know that you could ever be.

He chuckles, “darling, how very sharp.” He reaches to frame your chin and turns you to him completely, “I should try harder then, to hear your sweet laughs.”

You smile, a flutter in your chest, “that’s sweet.”

“I am sweet,” he says, offended. “What do you mean?”

You just stare at him. Is he kidding?

“Don’t,” he warns with a frown. “Very well, go, have fun. Should I need anything, I will be certain to let mother know since you will be without tether...” he keeps his hand on you, squeezing, “you will be safe with her, I know.”

“Loki,” you murmur, “he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t.”

He stares at you solemnly, “no, he shouldn’t.”

It seems as if he doubts his own words. For a moment, you do too. He knows his brother much better. Yet, how can Thor return when all have turned their backs on him?

“There is no hurry, mother can wait...”

“Loki, she’s only visiting,” you remind him, “the sooner it’s done, the sooner they go, right?”

“Mm, you are clever,” he looks past you with apprehension, “suppose so. And I should speak with father about some things...” he leans in and kisses your forehead, withdrawing absently as he taps his fingertips together, “weddings and such...”

You give him a look but he’s too distracted to notice. This whole affair is his idea and yet he is uncertain. You watch him placidly.

“We don’t have to... marry--”

“No, no,” he returns his attention to you, “of course we must. We will—how could you—oh, I know it is all very new to you, pet, but trust in me. It isn’t my first rodeo. Regrettably.”

You feel a pang at the allusion to his previous marriage. You remember Sif with her sleek figure and her perfect smile and her sparkling eyes. You are second in all ways to her.

“I should go,” you insist with a sniff.

“Mm, yes, you should,” he grabs your shoulders and lays another kiss, this time on your lips. “I have told mother very strictly not to dawdle so you shouldn’t either.”

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him.

“When did you get so confident,” he teases as he retracts from you.

You offer a sheepish smile. Not confident, but hopeful. A change nonetheless.

✨

Frigga insists on lunch before you do anything. You’re struck with deja vu as she returns to that same place you went to with her sons. That day feels like eons ago but it’s been just over a month.

The change feels all the more sudden after a lifetime of stagnancy. With your dad, every day blurred together, the constancy was as dull as it was oppressive. Yet, you mourn it all the same. The spontaneity and turbulence of your new existence proves just as paralysing at times.

You may have gone from maid to fiancee, but it doesn’t dissolve your expected deference. You are marrying into the Odinsons, they have no need to ingratiate themselves to you. Even as the reminder of her elder son troubles you, you will not mention your worries aloud to the matriarch.

Frigga orders a sparkling water with fruit, you ask for the same. The waitress is not subtle as she eyes your bandaged nose. Just another reason for you to feel out of place. It's tender but feels much better.

You peer up at the sky as you sit in the open patio and the scent of the curated flowers around the space wafts in the air. Your dress rustles and tickles your leg, causing you to flinch. Another flash of before. That day you ate with Thor at your side, his hand under the table...

You shudder and blow away the memory. You reach for your water and sip as you look over the entrees. Your appetite is erratic. One second you’re ravenous, the next, nauseous. The tuna sounds good but sickening at once. You’ll get a salad.

“We will have to plan an engagement party first. Perhaps a local venue for that,” she looks at her phone and turns it on its screen as you hear it buzzing.

“Or the house? I thought... the gazebo...”

“Mm, yes, I recall, what was the name of that contractor you hired? I wouldn’t mind a similar build back at our house. Oh, and perhaps if you did want to do the wedding at home as well, a wedding arch might be a thought. I’m certain a carpenter might be up to that task,” she continues, ignoring how her phone rattles her glass. “So, we’ll skip over venues then. But invitations, perhaps? Oo, do you have a dress in mind? A brunch or something in the evening?”

You can hardly keep up with her questions. At least she offers distraction from the shadow looming over your shoulder. Both of them. If it isn’t one son, it’s the other.

The waitress returns and you order. Frigga eyes you as she puts in for a monte cristo with the soup du jour. You try to smile. You’re tired.

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve not been eating very much.”

“Oh, haven’t I?” You squirm evasively. “I’m... fine, I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Oh, darling, forgive me if I am overloading you,” she fans herself with her hand, “I apologise. I’ve a bad habit of getting head over feet about these things. I have so many ideas all at once but if I sit still, I feel I might burst.”

Her words call you back to Loki pacing and circling at the hotel, then at home, he manic muttering.

“It’s alright. I don’t think of any of it. I don’t know where to begin,” you assure her.

“Ah, well, yes, but I’ve had a wedding and my son’s had a wedding already,” she chuckles, “so I do have a bit more experience. You shouldn’t worry terribly if you have questions. I am simply here to guide you.”

“I know--”

Her phone shakes again and she sighs.

“Pardon,” she tilts the phone up and you see the incoming call; Loki. She quickly turns off the ringer. “My, he is a pest. It cannot be that important--”

“I don’t have my phone,” you say, “maybe he needs something.”

“My son can wait. He is so selfish. Especially about you. Surely, he trusts his own mother,” she scoffs, “anyhow, I think a luncheon might be pleasant enough. Perhaps with a theme. Summer is here and the flowers will be lovely this time of season.”

“Excuse me, miss,” the waitress comes up to the table, a cordless phone in her hand, “there’s a gentleman on the phone asking for you.”

You frown at Frigga then glance up, realising the woman is speaking to you. You blink and take the phone from her. You put it to your ear, staring at Frigga.

“Hello?”

“Pet,” Loki bursts eagerly, “oh, I knew you’d be there. Yes, I only wanted to check in, hear your voice, but I couldn’t get through to mother.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, we were just ordering--”

‘Give me the phone’ Frigga mouths and gestures.

“I...” you begin and her green eyes flare. You hand over the phone.

“Loki, this is not your time. You can wait. We are busy. You have a lovely day and we will be home in a few hours,” she says tritely, “certainly, you might find something to keep yourself busy.”

She doesn’t wait for his response as she hits the end button and hands the phone back to the server, thanking her with a smile. The brunette flits away and you tap your fingers on the table top. Frigga plays with a wave and pushes it behind her ear, “darling, don’t even worry about my son. You just focus on yourself.”

“Thank you, I just...”

“You just don’t worry,” she repeats, “if my son has issue with us doing exactly as we told him we would, then he may take it up with me. Uh, he always was a needy little boy.”

You almost laugh. You might agree with part of her sentiment but you could never imagine Loki as a little boy. In your mind, he just seems as if he’s always been grown. Not like you.

You’ve always felt clueless and inadequate. As if you never moved past childhood, that you got caught behind some wall and watched the adults from afar. Yet, now that you’re on the other side, you still feel a barrier. Like them, but not the same.

Not like the Odinsons especially. A family. You don’t have any of that. The more you think of the wedding, the more you see empty seats. No bridesmaids, not father-daughter dance, no one on your side.

“Dear, have I upset you?” Frigga cuts the silence and you catch yourself staring at the table.

You shake your head and sit up, “no, sorry, just thinking...” you scramble for a lie. You hate that you do that so often now, “what about a tea party?”

“A tea party? Marvelous, I love it,” she trills, “oh, yes, we will have to find some fine porcelain for the event.”

“Loki has lots--”

“Yes, but this is special, dear. You’ll need a special set so you can always remember the party. Oh, and teas. There is a tea shop nearby. They sell loose leaf. We can have a whole array. Ooh, and biscuits, pastries...” she begins to list off. You let her, thankful to forget everything else for the minutest of details. Tea is easy.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #series

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pleepisdelulu · 3 months

Text

In their shadow I Leclerc brothers

Reader's gender is not specified

Word count: 595

I apologize for any spelling mistakes. English is not my first language.

************************************************************************

I always felt like I was living in my brother's shadow.

Charles is an amazing F1 driver. Arthur is doing great in F2. And Lorenzo had just started his on business.

Meanwhile I was just a teenager who didn't excell in anything.

Because my brothers were so busy with racing and stuff I was often put on the backburner. At first I didn't mind because I understood that it was important for my brothers to have my family there.

But after a while I started to feel some sort of resentment towards my family. I know it wasn't fair to my brothers since it started when they were children aswell but I couldn't help it.

I started to seperate myself more and more from my family. I just felt like I would only be getting my hopes up for them to let me down. I didnt't want to get hurt again.

We were having another family dinner. They have been getting alot more awkward due to me and my family not really speaking alot to each other anymore.

We were all eating and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of silverware against the plates.

That was until my mother suddenly said something I hoped she didn't. "So Y/N your teacher called me today and said your school is doing an art exhibition in two weeks".

"Uh yeah that's right" was all I replied before continuing to eat your food.

"What? Why didn't you tell us about this?" Charles asked confused.

"It just didn't really seem that important." I just shrugged. "What do you mean not important" now Arthur was chiming in.

"It's just a school event. And besides it's right before race weekend you guys wouldn't be able to make it anyways".

As soon as I said that the room was filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

As I looked up at my family I could see the dissapointment in their eyes.

They had always supported each other's endeavors, no matter how big or small. And yet here I was, belittling my own achievements before they even had a chance to acknowledge them.

My oldest brother Lorenzo reached across the table, placing his hand on mine. "Y/N your accomplishments are just as important as ours, we want to be there for you to support you".

His words struck a chord within me.

For so long, I had convinced myself that I didn't need their validation anymore, that I could do everything on my own. But the truth is I never stopped hoping that I was wrong.

"I'm sorry" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I guess I just didn't want to burden you all with something that seemes insignificant compared to everyone else".

Charles, Lorenzo,my mother and Arthur exchanged glances, their expressions softening with understanding and regret.

"Y/N nothing you do is insignificant to us" Charles spoke up. "We may have been preoccupied with our racing and stuff, but that doesn't we don't care about what's going on in your life".

Their words filled me with a sense of warmth and belonging that I had been missing for so long.

It was then that I realised I didn't have to live in the shadows of my brothers; I could carve out my own path and still have their unwavering support.

In the weeks that followed, my family rallied behind me, attending the art exhibition with beaming smiles and words of encouragement.

And as I stood next to my artwork, surrounded by my family, I knew that I no longer had to fear being overshadowed.

Because in their eyes, I shone just as brightly as them.

#charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #leclerc brothers #lorenzo leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #f1 angst

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belokhvostikova · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The day has come when you finally return from your suspension, and Eddie is there to provide the detailed account to the tribulations that occurred, but one thing is to be noted: Eddie Munson stayed by your side through it all.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, therapy, bullying, sexist slut shaming, brief allusions to an eating disorder, slight mentions of unwarranted touching, strained parental relationship, harassment, minimal violence, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions and childhood neglect and abuse.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Watched Harry Potter during writing, so I inserted a reference that totally didn’t exist in the timeline, lol. But I do wonder, do you think Eddie Munson would have liked Harry Potter, and what house is he in?! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

“I’m tellin’ you, Ms. K, it was like straight out of a movie!”

Ms. K, he had gotten comfortable. It was good. Great even. Because that Thursday morning, the entire hour-long session consisted of I don't know’s, maybe’s, and I guess’. And yes, Ms. Kelly is a licensed counselor, but she’s also human, and it was starting to frustrate her a bit. Just a teeny tiny bit. But it was progress, nonetheless, and she had let Eddie Munson know that he had her full attention and that there was no judgment. And for that, he was forever grateful. Now, she’d never compare nor expose the intimate details of other students’ tribulations to anyone, but my god, was Eddie Munson a unique character in comparison to the others. There was a switch in him, and evident one. Because that impromptu talk that Thursday morning, she had seen the hardening exterior of Eddie Munson that he casted on the daily basis. No conversation. Blank face. Vehement resentment to vulnerability. But she had studied this field for six years of her life, and she took notice of the yearn in his eyes that was telling him to just speak. Talk. Let it all out. And fortunately it came. By Friday afternoon, he had detailed the events of his life, the weakness of his mother, the ruffian character of his father, and the mistakes of his life as a result. You. Though, he chose to refrain from using your name. There was still some slight embarrassment from telling a school faculty member about his crush. The last thing he needed was Ms. Kelly grinning across the parking lot to him when you returned. And by Monday afternoon—today, the day you came—he’d spoken to her like she was his best friend.

“Was it now?” There was a lingering smile on her face, as Eddie confided about his day, completely relaxed and comfortable with speaking. No tense shoulders. No rigid posture. No nasty tone. “In what ways, Eddie?”

“Well, you should have seen the way she walked in. I mean, my god! Complete badass- oh, I’m so sorry,” He corrected his word choice, “I mean, like totally cool, like she didn’t care what anyone had to say.”

If you knew how Eddie was describing your return to Hawkins High, you would have wished it to be that glamorous. But as it’s been established before, reality is the biggest pain in the ass, and you were terrifyingly panicking in the front seat of your father’s BMW.

Ms. Kelly chuckled at his revelation. “I’ll take your word for it, Eddie.” She nodded. “But while I’m sure this particular person made their grand entrance, I want to know about you. How did seeing them make you feel after taking that needed time apart? Take me back to this morning.”

“Okay.” Eddie agreed. “Uh, this morning…”

This morning.

The crowded parking lot had been filling with the cars and bikes of students loitering before the shrilling ring of the commencing bell. Yearbooks. Yearbooks were everywhere, in the hands of teenagers eager to have their friends commemorate the ending year with the valued signature of friendship and camaraderie. It fucking disgusted him. Everyone smiling about as if they didn’t cast out the one person who dedicated their high school years to taking the very photos everyone was gushing about: the Homecoming dance, the Winter Formal, spirit week. Everything. Every memory that made the school year so great, captured by your work, yet everyone was seemingly ready to throw you away because of him.

