#he’s not used to this kinda science but he’s trying to be a good friend

[cocoa-rococo]

Koopaling Headcanons: Ludwig

Larry | Morton | Wendy | Iggy | Roy | Lemmy | Ludwig

Everyone's favorite composer of chaos! I've got too many thoughts involving him.

Naturally left-handed, but trained himself to be ambidextrous.

He's disturbingly good at discerning people's motives, personalities, and past. He claims it's simple logic, but no one really knows how he does it.

Whenever Bowser’s in a pissy mood or feels agitated, Ludwig sometimes gets called in to play something soft and relaxing to calm him down.

There's rumors floating around the army that he was originally a Paratroopa General who sold his wings in exchange for arcane powers in a magical bargain with Kamek. He's yet to confirm or deny this. (It’s not true, but he likes to keep his recruits on their toes).

Likes having a physical, paper to-do list. It makes him feel productive and organized as he checks things off.

Has a baritone voice, very rich and darkly colored. He can hit high notes with relative ease, but can't hold them as long as he can with his lower notes.

His singing is enchanted. It's something he was born with, and he's gotten very good at controlling it. He does forget sometimes, and before he knows it, his humming down the street has attracted a plethora of birds.

Also fairly decent at mimicking bird calls. Iggy is dying to learn his secret.

Likes reading mystery novels and detective stories, but spaces them out so he doesn’t read the chapters all at once. He also uses Morton as a soundboard for theories in each chapter, and relishes the feeling of being smart if he solves it before the end.

One of the most magically powerful out of his siblings. He’s fairly decent at a little bit of everything, but his siblings are stronger with their specialization. His strongest field is in Evocation.

While piano is his preferred instrument, he plays several: violin, cello, pump organ, pipe organ, guitar, flute, clarinet, harp, harpsichord, and ocarina.

He’s an ugly crier and hates it, which is why he tries not to do it often.

Fond of gardenias and wisteria flowers.

One of his favorite downtime, out-and-about activities is going antiquing. He’s found a nice gramophone, a few records, and some furniture pieces for his room by doing so.

He and Wendy have ‘Bitch Lunch' together on occasion, where they basically talk shit about their coworkers and gossip about their friends.

You can actually tell how long he's been composing by how dark his hands are with ink smudges. You can also us it to tell how bad of a mood he’s in.

Partially deaf in his left ear, and uses a hearing aid to assist him. Fluent in sign language, as well.

He likes tall places, especially the views. Great for a bit of peace from his siblings and inspiration for his music.

Loves the smell of coffee and vanilla, but leans more towards being a tea person. He's got an excellent palate for both, however.

Larry is persistently trying to introduce him to the keytar. Ludwig is persistently refusing to go near it.

Very much a morning person. He wakes up earlier than most of his siblings and likes having his hot drink and reading alone to enjoy the quiet hours before the rest of his family wakes up.

Love language is quality time, and a master of time management. He gets kinda tetchy when others don’t respect deadlines or appointments dates, and heaven help you if you intrude on his scheduled self-care hours.

He snorts when he laughs really hard, and is terribly embarrassed by it, so he tries to reign it in when he can. Anyone who can do it who isn't a sibling is a special person, indeed.

When his siblings are annoying him, he likes bombarding them with music puns. He is well aware he's being an ass and does not care.

Leaned more towards science as a kid, but discovered the piano when he was twelve, and creating music felt right in a way that making little inventions never did. He never looked back, and he’s a lot happier for it, too.

Keeps a little pocket notebook on him for writing things down, and he's pretty dutiful about marking things in. It's a common gift his sibling get him on the holidays.

He doesn't have as much of a sweet tooth, but toffee — especially with almonds or coffee in it — is his weakness. His siblings have learned he can be bribed to look the other way if they have enough.

Also a fan of very dark chocolate, and his favorite pastry is a freshly-warm coffee cake.

He's pretty alright at art, especially with acrylic paint and sketchier mediums like charcoal and conté, he just doesn't like how dirty his hands get afterwards. He's got a side business doing murals.

Favorite fruits are cherries and plums, but he also won’t turn down anything with blackberry in it.

Likes watching regency romance dramas in his alone time, but loves dragging the shit out of reality TV shows with Wendy.

He also loves watching those foreign films with subtitles, very artful with a lot of emotion in them, especially if he's feeling spiteful and his little siblings are annoying, because "No, Ludds, I don't want to read a film after two hours of paperwork!"

Has a small collection of model ships in bottles. He keeps them on a high, high shelf in his room, given his work environment. Ship kits are another common gift to him.

Looks at memes like an old man; both hands, squinty eyes, mouth slightly open. The others think this is hilarious.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hii!! Is it possible to request a Minho x Reader Angst fic? I don’t have any real ideas for what i just rlly like angst😭

Anyway make sure you’re looking after yourself!!

YES 🙏🙏 I concocted the perfect idea for this so I hope you enjoy! ; thank you for requesting!! ; I wrote like a good chunk of this in geometry and physical science so this is actually kinda good lol ; also this is so damn long for me what the FUCK. ; also a bit of inspo in the end thanks to she by jelly roll...

MINHO ; they

summary ; minho loses you again

warnings ; language, guns & gun violence, explosions/bombs, death, he rips off your wckd jacket & top (not sexual), and a panic attack

disclaimers ; top ten most unneeded deaths in cinema

word count ; 2.5k

masterlist

Minho lost everything he'd been able to remember once he left the Glade, including you.

You were a smart thinker, which confused him as to why you stayed back with Gally and the other skeptics who didn't want to find escape in the maze. He tried so hard to convince you to come, but with such little time, he couldn't.

He'd spent months imprisoned mourning the loss of your presence. He didn't know how to function without you. He wondered where you were all the time, if you were even alive or not. He'd been wishing the best in your fate, in the scorch and back in the hands of WCKD. He missed your dorky smile and infectious laughter, hoping one day he could hear it again, even in the stars that he oh-so-missed gazing with you.

Your name scorched his heart every time it was spoken. Your face was engraved in his brain, to the point every time he thought of or imagined you, he'd fight back tears to stay strong. You were weaponized against him, being used to create false memories and episodes to help them find a cure.

Every time he'd wake up from a real dream where you were present, he'd end up in tears, to then have to cradle himself back to sleep. He'd been confined like this for months, then another few days before the bust. It was so, so much worse in the Last City, he'd rather have died in some horrific train crash then have missed his chance at freedom.

However, you survived. Gally did, too, though, even after Minho pierced his chest with a spear.

You'd joined some revolution gang together, learning to use guns and join the ranks. You'd been given bulletproof vests once you proved your worth, officially becoming part of the team.

Reuniting with Thomas, Fry, and Newt was a story in itself, but knowing, or at least hoping, that you'd see Minho again made your heart race in your chest. Gally took Thomas and Newt out to explore the perimeter of the city, letting you reconnect and catch up with Fry and get to know Brenda and her father figure Jorge.

Brenda grew fond of you quickly, liking your badassery and passion to overthrow WCKD. She knew you weren't into trying to kill innocents and understood that you wanted bullets in Janson's and Paige's heads, and you were willing to do it for free.

You showed her and Fry how to use the electro-guns, two you'd stolen from WCKD guards that defended the city walls. They're good for torture, but it was never your taste of tea, you left the others to do the sick shit. You wanted your friends back, you didn't even know they'd been free up til earlier today.

Once the trio came back, they set up a plan that you and Gally jumped in on to deflect and suggest ideas. It was set for tomorrow night, and you didn't know how to process it. You try not to think of Minho the rest of the night, which you awfully fail at, as you'd fallen asleep thinking of him.

You play out your role over and over again, overthinking every single detail down to the grade of gun you'd have strapped to your side. Gally, now your close friend after all this time together, could see your nervousness and anticipation.

"You okay?" He asks, leaning on the railing to your shared bunk bed. You slept on the bottom, him on the top.

You nod, arms sprawled over the top of your pillow, basically holding it like it was going anywhere. "I'm good. Nervous"

He nods, "It'll be alright, we're gonna get him back"

You'd stolen WCKD gaurd suits, your first priority. You and Gally walk around the perimeter of the building post getting the kids on the bus. Your masks are up to avoid any real guards noticing that you're fakes. He holds his bulky gun across his chest, while yours is angled with the safety on across your back. A hand rests over the pistol on your side.

You can feel your heart pounding behind your ribcage, the anticipation of seeing Minho and taking down WCKD killing you. Gally pats your shoulder for reassurance and nods forward silently, wanting to pick up the pace.

You notice explosions in the distance, firey flames illuminating the sky.

As you walk under the main area, you notice a fire extinguisher land in the modern pool, splashing water into the air as it sinks to the bottom. You hear yells, then three bodies plop into the pool. You and three other guards behind you run to the scene, while you and Gally lag behind, knowing who just showed up.

Thomas, Newt, and Minho rise out of the water, floating over to the side after Thomas sends Janson, standing in the bay of the window, maybe twenty stories high, a middle finger. They wade over to the edge and pull themselves out, guards hold them at gunpoint, leaving their faces shaken and in despair.

Gally acts first, shoving one of the guards into the pool, then you pistol whip the one on your right, and you together knock out the last guy. The boys stare at you two, confused as to why two guards had apparently saved them, their questions are quickly answered as Gally rips his mask off.

"Hey"

"Oh, you bloody genius!"

"Oh, shit"

"What the hell?" Minho mutters.

Laying your eyes on him again, even though that mask, it brought you nearly to tears. Seeing his eyes, so tired, his body clearly so weak from the mental and physical stress, your heart broke for him. You make sure your handheld gun had the safety on before tucking it away properly.

"Long story" Gally replies to Minho, knowing what he was thinking.

Minho, still in genuine shock, adrenaline coursing through his veins, looks to you, wondering if you were maybe Brenda or Fry. You bite the inside of your cheek before pulling your mask off, softly smiling at Minho.

Newt and Thomas smile, Newt much more weak, as he was beginning to crank out.

"Y/n?" He questions in disbelief. "How- am I dreaming again?"

You quickly pound the boy into a hug, the moisture from his body rubbing off onto your red and grey outfit. The mask lays on the concrete, where Gally kicks it into the water, same with his.

You hear him begin to sob, holding onto you so tightly in fear you'd disappear like all the times before. You rub his back with your dominant hand, which trails up his spine toward his nape.

"I thought you were dead" He cries, "They've been using you in those simulations-"

"It's okay." You softly speak, "We have to go, you can tell me all about it later"

He nods, eyes still widened in shock and confusion as you follow the other three as they quickly flee the scene.

You take cover by some bushes, leaving Newt on the side to rip his jacket off as he sweats profusely. The veins in his neck were bulging out of his skin, colored a matte black.

You couldn't help but stare, unable to listen to the others talk. You quickly rush to his aid, wanting to help him be the most comfortable he possibly could be.

You crouch down next to him, giving him some reassuring words that he'd be okay. You help him to his feet, where Minho is at your side.

Gally and Thomas lead the way as another explosion rings through the air near you. You duck your head as some loose shrapnel lightly hits your skin, thankfully not enough force given to puncture your face.

The explosions only become worse as you run through a little diner, having no alternate route around as the city was being blown to smithereens.

"God damnit, we said blow up the entrance, not the whole damn city"

Newt falls to the ground, too weak to walk as black ooze drips from his lips. Glass explodes behind you, in which you quickly shove Minho to the ground in front of you to protect him. You cover your head, letting the glass shards hit your protected back.

He gasps for air for a moment as Thomas and Gally prop him up against a safe wall, trying to talk to him. You and Minho follow suit, making a quick plan to go get the temporary cure from Brenda and Jorge, and run back to give it to Newt.

"Stay strong for me, okay?" Minho speaks, his hands on the blonde's shoulders.

He nods, his eyes clearly lost in a daze, his vision blurry and wobbly.

Minho pats his shoulder before standing up, letting you give him a nod of reassurance. You and Gally follow Minho, weapons drawn to protect him as he leads with his quick sprinting skills.

You three get one last look at Newt and Thomas before fleeing, working your way through the maze of buildings and explosions to get to your friends. Gally shoots a guard at his side while you do the same at about a 10'o'clock radius.

"This way!"

You follow Minho, the explosions so loud that they defeaned gunshots. The battery on your stolen WCKD gun runs out, and you toss it to the side, resorting to using your pistol to defend your friends. Another bomb nearly knocks you off your feet, causing you to stumble into Minho.

"Sorry!" You shout over the noise.

"You okay?" He shouts back, helping you balance on your feet again.

"Yeah!" You quickly reply, nodding forward for him to continue running to get the cure.

You make it down to the Berg, where Fry, Brenda and Jorge await your arrival.

"The cure!"

"We can't leave him here like this"

"We can't take him back-"

"We have to, please"

"It's too dangerous, we won't make it back to the Berg in time, or we'll get blown up carrying him!"

You stand at Minho's side, looking down at the blonde haired boy as he stands up. He wipes the tears from his eyes, looking at you.

"We have to leave him, Minho"

He nods, slowly placing the cure in Newt's cold hand. He takes one last look at him before turning away, waiting for anyone to speak and give orders.

Brenda speaks up again, deciding to get back to the Berg as fast as possible. You all follow her, guns out, ready to shoot whoever you had to at this point.

Minho turns to you as you run side by side, "Why are you here? Why are you putting yourself in the face of danger? To save me or something?"

You give him a little head tilt to act as a shrug, "You called"

"What?"

You shake your head, deciding to explain it once you were in the hands of safety. An explosion, which cause the ground to rumble beneath you, knocks you all off your feet and onto the hard concrete.

You all groan in pain, having fallen all over each other. Brenda had fallen onto Fry, and they both stumble to the side, apologizing to one another profusely. You'd fallen onto Minho, of course, and help him back to his feet.

You feel lightheaded, your face growing cold, odd for the amount of heat and fire and running around you'd been doing. You lean onto the boy, feeling woozy, as maybe you'd stood up to fast.

Then you fall to your knees, some invisible force knocking you down, your cargo pants ripping at the knees from the impact.

"Y/n!" You hear Minho shout, his voice echoey in your ears.

You hear three gunshots coming from each Fry, Gally, and Brenda. You look back, seeing a WCKD guard fall on their back after taking three shots to the head and chest. Minho's hands rest on your shoulder and on your cheek as he calls your name, asking if you're okay. You see his eyes glance down, where he quickly looks back up to not scare you.

You stand up, numb to any pain. He follows, making sure you're able to keep balance on your feet. He quickly rips off the bulletproof vest for you and your jacket, revealing the wound right under your collar bone.

You look down at it, then look back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. You look to the other three, eyes widened in shock and fear. Another explosion pops a few hundred yards away, shaking the ground again, though not enough to knock you all down once more.

Minho quickly shouts for anything he can use to keep pressure on the wound. He held his hand over it, as the bleeding was horrible at the moment. His hands are covered in your blood, considering the bullet that shot you went clear through you. You notice the bullet a few feet away, light flickering off of it as it rolls into the street where multiple bloody bodies lay.

Minho rips a piece of his shirt and stuffs it into the exit wound, ordering you to hold it there. He pulls you along as you continue running through the city. Your left arm rests over Minho's shoulders, not wanting to upset your other side. Considering moving, it would only agitate it more, and you were trying to keep pressure on the wound anyway.

As you reach the final yards to reach the Berg where Jorge and Vince wait, you collapse to your knees again, landing face first in the debris covered concrete. Minho falls with you, your weight having dragged him down. He tries to pull you up but notices the pool of blood forming around you. A thin, but large pool.

He calls your name over and over, then flips you on your back, where blood sputters out of your mouth. He quickly pulls you up, your back now held up by Brenda and Fry, who were quick to turn back. Gally crouches down on one knee and slowly removes the cloth from the wound, absolutely drenched in crimson.

"No, no, no, no. Not now! Y/n, get up, please," He pleads, watching Vince and Jorge rush to your aid. "They were shot by a gaurd, went clean through, there's so much blood-"

You reach your hand out to Minho as the men pick you up off the ground, where you stumble to walk with them. They practically carry you on their shoulders to the Berg.

Another explosion knocks you all to the ground again, leaving bruises on faces, arms, and legs as you're pounded onto the ground. You'd be lucky enough not to get AIDS at this point.

Minho stumbles to his feet, rushing to you as the men pick themselves up before you.

He notices blood spewing from the other side of your chest. He rips the extra layers of clothing off your torso, tossing your pistol to the side as well. Gally looks around, finger on the trigger of his gun, looking for a shooter.

"Stray bullet!" Brenda shouts, "Get them in there! Go! Thomas needs us!"

Minho places his hands under your arms and drags you into the Berg himself, all the children right in view of your slumped body. You choke on blood and air, feeling your face grow cold and pale. The liquid trails up into the aircraft, staining the hard metal red for the time being.

Vince jumps into the driver's seat, ordering the others to help you and how to before it's too late. Brenda stands next to him, trying to get any info out of Thomas through the walkies.

You wrap your arms around Minho, feeling the pain in your chest now as you grunt and cry. You squeeze onto the back of his shirt, the pain causing you to claw your fingers into him. He holds you, his heart breaking in two as you struggle to breathe.

The placement, it wasn't possible to keep you this time. It wasn't possible to keep you and be free in any situation, in any timeline, in any universe.

"I don't wanna say goodbye"

He sits on the beach every morning, talking to the sunrise as if you were there next to him. He didn't mind the sand that would pile up in his boots or the dusty grain that would stick to his hydrophoric hands all damn day if it weren't for the water there to wash it away.

He regretted never being able to rant about all his feelings to you. He wished he had time to tell you about all he went through so you could reassure him that you'd protect him forever. You'd protect him from the nightmares and the scars, the mental baggage that would weigh him down forever.

His fingers traced over your name on the rock when he felt lonely, like you were magically there, hugging him again.

He'd never know for sure what you meant when you said that he called. He understood that you definitely didn't hear him call for you after awakening after nightmares, but maybe you did, he wouldn't have known. He guessed in a metaphorical sense, he did call for you, which you both knew, but it still confused him somehow. He wanted you to explain it all so he'd understand, like how you always did.

He started crying himself to sleep after he began to forget your face.

He just wanted another hug, but your face was beginning to blur out. It sent him into a panic attack right there. No one was there to help him as he cried and clawed into the dirt, trying to ground himself again. He couldn't believe himself, he treasured you so much yet he was forgetting your face after merely a year after your dissapearance?

It didn't help that after a while, he began to forget your voice too, that hurt even more. He'd been forced to talk about his feelings to Thomas like a parent-child conference. He wasn't himself anymore.

His eyes were always swollen, eyebags dark and weighing his happiness down. He was depressed. Every smile he showed was just him trying to make his way through another day's work, distracting himself from the fact that he lost you, for good this time, he watched it.

He wrote letters to you with no address to send to. It didn't help whatsoever that he himself pushed you out into the sea once Thomas regained consciousness so he could say farewell. He watched it all, he knew you were gone this time. At least he had some sense of closure.

He had nothing left of you other than that WCKD jacket you wore, that haunted him as he slept. He only kept it because even with the logo of the corporation that tortured him for years and past the bullet holes in it, it provided him a little comfort that you were still there.

He found that telling stories of you to the younger kids helped.

"They were like the life of the party, bright smile, infectious laughter. They were the one everyone wanted to be around. You could see the sunrise in their eyes."

"Who were they to you?" One little girl asks.

"I don't really know" Minho shrugs, looking down at his hands for a moment.

"Where are they now?" A little boy asks, tilting his head.

"They're in the sky, they have been. They're stuck there. I hope I see them again" He replies with a little nod, looking up at the sun beginning to set up on the island.

"Why are they stuck in the sky?"

"They're afraid of coming down"

[wazzappp]

Side effects of having an ‘engine heart’ lmao

@amazingspider-z our conversation. It would not leave me alone.

[cherry-cola-on-ice]

Slashers with a sleepwalking s/o

AN: totally based off my personal experiences sleepwalking lol asked my friends and family what their favorite sleepwalking episode was.

Jason Voorhees 🏕

Jason is already paranoid AF about you unknowingly wandering into a trap during the day.

But the first time he comes across you in the woods at night? When you should be asleep?

He is not a happy man. Many thoughts run through his mind. Are you trying to leave him? Trying to get yourself hurt? Would you rather die then be with him?