It was why he was camping out in the grand lavishness of his van. Black Sabbath was yelling beyond the walls of his vehicle, prompting to receive the dirty looks he’d been all too accustomed to, as he sat back with a lit cigarette hanging from his dry lips. Grant Goodman and Gareth Emerson had been stationed by the bike racks, where Jeff Best had just arrived on his trusty wheels. His friends. Conversed like normal, probably waiting for the arrival of Eddie, as they did everyday, but Eddie had no plans of coming out of his car. Yet, at least. Looking a little to the left, he took notice of Dustin Henderson spewing nonsense to the once infamous "King" Steve Harrington, who once actually bumped into Eddie’s shoulder in the hallway and threw him a dirty look during their shared years. He always wondered what Dustin Henderson saw in “The Hair,” maybe he’s changed? I mean, he does seem to be the personal chauffeur of Robin Buckley, who he was once in a band with before he abruptly quit after seeing the mandatory outfits. And she was always cool. Weird, but cool. Mike Wheeler had joined their conversation, alongside Lucas Sinclair, which is when he caught wind of Nancy Wheeler rushing into school with her quiet friend, he believed her name was Barb Holland. Looking at them walk away, Eddie wondered what would be the possibility of convincing Nancy Wheeler into letting you rejoin the Yearbook Committee. Surely with the way sales were booming, more help was needed, right? And she had to feel bad for what unfolded for you, right? And with the quickest glimpse away, he followed the shy figure of Chrissy Cunningham, who walked with her books held tightly, and a talkative Jessica Lewis trailing behind, seemingly attempting to question the cheerleader. Because when Eddie looked to the other side, he saw Jason Carver longing for his leaving girlfriend with a look of dejection, and Andy McAvoy on an endeavor to hype him up. Trouble in paradise? Eddie Munson could sit and ponder on the endless possibilities of the lives of his peers, but his meaningless thoughts were adjourned under the sudden stop and stare of every student.

You.

“Hey, look at- look at me, damn it!” Your eyes peeled from your entangled fingers that sat trembling on your shaking legs, and looked over to his stern glare. He pierced his disappointment into you, drilling into the anxiety of already returning to school after everything that had occurred. “You go in there and stir up any more trouble with your school work or that filth I caught you with, you’re dead. You understand me, young lady? Huh?!”

“Yes, dad.” You mustered up a whisper.

“Go. Don’t be fucking late and ruin for your future more.” Your hand clutched the door handle, and for a second you stopped. God knows what would happen when everybody saw you. Monday’s cafeteria scene didn’t exactly leave everyone with the greatest impression of you and you knew exactly how high school students operated in a small town like Hawkins. You were branded with a title, a degrading one that was farther from the truth, but what good does the truth do when claiming that the sweetheart of a cheerleader with a bright future of success gets fucked by the satanic cultist in return for a favor is far more entertaining for the gossiping lives of high school teenager? By now, you were either pregnant with the devil’s baby or coked up with drugs on the side of the street, or both. People had their bets, the more twisted the better. But not a single thought of your pain. Not a single thought that you were hurting at the sheer size of all that went wrong, just because you were simply being nice. Because thinking of the repercussion of their words took the fun out of everything. And to them, people like you don’t deserve the time of day. You were like Eddie Munson now. And Eddie Munson deserved the pain of the world because he was… different. That was Hawkins, Indiana. That was reality. You begrudgingly pulled the handle. “Remember,” your father stopped you, “those kids say anything, just remember you put that on yourself, and you better take it as a lesson. Go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. His words were his words, not the world’s. You had shed enough tears over the years of childhood, and his reign over you wasn’t going to continue. You could repeat that mantra over and over, and maybe in the long run it would finally cement that his words were not the truth. But for now, you could only pretend it didn’t hurt until it would eventually not. But inside, there was a little girl asking what was so wrong with her that her daddy couldn’t do the one innate job that came with parenthood: to love her. You wouldn’t know it, but a seven-year-old Eddie Munson was wondering the exact same thing.

You got out with a slam to his face that verbalized all the screaming you couldn’t do. Your eyes met his through the window, and it was different. What once used to be cordial civility, where he asked and you did, had now entered its endgame. Something so severe it lacked the chance of recovery. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that was for the best. Because like he did with his emotions, he ran. And the screeches of his tires left the remnants of a relationship that was once so profoundly beautiful when your tiny fist curled around his finger. This would be the end between you and your father. And you were ready to accept that.

You blinked any tears away, as you stood suffocated by the exhaustion of his BMW, leaving you vulnerable in the empty parking spot. Because when you peered it up, your chest heaved at the sudden realization that everyone was staring at you. Glares. Whispers. Snickers. The pointing. The so obvious pointing that your peers were conspiring against you. The ones who once smiled and waved at you. The ones who once greeted you so kindly. All of them, whispering and pointing followed by their teasing laugh just at the mere sight of you.

Everything was bombarding you so fast.

The clamminess of your hands. The constriction of your throat. The pounding of your heart. The deafening ringing in your ears. The stinging of your nails, as your hands balled so tightly against themselves, but you deserved the crescent shape burns to your palms, you deserved the pain, because you put that on yourself, you better take it as a le- no.

For years, you endured and cemented the hateful words of your father as veracity, letting his speech be the reason why so badly ached inside to perfect every endearing mistake about yourself. Thursday, you scrubbed your body with the refreshing scents of your shower routine and ate full dinners. Friday, you purged your room of any remnants of your old life—polaroids, scrapbooks, notes, memorabilia—discarded to let you know it was okay to move on. Saturday, you wake up in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rose, and followed the path Eddie Munson once rescued from—onto the roof, over the trimming, down the trellis—and you ran, ran down the dark streets of your neighborhood until you excreted all your pain of your body through the glorious sweats of a morning run. Sunday, you swore to never accept your father’s words ever again.

You were you, and that was perfectly okay. You make mistakes, but that’s what makes you profoundly magnificent. You saw that in others, and you were going to see that in yourself.

Eddie’s head whipped in the direction of others, and through the smudges of his dirty window, his eyes melted at your frozen stature. This is what he was waiting for. He jumped out of his car, the rattle of his door echoing, following the slam he didn’t intend to be so harsh. But it got your attention from across the parking lot, and that’s all that mattered.

You met his kind eyes, ones so round and deep, you couldn’t believe they once glared at you with such seethe just last week. But they weren’t now. In fact, they creased at the corners, as his small smile plumped his cheeks. And though small, that smile was the very reassurance you needed. He looked great- healthy, even. The dark circles of his eyes were not bruised mauve from a drunken haze of staying up all night and hungover throughout the afternoon. No, they were merely there from the natural pigmentation of his skin, as the scleras of his eyes shined white with innocence. His cheeks were rosy and full, letting you know he’d stuffed himself with some needed food outside a six-pack of beer. And though it was a habit he knew many were not fond of which honestly made him want to do it even more, he plucked the smoking cigarette from his lips and put it out with the step of his foot. You recall the moment from early September, long before you knew Eddie Munson, when he stalked up to you and Chrissy with the biggest grin on his snickering face asking if you had a lighter on hand. You, the goody two-shoes cheerleader who had the healthiest set of lungs, as the idea of nicotine made your nose scrunch with grimace. You and Chrissy Cunningham would have been the last people on Earth to have a lighter on hand. While you answered him with a shake to your head, Eddie ticked his tongue in disappointment, but before he could begrudgingly leave, you softly spoke, “Be sure to be careful, don’t want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful.” You had heard the news of what led down the road of cigarette smoking. And while Eddie would have typically told anyone who tried to place their unwarranted input on his life choices to fuck off, his grin merely grew ten times its size at your consideration, “‘Preciate that, sweetheart, I’ll keep that in mind.” Eddie felt like his heart was going to lunge out after you as you walked away. You didn’t know it, but Eddie had driven himself up a wall debating on whether or not to ask you that simple question. You were always just so breathtakingly mesmerizing, it was nerve-racking.

Yes, Eddie Munson has had a long time crush on you.

Your nails released from their stabbing hold into your palms, as your hands relaxed. Eddie saw your softening composure and sighed with relief, seeing that torturing breath that nestled in your throat finally escape into the spring air. As much as Eddie Munson would have loved to tell his fellow schoolmates to fuck themselves and leave you alone, he knew his interference was the last thing you would have wanted. So in the most gentle way possible, he subtly threw you a thumbs up with a stupid grin that made the twenty-year-old metalhead look like a jolly child trying to cheer up their friend.

But it made you quietly giggle, and that’s all he cared about.

You readjusted the straps to your backpack, and took a deep breath. And though you were internally screaming inside, you strided past the gossiping clumps of judgmental teenagers, and their choice to deduce you into degrading, misogynistic names held no merit against your faux confidence. Head held high with a stern gaze to the school, you walked through their whispers with a straight face to let them know they couldn’t get to you. And it was convincing enough. Because Eddie Munson was bouncing on the balls of his feet with bursting gasconade at your powerful strut. Eddie wishes he was half as cool as you.

“So, yeah, it, uh, it made me really happy. Like, just seeing them being so… okay with themselves and not taking any of the crap that other people were saying was great. I, uh, I loved seeing that.” He lips smiled tightly into a thin line to restrain from busting out into a hearty grin, though Ms. Kelly could see it in his face just how important this moment was for him.

“That’s wonderful, Eddie. So the break was good?” She leaned over her desk to ask.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head. “Um, I’ll be honest, at first- that first day I really wanted to call them to let them know I was taking the steps to be, um, y’know, better, but I figured them seeing me now would have been more important, I guess.”

“Yes.” Ms. Kelly agreed. “That was a good call on your part, Eddie.”

“Yeah, so as much as I wanted to just talk to them, I made sure I didn’t.” He assured. “And I really liked that I held back. Um,” Eddie nervously chuckled, as he picked the threads of his jeans, “would it be stupid to say that I’m proud of myself for that? That I was actually able to work on my self-control and boundaries even if it was just something small?”

“Of course, not, Eddie!” Ms. Kelly flashed him a kind smile, which had Eddie shyly grinning. “That’s an incredible thing to make progress on, and nothing in your journey will ever be too small to recognize, okay? I want you to understand that. I know it’s difficult to acknowledge these steps as a win, and I know it’s even harder granting yourself the right to be proud, because you believe you’ve committed too many wrong to ever feel for yourself, but remember Eddie, those hesitations are merely the result of the words that were placed upon you with intent to hurt you, and they don’t dictate your life. You do. Don’t give those words the power to hurt you. You deserve to be proud.”

A fervent nod to his head proffered the understanding that he was taking in her truth with deep care. The insistent curses of his dad and the bullshit rhetoric of students or the townspeople held no value to the words in which Eddie thought of himself. And if he wanted to be proud, he should be proud.

“Yeah, um, I am proud of myself- I know it’s like the bare minimum, but I’m happy.” He smiled. “And um, it was pretty amazing knowing that they were in the same boat as me, like, while I’m trying to get better, they are, too. I know that they struggle with what other people say about them, too, and seeing them walk in with all the confidence in the world was really… it was quite literally the greatest thing ever. I’m happy they’re getting happy; that we’re working on ourselves.”

“And how’s that going with you specifically?” Ms. Kelly attentively asked. “What else have you done to progress?”

“Well, um, I took your advice and opened up more with my uncle.” He huffed a laugh at the memory. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that I was basically in therapy.”

She questioned, “Was he angry?”

“No, not angry. More, like, ‘I didn’t even know this kid knew what therapy was’ kinda shock. He definitely didn’t expect it when I sat him down, but he’s a good man, and he, uh, listened to me. The whole time.”

“And how was it?”

“Hard and strange.” He gulped. “See, my uncle, he’s endured a lot for me; he’s an old man who works his ass off to pay the bills and provide basic, crappy dinners and I- I honestly feel really fuc- bad. I feel really bad. That, y’know, he has to do all that stuff for me when he didn’t even want to, like, have kids in the first place.” Eddie sighed. “And, truthfully, I just didn’t want to burden him with anymore of my problems, like I did to my mom and dad. I’ve already caused enough issues with the cafeteria incident, not graduating twice, getting in trouble with the cops. I just- I just know he has to be tired of me, so I was scared to talk to him.”

“Eddie,” Ms. Kelly grabbed his attention, “do you feel that if you hadn’t acted a certain way, talked a certain way, your parents wouldn’t have… touched you as a child?”

His once relaxed composure stiffened under her sudden interrogation. His eyes bolted around the room, trying to refrain his mind from wandering into the suffocating memory of his chubby hands spilling the last of the juice that was supposed to last his family for the rest of week all over the floor. He wanted to be a simple baby who was capable of listening to his mommy's words and just wait a minute, but his tiny throat was hurting from being dry and mommy had forgotten about him when daddy came home screaming about the place being a mess. His little mouth gasped in fear, running to the counter, his short arms reached and reached and his efforts had to turn to opening the bottom cabinet that was a couple inches above the floor and provided him the extra height to finally retrieve the paper. Feet pattering back to his proliferating spill, his hands haphazardly ripped a multitude of sheets and threw them to the floor. But the juice was not absorbing as fast as he wanted, and his tiny body was beating with terror, as daddy’s voice was booming through the walls of their house as he yelled at mommy in their room. He whimpered in panic as he tried to clean and clean, but the $3 pack of store brand tissue merely bled through, the jumble ball of paper causing his sticky mess to spread. It was to no avail, and daddy soon marched his way back to the kitchen. The second Eddie heard the towering footsteps, he peered up through his neglected hair that barely made life visible over his eyes, and saw the big scary face that hurt him every day. Eddie cleared his throat and murmured, “I don’t know.”

She signed a sympathetic breath, “What your parents did to you as a child has nothing to do with who you are or your personality, and it is absolutely not your fault.” Ms. Kelly spoke her declaration with firm gentleness. “You, Eddie, were not and will not be a burden in anyone’s life. You were dealt a misfortunate hand in life, but you were nowhere near the cause of it. You merely survived.”

Rubbing his eyes before his tears could soak his lashes, Eddie sighed, and sat back in his chair quietly. “I, uh, I said it was strange, and it was, because my uncle and I don’t really talk of that matter. When I was younger, he’d tell me it was okay to just let that life go, that I was okay with him, and it did help in that moment. But I kinda feel like it just gradually grew to become this big elephant in the room that we always avoided for the sake of peace. But during the weekend, I finally got the balls to just do it, and well, it was definitely uncomfortable but in a good way. I told him what was happening with me and how I felt, and he did the same, which honestly I wasn’t expecting. I-it was good. Great even.”

“These moments of clarity are valuable, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly spoke. “These times when speaking is all you do with another person are important to have and the uncomfortableness, the rawness, of it all paves the way to recovery. And it may be disturbing, absolutely not linear, but these are the steps that matter. And you’re doing an amazing job, Eddie.”

“Th-thank you, really, Ms. K.” He nodded his head gratefully. “I, uh, I always knew I talked a lot, my friends always teasin’ me about it, but I’m really enjoying it. Talking these things out with you and others.” He smiled.

“I enjoy it, too. Wouldn’t have spent thousands studying it just to hate it.” She joked, which gave him room for a small chuckle. “Want to tell me about the rest of your day?”

“Oh, yeah,” he sat up, wiping the sweat from his palms onto the worn denim of jeans, “lunch was pretty great, too, so basically…”

That confident facade of yours had broken in the midst of third period.

There was only so much scrutinizing stares you could handle from students- even staff who had sipped their coffee and gossiped about the day of your demise, discussing how their perfect student fell under the wrong influence right under their noses. Having to hear their patronizing “We’re here to help you catch up after your… circumstance” that was seemingly always followed by a grimacing look casted by a fake smile of sympathy that made your mouth want to heat up and hurl the stew that was your breakfast.

But third period had been different. Worse.

Unlike your previous classes—where you’d been indebted for having sane teachers who let you choose your own seating, prompting you into picking the back desk in the furthest row that provided some shielding to the obtrusive scowls—your third period had not been granted that same privilege, as your third period had Mr. Fitzgerald holding the reins to the functionality of the class. A bitter bitter old man who denounced the teenagers of Hawkins High as the devil incarnate, you should have seen the sheer look of terror and disgust when he first came face-to-face with the Eddie Munson.

And that infamous look matched that of the look he gave you when you stepped into his AP Calculus class that midday for the first time in a week. “Ms. Y/N, back already?” He stopped you the second you stepped foot in his dungeon classroom.

“Uh, yes, sir-”

“I sure hope you are well aware of the fact that this Advanced Placement class holds no room for coddling, and I can assure you no one will be holding your hand through the lessons you deliberately missed during your vacation.” He pontificated in your face. Your cheeks flared in a crashing heat as your settling classmates chuckled at the spotlight he casted upon you. “Come on, front and center.” He pointed to the empty chair that was surrounded by students in the center of the classroom, and meticulously sat right next to Andy McAvoy, who was daggering a provoked face of wrath at your presence.

Mr. Fitzgerald had practically placed a dunce hat on your head for everyone to laugh at.

You shrunk in your seat every passing minute, as glares laser beamed into you from the front, side, back. Your palpitating heart had no room to rest, as Mr. Fitzgerald took it upon himself to randomly select you—every single time—to answer questions about a lesson you weren’t even present to have learned about, enabling the other fourteen students to snicker at every stuttering I don’t know you had to mutter with shame and embarrassment that flared your body with burns of embarrassment.

The ache in your head had pounded your focus into oblivion, making the numbers and letters of your worksheet blend into incomprehensible blurs that had your hand twitching with the belief that you were already failing, and that dazzling A+ that made your father pat you on the back when he demanded your report card would slip into your biggest fear: an A-. In retrospect, an A- was a highly respectable grade, but when you’ve been conditioned to dictate your self-worth on the basis of academic validation, having your grade slip seemed like the biggest indication that your father's words were the truth. You were going to fail in life. And right now, all you wanted was the thumbs-up of a particular boy to let you know everything was going to be okay.

And everything started crashing down when you heard it.

“Freak’s whore.”

Andy McAvoy had full intentions of letting everyone hear his vile conviction, murmuring for the surrounding people to hear but taking advantage of Mr. Fitzgerald’s aging ears and whispering it so it went unknown to the authoritative figure.

“Can’t believe she tried to get with me.” He smiled to Karry Koven, as she giggled and stared at you.

It was a lie. It was the most loaded lie you ever heard. For the past two years, Andy McAvoy had made it his life's mission to claim you as his own, after Jason proffered the idea of double-dating with him and Chrissy. The idea hadn’t been too bad of an offer, until you actually went, and his sleazy hands felt the need to wander your body despite your consistent attempts to keep things at a platonic level. With Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver coupling up, it only seemed fair for their best friends to follow suit, and such belief left Andy’s arrogant mind to believing to be entitled to your body.

“Such a gross slut, can’t even imagine what that freak gave her.”

In the last ten minutes of class, you excused yourself to the bathroom and silently cried in the lonely stall.

It was a setback. A major one. And your old self would have cursed at you for letting some meaningless words get to you, but you were allowing yourself the mistakes that came with the experience of being human, and if being hurt by the sexist comments of a jock who got a shot to his ego because a girl rejected them, then so be it. You were distraught, and words were bound to get to you. Crying was the release you needed to let yourself recuperate and continue your day.

The bell had rung for lunch, you quickly wiped the remaining tears of your face with the rough paper towels stationed at the sink, and caught yourself in the reflecting glass of the mirror. Truthfully, how embarrassing would it be to give yourself a pep talk in the grimy bathrooms of your high school? Last time you entered the lunchroom, hell had broken loose, and your image was severed with the humiliating speech of Jason Carver and the deafening punch of Eddie Munson’s fist.

But before the optimistic phrases that you gathered from every movie you ever seen could be spoken to yourself, the cacophonous laughs of a group of girls pummeled their way into the bathroom, but they were quickly silenced upon seeing your presence. You knew what would come if you stayed, and you genuinely did not need more nasty comments thrown at your face, so with grace, you flashed a friendly smile that they predictably did not return on their scowling faces, and walked past them into the bustling halls.

It was now or never.

“C’mon, you don’t even like peaches!” Dustin slumped in his chair, as his efforts into devouring Jeff’s fruit side came to bust.

Jeff smiled with pleasure. “Yeah, but there’s something about not letting you have it that just makes me really happy.” The table chimed in with laughter.

“You guys are all mean.” He huffed with crossed arms, which simply elicited more laughs. “Mean, mean, mean people.”

“Don’t pout, Henderson, I’ll be sure to have Jeff’s character fall off a cliff in this week's campaign.” Eddie chucked down a pretzel with a teasing grin.

“What?!” Jeff sat up, as the laughs turned against him. “You can’t do that, you’re totally just bluffing!”

“You might as well.” Grant chuckled. “It will make it more interesting, and we deserve interesting after you bailed on us Friday.” He sternly pointed his spork at Eddie, which quickly met the table when he smacked it away.

“I told you,” Eddie sighed, “I was busy.” One day he'd tell his friends of his therapy sessions. But at the moment, they were acting like high school boys, and today was not the day to reveal so.

“Aw, were you pretending your guitar was a girl?” Gareth snided with kissy faces, that made the boys obnoxiously laugh harder, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Please, Emerson, I can’t remember the last time a girl spoke to you that wasn’t your mom.” He retorted back. “And I’d be careful if I were you, Gareth the Great could have the same demise off that cli…”

Eddie had trailed his words into silence when his eyes landed on you.

There, through the heavy doors of the crowding cafeteria, you were once again making an entrance that was completely out of your control. If you had it your way, your figure would be dismissed, like a ghost people could not perceive. But that was never an option for you. Even before, happy waves and nice greetings were always following you, but the current trend in the bubble of Hawkins High was picking the next girl to surmise as a slut because you made the decision to be nice to a group of boys, and how dare you do so, especially when those boys were no good satanists who would perform human sacrifices in woods in the middle of the night? It’s funny how high school worked in the isolation of a small town.

So once again, the stares were happening, as everyone decided to switch their hushed conversations to the entertaining topic of you; laughing their harsh opinions to their circle of friends or seeing how far they could fabricate more rumors. Your eyes landed on the table you once sat at, your designated chair no longer reserved for your being, but rather piled with sneakers of Jason Carver who decided to use your seat as a footrest. It didn’t take a genius to know you were no longer welcomed within that group, their blatant stares making it beyond the realms of obvious.

But you didn’t need them. You didn’t need Jessica Lewis’ patronizing comments. You didn’t need Andy McAvoy’s unwarranted touches. You didn’t need Jason Carver’s pesting control over everyone.

The neglected half of the lunchroom table where the kids of the drama club took residence on the other end would be perfectly okay for you. Ignoring their judgmental looks, you sat quiet in desolation, as everyone around you chortled at the downfall of the perfect cheerleader.

“Eddie!” Gareth waved his hand in his face, snapping Eddie back to reality.

“Holy shit, you were totally checking out Y/N!” Mike laughed.

“N-no, I wasn’t.” His hair fervently moved with the vehement shakes to his head. “Everyone is fucking staring at her.”

“But you were staring staring, Eddie.” Jeff teased with a big grin. "Like how you stared at that one older chick with the huge boobs at the Hideout that one time."

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

With heavy sigh, you decided the best option was productivity, and the sweetness of your precisely cut strawberries were fueling you with the needed energy to focus on the piling stack of missing work you were due to accomplish. Equations and word problems could provide enough distraction from the myriad of bullying that was hurtling against you, and in a very unlikely case, homework was easing your mind into a peaceful state. If this is how you had to finish out your senior year, then it was something you’d be okay with coming to terms with. Aloneness could be a scary thing, and you were facing it in the terrors of your dark room where you were shut in and locked away, as you held yourself while the tears dampened your pillow case. But aloneness was also a wonderful thing, where in moments like these, when it felt like everyone was against you, you could lavish in the company of yourself—food and task at hand—because you liked the way your mind worked, you liked the way you perceived the world, it was unique to yourself and it was a beautiful thing to explore on your own.

But a soft tap to your shoulder had pulled you from your studies, and you peered up, being met with a comforting smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Chrissy.”

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” She pointed the chair across from you.

Your agreeing nod led her to plopping down and pulling her lunch out, as though this interaction was something of normality. You looked around, the stares had intensified with the sudden movements of Chrissy Cunningham joining you for lunch. While the act of two best friends eating together was everything but abnormal, the events of last Monday had foreseen your rumored recent fuck punching her boyfriend, and the idea of you and Chrissy would have assumed to be severed.

But here she was, sitting with you without a care of the world.

You watched her dejectedly sigh at the sight of her pre-packed lunch clearly made by the hands of her mother. Green. Bland. Portioned so small it wouldn’t stuff a toddler. You pushed your tray of food to her. “Have some of mine.” You smiled, switching her plate with yours. “Maybe we can give yours to Mrs. Durberry’s pet lizard.” And she laughed that grateful laugh that you always seemed to cause whenever you’d save her appetite from the terrible choices of her mother with a joke to make her feel better. And she comfortably took the other half of your sandwich.

“Have, um, have people been saying stuff about you?” She delicately asked with a mouthful of food.

With a smile on your face, you nodded. “Yeah. Nothing I wasn’t expecting, though.” You shrugged. “Are you, uh, are you okay sitting with me? Like Jason might-”

“I broke up with Jason.” She interjected.

Looking back, you met his disbelief scowl that was certainly blaming you for the ending of his relationship. “You did? Already?”

She nodded her head. “I didn’t want to wait it out, because I knew that if I took too long I would just procrastinate, and I probably wouldn’t get the courage to actually do it. But I did.” She sighed.

“Are you okay?” Three years of a relationship, filled with young love, innocence, and first times were all gone in a matter of seconds when Chrissy arrived at the doorstep of Jason’s house. But a revelation Chrissy had to come to terms with was the fact that years together, the length of a relationship, holds no merit to the satisfaction of one’s mind and heart, and Jason Carver was simply someone he used to not be. The once skinny sophomore who sat the benches of all games had grown to be a young man with screwed priorities that came at the expense of his girlfriend’s comfortability, especially when she was becoming someone she didn’t want to be.

“Yeah.” She quietly answered. “Um, he didn’t exactly take it well, and my mom can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea that I just didn’t like who he was anymore. They both keep pestering me about it.”

“Don’t listen to whatever they might be saying.” You advised. “Really, if getting away from him is what you want- what you need, please don’t let them take that away from you.”

“I won’t.” She smiled. “Hey, are you still coming back to practice? Coach has been dying to have you back. As much as Jessica likes to think, she is not a good flyer.”

You giggled. “Ugh, I would have loved to see that. But yeah, I told my dad I’d be staying for practice. Though, I’m heavily expecting to come out with a broken leg, because those girls are totally dropping me for, you know, associating with he who must not be named.”

“Don’t worry, coach has literally been on a frenzy ever since you left, she’ll take care of them. Seriously, Y/N, as much as they’d like to admit otherwise, we have been a mess without you.” Chrissy reassured. “And um, how are things… w-with your dad. I, uh, I saw the locks when-”

“It’s fine, Chrissy, really. Don’t worry about it.” You murmured, more as an excuse to forget about it. “I’m learning to deal with it. But let's just talk about something else.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

Chrissy agreed for your comfort. Because for once, speaking with Chrissy about the miniscule things of life felt like the stability of normalcy you had been yearning for.

“You’re totally staring at her!” Jeff laughed, as Eddie once again was caught up in the glimpses of you.

‘Wh- How many times do I have to tell you I’m not?” He slid back in his chair in embarrassment. There was only so much lying he could do to cover his averting eyes, but the truth was screaming past any attempts of delusion.

“Oh, so you were staring at Chrissy, you like her then?” Gareth smiled, as Eddie sauntered right into his trap.