It takes him a good while and a lot of explaining for him to understand what's happening. That your not intentionally doing this. Science shit™️

He sets up a system. Maybe a bell or two. Something loud to let him know where you are. Maybe some trip wires.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: He watched you eat a entire sleeve of saltines while standing in the shower.

Michael Myers 🎃

Michael's seen some shit. So this is nothing. All those years in Smiths Grove have prepared him for this. So you sleepwalk? Cool, his neighbor at Smiths Grove used to eat cockroachs.

That being said, the closer you're relationship grows, the more worried he becomes. What if you fall down the stairs? What if you wander into the road? What if, what if, what if??

He doesn't have the foresight to set up traps, like Jason does.

Uses his fucked up sleep schedule to his advantage and often stands over your sleeping body. Jumpscare.

Will definitely tie a bell on you while you sleep. Totally not a collar what are you saying? Don't make it kinky.

The strangest thing he's seen you do: Put all of the remotes in the refrigerator because they needed batteries.

Thomas Hewitt 🥩

Poor sweet man. You're going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

However, he's probably one of the more better prepared of the lot. His house is set up to keep people in and out. So there isn't much danger you can get into.

Unless he forgets to lock up the basement. Which has happened once. And only once. You were fairly unharmed if not a little traumatized.

Has taken to locking your bedroom door. Also installs like 10 latches. AND puts a bell on the doorknob. And maybe sometimes you.

Look, he's already scared of losing you to somebody else, he doesn't want to have to worry him losing you to you.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: Him, Monty and Hoyt sat and watched you stand in front of the sink for a hour and a half. Just standing there. Menacingly

Brahms Heelshire 🐀

Oh, poor baby is confused. Especially at the start of your situation-ship. You don't know he's there, you just think you're babysitting a doll for a sad old couple. Not their grown ass son who lives in the walls.

The first time Brahms finds you sleepwalking, he's pissed. You trying to leave him, he knows you are. But... did you just snore?? Wait, you're asleep. He feels a little better about the situation.

Until you start walking towards the stairs. Boy's never moved so fast in his life. He knows if he wakes you up it's game over. So he gives you a gentle nudge back to your room.

Now after you find about the rat man in the walls, things are different. Brahms, even in the deepest REM cycle, will never let you go. Man is a koala and you are the tree he's clinging to for dear life. It's almost impossible to escape his arms at night.

Almost makes you sleep in the walls instead of the bedroom so you're safer. Like ain't no way you're getting out of those without him waking up.

Strangest thing he's seen you do: Sat up in bed, complaining about the maracas in your mouth??? He cried.

Billy Lenz 🎄

World's worst caretaker 👑

Especially before yall start dating because, at that point in time, he's still trying to decide if he wants to kill you. He won't lie, he very briefly thought about pushing you down the stairs.

But? After you win him over? Yeah still kinda sucks ass at keeping you from hurting yourself. He'll keep you alive, mind you, just a little worse for wear.

He asked you once if he could tie you down in bed. You didn't like the look in his eyes so you declined. Billy pouted for the next three days.

TBH he might do it anyways. Look he's just trying to keep your silly little self safe, S/O. Get your mind out of the gutter. Haha, jk...unless 😏?

The strangest thing he's seen you do is eat a entire bag of gummy bears while standing outside. He joined you.

Vincent Sinclair 🖌

Another prepared king 👑

His workshop is dangerous. Upstairs is dangerous. The whole town is health code violation. And bby cannot stand the idea of you hurting yourself.

But other then the constant anxiety that you'll some how end up falling off the stairs or falling into the wax or the any other number of things his brain comes up with, he's very level-headed.

Child safety locks. He buys that shit in bulk.

But hey, gives him a excuse to hold you at night. (Vincent, they're literally your s/o)

The strangest thing he's seen you do is stand over Bo's bed, chanting tomato. Bo almost cried.

Bo Sinclair 🔧

Definition of "Look at that idiot...oh wait that's my idiot!"

Honestly, probably the worst. Not like 'let's you just walk around' worst, but more like 'Imma gonna chain you to the bed' worst.

Dude's so scared of losing you, pretty much the best thing that ever happened to him, that his willing to go to drastic matters to keep you safe.

Don't try to explain the science behind it, you'll only give him a migraine. Just let him keep you safe. K, bby?

Bo's gonna lose sleep some nights, he's that scared. No doubt you will wake up to the feeling of someone watching you. Just comfort him, ok?

Strangest thing he's seen you do is sit up in bed and start singing 'Livin La Vida Loca'

Asa Emory 🪲

Number one prepared king™️

I'm not saying he may or may not, kinda sorta perhaps placed cameras around your living situation before you two even began dating. But yeah he did.

So he knows all about the crazy shenanigans you are up to at night.

He reads the books, watching online lectures 👏all👏the👏research. You can bet your sweet ass he knows exactly how to wake you up in case of emergency.

In the same breath, despite how much he does love you, science. Prepare to be studied like a bug under a microscope.

Strangest thing he's seen you do is standing with the refrigerator doors open, telling him how much you love this show.

Norman Bates 🚿

My poor sweet innocent murder bby. He doesn't know what to do.

Yeah, keep you safe, he's got that much down. But at what cost?

The hotel looks like a a daycare center now. Baby proofing everywhere (ask him about getting locked out of the bathroom, it's funny)

Suggested a collar once as a joke, wasn't expecting you to agree. Got flustered. Dropped his cup, maybe got a bone.

Another koala sleeper, so good luck escaping his embrace. Will go as far as following you to the bathroom to make sure you're actually awake.

Strangest thing he's seen you do is sit down in a fake potted plant in the living room and talk about dinosaurs.

[telvess]

Reader using pick-up lines on them

chaotic writing for the fun

Hades

“You should be arrested for stealing my heart!”

Pick-up lines, hmm? Alright, fine, but did you have to use the most pathetic, the cheesiest one? Hades is way too elegant for such a poor tasted attempt, he actually feels offended by your words.

Your first impression is horrible. Hades silently judges you. Of course, he is too classy to make any snarky comments, but you can tell by his cold, indifferent look that he has lost all interest in your company. At this point, he is more of a Poseidon than his brother himself.

If you aren’t the type of person who gives up easily and still tries to flirt… just stop. The best you can get from him would be „yes”, „no” or a nod of the head.

Buddha

“You see my friend over there? She want to know if you think I'm cute.”

Buddha stares at you for a long moment, then looks over your shoulder to check out your friend (who you obviously made up), then then returns to you. His expression is blunt, maybe slightly bored. Totally makes you lose the confidence you had a moment ago as you watch him lazily suck a lollipop and pierce you through with his unimpressed glare.

The worst he can say is „no”, right? Well, who would have thought that the enlightened mind of Buddha would prove otherwise. A drawn-out silence makes you uncomfortable and you start to squirm under his gaze, not ready for that unfazed attitude of his…

Once the confidence you felt approached him vanished and you are ready to leave as quickly as possible, Buddha begins to laugh historically. You jump up a little and stare at him confused. It takes him a while to calm down, but when he does, he looks at you seriously again and says „tell your friend I find ya cute” with the most annoying smirk in the entire universe.

Susanoo

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

Susanoo watches you with harsh expression, his eyebrows raising as your attitude doesn’t change. You just stand in front of him and wait for his answer. Kinda hot, he has to admit.

He is amused by this shitty attempt, but still has to admit that it takes some balls to say something so crappy to his face. You’re bold, stupid and definitely not in your right mind.

He would definitely address all of the above and then… respond to you with an even cheaper pickup line that he thinks sounds good. He is very proud of himself and oblivious to the point that it matches his intimidating aura.

Susanoo likes a person who isn’t concerned with what everyone think of them, but he is also a person who expects others to submit to his will, which makes him rather difficult person to flirt with, demanding from you to adapt to his confusing preferences.

Nikola

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together.”

BUAHAHAHAHA! HE WOULDN’T GET IT 100%!

He looks at you very confused at first, then he puts to work all of his braincells trying to figure out what you meant. Is this some kind of puzzle? Mystery? It’s clearly impressive, because he struggles to solve it!

Please, stop the brainstorming session before he starts writing his thought on the board and calls members of the science crew asking for the consultations.

After yours short explanation (which probably burnt your soul to the bones with embarrassment) Nikola nods, compliments your clever attempt and… continues what he was doing before this whole masquerade started, oblivious to the fact you just hit on him. So you just stand there and wait for something, but you last barely several dozen seconds before you run away to hide somewhere far, far away.

Much to your surprise, Nikola visits you the next day and invites you for coffee, bluntly.

Hermes

“Can I put my hand on your thigh, where it belongs?”

You sit next to him and get straight to the point. No hesitation, no shame in your eyes. Hermes’ eyes widen for a millisecond as the words leave your lips. Oh? Oh? Oh? He couldn’t help but let his lips stretch into a wide smile, trying to cover his mouth with his hand as a single chuckle escapes his lips.

When he pulls himself together, Hermes lets his playful nature take over. So you thought you were flirty? Hermes is too smart and too cunning to allow you triumph for long. Even if he isn’t interested, he will leave you with a dry mouth and wet panties. Hermes uses the tongue as smoothly as he uses the violin.

Apollo

“I'm sorry, were you talking to me?” He denies, “Well, would you like to?”

My, my, look at you! Approaching the Sun God just like this? Apollo is impressed. In fact, because of how intimidating he is, it's not often that others surprise him with such bravado. Usually they just treat him as something as intangible as the rays of the sun, bathing in his glory, praising him as a celestial being, not as a person. You - on the other hand - are a breath of fresh air.

Once the first shock wears off, his entire figure begins to glow and he gives you the most breathtaking smile you will ever see. From that point on, everything he does comes so naturally that it makes you lose yourself. After making great first impression, you end up like everyone else: Apollo wraps you around his little finger and before you know it, you just sit there and listen to his melodious voice as if you are bewitched. The man is too charming.

Poseidon

“Are you a magician? Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

Peasant. Get out.

You aren’t clever. You aren’t brave. You aren’t impressive. The only person that will disappear is gonna be you, if you don’t remove yourself in the next 3 seconds.

Whoever didn’t stop you from approaching Poseidon like this, definitely doesn’t wish you well.

Kojirō

“Aren't you tired? From running through my mind all day?”