“No! Not Chrissy, Y/N’s the one- ugh!” Eddie’s head dropped into the safety of his hands, as his friends’ laughter echoed around the table. While he truly had nothing to be embarrassed about—he quite literally drunkenly admitted his feelings to you already—the discomfort of letting his feelings be known was still new territory for Eddie, and building a friendship on the basis of teasing the living shit out of each other didn’t exactly make his progress any easier. Though, under that frustration, a small teetering curl to his lips and blushing cheeks were appearing behind the cover of his hands. Talking about you did that to him.

“You should totally talk to her.” Dustin reached over to hit his arm, but a switch had flipped in Eddie, and his head shot up with his hand grabbing the boy’s arm before it could make contact.

Everyone was taken aback by his sudden reflexes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you're nervous.” Dustin laughed, as he pulled his arm away with sass. “It’s not like you haven’t talked to her before. Granted you were basically an ass and she probably hates you.”

If only they knew.

“Wait,” Mike interjected, “is that why you punched Carver in the face last week?”

“And why you left lunch to go find her friend that one time?” Grant added.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Eddie sighed. “Not that this is any of your guys’ business, but yeah- and that’s all you're getting out of me, so knock it off with the interrogation, please?” He shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth to cope with the stress.

“Why not just go talk to her and apologize?” Jeff suggested.

“Do you honestly think someone like her would like someone like him- ow?!” Gareth chuckled before a crushed can of soda hit the side of his head.

“I did apologize to her.” Eddie disregarded Gareth’s comment, answering Jeff with a mouth full of mush and crumbs. “Just don’t wanna bother her with anymore of my talking.” His denim sleeve wiped his lips.

“Well,” Dustin sighed, as he retrieved something from his backpack. “I’ll go bother her.” He smiled, and Eddie cocked his head to the now standing kid.

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Dustin affirmed. “She’s the only reason why my sexy photo is in this yearbook,” he patted the glossy cover to the infamous book, “might as well get her to sign it.”

“Wait! No, Dustin!” Eddie gritted through his teeth, but the young freshman had a goal in mind, one that his Dungeon Master could not interfere with. Even if it meant his character would be doomed with a fateful death at the bottom of a cliff that coming Friday. “Please, Henderson!”

The curly tendrils freed from the cap on his head bounced as he happily ignored the stressed calls of Eddie from the table. In truth, Eddie’s tensity came from a place beyond whatever stupid comment Dustin might make about him to you. He had spent the last four days respecting your boundaries despite his desires to talk to you, and Dustin’s presence might lead you to believe this was his way in getting someone to speak to you on his behalf—something you strictly told him not to do when he was crying hungover on your bed—he’d definitively ruin his chance at ever getting you to trust him again.

But Dustin Henderson had all the confidence in the world, something you would come to admire in the boy as you got to know him, and he placed himself at the end of the table, where you and Chrissy had resided, interrupting your talks of dinner plans.

“Uh-hem.” He cleared his throat with precise certitude. “Ladies,” Dustin then turned to you, “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Dustin Henderson. You took the photo of my club, Hellfire.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, I remember you." You smiled.

“Awesome!” He squealed on the tips of his toes. “I didn’t actually think you’d remember me.” He giggly confessed. “But anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to, um- would it be okay if you signed my yearbook?” He opened the page to the appointed spot where signatures were entitled to, his page particularly filled with the names, messages, and small doodles of his friends.

“Oh, Dustin, I’d be so very honored.” His grin consumed his face at your acceptance.

“Oh!” Chrissy perked. “Here’s a pen you could use!” Handing over her trusty pink pen that had recently grown accustomed to the tribulations of your friendship.

Muttering a small thank you as you took her pen, you uncapped the lid to meet one of the many large spaces of white that surrounded his page. Your heart had gently ached at the realization that not many people had signed his yearbook. The sophistication you oozed defied the laws of coolness in the Dustin Henderson Doctrine. While Eddie Munson’s ability to create and personify some of the greatest campaigns of Dungeons and Dragons he’d ever seen was downright incredible, and Steve Harrington’s ability to sway any cute girl’s Friday night plans to now revolve around him was thoroughly unbelievable, your coolness was surpassing those of the men he looked up to. Maybe it was because you were a beautiful girl who was actually nice to him. Maybe it was because he knew you could play into his antics. Either way, you were ranking yourself to the top of Dustin Henderson’s Favorite People List. And if he ever found out you made way better chocolate chip cookies than his mom, he would have placed you above the woman who birthed him. Because you wrote a, albeit short, cute little message just for him:

Has't a most wondrous summ'r cutie, t's been the greatest privilege knowing thee, kind solid'r - Y/N

“Thank you so much!” He gushed at your writing, making you laugh.

“Anytime, Dustin.” You gave Chrissy her pen back. “Anything else we can help you with?”

“Ooh, yeah!” He got extremely excited at the open invitation. Your kindness was placing him at a vulnerable spot, that vulnerable spot being the potential strangling hands of Eddie Munson if he ever found out what Dustin was about to do. “So, uh, y’know, Eddie, right?”

Your burrows furrowed playfully. “Hm, yeah, I know, Eddie.”

“Well, uh, see don’t tell him I told you this, because he would totally kill me, but he kinda sorta has a crush on you.” You turned around and briefly caught Eddie Munson staring at you before his eyes went big and he snapped his head to the other side of the cafeteria as if he didn’t get caught. Ugh, he was just so-

“No way!” Chrissy gasped with fake dramatics as she squealed. “A cute boy likes you!” She sprightly spoke.

“You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?” You joined in on her theatrics for the sake of letting Dustin Henderson believe he was the brains behind the union of his two friends—as if the confessions of last week's events didn’t happen at all. “The Eddie Munson likes me?! There’s no way, he’s way too cool!” You rhapsodized.

Oblivious to it all, Dustin jumped with excitement for his friend. “No, he actually does! He totally blushes and everything when we talk about you!”

“That’s so cute!” Chrissy effused. “You guys should, like, totally get married, you’d be so cute together.”

“Oh, totally!” You playfully giggled before turning to Dustin. “Dusty, be sure to tell Eddie to let me get my nails done first before he proposes. I can’t have my hands looking ugly for our engagement photoshoot.”

“Uh, y-yeah, okay!” Dustin shrugged along, completely heedless to the idea that you and Chrissy were just joking around, but his lack of communication with girls had him believing whatever this conversation was transpiring to be was merely the normal gist of what girl talk had to be. Also, there was a small part of you that wanted to give Eddie Munson a heart attack when Dustin returned with the grand news.

“Great, it’s settled then!” You smiled. “I have full trust that you will relay the message, good sir.” You popped a strawberry into your mouth, as Dustin swiftly shook his head.

“Yes! Yes, totally!” His curls shook with his head.

“Alrighty then, Dustin, maybe you can talk Eddie into letting you be his best man.” You smiled. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks again for everything!” He waved you both off excitedly, eager to run and tell Eddie the good news.

Chrissy and you watched him nearly trip over his own two feet as he speed-walk to the table he had came from—not wanting to fall victim to Mr. Long’s threat of no running on the school grounds, as he monitored the lunchroom. “He’s so adorable.” You two giggled as you both watched him flee.

Dustin had plopped in his chair with a heaving chest, as his table began torpedoing an onslaught of questions, Eddie’s queries being the harshest. “Do you literally want to die?!” The metalhead slammed his hand onto the table, ignoring the stinging burn that came right after. “Why would you go up to her?! What did you say?! What did she say?!”

“She said…” Dustin huffed too long for Eddie’s thinning patiences, “she said that I was a cutie-”

“What?!”

“-and that she wants to marry you.”

“What?!”

You and Chrissy Cunningham laughed across the cafeteria at his booming voice.

“So yeah, that totally means they want me, right?”

Ms. Kelly had suddenly turned into a love coach.

“Uh, well, I’m sure the feeling is… mutual between the two of you.” She hesitantly answered, not sure how to exactly approach the love life of her teenage students, but glad enough her response made Eddie smile.

“Okay, good, I think that, too.” He giddily adjusted in his chair.

“But remember, Eddie, don’t determine your happiness on the basis of this person.” Ms. Kelly reminded. “Root that within yourself, because if things don’t… work out in a sense, we don’t want you losing that progress.”

“No, I know.” He quietly muttered, as his hand rubbed the slight stubble of his chin. “That, uh, that’s actually one of things that really scared me into getting help, I guess. See, remember those, um, terrible things I did when, y’know, they said they didn’t want me around?” She nodded her head gently to allow him to continue. “I, um- my dad would do those things. Like, whenever my mom had done something he didn’t like, he would just get plastered, say these gross things, and then, um, start…hitting.” Eddie huffed out a large breath that burned his chest. “And seeing me be that- be my dad- becoming him was just a scary reality check that I’m just like him, a-and I don’t want to be. I spent years wishing so hard that I wouldn’t be, y’know, that I wouldn’t be those kids who turned into their parents, that Wayne taught me better than that, but there I fucking was scaring her- them, scaring them. Sorry.” He cleared him through shamefully as he got worked up.

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie.” She smiled. “This is your moment to let your thoughts and feelings be known. And by hearing you, I want you to leave today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father. You’re not your mother, either. Or your uncle, or anyone for that matter. Eddie, you are you. There is a pattern within you that wavers from trying so hard to stray away from hurting others like your parents did to you, to straying away from the possibility of getting hurt like your parents did to you. And it’s wonderful that you’re recognizing that, but you need to understand that you’re merely getting stuck in an endless cycle of trying to satisfy those end goals, that your mind is running in circles and blurring the line between what's working and what’s not, and it’s doing harm.”

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail taking in the revelation. “I don’t know how to fix that.” He defeatedly admitted.

“You need to not be driven by fear, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly answered. “That image of your father is a scary thing to come to terms with, and I’m not saying you’re wrong for being terrified of it, because it truly was a dark part of your life, but you need to face it rather than run from it. You mentioned that you and your uncle rarely speak of the life you once had with your parents, and that suppression- that shut in, that’s what’s inhibiting you from growing to be someone that is not like your father or mother. Your upbringing has rooted a fear in you that’s scared of being hurt, and it’s not unusual, the majority of the world is scared at the possibility of being hurt, but the majority don't acknowledge that that fear is the cause of why our personal progress is being stunted. No one wants the uncomfortable conversations. No one wants to face the reality of the world. But the truth is Eddie, it’s better to be hurt organically by the troubles of the world rather than self-destruct our minds under the guise that we’re protecting ourselves. It’s good to focus on oneself, but we need to understand when we’re crossing that boundary into self-immolation, which is far more scary.”

Eddie Munson had sat in silence for a minute to digest her words. “And that’s what I’m doing.” He whispered to himself.

“But you’re getting help.” Ms. Kelly interjected his thoughts with a delicate smile. “And that’s far more progress than most people get to.”

“I think, uh, I think it really, I don’t know, frustrates me that I didn’t understand that in the first place. Because, well, I mean, even you know I’m not the smartest person around-”

“Academic intelligence has nothing to do with this, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly assured. “Even the smartest people have difficulty understanding their problems.”

“Yeah, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I just get angry that I can’t be smart enough to figure this stuff out. Like, I know you said this isn’t based on intelligence, it’s just that when things don’t work out the way I want them to, and it turns out my plans were actually stupid, I just get so aggravated with myself, and then I get so aggravated with the other person for not doing as I want, even though it’s not their fault.” He released a puff of air from his cheeks at the admission

“Would you say your anger has become an issue?”

Eddie huffed a shameful chuckle. “God, how much of an ass would I be if I said yes? Sorry for the language, Ms. K, but I really am such an asshole. Pretty cynical, too. And nihilistic. Pessimistic. A person even said I was a sulking asshole if the picture wasn’t clear enough for you.” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

And though it may have been a little unprofessional, Ms. Kelly allowed herself a small chuckle at his words. “Well, those are quite some characteristics to have.” She kindly joked. “How often do your efforts result to violence, Eddie? Is it a gradual transition from yelling to hitting for you?”

“Uh, yeah, it definitely is.” He sighed. “I mean, I think you’re aware of how many fights I’ve been pushed into-”

“Would you say you cause most of them?”

“Um, not necessarily cause, more so… provoke.” He laughed.

“Instigate for a reaction?” Ms. Kelly questioned.

And with a snap and point of his finger, Eddie agreed. “Ooh, yeah! Instigate for a reaction sounds a lot better.” He smiled before doubling down. “But, uh, totally know I shouldn’t. It’s just… kinda fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well, yeah, y’know, most people at this school don’t like me.” Eddie emphasized. "Even the teachers don’t. And, I guess, poking fun at the groups of people who hate me kinda shows them I don’t care, if that makes sense? Like I can make fun of them just as they do to me and my friends. So, I guess getting angry does kinda happen often, and it does always seem to escalate. If people aren’t listening to my yelling, then they’ll definitely listen to me fighting them, y’know?”

“Is that what happened during last week’s cafeteria incident when you hit another student?”

“Basically.” Eddie nodded. “The dude, he was just spewing a bunch of bullshit about someone, and well, when I told him to shut up and tried to “save the day,” I guess, my anger definitely got out of hand and I punched the guy. Honestly, I hate the guy, so I had no problem doing it, but I also thought that I was, uh, stopping the other person that he was talking about from getting hurt more. Like we, uh, talked about- the thing that I do. And obviously, my judgment was severely off, and well, it only made the situation worse that I only ended up hurting them, too.”

“So you’re seeing where these patterns coincide?” Ms. Kelly asked.

“Yeah.” Eddie acknowledged. “And if I’m being completely honest, I almost made the same mistake again today.”

“How so?” Her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, well, I almost hit the same guy for bothering that person, again.” He sighed. “Kinda happened right before I got here, actually. It was after school…”

The once crowded halls had dissipated into quietness, as the final bell had rung to announce the coming end of the school day fifteen minutes ago.

Stalling. Stalling is what you were doing under the guise that you were merely reorganizing your locker, and any straggler who walked by would have seen that, given that your locker never approached the definitive line of chaos. But your heart was hammering at the thought of returning to cheer practice, and the coolness radiating off the metal lockers was enough to keep your forehead from sweating. There were no butterflies in your stomach, no, those insects had turned into the pesky creatures of crickets who bounced around with an end goal of causing turbulence in your worrying stomach, like the annoyance they cause during an attempt at peaceful sleep during a quiet night.

There was something deathly petrifying about high school teenagers. Their judgment. Comments. Bullying. Rumors. You knew now why groups of adults thoroughly went through the endeavors of avoiding them in public spaces. You’d just spent an entire day on the receiving end of their hate, and it was draining.

At the south end of the hall, the familiar faces of the members of the cheer squad pummeled out of the girls’ bathroom in loud conversations and giggles. You watched them walk together, laugh together, like you once used to do before they made the ultimate decision to lavish in your reputation’s demise. But as you followed their movements into the grand doors of the Hawkins High gymnasium, your attention had diverged you from the impeding steps of an deranged man’s end goal in mind, and the sudden slam of your locker door closing left you snapping your head to meet Jason Carver’s huffing breath before he cornered you against the lockers.

Nostrils flared with heaving sighs, his forehead pressed down against yours until your head shoved harshly onto the metal. “You think you’re funny telling Chrissy to leave me?! Huh?!”

Eddie Munson had been on his second cigarette of the day, waiting in the sanctitude of his van, just as he did in the early hours of the morning before school started. But where a pervade of parked cars and students once rested, just an empty parking lot stood, and it provided him the peace of mind to gather the thoughts he want to speak about before he entered the counselor’s room and sat down with Ms. Kelly for what had become their fourth daily session. He grew to like Ms. Kelly a lot. So when the digits of watch striked green of the numbers of 3:45 p.m, Eddie put out the shortening cigarette onto the pavement of the ground, and entered the school building, so as to not be late for their meeting. He’d grown to respect her too much to contempt the time she chose to work overtime just for him.

“Get off of me!” You pushed his chest away, allowing him to stumble and put some distance between you two. “I didn’t tell Chrissy to do anything!”

“Bullshit! Everyone saw you two hanging together at lunch, and conveniently right after she broke up with me! Do you really think I’m that stupid?” His reddening face started walking closer to you, but you kept up with his movements, as the adrenaline in your system moved your feet back with every inch of him coming closer.

“Chrissy broke up with you because you’re an asshole, not because of anything I told her!” You stressed. “God, literally look at what you’re doing, what you did to me- to anyone who’s different from you, of course, she doesn’t want to be with you anymore!”

“Everything I’m doing is for her! It’s your fucking fault I have to stoop this low!” He screamed. “You wanna be a slut and fuck around with that freak, then fine by me, but I will not let you drag Chrissy down with you!”

As unfortunate as the situation was, Eddie Munson strolled in at the perfect time. Upon opening the double, glass doors of the school, he was impaled by the screaming match happening between you two. The second his eyes landed on your fraught face, that anger- that anger that seethed with vexation at the need to protect you from getting hurt was coursing through his bloodstream with a strangulating wave of worry that was going to hurtle its way through any obstacle to make sure you were okay; just as it occurred when Jason Carver ambushed you in the cafeteria, just as it occurred when your father ambushed you in your bedroom.

Eddie was desperate to ensure your safety and security.

Too distracted by the yelling words of Jason Carver, and with the jocks back turned away from Eddie’s stature, his presence went unnoticed until his ring hand clenched around the collar of his letterman jacket, and threw him up against the lockers with a bang.

“Are you fucking bothering her?” His calm voice gritted through his teeth, as Eddie pinned him to the wall. “Because last time that happened, it didn’t turn out so well for you, did it?” The threat lingered heavily in Jason’s head. The Hawkins High Tigers were paving their way through playoffs, and the championship game was right at their fingertips, but the crashing sting of Eddie Munson’s ringed fist on his face or body could hinder the basketball team's progress.

“Eddie.” Your quiet voice lulled him away from the worries of Jason, and he watched your distressed figure of cinched brows and a chewed up lip trembling feet away from the violence of angry men.

Eddie dropped his hold from Jason’s jacket, and stared down at the comb-over that peered up to him with irritated eyes. “You come near her again, and you’ll be fucking dead.” He whispered, far too quiet for your ears to pick on, and he did that with honest intentions.

But before Jason could curse the words he wanted into Eddie’s face, the heavy doors of gym opening turned everyone’s attention to Chrissy Cunningham and cheer coach, Coach Hannigan, who walked out with large smiles—though Chrissy’s dropped faster than the speed of light upon seeing the three of you uncomfortably together.

“Oh,” Chrissy squeaked with confusion, but enough pep to let Coach Hannigan believe all was good. “Um, there- there’s Y/N.” Chrissy hesitantly smiled, as that had been the entire reason why the two of them walked out in the first place, to find you.

“There’s my girl!” If there was anyone who truly showed their support for the girls of Hawkins High, it was Coach Hannigan, who dedicated her faculty years to teaching the inner workings of American Literature by day and coached her girls to be the best representative of the school, because she believed you all deserved to be seen by night. “It’s been far too long! That Higgins doesn’t know what he’s doing, am I right?” Her boisterous laugh echoed through the halls, as you, Eddie, and Jason tried to appear as normal as can be. “When I got news of what he did to you, I was like "man, excessive much." I think we’re all counting the days until he retires, ha!” She spoke enthusiastically, as she patted you on the shoulder, which is when she took notice of Jason Carver and Eddie Munson looking nervously uncomfortable. “Woah, odd pairing.” She joked to you, to which you had to join in with an awkward laugh, Eddie and Jason abruptly separated under her comment. “You lot, okay?” Her colloquial use of British slang with her deep Midwestern accent was surely fitting to the oddity that was Coach Hannigan, but my god, was it comforting in a time like this.

“Just fine.” Jason muttered. “Better get to practice.” He raked his hand to adjust the hairs Eddie had disturbed during their minor push and shove, before walking away past everyone.

“Well, I guess we should, too!” Coach Hannigan signaled over to you and Chrissy to get along. “I’m tired of seeing that dang Jessica girl tryin’ to stay steady in air, dangnamit.”

As the three of you walked away, you turned back to meet Eddie’s anxious eyes. His fears racking in his mind, wondering if he’d just done the very thing you asked him not to do, overstep. He didn’t want to scare you anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. But he believed his being was doing you more harm than good, and his stomach churned at the possibility that maybe you’d be better off if he just got out of your life and left you alone. But in a blink of an eye, Eddie watched your small hand aim him a subtle thumbs up with an ever so tiny grin. Eddie released the breath he’d been holding in.

Everything was going to be okay.

“You know, Eddie, if you’re watching someone be harassed, it’s okay to tell me.” Ms. Kelly calmly responded.

“I-” Eddie dejectedly sighed, as he leaned back in his chair. “I know I should, it’s just, y’know, they don’t even know I’m talking about them to you, hell, I haven’t even had a full conversation with them today. I don’t know how long they want to continue this “no communication” stuff, and I really don’t want to make them feeling like I’m, I don’t know, betraying their boundaries. I’ve done a lot to them already.”

“Well,” Ms. Kelly huffed, “if you do get a chance to speak with this person, just know it’s okay to encourage them to speak to me.” She smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Eddie relaxed.

“Can I ask you, Eddie, is the reason why you didn’t choose violence with this bully because of this particular person?”

“Uh, yeah.” He answered. ‘Like I said, last time I did, it really hurt this person because of how much the situation blew up. And, uh, I just really don’t think they like the… hatefulness that comes with hitting. Like they're scared of it, and I don't want to scare them anymore.”

“Are you scared of it? The violence?” She questioned.

“Honestly, no- the, uh, physical stuff, no, I have no issue with it. When I was younger, yeah, obviously, I was a kid, but now, um, I know getting violent kinda let’s people know not to mess with me, I guess.”

“Because it gets you your way.”

Eddie winced at the truth behind the comment. When you had hung up on him that fateful night, aggression had surged within Eddie, because you were slipping through the cracks of weakness. Doing your own thing. Making your own decision. Doing the right thing. It was great, but it was something Eddie couldn’t come to terms with. It was why he chose the inebriations of alcohol to throw him over the precipice of sanity and persuaded him to do the actions he knew were wrong. But he couldn’t do that sober. His moral compass wouldn’t allow that. It’s the only reason why he showed up to your window in a drunken haze. Because Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand his feelings. His thoughts. Why his mother always stayed with his father when that man was doing far worse, and you were choosing to give up on him so easily. Verbalizing the words in his head made him want to throw up, because he knew how disgusting it was to think like that.

“God, I hate hearing that.” He murmured in shame, as his fingers stressfully brushed over his eyebrows.

“But it’s true? At least to some extent?” Ms. Kelly delicately asked. He could only nod his head in agreement to her statements. “Your mother, Eddie, if you don’t mind me asking, what would she do whenever your father got violent?”

He sadly sighed. “She’d just, y’know, take it. Would only get worse if she didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ms. Kelly shook her head along, as his words confirmed the ideas in her head. “Eddie, seeing that at any age, let alone as a child, can be truly detrimental to the mind and its development. What I’m evaluating is that your father’s intolerable acceptance to the word “no” has manifested onto you. Witnessing your father’s beratement and abuse, and your mother’s inability to leave has decisively skewed your perception and ego to lead you to believing you are entitled to have things- have people do as you say, and when they don’t, you lash out… like you were taught to do.”

Eddie’s stomach sank at the admission of Ms. Kelly’s findings. The truth laid in her words, and Eddie Munson was coming to terms with the fact that there were aspects of his being that truly did not make him a good person. Was there room for improvement? Yes, there was, and that was the whole purpose of Ms. Kelly’s evaluation. It was not to point the finger and ridicule him. No, it was to lay the foundation to discovering the ugly truths behind what makes us us, and unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his upbringing of hatred and abuse had developed him into an angry man yearning for what? Stability. Maybe you and Eddie Munson were a lot more alike than you both realized.

“Eddie, I’m going to revert back to what I previously said, I want you leaving today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father.” Ms. Kelly reiterated, and Eddie shuttered a breath. “Your decisions may reflect his, but you’re seeking help. You’re talking about your problems. You’re ready to put the work in and make a change.”

“I’m not him.” Eddie spoke to himself.

“No, you’re not.” Ms. Kelly smiled. “You’re a good person who was left to make bad decisions. Don’t let your father take control of your life. Don’t give him that power. Face your fear of him, and don’t give him the authority to let you become a bad person. You are not him.”

Eddie nodded his head, absorbing the words of today’s session, as their hour-long conversation was coming to its last minutes. “Thank you.” He softly gave his gratitude, just as he did at the end of every meeting.

“Like always, Eddie, it’s no problem. Was there anything else you wanted to mention before you leave for the day?” He gently shook his head, spilling all that he could and digesting every truth and advice his brain could handle. Today had been a good day. And he really needed that.

“No, I think I’m okay.” He assured her with a small smile, as he stood and adjusted her chair back to its original position.

“Can I expect you tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah, I can make it.” He answered after slight deliberation. Corroded Coffin wasn’t expected until well into the night, and he was surely certain his buzzing crowd of five drunks wouldn’t mind if the guitarist ran a little late for their weekly taste of garage metal.

With a bid farewell, Eddie left Ms. Kelly's office with a heavy mind.

Ms. Kelly had delicately put away his file before making a mental note to speak with Jason Carver first thing in the morning about his harmful actions. Eddie’s attempt at anonymity hadn’t thoroughly worked out in his favor. Ms. Kelly knew of the cafeteria incident, and who it involved. Ms. Kelly knew of Jason’s infamous reputation. She’d received a number of saddened students in her office who had fallen victim to his words. She was able to place the puzzles of his story with ease, though never announced it for his comfort. She would be sure to have a long talk with Jason the following morning. And she’d be sure to be on the lookout for you whenever you were ready to talk. Again, Eddie was quite oblivious to the obvious nature of anonymity. But at least he meant well.

Approaching the doors to the school, Eddie was already yanking his pack of cigarettes from his jacket, ready to finish the evening off with his third of the day. That was until he stepped outside, and saw you waiting at the entrance in your practice clothes, leading him to getting flushed with a wave of deja vu, as you looked exactly as you did the day you took his picture.

You turned at the opening of double doors, an endearing smile posing on your face as you saw him abruptly stop at the doorway. “Oh, hey.” You waved to him kindly. Holy shit, you were actually speaking to him. You know, Eddie Munson had dedicated the entirety of his weekend rehearsing what he wanted to say to you, the right words and everything, he’d even came up with a short script of lines as to what to say that were currently residing in the back pocket of his pants, but it was long forgotten by this point, and he couldn’t muster up a single word. You giggled at his frozen state, “You can say “hi” back, Eddie, it’s okay.”

But instead of a greeting, Eddie had walked up to you frantically. “Look, I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not, like, following you around or anything. I was just coming back from a-”

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, really.” You softly nodded. “I didn’t think you were.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say exactly, so he landed on a simple “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… decently okay.” You shrugged.

“Getting okay?” He awkwardly asked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “slowly but surely. Trying to, at least.”

“Y’know, if you wanted to, you could always talk with Ms. Kelly.” He sincerely spoke. “She’s, uh, she’s helped with a lot. I just, um- we just finished my fourth session. I’ve been seeing her since Thursday.”

You cocked your head in surprise. “Really?” He nodded his quickly. “You’ve been talking to the counselor?” You briefly spoke with Chrissy about her weekly sessions, but it had never been something you dived into for the sake of her privacy. Seeing Eddie Munson turn to therapy was exceeding beyond the expectations of what you had subconsciously set for him when you told him to get better.

“Yeah, it’s been helping me process things- my emotions n’ all.” Eddie smiled, because just last week, that would have been something he would have been embarrassed to admit.