The man gives you surprised look, and moment later he presents you his widest smile. Sasaki has no clue what to say, so he just stands before you, rubbing his neck and blushing like teenage girl. He may stammers out a few words of thanks, but you really shouldn’t hope for more. Kojirō is simply not used to compliments, so even the simplest pick-up line can rock his world.

Please, ask him about swordsmanship, because it’s probably the only thing he can talk about while his brain fries in the skull.

Once Kojirō pulls himself together, he turns out to be exactly as carefree and friendly as you expected. The longer you two interact, the more open and less awkward he becomes.

Ares

“Do you have a name, or can I just call you 'mine'?”

Did you just? Huh???

Ares blinks a few times before his brain process information. He can’t believe you said something like that! Do you even know who you are talking to? He is Ares, the God of War! One of the twelve Gods of Olympus and son of Zeus! He deserves more respect, not some pathetic, human-alike attempt at flirting. He shouts all this in your face, making a big scene and ridiculing you in front of the others gods. For a moment he’s proud of himself, but your teary eyes quickly put him in a less mighty state.

To make things worse, you literally run away. At first Ares tries to ignore the feeling of guilt in his chest, pretending that your reaction was childish and exaggerated, but all he needs is Hermes to make a little remark (“Poor thing, it seems she gave her all to speak up.”) to make Ares’ face red.

He mutters some lame excuse to leave and starts looking for you. He still thinks your attempt was awful, but maybe - just maybe - his heart skips a beat knowing that some pretty miss thinks so highly of him.

Jack

“If music be the food of love, let’s have a feast together.”

Okay, this man isn’t used to hearing compliments, let alone hitting on him. Jack is a little shocked, not because he doesn’t understand you, but because you actually chose him. He doesn’t recognize you, but to his great surprise you seem to know a little about him. After all, you referred to Shakespeare. It couldn't have been an accident, right?

“Pardon me, lady?” is probably the first thing out of Jack's mouth as he’s still processing what you’ve said, but he quickly snaps out of his surprise, “Forgive me, where are my manners?”

Jack introduces himself properly, takes off the hat and bows like a gentleman. He then politely asks for your name, still fluttered that you gave him a chance.

Thor

“Did you do something to my eyes? I can't seem to take them off you.”

“…”

Neither Thor nor Mjölnir budge. Well, this is definitely something new; no one has ever approached Thor this way before, so he has to give you some points for creativity. However, don’t expect anything as Thor isn’t interested in continuing the conversation, so it’s up to you if you are interested in one-sided interaction.

Loki

“Well, here I am! What are your other two wishes?”

Loki stares at you without the slightest sign of interest, twirling strand of hair around his finger. He seems distant, almost like he didn’t hear you. Then he flinches, as if snapped out of trance. His face changes in a split second: a wide, forced smile and squinting eyes screaming at you to evacuate, because you’ve hit on the wrong guy. “Do you have a death wish, woman?” Loki asks, his voice has the sweetest tone that tickles your ears, but his words spew poison…

Loki is capricious. I don’t think it’s a matter of wrong pick-up line, it's rather more a matter of right timing. But even if you choose a bad moment to approach him, he probably wouldn’t hurt you (physically) - he prefers to scare others, toy with their fear than kill them.

On the other hand, if your timing is right, then you would still bounce off the wall, because Loki doesn’t intent to give you a straightforward answer; he would like to play with you, confuse you with the mixed signals he sends. He wants a reaction from you, entertain him. If you are cocky - his goal is to crush your self-confidence. Shy? Prepare for blushing, squealing and stuttering. Ah, you think you’re being funny here? Loki will gladly turn your smile into tears.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc! as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER EIGHT — SEWN UP

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summary: you'd need a hacksaw to cut the tension between you and eddie, but that's not your weapon of choice this time around. a newspaper pitch, a patchwork girl and a tasteless prank all work together to make things ever more awkward between you and the boy you keep senselessly calling your friend. content warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR PURITAN EYES - reader is an ex-bitch on a journey of self-discovery through being an even more specific kind of bitch, angst in the form of an elizabeth munson mention, miscommunication, lacy engaging non-platonically with someone other than eddie, mention of lacy's surname and dad's name, REEFER RICK CAMEO, billy hargrove slander as per, violence, a humiliating prank, smut in the form of public hand stuff (f!receiving), me feeling insane about this chapter word count: 14.3k

Dear Mom,

She hasn’t got warm hands. She hasn’t got the kind of smile that draws people to her. She hasn’t got a kind word for everyone, no matter where they come from. She hasn’t got a lot of patience. She hasn’t got a fixed sense of herself–well, she does kinda. But, not totally. Not yet. 

She’s not like you.

Other cheerleaders wore ponytails and they’d bounce. But when she wore a ponytail, it swung like a sword. She used to be cruel and exacting, but now she’s just exacting. She’s honest and observant to a degree that’s, like, almost psycho. She’s a cold front, but she laughs like a lightning strike. I feel like thunder, powerless to do anything but roll after her. Can’t help myself. 

She knows what she wants, she thinks. Other days she doesn’t. I keep trying to tell her that’s okay, in ways where I don’t actually have to use the words. My words wouldn’t be as good as her words. Her words burn clean through me like a lit tip of a cigarette. 

But she does have your book. 

Y’know, I always thought it was kind of creepy the way some guys would try and look for their mom in other girls. 

So this might be a good thing. Less Oedipus-y, more ea–… 

Shit. I was gonna say something I’m so sure you’d smack me around the head for. But you’re not here to do that. I might be in better shape with this girl if you were.

Anyway. I miss you. 

Eddie Munson stands in the midst of an incredibly awkward aftermath. 

See, for two people so purportedly self-assured, he in his freakshow roguishness and you in your prim-perfect knife-edge sharpness, you’re both entirely dogshit at acknowledging… well… anything. 

You both tried to snap back to normal so quickly, with Wheeler and her science experiment pregnancy scare smashing through the ice. But the water underneath that ice is still freezing cold– and you’re both pretending you’re not gasping for air, pretending like you don’t remember gasping for each other’s lips. 

This is totally cool. This is totally fine.

And then Eddie comes to see you at The Bookstore, which has become just as routine as nearly never brushing his hair, and sees you fixing your seller’s tag to your pick of the week. Your face in that arresting, self-conscious smile that he wants to melt off with the blowtorch of his mouth. 

It’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum. 

Now, he noticed that you would habitually drop writers’ names into conversation like they were your lit professors– Didion said this, Bukowski said that, Bronte yadda, Burroughs yadda. Always some genius-adjacent, formative-thinking, socio-politico-boffo brainwad, more often than not with a substance abuse kick that you romanticized from a safe distance.

But then you unearth this book, a green clothback cover yellowing with age and roughness, red and yellow inlaid titling blasting out a name he ought to know. It makes his visual memory brrrrrrring! like a bright red tomato shaped kitchen timer.

The Patchwork Girl of Oz was with Elizabeth Munson wherever she went. Her records were her plane tickets, her escape to another world, but you couldn’t take your records with you to the hospital. Escaping to Oz was a decent substitute. She must have read it a bajillion times; she even took to calling Wayne Unc Nunkie after the elderly munchkin who only ever had one word for anybody. And whenever Eddie would drop an egg when they were baking or come running through the house with his knees all cut up, she’d coo, “Oh, my li’l Ojo the Unlucky!”

The book lingered everywhere– on the kitchen counter of the house on Pennsylvania,on the vinyl seat of the booth at the now-shuttered Benny’s when she could afford to take Eddie for a treat, on her bedside table. 

Up until the end. 

It knocks the wind out of Eddie when he sees it on the display shelf. He does a bad job of hiding that. 

“What, too shocked to make fun of me?” you say, perching yourself on the rickety stool behind the counter, and your voice betrays a little embarrassment. “That’s a first.”

“I–... huh?” He tears his eyes away from the book long enough to catch the specks of blush high on your cheeks.

“It’s not my usual flavor, I know, but I’m capable of whimsy too.”

“Why that one?” His limbs feel stony like Unc Nunkie’s, as much as he wants to languidly lean over the counter and bother you like he always does. 

You shrug, but you tilt the opposite shoulder. A reverse, a peek behind the looking glass. He notices that about you, which goddamn shoulder is your shrugging preference. 

“I think it was one of the first books I kept checking out of the library when I was little,” you say, glancing back at the display, “It’s about this poor little kid who has to find a way to reverse a spell on his uncle who’s been turned to stone, and the eponymous patchwork girl is–”

“I know the story.” It comes out a little blunter than Eddie was intending it to. So much so that it knocks you back a beat. 

“Oh,” you say shortly, eyes flaring down at the counter. “No need to cut me off mid-stream about it.” 

Eddie winces, knowing he’s coming across as weird and stilted but with no idea how to safely climb down. “No, just– I know the story, yeah. My mom…” That is not a safe dismount, dummy! “...she… liked it a lot.”

“Yeah?” your tone stays even, yanked back from him a little. He wants to be like, sorrysorrysorry. “She ever read it to you?”

“A bunch, actually.” 

“No shit.” The corners of your mouth tick up. “Wanna hear something super dorky?”

Just the mere invitation of your little smile loosens him up a bit. Eddie twists a ring around his finger, head kicking to his shoulder as his foot kicks to the counter. “Always,” he says, squinting. 

You straighten your spine up on your stool and clear your throat. Hand goes over your heart, like you’re about to recite the damn declaration. Your eyes shutter closed. 

“Here’s a job for a boy of brains– a drop of oil from a live man’s veins; a six-leaved clover; three nice hairs, from a Woozy’s tail, the book declares; are needed for a magic spell, and water from a pitch-dark well– the yellow wing from a butterfly to find must Ojo also try; and if he gets them without harm, Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; but if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc…” your crack one eye open. “...will always stand a marble chunk.”

Eddie is silent for… for a while. For a good handful of heartbeats, for a beat so long that makes you knit your brow up, your eyes needling into him. Eddie’s looking at you with rose-colored soft focus. His elbows are eagerly pitched on the counter now, chin in his hands. The last person to recite those words to him was his mom, her voice raspy and tired but still willing to read to him. She hadn’t smelled like herself. It was sad.

And now, your voice, with all its snippy chainmail thrown off, gone all soft and lyrical and dedicated. 

He thinks about a littler you, one he could vaguely pick out of a lineup if he really, really tried, criss-cross applesauce and pouring over that book so often that that little spell jams itself into your brain. 

The mage before she donned the mink coat.

Eddie is looking at you and can’t force his heart out of his throat. 

Well, until he can.

“Ew,” he cringes.

“What?!” you exclaim, your eyes getting all incredulous and kind of mad. 

“And they call me a fuckin’ nerd, what the hell was that?” Eddie’s laughing, mocking, not with his whole heart. But it’s enough to make you scoff, irritated with him again. 

See, you thought you were being cute and he knows you thought you were being cute. He needs to put you back in a place where you’re marginally unlikeable enough to just be a friend. 

Restore the natural order. Don’t think about how he wants to recite that same verse back to you in front of an ordained Elvis in Vegas. Because he would, in a heartbeat. If he wasn’t committed to not being stupid. 

Christ, you’re pretty. Christ, he’s gonna do something stupid.

“You are… completely undateable, you know that?” he nods ferociously, eyes trailing you as you cross out from behind the counter and head for a box of books that need to be shelved. All uh-huhs and sure, Eddies. The bell on the front door jangles and a customer passes behind him. 

He yells after you, voice traveling down whatever winding path you’ve taken through the stacks. “You with your black and white movies and your twat rock and your Wizard of Oz… baby, what crowd are you even playing to?” 

“What crowd am I playing to? What crowd are you playing to?!” you seethe, shuffling the ten-tonne box of books down the aisle with your feet. “Fucking baggie-pushing, guitar-brutalizing, board-game-...maker-...upper!”

“Woah. Wit’s unmatched as usual, Lace.”

This fucking guy. This fucking guy. You try and do one darling little thing, you just recite a little piece of a book his dead mom used to read to him or whatever, and you get verbally bashed! God forbid, god forbid you let the fucking drawbridge down for half a second! This blows! 

You’re trying to be less of a bitch, in case you idiots didn’t notice!

It’s kind of inexplicable, how sensitive you’re feeling about this. Could be that since you kissed and since you pinkie-swore with Nancy Wheeler in the bombed-out boys bathroom, you kind of felt as if you were standing on a blade’s edge with Eddie. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing how much or how little to joke around. Not entirely happy with your moment of madness at the Ecker trailer. Not entirely happy that it hadn’t happened again. 

But you’re not about to apologize. Not to him. Don Rickles in a battle vest over there. Must he always just poke you like that?!

“You’re undateable!” You shove a bunch of books aside on the shelf. “Me, I’m cu–...”

Right through the shelf, a customer stares at you. Your voice dies in your throat because, unfortunately, he’s looking right at you in your flurry of annoyance toward Eddie. And unfortunately, this stranger, he’s a little… 

“What were you gonna say?” he asks, closing Gravity’s Rainbow. 

“Cute.”

Guy smiles, doesn’t break eye contact with you for a second. He’s wearing a sweater. He looks fresh out of somewhere stone walled with crawling ivy. “I’d attest to that.”

You forget about Eddie– just for a second. Gesturing to Gravity’s Rainbow, you say, “Gonna attempt to finish that?”

“What’s that mean?” His grin is infectious, or maybe you’re just starved for this kind of attention. 

“Nothing,” you say, with a little more tongue than you need to, “Just, I don’t know of anyone that’s ever finished that behemoth.” 

Well, you don’t know of a lot of people that read the way you do either. But, digression. He raps a knuckle against the cover of the book and for some reason, you feel it in your belly. 

“I always finish,” he tells you. 

“Do you now?”

That’s the longest you’ve been quiet in a hot minute, and that’s the kind of thing that gets under Eddie’s skin. Chain on his jeans jangling, he starts off into the creaking labyrinth of lined-up bookcases. 

“What, did you expire back here or something…” he mutters, a little whine in his tone– play with me, play with me, even though I’m being kind of a dick to you–

He sees you, a book lying lax in your arms, your body swaying to and fro and you’re–

“--talkin’ to yourself, Lacy? Great look. Real honeytrap, if you’re lookin’ to catch some imaginary di–”

“Eddie,” you grit at him, and he spots the whole other human male you’re talking to through the stacks. Well, not just talking to. Not with that body language. 

This dude tilts his chin to Eddie. “Hey, man. I remember you. Didn’t you used to sell dimebags in the woods outside school?”

Fire flares in Eddie’s gut. He vaguely recognizes this guy– class of ‘83 or ‘82, not remarkable enough to be hateable but now, he’s certainly collegiate looking enough to be… distracting to you. So, annoying to him. 

“Why, man? You lookin’ to buy? Or just cruise some high schooler tail?”

“Eddie!” you hiss again and he scoffs like, really?! You turn back to this… whoever the fuck. “C’mon, I’ll check you out.”

“You’ll check him out, huh?” Eddie sneers, bearing over you as you pass him in the aisle. Body heat breezing right by, face a mask of sheer disgust. Impulse talks; it totally wants to just grab you and throw you behind him and– well, he hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. But he’s creative. Who the fuck even is this guy? Where did he come from?

“That you?” this guy says, jerking his head toward the staff display, toward The Patchwork Girl of Oz. “Lacy?”

“To my friends and co-conspirators,” you say, ringing up that godawful Pynchon book. 

“Which one was that guy?” he asks, watching you jot out his receipt on the carbon copy pad because for whatever reason, Ivana’s cash register is from the fucking 1800s and she refuses to upgrade to anything with a thermal printer. “Friend? Co-conspirator? … boyfriend?”

You wrinkle your nose. And don’t exactly answer, but it’s enough confirmation for him. 

“Good. Say, why don’t you jot down your number on this thing?” He pushes the receipt back to you. “I can keep you updated on my Pynchon progress. You can… see if I’m good enough to co-conspire with.” 

You like this approach. In fact, you love this approach, because you hadn’t been earnestly picked up in… forever. And he has this certain je ne sais quoi about him, something that screams moved out of state for college. You stay grinning, biting your lip for a good breath or two after he leaves the store. 

Then Eddie appears in your peripheral, like some terrible harbinger of embarrassment. 

“Undateable, huh?” you say, fully aware that he was earwigging on that whole exchange because he’s a nosy bitch and he can’t help himself. Glutton for gossip. 

“You don’t have to throw yourself at the first person who walks in the store just to prove a point, baby,” Eddie tells you, this big face of condescension. You want to smack it off him so bad your palms are itching. 

You huff and backtrack to where that box of unshelved books sits. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting around.”

—

Ronnie Ecker and Robin Buckley are looking each other in the eye, wolf-whistling furtively when you elbow open the door of the gym. 

“You’re flat. I’m telling you you’re flat,” Ronnie’s insisting, an adorable three inches away from Robin’s face. 

“I can’t be flat! A mouth whistle cannot be flat!”

It’s marching band practice. You don’t know what the hell goes on in here and you know better than to ask. 

“Would you two get a room already?” you call, heels clicking across the glossed wood of the gym. These dorks have all got their feathered hats and bibs on, a kind of half-assed dress rehearsal for some pep rally they’re having on Friday. You missed the bulletin– kind of stopped paying attention, actually. Extracurricular distraction is a hell of a drug. 

“Excuse me, this is a closed–” that’s the voice of Miss Genovese, the band teacher, stomping down from the bleachers in these tragic little loafers with the pleather peeling off. She makes it about halfway toward you, then this exasperated look washes right over her. The teacher dashes for the double doors and you point after her with a freshly painted red index finger. New lease on looking good. 

“And that is?”

“Like, the third time in the last hour,” Ronnie shakes her head, taking her flamboyant little hat off. “Biggest running theory is morning sickness.”

What, is pregnancy like, catching or something? you’re about to muse.

“It’s almost contagious, right?” Robin says, tugging at her clip-on collar, “I mean, first your whole thing and now–” 

Ronnie doesn't even have a chance to gesture for her to ixnay! before she slams pause on herself, eyes wide and all shit, did I say that out loud?! Your eyes narrow in return. That’s suspicious.

“What whole thing? My whole what?”

Ever and eternally knowing when to call it, Ronnie holds a hand up before Robin can even start to scramble an apology and serve it to you. Panther versus a precious little puppy dog– the fight ain’t even fair. 

“Nothing. Scuttlebutt bullshit, the usual,” she rolls her eyes, throws a sympathetic glance to Robin who winces and retreats. Huh.

“What’s going on with you two?” you ask, crossing your legs over the bottom rung of the bleachers.

This actually makes Ronnie’s expression soften a little– her eyes race back in Robin’s direction and you swear you catch a blush. “Also nothing! Compound nothing. Why, does it look like…”

Lips purse into a little satisfied grin. Knew it. Toldja. Point to Lacy. “Looks like whatever you want it to look like.”

Ronnie reaches forward and waves her feathered hat in your face– stop being so observant! You cough in protest– ew, I don’t know where that thing has been! 

“Whatever! What brings you to geek church?” 

“That’s what they’re calling it now?”

“Stick around, we’ll start speaking in tongues.” 

“Satanic Panic bringing about a fun new turn for the pep rally! Put some God back into that wind instrument,” you croon. “No, I actually wanted your thoughts on something.”

Ronnie raises her eyebrows and you feel like you oughta mirror her. You’re not usually one to seek out a second opinion, but the more you’ve gotten to know Ronnie, the more you see that she’ll tell you how it is. Especially now that you’ve dispersed with the whole intimidating it-girl cloud and she’s stopped pretending to be shy.

“I know. I’m shocked too.”

“I’m honored,” she swings her shoulders in girlish delight, “Dish it up, Doevski.”

“Okay, so,” you clap, hiking forward on your creaking bleacher, “I’ve been seeing this guy–”

“--this is the bookstore guy?”

A blink and a beat. “How’d you know about that?”

A face that has Eddie told me with footnotes of and he was kind of jealous scrawled all over it stares back at you. “I ‘unno, maybe I overheard…”

“Doesn’t matter.” You slice a hand through the air, no time for this right now. “Facts are facts, I’ve been hanging out with this guy,” interesting change of phraseology, considering, “and he’s a college guy–”

“If they could see you now.” The royal court of Hawkins, obviously. Older guys are generally an accomplishment. But Ronnie’s half-jesting. 