“That- that’s really great, Eddie. I’m proud of you.” Your eyes twinkled with admiration for his effort. “Yeah, I’ll definitely think about it.”

Once again, Eddie’s brain was short-circuiting under your highlighted features that were glowing from the setting sun. You could visibly make out his eyes raking your face before quicking peering into the parking lot, as to not look so creepy. “So… uh, did practice- is practice over already? You waiting for a ride? Need one?”

“Coach Hannigan let us out early after Jessica Lewis puked all over the field.” You laughed, as he grimaced. “The school’s lunch choice of lasagna was definitely not cut out for tumbling. But, uh, I’m just waiting for Chrissy.” You pointed across the parking lot, where Chrissy was speaking with her father. “I convinced my dad to let us have dinner at Benny’s Diner, and now she’s trying to convince hers.”

“Ah,” Eddie nodded, “y’know, speaking of lunch, uh, Dustin had some pretty- pretty interesting things to say about his little visit to your table.” He smirked behind a piece of his hair that he decided to play with to ease his nerves.

You giggled at his antics. “Did he now?” You played around.

“Yeah, he said, uh- the little shrimp said you called him a cutie. Like absolutely wrote it out and everything.” He felt giddy inside that he was making you laugh right now. “And, hey, y’know me, I’m totally not the jealous type or whatever, but that little shit sure did have a blast rubbing it in my face.”

Despite the burn in your cheeks, you couldn’t stop the giggles that were coming out. “Oh, that reminds me,” you opened and dug around your cheer bag, pulling out a damn yearbook, “Nancy had stopped me before the end of the school day and gifted me this bad boy. You wanna be the first to sign it?”

Eddie’s eyebrows had creased his forehead with their sudden rising. “Really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you handed him the book with a retrieved pen from your backpack, where he began his work, “it’ll also give you good leverage over Dustin, and he’ll be begging to sign mine once he finds out you did.”

Eddie laughed, as he scribbled onto the white page of the book. “Y’know, if you need me to talk to Nancy, I could probably convince her to let you back on the committee.”

“Are you crazy?” You huffed out a chuckle. “I committed treason against Nancy Wheeler, I’ve been exiled from the land of Yearbook Committee, there’s no hope of going back for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled, as he continued his writing.

“Do you have a really long middle name I don’t know about?” You tried peaking over the book, but he simply scooted away. “Hey, what’s taking you so long?”

“I gotta make this special for you, sweetheart.” He grinned over to you. “Not every day a pretty girl asks me to sign their yearbook.”

You bit your lip to suppress the ever growing smile on your face, as your cheeks heated with fluster. And soon after, Eddie finally handed back your yearbook, where you were met his three-worded message, and an adorable little sketch of a pretty princess being protected by her knight in shining armor—coincidently sporting the lushes locks of a very metal hairstyle—who was saving her from the scary, large dragon:

For the prettiest princess in the land - E.M

Your finger delicately traced his harsh lines, and Eddie melted as he noticed your beaming smile shining brighter than the sun. “I, uh, I would totally let you sign mine, but see, I’m actually protesting the Yearbook Committee for the human rights violation they oppressed onto their ex-member. Totally standing in solidarity for her. And it’s definitely not because I can’t afford one.” He smirked.

“Oh, yeah, no, I totally get it.” you giggled. “Don’t worry, we’ll revolt against the tyrants of the student body government for their complicit association, and overthrow them for the proletariat.”

Oh my god, you were going to make his knees give out.

Eddie rubbed his face with his hands to get it together, but his reddening face was peaking through his cracking facade of staying collected, and you loved it.

“Y’know, Dustin had also mentioned something else during lunch… something about you wanting to marry-”

“Y/N!” Chrissy shouted and waved over. “He said yes, come on!”

You turned to Eddie with the biggest teasing grin on your face. “Oh, saved by the cheerleader. Guess we’ll never know.” You smirked.

“You little-”

“I’ll see you around, Eddie, bye-bye!” You waved him off.

“Have a good night, princess.” He smiled back.

“Be careful,” You pointed to the pack of cigarettes that lingered in his hand. “I don't want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful, Eddie!” You shouted, as you walked away to Chrissy’s father’s car.

Eddie Munson had to run away immediately, his knees were beginning to buckle.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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angel-kyo · 4 months

Text

Pay it no mind

Part XVI (kinda? Idk. Explanation in the note.)

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. I would say reader is ooc in this one, or it might feel like that. I don't know. There are also mentions of a difficult family situation (awful father, deceased mother, etc.)... Oh, and this almost makes me look anti-Gojo (I'm not, though).

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV

----------------------

“Aomori?” you repeated in disbelief. Isn’t that like…?”

Haruki leaned forward on his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands in frustration. You watched his fingers bury themselves in his brown curls and tug them.

“It’s about a ten-hour bus ride or four hours in the train...” he said without looking at you. His eyes were on the table, and you could only see the top of his head. “That if I’m lucky… Which I am not, obviously,” he grumbled and lifted his head to look at you.

You two were at the coffee shop where he worked, or rather, used to work. He had submitted his resignation the day before.

“That’s far.” You were not sure of what else to say. The notice of his departure was coming in too sudden. Only a few days ago you had been talking about maybe meeting up on New Year’s Eve, and now he was leaving? “For… For how long?”

Ikeda looked outside and shrugged. “He’s transferring me there so I guess he means at least until the end of high school, and then…” he frowned. In fact, he was not sure of what would happen after that. “I’m sure that jerk will come up with something else.”

Haruki looked back at you and, realizing what he had said, quickly apologized for speaking like that in front of you.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe he did this behind my back. I knew he could not stand seeing me, but I never thought he would plan something like this and ambush me any other Tuesday.”

He sighed, and you looked at him with sympathy. It was the most distressed you had ever seen him, and the most upset too.

Haruki, who always looked happy and unbothered when he was with you, had only ever appeared uncomfortable, and sometimes even angered, when he spoke about his father. At first, you had believed they just did not get along, but it was more than that; Haruki had told you once that his father seemed to resent him since his mother left.

“I’ve never blamed her,” he told you one day while you waited for his train, “she was sick and he was never at home, but when he was, he was horrible to her.”

He had then showed you her picture. A beautiful woman with long brown hair and bright eyes a few shades clearer than her locks, smiling and hugging an eight-year-old Haruki; he had definitely gotten the looks from her, and it was evident she had loved him dearly.

Due to her illness, Haruki’s mother had passed away just a couple years after leaving her husband, before she was able to fulfill her promise to his son to come back for him. Hence, Haruki had ended up stuck with a resentful father who was almost never at home, but when he was, he was as horrible to his son as he had been to the mother he resembled. And now, he was sending him to live with his uncle in a distant prefecture to attend a new school.

He had given Haruki little less than a week to, and the boy quoted, “wrap up any business in Tokyo.”

Apparently, that included you, who did your best to comfort him, even if there was not much you could say or do.

“I will miss you,” Ikeda said after you assured him it would be alright and that two or three years would sure fly by, and then he would not need to listen to what his father or his uncle said. It seemed his mood had improved a little at that.

“I will miss you too,” you told him, still wrapping your head around the idea of not seeing him anymore.

If only you could see curses, maybe there would be another way out for you, maybe we could have more time.

You pushed that thought away. That was selfish thinking, was it not? Of course, you would not want Haruki to live in gore and pain as a sorcerer. There had to be better, more peaceful options for him somewhere.

“I like you a lot.” His words pulled you out of your head, and when your eyes focused on him, you noticed his face was flushed, but he was looking right at you. “I think I could have loved you. Not that I don’t now,” he smiled softly, “but in the way I wanted to love you.”

There was a tinge of sadness in his voice, but your heart was beating faster as he spoke. Did that mean you wanted to love him too?

“I…” you started, but he shook his head and smiled.

“It’s fine. I thought we had more time, so I did not tell you sooner, but now, I just realized I wanted to let you know in person.”

Haruki had not planned to confess that day. He was only going to tell you he was leaving and ask you to stay in touch but realizing that it might be the last time he was going to see you in, perhaps, a long time, he felt he needed to tell you. He had wanted to tell you since the first time you had accepted going out with him that summer, but he then thought it was better not to rush and just let your friendship take its course.

At the end of the day, people should honor their feelings.

That he believed whole-heartedly. That is why Gojo’s attitude had annoyed him, acting as a jealous boyfriend around you if he was nearby but still claiming to be just your friend. If he wanted more, he should admit it instead of doing whatever he thought he was doing that day he accompanied him to the station.

“Haruki, I like you too,” you said sincerely.

But do you like me as I like you? the boy wondered.

He would not ask you that as he would not ask for more at this point. What could he ask, that you waited for him? He was not that arrogant to believe you had to do it nor that idealistic to make promises he knew time could swallow. Knowing that you had cared about him was enough.

He gave you a closed-eye smile. “I’m so glad.”

***

But saying it had not changed anything. You and Haruki had agreed to staying in touch and he had hugged you tightly before letting you go.

Maybe he knew we would drift apart.

You had kept texting and calling each other after that. Once he was with his uncle, he had given you his address, so you could exchange letters; he even sent you a few postcards with some pretty views around his new city. For a little while, you thought you could remain friends and just live on it, but his absence became increasingly painful, and when you both got busy with school again, and he was barely replying to your messages and his letters felt distant, the realization that maybe you had truly loved and lost was devastating.

It happened slowly but not painlessly. There was just never a good time for a quick call anymore, the messages were fewer and shorter, and you probably did not reply to the last one because there was nothing to say, and finally, the letters. Oh, the letters... Once funny and vibrant as your friend had been, they became nothing but curt and disappointing. It was hard to believe that two people who once had so much to talk about could barely bring themselves to write more than a few lines for each other.

I guess people can enter your life seamlessly, but they can hardly leave like that.

Your friends comforted you to their best, and Satoru made it his mission to ensure you would not feel lonely doing the things you liked anymore. Despite your protests, he attached himself to your hip as he had done it when you were kids, even on the days when you did not want to leave your room.

And when, months after Haruki’s departure, you sat down in front of the training fields, tired of waiting for a letter that would not come, Satoru held your hand firmly as you accepted your loss and stayed by your side unfaltering, the same way you would do for him when Suguru left you all later down the road.

That was how, as the seasons changed, you quietly let go of your friend who had been a child of the spring himself.

----------------------

Note: I almost did not want to include this part? I mean, I felt like the other guy needed some explaining, and as much as I enjoyed it, I would say this is almost a filler, so I'm sorry of it's bad. Anyways, if the next part is not the last one, it will sure bring us quite closer. I've not forgotten where I left Satoru, promise!

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XVII

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jjk drabbles #gojo x y/n #reader x character #gojo fanfic #fluff #jujutsu kaisen #pay it no mind #i might delete this later #or maybe not #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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cupids-scream-queen · 7 months

Text

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 6 // 3.5k words

-> Part 5

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, graphic descriptions of murder, homophobic slur (once), details of dismemberment.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He hadn’t called. He apologized for it at school, telling you that Sidney called, and keeping up appearances, he couldn’t leave her hanging. He told you he’d come by tonight, or perhaps call, but to keep an eye and ear out for him. You promised you would.

The first time your phone rang after Billy left was Tatum, confirming your presence at her house on Friday night—two days away. Agreeing, you wrote down her address, and wrote down a shopping list of supplies you’d need to have in order for it to be, in Tatum’s own words, a successful sleepover. A list including alcohol, weed, and nearly every movie with Tom Cruise in it.

The second time your phone rang was Ghostface, though you weren’t quite sure which one it was at first. The tone was dull and inviting, which initially led you to believe it was Billy, but one key detail led you to correctly guessing Stu—the slang.

“Dammit, he was right,” The voice changer off, Stu was clearly upset. “I guess I do have a way of talking.”

“Everyone does, Stu, it’s called dialect,” You tell him, but he ignores you, continuing to rant about how he doesn’t understand that people can figure out who you are based on what kind of language you use, or how you use it. “It’s kind of like how different actors can play different roles without coming across as the same person. It’s how people speak.”

“So like, how Johnny Depp is in fucking…Edward Scissorhands, and is also in Freddy’s Dead?”

“Kind of. You don’t think of Edward when you’re watching Glen on screen, do you?”

“No, I just see the character.”

“Exactly, it’s because the characters are fundamentally different from one another. You and Billy may operate on the same wavelength, but you two still have characteristics that make y’all unique.”

“Oh. I got it,” You giggled, and Stu joined in for a second. “Sorry, I’m kind of stupid.”

“Is that what Stu stands for?” You teased, and you could practically feel Stu’s comeback.

“No, it stands for Smart Terrific Unit,” He confidently confided. “And it means my parents definitely love me.”

“Do they have resentment towards you or something?”

“A bit, yeah. Ever since my younger sister died. My older siblings moved out of the house, and they kind of distanced themselves from it, too. They didn’t want to be home, they didn’t want to be near me.”

“Was her death your fault?”

“Not really, no. I was just being a negligent older brother, that’s all,” Stu chuckled a bit, but you knew it sounded kind of sad. You hadn’t realized that Stu had actually had to deal with death before, death with someone that he loved.

“My brother died,” You confided. “Not too long ago. And my stepfather. My biological father killed both of them, and then my mother shot him in self-defense.”

“Is that why you started…?”

“Yes, it is. As a form of control more than anything. I guess I just was tired of feeling powerless, so I started to take the power away from people, even if they had nearly nothing. It made me feel better, and it still does. I’m not sorry for it,” You tell him, and you could tell that this was the sort of conversation Stu hadn’t had in a very, very long time.

“So does that mean you won’t stop?”

“I don’t know,” You confessed. “I might, I might not. Not right now, that’s for sure, but once I’m older…who knows? I might become the world’s most prolific serial killer.”

“Naw, that’s the title Billy and I are after. Ghostface is gonna rule the world.” Billy and him. The terrific two. The dynamic duo. The terrifying twins. They weren’t including you in their plans. You felt something like sadness. “What if I joined in?”