“--I know, shut up. But, he mentioned something that would absolutely rock my college applications is a really, really great–”

“--feature in the Streak?” you’d gasped out in the back of his Ford Cortina (how very European!). College guy’s mouth was on your neck and his hand was inching into your shirt, playing at a faux placket of pearl buttons. Boys can never tell a real button from a fake one, apparently, even if they go to an East Coast school. I mean, shit! You’d gleaned enough information from him over a shake at the diner; relatively well-to-do family that lived near the Wheelers on Maple and kind of underwhelming taste in lit for an English major. 

But he maintained eye contact and listened to your witty little bon mots, even if he didn’t… laugh at them. One thing led to another and thus, the backseat college advisory-slash-makeout session. 

“Yeah, yeah, they love that shit…” he’d said, moving to your mouth in order to swallow any forthcoming words. But his words had piqued your interest more than his fingers had. 

“What about an underdog story?” you said, eyes kind of hazing over in the middle distance. 

“Sure, underdog, great…” college guy grabbed ahold of your leg and tugged you into him, “We can talk more about it later, okay?”

“Okay–”

“–okay?”

Ronnie grimaces. “I didn’t need that much detail.”

“Yes, you did.” You stare at her. “I’m a storyteller.”

Ronnie chews the proposal over a little, cheeks kind of bunched up in confusion. Behind her, band geeks badly hide their hickeys and exhibit too-gangly, too-obvious body language. No inspiration to be tapped from there.

“An underdog story… on the society pages? Like, who could you possibly–”

You smile that awful, conniving smile, because you came in here armed. “Ye of little faith.”

“Oh, no,” Ronnie says, and honestly, you’re a little taken aback by that reaction, “Hellfire?”

A shrug pulls your shoulders right up, rapidly on the defense. “Why not, right?” 

“Why not– Lacy, you almost guillotined Jeff that one time he asked you.”

True that you hadn’t had the inches of article to spare for Hellfire Club in not-too-ancient history, but, “That was then, this is now! World’s changing– and it’s topical!”

The whole Satanic panic thing really did tickle your funny bone; and you saw yourself having a little fun with that by turning the focus on Hellfire. Subverting Eddie’s cult-leader mythos to show that he is just a kid who might have a propensity for telling a good story, surrounded by other kids who want to get a word in. You’re not looking to turn the tide on his reputation or anything but maybe… y’know. You could do the admirable journalistic thing and scratch the surface a bit. Show what you’ve learned. 

It’s a challenge. You love a challenge.

“And it’s a good excuse to get in Eddie’s face,” Ronnie’s voice breaks through. 

There is a lonnng beat, one you hold like the last shoes in your size at a sample sale. Your mouth keeps going to make the words yeah, right or it’s not about him! or y’know, something to exonerate you from the notion.

“I know he isn’t…” Ronnie trails off, coming to sit next to you. “that he’s kind of being weird to you right now.” 

Go ahead and feign that ignoramus, girl. Shoulders quirking and all. 

“Oh. Is he?”

And then Ronnie says maybe the dumbest thing on the planet, regarding the abominable sitch between you and Eddie Munson. 

“You should just talk to him.”

“Ecker, there’s fruitless efforts and then there’s barren wasteland,” you scoff, “Guess which category proposing this to Eddie falls into.”

“That’s not what I–”

J’excuse, Ronnie, but you don’t care! Because this isn’t actually about anything other than getting all of those dice-throwing dorks, including Miss Ecker herself, into your damn paper. Okay?

“We have to ambush him! Element of surprise, that’s it,” you smile primly and hop off the bleachers. “I’m just going to show up at Hellfire, photographer in hand and– he won’t have a choice, will he?”

Ronnie’s expression is a mask of reproachfulness. You don’t let it shake you. You’re a cat playing with a now-endless ball of yarn, and you’re unshakeable. 

“He’s such a sucker for attention,” you say, tossing your hair, and it sounds a lot more like you’re convincing yourself than anyone else in this echoey gym, “He won’t be able to resist.”

—

Reefer Rick doesn’t call, unless it’s an emergency. All of his communication is inbound, or passed through a shoulder check and a goofy smile at Melvald’s, or a nod of the head across the pool table at The Hideout. He doesn’t frequent there so much, because Bev knows he’s a pool shark and ever since ‘Nam, his ears are a little too sensitive to all that metal racket, man! By all means, rock on, but by then I gotta go rock-a-bye myself to sleep, alright? Anyway, that’s how Eddie knows to ride over to his place, if it’s not through a call he’s placed himself. 

You need me, kid, you come and find me. 

So when Eddie gets a call that says, “We gotta pow-wow, ese,” his nerves are set on edge. Not that he wasn’t feeling bad enough, what with the fact that some douchebag in a Cortina had picked you up and dropped you off to school the last couple of days. What with the fact he had actively dogged the car down a little bit of the road from the trailer park with his van, resisting every temptation to just run it all the way off into a ditch. And what with the fact he didn’t know what to say to you about that without it coming out in an anti-missive of jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! so what he did say to you was… nothing. 

You two can’t maintain a consistent line of communication to save your lives, he realizes. There’s too much left unsaid, and the both of you are too stubborn or too scared to say any of it. Or even think it, in his case! The amount of times he’d had to slap himself sober, his brain going into overdrive thinking, if I had just told her… It’s a ‘friendship’, if you can even call it that, based on barbs and bad behavior and doing things because you know you shouldn’t. For the thrill. Right?

Like. Whatever. It’s not like he’d made tapes of a half dozen Black Sabbath albums because you mentioned you wanted to ‘study up’ on that ‘monster music’ he’s making. It’s not like you’d given him an annotated copy of Still Life with Woodpecker because he wanted to throw some ‘nonsensical curveball shit’ into a later Hellfire campaign. 

It’s not like Eddie missed you– he just… should have seen this coming, is all. He’s used to getting left in the dust while people move onto better things, or whatever. 

God, Munson, your voice taunts him from somewhere in his hippocampus, need some help nailing yourself to that crucifix?

Anyway, fuck, Rick called him. 

Rick had gotten out of lockup about a month ago– some truncated charge or another that Eddie didn’t bother asking too much about, mostly because… well, Rick hadn’t really been himself. Larger and brighter than the sun itself, the great and powerful lion of a man that oozed life ain’t shit if you ain’t havin’ fun energy, Rick had kind of dimmed. Lost a lot of weight while he was inside. Came back a little bit twitchy and fluent in Spanglish, for some reason.

Eddie was worried, because of all the adult figures in his life, Rick was meant to be the one with levity. He’d lost out on a fun uncle when Wayne stepped into his father-figure role. Al was nothing but a dangerous bit player. Rick, he could rely on. 

Thinking back to that infamous day when he had gotten loaded at Lipton Landing, before he picked up you and Ronnie, before he… well, you know the rest but, Eddie had sensed that Rick could use the company. He kind of tried to poke it out of him, whatever was wrong. Didn’t work. They had just watched The Godfather in a tense-ish silence and doofed a lot of joints. Sorta freaked him out.

Eddie’s crushing gravel on the descent to the infamously slanted Lipton Landing for his summons. There’s a hum that seems to traverse the window panes, a fond plucking work that could only belong to Link Wray. He puts the van in park and jogs up the steps to the front door, bracing himself for the pungent plume of skunk smoke that always greets him.

“Eduardo,” Rick’s voice curls around the greeting like smoke curls out of his mouth and he yanks Eddie over the threshold. Door slams, arm tightens around his shoulders. “You’re here.”

Rick’s always a handsy sorta guy–not like that!–but this grab makes him seize a little. 

“You rang,” Eddie says, voice lilting, “Everything okay?”

Rick clutches him by the shoulders and looks at him for a long, long time. Uncomfortably long. How has he managed to puff on that joint for this long without choking long. 

“No.”

And Rick begins a shuffle toward the kitchen. Eddie follows in an awkward half-step, headache threatening to bloom someplace in the back of his skull because he does not know how much more of this vagueness he can take! 

“Does it have anything to do with why you called me down here? Because, shit, I would love to get a straight answer out of someone for once!” A mirthless chuckle follows, trying to soften his desperation. 

A flick of the refrigerator door and Rick places two beers on his kitchen counter, hands bracing against the surface. “Then let’s sit crooked and talk straight. It’s about your…”

Hss. Eddie takes a notoriously mis-timed sip.

“...neighbor girl.”

Ffflp– Eddie wishes, just one day of his goddamned life, he could act cool at the mention of you. Even the suggestion of the mention of you. But no, he’s got PBR streaming from his nose like a moron and a look on his face that says uh-oh, spaghettio!

“That’s what I was afraid of,” says Rick, taking a knowingly smooth drink from his beer. 

With the heel of his hand, Eddie wipes away his spluttering mess and fumbles around for a crumb of nonchalance. 

“I don’t know–”

“Eddie,” Rick levels. God, Eddie hates it when adults are adults, and Rick hates having to act the adult even more. 

His shoulders drop. “What about her?”

“Well, when I was in the pen–local, I’ll have you know–I got approached by a very interesting man with a proposition I was powerless to refuse.”

With some trepidation, Eddie mumbles, “Oh, yeah?”

“Someone– well, let’s say me and this someone have a friend in common…”

“Rick–” Eddie’s attempting the leveling thing, but he’s not as good at it as Rick is. Or as you are, for that matter. And you’re who he’s attempting to imitate here, even if he won’t admit it.

“--a certain mutual business partner, if you will–”

“Rick.” Eddie tries to punch through the tension with the big man’s name. “It was Lacy’s dad. Right? You can just say it was her dad.” 

Rick’s brow sinks into a wrinkle. “...Lacy? The fuck kind of a dumb name is that?”

“It’s a nickname.” Why does Eddie feel defensive.

“The fuck kind of a dumb nickname is that?”

“They call you Reefer Rick.”

“That is a calculated business decision, a calling card if you w–”

“Rick. Can we close in on the point, here?” Ooh! Seems to actually work this time, much to Eddie’s relief. “I only got so many if you wills left in me.”

“Si, pronto,” Rick nods with apologetic understanding; he’s such an empath, this guy, “Long and short of it is, her pops offered me a little bit of cash and some assistance, iffin’ I promised to keep an eye on her.”

“Assistance…?” Eddie murmured out of the side of his mouth. It’s all in the way Rick says it! “Like…” Hand a loose fist. Jerky-jerk. 