“What, you start killing like us? Wearin’ the mask and shit?”

“Yeah, just for a few kills. What if we start planning massive kills, together, and confuse crowds? It’s not like we’re going to get caught if we’re careful.”

“We’d have to run it by Billy, the dickwad likes to control everything,” Stu laughed, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe this weekend after the Slumber Party Massacre?”

“Sure, we’ll run it by him. I don’t see the harm in that—but there’s gonna be harm later.”

“Are you excited to kill Tatum? Do you have a motive?”

“Not really—just peer pressure. I’m far too sensitive. She’s also a bitch and a whore—she cares too much about her appearance and reputation to be anything other than a shallow cunt.”

“Why date her?”

“Get close to Sid and ‘em. Y’know that’s who we’re after, right? Sid. Tatum’s murder is just gonna be because she’s friends with the wrong kind of people.”

“What are we gonna do with Randy?” “Randy?” Stu mused. “Billy’s got something in mind for him. I guess Bill doesn’t like how close Randy’s gotten to you, and if I’m being honest, I don’t either.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“He looks at you like you’re a goddamn fleshlight,” Stu deadpanned, his tone flat. “And I, personally, do not like it.”

“Is there any reason?” You twirled the phone cord around your finger, liking the way this conversation was going.

“If there was, I’m not telling you,” Stu said decidedly. You decided you wouldn’t push him to answer you—if Billy’s display to you earlier was anything to go off of, both killers had a particular spot in their hearts for you, and you were going to use that to your advantage, even if you knew, deep down, you had feelings for them as well.

“Ah. Well, Billy said he’d call me tonight, and I guess I kind of owe him that,” You tell him, and you could sense Stu’s tension.

“Why not just meet up with both of us tonight?” He asked, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“My mom would fucking slaughter me,” You tell him, and he kind of made a small whining noise at the other end of the phone. “If you want, you can come over.”

“I might take you up for that,” Stu said, and you weren’t sure if he was entirely joking. “Might even bring Billy.”

“And what would we even do? Plan a murder?”

“Pay our pal Randy a little visit.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

It was nearly a quarter to one in the morning when you, Billy, and Stu finally all met up at your house. Billy brought the famed ladder, and he and Stu climbed up to your window, where you let them in. This time, both of the boys brought bookbags filled with things you knew were instruments to aid their destruction. You had the same thing as well.

“As you know, Stu and I are Ghostface,” Billy began, and Stu looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “And you’re going to become one of us.”

“Is this a fucking cult?” You playfully asked, and Billy hushed you.

“Now, you’re going to prove yourself to Stu and I tonight. Randy’s home alone, and will be for the next three days. Tonight, you will go and kill Randy, by methods Stu and I employed to Casey and her boyfriend. If the murder is successful, you’ll be allowed to wear one of these,” Billy pulled a mask out of the bag, and another identical one. Stu took out his mask, and started aiming it around like a slingshot. “Don’t dick off with those, Stu, I don’t know if I can find other ones.”

“Lighten up, they’re like five bucks a pop,” He aimed it at Billy and let go, but surprisingly, Billy caught it.

“You’ve lost mask privileges tonight, Stuart,” Billy said, pocketing the mask. “Anyways, you’re going to kill Randy, and we’re going to guide you through what to do. These ain’t your normal killings, they’re fun, gruesome, and belong in a movie of their very own.”

“In other words, you’re Michael Myers wannabes with a phone connection?”

“No—we’re artists,” Stu collapsed on your bed, his shoes on your comforter. You held your tongue from saying anything, even though you wanted to scream at him to get off your bed with his musty crusty dusty ass shoes on it.

“Okay, so what? Am I going to prank call Randy, freak him out, torture him, chase him around a bit, cut him up, scare him to death, then stab him and take his organs out and hang them on the clothesline?”

“Something like that, sure,” Billy eyed you, not suspiciously, but carefully. Wondering to see how you’d fair tonight. He knew you weren’t an amater killer, hell, you’ve done it more times than he and Stu. But he knew yours lacked fanfare. Yours lacked style. You were a teenager with a knife, they were teenagers with a cunning plan. And now you were involved in this plan, and he wanted to see if you were capable of doing your duty and making this plan succeed.

“We’ll start heading out a two, I want to kill him at roughly three-thirty,” You suggested, and the two of them nodded. “What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Get to know you better, babe,” Stu slung his arm around you jokingly, but surprisingly to him, you didn’t move. You watched Billy carefully as you did this, noticing the peculiar glance in his eyes that made you realize that perhaps, Billy had feelings for multiple people in your bedroom.

“We could watch a movie,” You offered, and Billy shook his head.

“Nothing interesting. You’d put on some fucked up 20’s movie knowing you,” He clicked his tongue twice, indicating that he’d thought of something. “What about we play spin the bottle?”

“There’s three of us, that’s a party game,” You pointed out, giggling. Stu nudged you, indicating that you should shut up, or perhaps suggest something different that didn’t involve kissing. “Truth or dare?”

“That’s a girl’s game,” Stu wrinkled his nose in disgust, moving his arm from you. He got up, and trodded towards Billy, and flung his arms around him. “We’re men.”

“You’re a fag,” Billy deadpanned, but he didn’t move. Stu hung off of him like a deadweight, yet Billy did not attempt to remove the boy. You curiously stared at them.

“Maybe we could bake?”

“Isn’t your mother home?” Billy asked, and you shook your head.

“You two suck at stalking. She’s gone tonight, she’s out with some dude. I don’t know who he is, though, and quite frankly don’t care. She’s out of my shit and I stay far away from hers.”

“We kind of gave up on you,” Stu admitted, and Billy hit him in the back of the head.

“Don’t admit shit like that, idiot,” Billy said. He turned towards you. “Don’t worry about him, doll. He’s just a little talkative when there’s murder in the room.”

“Right. Well, wanna see my knife collection?” You offered, and the boys looked like they’d just won the lottery.

“Hell yes!” Stu lept up from his sulking place, and ran over to your side. Billy joined you two as you opened the doors of your closet, revealing two swords hung up on the wall, and a bin full of knives, all with their sheaths on.

“Holy fuck.”

“You really are the Knife Girl,” Billy said, his tongue in his cheek. You hadn’t seen the expression on the boy’s faces before, but you assumed it was as close to pure joy as they could feel.

“No shit, I didn’t get that nickname for nothing,” You stepped away, letting them look at the blades in awe. “I don’t kill with the majority of those.” They didn’t seem to care, though. You watched as they took blade after blade, finding the ones that best suited their hands, finding the ones that were pretty or sharpest or the ones that you most liked. They found your murder blades, the knife they got you, and all sorts of other sharp objects. They liked it. You could tell this was an intimate moment for the three of you.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Three rapidly approached, and the three of you had to start moving to Randy’s house for that night’s murder. Dressed in the Ghostface gear, you clumsily went down the ladder, nearly tripping at a few parts. The long robes of the killer costume was a tripping hazard, and you briefly wondered why they hadn’t mentioned it, until you remembered you were using Stu’s robes, and he was nearly a foot taller than you. It wasn’t a hazard for them.

You crept through the night, joining the boys in the backseat of Stu’s car, and started your drive to Randy’s. The car was silent, but the boys were in their element, though nobody dared to speak a word. Everyone knew the familiar buzz you’d get before you took a life. It was something that was addicting, and you knew it with every bone in your body. You relished the feeling of taking life, and you knew that Billy and Stu felt the exact same way.

You pulled up to the house, which was a small two-story one situated on top of a hill. The flowerbeds were neat and tidy, the house a light white color. The front porch lights were on, and you could see the light on in what you assumed to be Randy’s room.

“Call him,” Stu whispered, handing you the phone. You dialed Randy’s number, surprised that you remembered it at all. “And make sure the voice changer is on.”

You did as you were told, and began your speech to make Randy afraid. Terrified. You could hear his amusement at first, when you asked him his favorite horror movie. You could hear the first tremblings of his breathing when you asked if his bedroom was the one with the light on. You could hear the pounding of his heart as you knocked on the back door, and you could hear how he was absolutely afraid when you, Billy, and Stu knocked from different entrances.

“Get the fuck away from my house,” Randy’s voice was shaky, and you knew you struck a chord with him. “Get the fuck away before you get hurt.”

“Funny thing to say when you’re the one who wants to die.” You taunted, and threw a rock at the window, breaking it. You could hear the yelp on Randy’s end even without the phone. “Randy, do you want to play a game?”

“What the fuck do you want man—what the fuck,” Randy’s desperate pleas on the other end excited you, made you drunk with power. You were in control of the variables here. And Billy and Stu were here to guide you.

“Play a game with me, Randy,” You hear him move in the house, grabbing a kitchen knife. If there was any chance of getting injured, you knew Billy or Stu would step in. They didn’t want to see you get hurt. “Let’s play hide and go seek. If I find you, you die. I’ll count to…hm, let’s see. Is forty seconds enough? Yes, I’ll count to forty seconds. If you hide and I do not find you, you win. If I find you, you’re dead.”

“What the hell,” You could hear Randy crying at the other end, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed this with every fiber of your being, and you wanted to keep this going as long as possible. Stu looked at you, and slipped his mask on. Part two of the plan.

Randy stood no chance of surviving. Realistically, there were far too many of you and only one of him, and he had no experience with anything of this caliber before. One of you would enter the house through each of the entrances, and once you found Randy, you were to whoop or holler or make some kind of noise to alert the others. Once the others are alerted, the three of you are to kill Randy at once, a frenzy of attack.

The third part of the plan was stringing his insides out on the clothing line. This was your added touch, a small detail of gruesome carnage that made Billy swear he would have kissed you right there and then.

You had the front door, and you carefully went inside. The house was still, silent. You paid attention to try and hear any breathing. There weren’t many hiding spots, and you knew Randy might’ve gotten creative. You prayed that one of the boys found where Randy was.

Luck was not on your side. You whooped as you spotted Randy ducked behind a couch, and the two other whoops let you know they were on their way. Scuttling out from behind the couch, Randy tried to attack you with a knife, but you tripped him, causing him to fall. The knife fell from his grip, and you kicked it away from his reach.

Your knife went down on him nearly at once, right in the shoulder blade. Deep. It was joined by a second knife, Billy’s, which was aimed at the back of his neck. Stu was only a few seconds later, plunging his knife into the other shoulder. You started to take your knife out, twisting as you went, Randy’s screams and cries of horror and pain motivating you to do more. You started to stab at his back, hearing the cracking of his ribs encouraged you to do more. Still alive, you heard Randy’s breathing take a sharp inhale as you stepped on his back with all of your strength, lodging your knife deeper within his body. Billy tapped you on the shoulder. Phase three.

You took your knife out of Randy, which took some effort, and you and Stu flipped him over. Randy was still alive, barely moving as Stu undressed him. Completely naked, Randy’s eyes were like a deer’s as Billy placed his knife right above a nest of pubic hair, but then stopped, and looked at you, as if to tell you that this was going to be your kill. You put your knife where Billy’s was just moments ago, relishing the feeling of having someone under your mercy like this. The boys watched as you slowly started to carve your way through Randy’s body, and Randy started to move his arms down to stop you. Billy and Stu lodged their knives in his arms, trapping him to the floor. You made a cut across Randy’s body, and then made the killing blow: ripping his throat out, leaving the blood splatter to the floor. Upon the death of Randy, Billy was the first to speak.

“Do you want to gut him or will Stu and I?”

“I’d like to help,” You said, already starting to poke around in the chest cavity with your blade. “After all, doing laundry is a woman’s job.”

“Spoken like a real one,” Stu joked, and joined you with poking in Randy’s body. You two cut out his stomach and intestines, and handed them to Billy, who put them in a yellow laundry basket that he found upstairs while you were searching for Randy just moments before. Various parts of Randy made it in the basket, including his heart, but Billy took it out of the basket.

“We should leave this in his parent’s room, don’t you think?” The grin on his face was sinister, and you nodded alongside Stu. Billy chuckled, putting the basket on the floor. “Finish gutting him. I’m going to set up a surprise for the happy couple.”

You and Stu did as you were told, finishing emptying Randy’s body. You weren’t sure of their plan with the main body, just that your job was now in action. Stu finished up, placing the last organ in the basket. You stood up, shaking the blood off of your robes and taking the basket to the backyard, where you hung them up with clothespins.

Stu, meanwhile, was carefully arranging a flower display in the corpse of Randy. He was giggling as he did this, moving the body to lay on the couch, and adding the displays of flowers Randy’s mother kept around the house in the chest cavity.

Billy was upstairs, arranging Randy’s heart on a silver platter, with a fork and a knife on either side of the plate. He joined the two of you downstairs, inspecting the handiwork.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a new partner,” Billy said, watching you hang the intestines up. “She’s good.”

“I like her,” Stu said, giving Billy a small kiss on the cheek. Billy nodded, and placed one on Stu’s forehead. “She’s got balls.”

“She’s going to need them for Friday’s murder,” Billy stepped outside. “We’re going to go, alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You grinned at them, and the three of you went in the car, taking the stuffy robes off. You weren’t quite sure how Tatum or Sidney would react to the death of Randy, but you sure as hell were looking forward to the publicity of the body. Your handiwork was going to be on television. A dream come true for a girl like you.

Enjoy my writing? Please like, reblog, or follow me! The support is super encouraging, especially since I'm going to make this a longer fic and post nearly daily 💕

-> Part 7

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bodiedbyteecosplays · 1 year

Text

Modern!Human Hantengu Brothers headcanons

Heeeyyyy babiesss!!! I’m sorry it’s so late but I FINALLY GOT MY HANTENGU BROTHERS HEADCANONS DONE 🥹🥹!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy them!