“Eddie,” Rick chides, “Assistance gettin’ out. In prison, that is just called bein’ sociable. –anyway, I have this conflict of interest, with the whole surveillance thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.” The way Rick drops it is obviously meant to cause some kinda ripple effect of realization, but Eddie’s still confused. 

“So you… didn’t take the money?”

“Huh?” Now Rick’s all confused. “Of course I took the fuckin’ money! What kind of a chump do I look like, man? What I’m getting at is, I knew that rattin’ on her also meant rattin’ on you.”

“Wh– why would it…” 

“I got eyes everywhere, man. Dig? I’ve seen what’s been happening.” 

Eddie’s heart leaps into his larynx. Eyes everywhere. And the truth was, you two had been stupid enough to be a lot of everywhere, thinking your respective trailers were the only hot zones. The Bookstore, the Hawk, Main Street Vinyl, Family Video, the diner, you name a Hawkins establishment and it has probably seen Eddie Munson and Lacy Doevski good-naturedly bickering in its aisles. 

He wonders if Rick even had eyes in the Ecker trailer. Ronnie could be a Lipton informant. That girl can hold a secret about as well as Wayne Munson can hold his liquor, which is gracefully. 

“Nothing’s been happening, we’re just–”

“Eddie.” Like a bulldozer, this guy. “I know Ivana pretty well. You ain’t hangin’ around that bookstore for the good of your health.”

“So what, you’re gonna–,” Eddie can feel himself starting to scramble, starting to sweat, backed into a corner like a hunted animal, “...tell her dad that we went to the movies a couple of times? That I go to her job, that I– that we’re–”

“What are you?” The way Rick puts it to him– rock, meet hard place. Should this really feel like such a tough question to answer?

“Friends.”

Rick draws up to his full height (tall, mountain man) and looks at him like he just shoved a cream pie into his face.

“It doesn’t matter, okay!” Eddie froths over, like a snapping dog, “We’re barely hanging out– anymore– so you can… you’re not gonna tell him anything, are you?”

Rick’s hands slowly, slowly rise, urging him to calm the yapping. No need to get into such a tizzy. Which Eddie wishes he could believe.

“‘course not, man,” he shakes his head, “Ray Doevski only needs to know what Ray Doevski absolutely needs to know.” Eddie can feel a little more weight behind that sentence than he’d like. “No reason you need to figure into this story.”

“That– that’s it? You’re not gonna tell him about u– about me?” 

“You’re in enough of a shitheap as it is, is how I see it.” A beat. Rick takes him in; really takes him in. Feels like an embrace, his stare. Concern uncrinkles the ever-present smile in Rick’s eyes. 

“Eddie, you care about this girl?”

Eddie’s mouth attempts to form around an answer, but he’s just blinking into nothing. Does he care about you? Does he care about you? He wants, needs to say no, to pfft you off, but every molecule is screaming otherwise. And Rick can sense it, operating on the extraterrestrial level that he does. 

“Then I’m real sorry.” 

“For what?” 

As if on cue, car wheels on gravel shuck Rick’s attention away from him. His eyeballs jitter in his head, heading for the door– Eddie close behind him. “Sorry for what, Rick–?!”

“Little bit for that, little bit for… this.”

Standing in the window of Rick’s living room, these two watch an offensively red muscle car skew into the driveway, making a mockery of Eddie’s beat up van. The driver’s door pops open and the first thing Eddie clocks is a blinding glint off some brand new aviator sunglasses. 

The second is that trademark Munson smile. 

—

“This is exciting!” Nancy Wheeler says, kind of flatly but with a conviction buried deep under her curled bangs. 

On the table sits two piles of playing cards, one steadily growing and one steadily decreasing. 

You two had taken to playing gin rummy when staring at paper layouts became a little too much. Technically, she actually had a say in layout and you were just nosy, but it’s a decent excuse to hang out. Though, both you and Nancy had this incredible tendency to hyperfocus on detail so hard that neither of you could pull the other out far enough to look at the big picture, so one day she tossed a deck of cards your way and said, “Deal!”

“I know,” you say, trying to focus on these melds of suits you’re making– that discard pile is looking poor, “Fresh turn for me, y’know? Less fluffy, more Didion.”

Nancy snorts softly, swapping out a card from her hand. “Who does that make Eddie? Charlie? Or Linda Kasabian?” 

A smile dances across your lips and you shrug, reaching for a cigarette before you go for another card. Usually, smoking in the newsroom was prohibited, as it was prohibited on most of Hawkins High grounds, but whenever that deck came out, you felt it was appropriate for at least one of you to be smoking. Gave a kind of Torchy Blane feel to the whole scenario which fit you and Wheeler pret-ty keenly, if you did say so yourself.

“That’s not what I was talking about, though,” Nancy says, poking Fred Benson’s empty mug toward you to use as an ashtray. 

Your eyes narrow; this could be a play to distract you from a winning hand. 

“It’s not?”

“No…” she puffs out another soft scoff, meeting your eyes over her fan of cards, “I mean the college guy.”

“Why is it exciting?” and you do want to know why Nancy thinks so. She’s a mile wiser beyond her years, even precocious enough to keep in step with you most of the time. You’d like her take. 

“Well, it’s what you wanted, right?” she tells you, watching you puff your cigarette and dig into the stock pile. “Somebody older, decidedly not a grabby high school boy– but someone with more experience, both with girls and with being outside of Hawkins. And the fact he goes to Vassar means–”

“He probably eats kitty like a maniac.”

Nancy lets out this full-bodied Merlot of a laugh, only a little color dashing over her cheeks. She’s gotten used to you being provocative on purpose because it gets a laugh out of her. So far grown out of the prude shoes you were sure she was still sporting. You’re proud of her. 

“Not exactly what I was getting at but– more sensitive to the female perspective, sure.” But then she registers what you forgot you’d even dropped. “Hold on, probably? You mean you haven’t–...”

You shrug. It’s a little withdrawn on your part. 

“Oh,” Nancy says, and seems to be leaning a degree or two towards unsurprised. That ruffles your feathers a little bit. Again, with the frigid thing. You couldn’t shake it. 

“No,” you emphasize, shucking your pitiful melds back again. “It's not as if we haven't–done things. I've copped a handful. Time is of the essence, and I take, y'know, a little more time to get there.”

“So no return on investment...?”

"Not... yet."

Nancy almost tosses her cards at you, the way she jabs them through the air. “You? You, the one who’s been preaching Betty Friedman to me, you haven't been getting–”

“Yes, me! Did you not hear me about time and the essence?”

“I know, it’s just– a little surprising.”

There have been exactly three instances of almost you tying your panties to the rearview mirror of college boy’s Ford Cortina, so to speak, and you’ve come out of each one with this desperate echo of oh well! Maybe next time! careening around your skull. Like you’re trying to convince yourself that by virtue of him not being in your grade, this has been a worthwhile way to spend your time. And listen, no misunderstandings here, it has! At least, part of it. It usually starts like this– the two of you grab some shitty diner coffee or some shitty diner food and then he takes you around in his car for a turn or two, admiring that famous Hawkins scenery (see: shuttered businesses and if you’re really lucky, that one mangy fox that feasts on the overflowing trash can near the Big Buy). You talk (you mostly talk) books and movies and say something that should be a hook of conversation but usually ends up with him screwing his face up in amusement and saying something along the lines of, “God, you’re so beyond this place.”

Which, duh. You’ve been saying this. This is the raft upon which your whole identity floats. 

The exchange dies in the air and he puts his hand on your leg and that is just… wonderful. He’s a solid B on the kissing GPA, and he’s cute and sort of funny, even if he doesn’t rally back jokes the way you’d… sort of gotten used to. Sometimes he makes a halfway-interesting observation about like, Philip Roth or somebody. But when it comes down to the minute of it, it still feels like going through the motions. Fumble bra strap, catch nail on his zipper, crank back passenger seat to climb in the back. Hey presto, you’ve distractedly jerked off a boy once again. 

You are not entirely sold on the fit of his hands on your body, even if he doesn’t look at you like he’s just solved a Rubik’s cube.

In fact, he kind of looks at you like you’re precious. Virginal precious. Innocent precious. Which you’re not totally sold on either. 

Nothing about him that makes you fantasize about what his mouth might feel like on you. What your fingers might feel like wound around his curls. His hair doesn’t even curl. There’s just nothing about him that calls for your full attention.

“Think there might be a reason for that?” Nancy, your annoyingly perceptive Nancy, presses. Goddamn intrepid girl reporter. She hasn’t stopped staring at you with that smug little look. You haven’t answered the question. “And it might be… living across the way from you?”

“Tch. What?” you snip. “I’m… having fun. What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “Just… gin.” 

She lays out her dazzling melds, complete with a measly goddamned three in deadwood cards and you toss your own bullshit hand to the side. A dumb amount of spades that add up to nothing scatter across the desk. An accusatory finger jams in her direction. 

“You are a fucking card shark.”

“Nope!” Nancy says, popping her ‘p’, “I just know a really great set when I see one.”

Reaching into Fred’s mug, you crush your cigarette with a little too much force. Now, how would Nancy have a read on that? you think, oblivious to your own obviousness. (Like a neon sign. Like a circus tent.) 

You hadn’t even reminded her of the catastrophic events of her thirteenth birthday which led to a whole lot of this awkwardness, which, now that you thought about it, actually implicated her in the crime of you kissing Eddie Munson ‘til you were breathless in Granny Ecker’s closet. 

If you hadn’t been born and had a birthday, I wouldn’t be in a spiral over some boy with a curl pattern like a fucking backwoods libertine. 

“You’re not clever,” you tell her, but she’s looking at you all cleverly, “Like. You’re clever, but I need you to know that you’re not clever.”

With flicking fingernails, Nancy picks up your discarded cards and folds them neatly back in the deck. 

“I’m just saying,” and the tone she takes is a little gentler now, “don’t… let yourself miss out on something just because, I don’t know, the thing you’re currently having fun with is what you think you want. What you feel you want and what you think you want are two very different–”

“This isn’t entirely about me, is it?” you realize, defenses peeling down a little bit. The Nancy and Steve of it all had been looming since your (admittedly triumphant!) visit to the war memorial that was the boy’s bathroom. Still no sign of that place getting fixed, by the by. And ever still, Nancy hadn’t told Steve about their little mission. Many a reason for that, you were led to believe. Not a lot she wanted to dissect, though.