Alright so, The headcanon came from the roots in the manga. Hantengu (the demon) was known to have multiple wives and children and he killed every last one of them. After Muzan’s defeat & Hantengu was reborn, he sadly abandoned his wife and his two children because he still had his memories from his past life and felt guilt & fear. His son grew a bit of resentment for him and promised that when he became a father that he would be there for his children through and through. He met the Brothers’ mother because she was visiting Japan from Nigeria and fell absolutely head over heels in love with her. They soon started dating after getting to know each other. Then married later on and their first born son, Sekido was born, then came Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi , & Zohakuten.

Their Mother, Dr. Kehinde Adeyinka- Hantengu is a OBGYN & their father Urami Hantengu is a co director for a very big movie production company. ( my boys came from riches but still humble )

Their parents come from different cultures so they always brought them up in a way where they were exposed to both equally. They know Japanese (that does include how to write in Japanese too), Yoruba, Nigerian Pidgin, English, and Swahili.

SEKIDO

• Much like his past life, Sekido still remains the oldest. His birthday is September 3rd, 1995 making our angery baby a Virgo ♍️.

• When I tell yall he is nonchalantttt!! Whew! He literally says the first thing that comes on his mind. His mom always told him that he was like his father in that regard.

• Also much like his past life, he always looks angered (Resting bitch face go brrrrrrr) Most people are kinda afraid to approach him.

• Definitely gets annoyed by his brothers antics (mostly Urogi and Karaku playing pranks on him and pissing him off and Aizetsu constantly second guessing himself)

• Loves the rain and finds it peaceful when it’s thundering outside.. it sets the mood when he’s by himself playing the piano (one of his hidden talents)

• He works as a Auto mechanic at his own shop. (which explains how he knows to keep his cars in perfect condition)

• He is most DEFINITELY a cat person. He has a Black Maine coon mix named Zeus. He found him just laying on top of one of his cars one day as he was getting ready to go get groceries and when he came back from the store, he was sitting in front of his apartment and he started growing fond of him and took him in. Zeus is spoiled rotten so I can only imagine when Sekido gets a partner 🫠.

• Is a greeeeeaaaaattttt cook! Other than their mother, his brothers usually latch on to his place when he does cook. (He definitely has a special apron on when he cooks too) He learned from his momma 🤩

• Has a giant dragon tattoo on his back that was drawn by Zohakuten and tattooed by Managi (Modern Human Gyokko. In my headcanon, he’s a famous Tattoo artist that grew fame from TikTok)

• Definitely is a Heavy sleeper but don’t let that MF Fan Turn off. He gonna wake up PISSED.

• Academically speaking, Sekido is extremely intelligent. He graduated top of his class in High school & has a degree in Engineering (he also graduated top of his class in college too)

• BLACK COFFEE ADDICT! Can’t stand overly sweet coffee or sweet ANYTHING. Likes really savory foods! Lots of meat but not too too much. Also loves vegetables, stews, curry’s, and etc. The only thing he can tolerate that relates to sweet foods is dark chocolate.

• Definitely the type to go to bed by 10 pm (grumpy old man 😂😂)

• LISTEN! My baby is BUILTTTTTTT. He definitely hits the gym after work He’ll OCCASIONALLY go with Karaku if he doesn’t have to work. He’s also tall (he’s 6’3 1/2 and the tallest out of the brothers)

• He adores his family and anyone he deems close although he does get annoyed with their shenanigans he will always and forever care.

• y’all know that bath & body works scent “ Mahogany Teakwood” yeah, literally smells like that plus Shea butter & mint.

KARAKU

• Karaku is the second Born like his past carnation. He was born on October 4, 1996 making him a Libra baby.

• He’s literally a big kid at heart but he’s really chill and down to earth.

• Much like his past life he’s really playful and loves a good thrill. It makes his blood pump lol.

• Loves teasing his brothers (mostly Sekido and Aizetsu) One time he played a prank on Sekido while he was asleep by putting a realistic looking robotic spider on him (poor Seki has arachnophobia 🥲) & when he woke up all hell broke loose and when he finally caught Karaku, he put him in a chokehold and it took Urogi and Aizetsu to get him off of Karaku. 😂😂😂 and you’d think after that he’d learn his lesson (he didn’t)

• He works as a Bartending Manager for a big club and always makes good money in tips because one he loves serving the drinks and seeing people’s reaction to his drinks and they all love him dearly.

• Speaking of, he Is a masttttterrrrr at creating drink recipes and has a miniature bar at his place. He’s also a fairly decent cook but still annoys Sekido because he likes his better 😂.

• Like I’ve said before, mans is a seriously talented dancer & he effortlessly woos people with his moves ever since he went viral online & has a lots of fans (no pun intended).

• He also posts videos of him making drinks on TikTok too and always picks the best songs but people mostly like when he does voice overs of what he puts in drinks.

• He also does Twitch streams from time to time playing games( likes games like FNAF, Dead by Daylight, or any kind of scary games.)

• I also headcanon that he loves Halloween mostly because it’s during his birth month.

• Has one tattoo on his arm of his moms first name. His mom always told him that he reminds her of herself back in her youth.

• Loves all animals but is more so a Dog person.

• HE DOES SMOKE WEED & VAPE!

• Academically he made A’s & B’s in high school so he is quite smart but still goofed off in class though 😂. He has a Bachelors Degree in Communications and is also apart of a Fraternity.

• DEFINITELY A GYM BRO BUT NOT THE TOXIC KIND. Takes his physical health and physique seriously but never ever talks bad about how anyone else chooses to do with their body. If they are happy, he is as well. He’s definitely not a bodyshamer & will put someone in check if they talk bad about someone around him.

• HES A LIGHT SLEEPER. Any little sound will wake him up instantly. One time he came home from work so tired that he forgot that he connected his phone to his big bluetooth speaker while he took a shower & also forgot that he set an alarm to wake him up in the morning for the gym and damn near had a heart attack when his alarm went off. 🥲

• Loves energy drinks and coffee but knows his limits on his intake and that too much caffeine isn’t good. DEFINITELY MEAL PREPS! Has meats, vegetables, and fruits.

• Like I Said, he takes his personal physical seriously. He has a skin care routine and he also smells really good too .. it’s like a Citrusy and warm vanilla type scent mixed with hints of his favorite cologne.

• He’s also fairly tall too standing at about 6’2

• He’s heavily into zodiac signs and reads his horoscope on the daily! Got the rest of his brothers into it. Sekido & Zoha thought it was stupid until they both did some research and it started singling out their individual character traits & that’s what sparked their interests in it.

• He’s a lover at heart so anybody that he loves he has them near and dear to his heart. If he loves you then you’re a 4LIFERRRRR.

AIZETSU

• So he’s the middle child! His Birthday is February 20, 1998 making Zetsy a Pisces baby!

• Much like his past incarnation he’s quiet & monotone if he’s not comfortable around you but once he is comfortable he becomes relaxed and more expressive. Is very introverted.

• He was kind of bullied in school due to his quiet and timid behavior but when asked his opinion on something, much like his older brother Sekido he wouldn’t hold back the truth (it’s always the quiet ones)

• I would like to think that Aizetsu is heavily into meditation because it calms his anxiety and his nerves.

• PLEASE GIVE THIS BABY WORDS OF AFFIRMATION AND REASSURANCE!

• Aizetsu works as a computer tech and is very good with technology. He’s been very tech savvy since he was a kid always learning how it functions and knowing the ins and outs of it. He also works part time as a Lyft driver.

• His hidden talent is singing! Like I said in my last post, Aizetsu is a hellllaaaa talented singer but he only does so in private but if he sings around someone that means he’s comfortable with them.

• He’s into Zodiac signs thanks to Karaku. He’s a water sign (Team waterrrr) so he’s really good at seeing through people and strays away from those who he determines to be not good people.

• Doesn’t really go to the gym. He thinks it’s way too many people. Instead he finds alternatives at home and he was blessed with a high metabolism too so that’s a W for him. But don’t let that fool you, under what he covers up, he’s still buff. He is about 6’2, same height as Karaku.

• Made excellent grades in school. Mostly all As and graduated top of his class like his brother. He is currently in college pursuing software engineering and is still doing excellent academically!

• Is a good cook at best. Only sticks to simple stuff and doesn’t really like to go all out. Not particular about food but in the same breath, he does lean towards savory foods.

• Doesn’t have any tattoos but low key wants a treble clef tattoo on his chest or something small.

• Has a pet Bearded dragon named Toothless.

• Smells really good! I think he would smell like Cinnamon. Skin does get irritated during the summer time but it’s not severe. Does get tips from Karaku about skin care.

• Is much more of a tea kind of person and loves herbal tea (chamomile is his favorite)

• Not really much of a sweets kind of person.

• IS A VERY LIGHT SLEEPER. Imagine Karaku x10!! Will wake up if he hears the smallest sound or if the temperature is not to his liking (he keeps his place on 64 degrees AT ALL TIMES).

• Aizetsu is a very gentle, understanding, sweet, and thoughtful person and he has times where he second guesses himself but he definitely has a good crowd of people around him to keep his head held high.

UROGI

• Like his past incarnation he’s the second to last born. His Birthday is January 4th, 1999 ( he’s only 11 months younger than Aizetsu)

• He is most DEFINITELY a wild child lmao! He’s like Karaku x3000 when it comes to getting a thrill out of doing some shit. As a child he used to like to jump off of crazy shit and oddly would not get hurt 😅

• Has always been hella adventurous since he was a young lad. Always loved being outdoors and being in nature and still does in his adulthood. Likes going hiking & climbing. He feels at peace outdoors.

• He once climbed a whole fucking billboard and sat there for like 10 minutes ( Karaku and one of their cousins has a recording of him climbing it)

• Not only is he super flexible and athletic but he’s also very musically inclined too. His singing voice is on par with Aizetsu and he can read and write music (to an extent).

• Urogi works at the same bar as Karaku (Yes they work together) literally trouble but make it double 😂😂. Much to anyone’s surprise they don’t cause THAT much chaos. If Karaku is thing one then Urogi is thing two!

• He also loves coming up with different type of recipes and they are all a hit. Him and Karaku compete to see whose drinks are the best at work but it’s all brotherly competition and never any hard feelings.

• Heavily into gymnastics too & have been since he was little! So you know he keeps his body in great condition and goes to the gym everyday! He is about 6’1 1/2.

• Academically he made a mixture of A’s, B’s, and some C’s. Never went below a C. Is very smart but is whole ass class clown. It only took one time for his parents to get onto him and he never caused any significant distractions again lmao. Did not want to attend college but chose to follow what he felt was good for him. At first his parents were a little mad but they let Urogi decide what was best for him and supported whatever he decided (WE LOVE GOOD NON TOXIC PARENTING 🥹).

• Can cook but absolutely hates doing it. Prefers takeout instead and only cooks when he is in the mood to do so.

• Very much a HEAVY ASS SLEEPER & SNORES. Can probably sleep through a loud ass storm.

• Smells very earthy but not in a bad way. Like a combination of Pine and Sandalwood. (His favorite body wash is Dove Sandalwood for its earthy tone) Has seasonal breakouts but worst during winter (poor baby)

• He definitely smokes weed but by himself or with Karaku.

• His weakness: HE LOVES SWEETS & JUNK FOOD. Mans can literally eat a XL pizza by himself.

• Urogi is all together a very friendly, eclectic, and outgoing person and everyone can’t help but love him (even though he sometimes drives them crazy) 😂

ZOHAKUTEN

• He’s the last born baby of the brothers! He was born July 21st, 2007 so he is a Cancer baby!

• Like Sekido and Aizetsu, Zohakuten is a rather quiet, reserved person. But he is hellllaaaaa blunt. Zohakuten’s tone may come off a bit direct and blunt and a little harsh but I think he means well. (Sometimes)

• INTROVERTED.

• Also like his brother, he DEFINITELY has a resting bitch face and is his dads literally mini me.

• He is very much into art and loves graphic design. He’s also a very skilled digital artist as well.

• As a matter of fact, he drew the dragon design that Sekido has tattooed on his back for his birthday last year.

• He is still in high school and is very close to his senior year!! He makes excellent grades in school with straight A’s and has always.

• He is also a band student too! He plays the snare drums.

• After Highschool he does hope to help his dad out at the studio and work to save up for college. He wants to pursue a career in art.

• Since he still lives at home of course he gets spoiled by his parents but I don’t see him being the petty type like rubbing it in his brothers faces. Hell they be spoiling him too.

• He hits the gym with his brothers when they go. It’s like part of a bonding experience.

• He is about 5’9 ( his mom thinks that he’s on the brink of a major growth spurt.) For more context, their mom is 5’11 (momma a stallionnnn) and their dad is 6’7.

• HE HATES SWEETS! Prefers spicy foods though! Literally will go through a family sized bag of hot chips in 30 minutes and nobody knows how. (Not even me.) 😂😂😂.

• HEAVY ASS SLEEPER! That’s it that’s the post.

• Is willing to learn how to cook but only trusts his mother or Sekido to teach him.

• Karaku got him into zodiac signs too. He didn’t understand the concept at first until he read further and started seeing his attitude traits in what he read on Cancers.

• Not a people person but it is not as bad as his past incarnation where he bathed in hatred. Is willing to make some changes to his attitude and approach especially pursuing a career that deals with customers commissioning him for his arts but PLEASE do not piss him off or rush his work.

• He may not show it but he lovvvveesssss and adores his family!

I genuinely hope you all enjoyed my headcanons. I had been putting it off and putting it off and making revisions but I think that I love my headcanons for them. There are of course some more to come though so keep your eyes peeled. I will eventually start writing for more fandoms but I gotta let this Hantengu clone brainrot out somehow lmao.

I tag: @i-karaku-swear-i-dont-smoke-weed @ch3rriiii-bunn @hakujisstuff @bbkook @its-freaking-jordan @yunaarts

#hantengu clones #sekido #karaku #aizetsu #urogi #zohakuten #kny headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba #black writer #Hantengu clone headcanons

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