Nancy’s face scrunches up and she stops packing the cards. 

“No. But let’s pretend like it is.” 

A groan escapes you as you sink back into your chair, a twinge of pain running along your shoulders.  

“Nance. This is all so much more complicated than you realize.”

“Try me.”

You toss a hand through your hair, slapping your palm down on the desk. 

“Fine. But if I tell you this–”

A hand rises out between the two of you– yours, pinkie extended. 

“Not a word,” you press. 

Nancy clamps her finger around yours in a way that enforces how super-serious she is about this. The reason your usual reserve doesn’t hold up under that x-ray stare of hers is because you can tell she actually gives a shit. She’s not looking for gossip. She cares. Which is still an entirely alien feeling to you. 

So the whole thing spills out. Steve’s party, the record store, getting locked up in Eddie’s trailer and getting locked up in feelings, Roane County Quarry’s incredible acoustics, the friendship that made you fold all the neatly arranged origami parts of yourself out toward him only to realize you had no idea how to fold them back. The kiss. The subsequent awkwardness of said kiss. The college guy. The relative radio silence. The fact that…

“...I don’t feel like myself when he’s not around,” you say, lighting a fourth cigarette off your third. “Isn’t that silly? I spent all this time painting this like, fabulous eggshell of myself then this wild-eyed, smart-mouthed, catastrophic ass smashes it clean open and now–”

“All the college boys couldn’t put you together again,” Nancy nods. “You’re a very beautiful Humpty Dumpty.” 

“... does Humpty Dumpty die in the end?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be teaching it to kids.”

“No. They should know. The fall comes for us all.”

There’s a suspended silence. You get this feeling like you’ve emptied your purse on the table and you still can’t find that thing you’re looking for, despite sifting through everything. 

“How does that even happen?” you question, biting at the skin on your little finger. Not Humpty Dumpty, the Eddie thing. It comes out idle, but you pray that Nancy, with her feelings scalpel and surgical precision, doesn't decide to answer it. 

Instead, she says, “You need a photographer for that piece.”

Thatta girl. Your dimmer switch turns up. “Fred hasn’t even okayed it yet.”

“I’ll deal with William Randolph Hearst, okay?” Nancy says derisively and tosses her eyes to heaven. She pushes her chair back. “Ask Jonathan Byers.”

“He hasn’t taken photos for us in a while,” you remark, eyes searching Nancy. She’s readying herself to leave, so totally dodging this line of questioning before you can even cast it. Clever. 

“No, he has not,” she sighs, winding her scarf around her neck, “But he’d be good for this. He knows how to capture action. And his kid brother plays DnD with mine, so this’d be, like… nice for them.” 

And this is just as much me making amends with Jonathan Byers as it is you, backwards as it may seem, you nearly hear her say. Or you’re making that up. 

Shame Nancy is so dead set on becoming the next Nellie Bly. Under the right circumstances, she’d make a hell of a normal person. 

Good thing you prefer freaks.

—

Jonathan Byers is a notoriously hard boy to get a hold of, it turns out. Nancy passed along his number (which, you actually already had but you didn’t bring that little detail up) and when you finally punched it in on the yellowing phone nailed to the wall of your trailer, it rang and rang and rang. 

Which, after the fourth time, was just rude. Do the Byers have a thing about not answering the phone, or something?

“Jonathan!” you holler across the parking lot, emerging from the passenger side of Nancy’s car this time. 

College guy was decidedly busy and despite the hanging tension, you’d toyed with the idea of asking Eddie for a ride. Alas, the boy in the Dio patched battle vest was nowhere to be seen. His van hadn’t been there since the weekend and he had been MIA from school the last couple of days, actually, which was itching at you. 

It also made you miss when you had a goddamn set of wheels at your disposal. 

Anyway, Jonathan looks at you with flaring eyes, kind of like you’ve just stuck a shotgun to his snout and there’s no hope of him making a getaway. “Um…”

Now, keep in mind that these are the first words you’ve spoken to him in a measurable high school forever, so his surprise is entirely justified. It’s just not within the beam of your patience right now. 

“Hi. Can we chat?” you say, falling in step with him as you head towards the front door. You don’t bother asking for permission, and forgiveness won’t be necessary. “I was hoping you could help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

Blink, blink. Jonathan’s grasping for words– seems to be a lot of that going around lately. 

You strike your hand through the air. “Let me put it to you like this– you are going to help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

“Why?” he asks, and it’s prickly. 

“Becauuuse,” you draw out, “I need a photographer. And god knows whenever Nicole attempted to work a lens, those snapshots were so out-of-focus they looked like an optical illusion.” 

“And, you’re not talking to Nicole right now,” Jonathan nails you, but not totally. In your mind,  you revisit flashes of Nicole recounting, in gloriously erroneous detail, those photos Jonathan had taken of Nancy. You had pretended to be scandalized and rolled your eyes, thinking what’s a little peep show among losers. 

“Even if I was,” you say, dogging Jonathan all the way to his locker, “I still wouldn’t ask her. This is important to me.” 

That avoidant Byers reserve stands strong, with Jonathan grabbing books in hurried succession. He is trying to get away from you, but that’s not happening without an emphatic yes! 

“I don’t even really–” 

“Take pictures anymore?” you pfft, pointing to his messenger bag, “Twenty bucks says your camera is in there and the film’s half shot.” 

“I don’t have twenty bucks.” 

“Me neither,” you shrug, “Spent it on that new Echo & the Bunnymen.”

Jonathan hesitates a bit, fingers strumming against his biology textbook. A thread of something long forgotten by the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl tugs between you both, but it’s not weighed down by the prospect of will we kiss about it. He kind of smiles. 

“What did you think? I haven’t gotten down to hear it yet.”

You thought it made you want a flowing dress and a place to prance. Like if the more whimsical end of Fleetwood Mac didn’t exhaust you. Those last four tracks snapped your heartstrings like suspenders, with comical aplomb. 

“Grandiose! That ‘Killing Moon’ song? It’s got Jonathan Byers written all over it,” you chirp, and mean it. “I’ll make you a copy if you put that camera to work for me.”

He shrugs, but you can see you’re wearing him down. “I’m not much for shooting pep rallies.”

“Liar. Wheeler says you’re top banana in the action shots department,” you counter, “But how about players? I think I want some portraits, too. Non-corny ones.”

“What team?” Jonathan screws up his nose. The distaste for jockery runs deep, and rightfully so. 

But you shake your head, face curving into an expression of near excitement. 

“No team. Better, and worse, depending on what side of the cafeteria you’re sitting,” your hands splay out, and for god’s sake, you feel like Munson himself, “Hellfire Club.”

Jonathan looks like his record’s skipped. Eyeballs sort of jiggle in his skull and he mouths, oh, like the association of you between Hellfire should mean something. Suspiciously like Nancy, and just suspicious period. Your eyebrows start to inch towards one another. 

“What’s that look? Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Um,” he dillies, then dallies, “Sure. Yeah. You know, my kid brother loves DnD.”

Ah, yes. The other Byers boy, the one who’d gone missing all that time ago. You remembered. Actually, you remembered not being able to figure out how you should feel about it– how you should act, other than falling in line with the majority of people who were giving Jonathan shit at the time. You regret that now, with a chill that runs right down to your toes. 

“Could be cool for him to see, no?” you try, corner of your mouth lifting, “A little niche in the midst the high school horrors. To look forward to, y’know.”

The look on Jonathan’s face is more than a little bit screaming, that’s rich, coming from you, you were the high school horror. But he shakes it off, because he’s nicer than you are, even though he doesn’t need to be. 

“Yeah… whatever you say, Lacy. When do you need me?”

You tell him Friday and he agrees, much to your satisfaction. You’re just about to punch him on the shoulder like teamwork, buddy! before he saves you such a wildly out-of-character display by dodging toward his homeroom. 

You sail toward your locker like the bastard that’s risen alongside the cream, only to be greeted by something… strange. Scratches, all around the maudlin gray paintwork of your combination lock. Like it’d been tampered with, or something. A blaze of paranoia burns at the base of your skull, and you instinctively try to recount where your journal is… in your bag. Phew. Fine. This could be… anything. 

Fingers reach forward to twist your lock, and with the slightest touch, the door is forced open by a push from the other side. A flash of bright red, then SPLAT. Yellow, SPLAT, blue, SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! You shriek a real ear-piercing shriek as at least a dozen water balloons spill out of your locker, hitting the floor with an obscene smack. Water dashes everywhere, and you’re barely able to move out of the splash zone in time. 

“What the fuck!’

Within seconds, there’s a hubbub and a crowd’s gathering, trading sickening snickers with one another as you peer into the dark of your locker. You gingerly step through the puddle, suede boots irreparably spattered, and yank the door the whole way open. There, sat atop your schoolbooks and a stray water balloon that hadn’t made the fall, is a horribly familiar set of test tubes.

In one of them sits a squirt of blue liquid and that offensive strip of plastic. And scrawled across it in clumsy black marker? 

IT’S A FREAK!

Realization hits you like Carol did, making your head swim among all the murmurs of oh my god… and gross! and told you–trailer trash and unconcealed cackles. A voice sparks up like a sizzling ember in a swathe of darkness. 

“Where’s your baby daddy at, Lacy? Get tossed in the slammer with your old man?” 

The languid tones of none other than Billy All-Balls-No-Brains Hargrove drift by you, sailing right past the back of your head as you stare a hole through the innards of your locker. Then, your stupid hippocampus gears up– Robin, mentioning ‘your whole thing’ while Genovese baby-barfed her guts up, Ronnie urging her to shut the fuck up, even Jonathan Byers was privy to this hot little piece of gossip. 

This theory that you were up the spout with Munson Junior Junior. 

How many people had seen you, stupid little you, coming out of that drugstore hiking that Advance box over your head like the championship cup? Seen you hopping into Eddie’s van– and out of it, and back in again on what now seemed like countless occasions? 

Nobody could have suspected it was Nancy’s test, because nobody saw her. They saw you. That was the whole idea. You just didn’t consider the blowback.

“What’s going on out here?” the softly-coated concern of Ms Kelley rings out in the hallway, doing absolutely nothing to disperse the peanut gallery that’s set up around your locker. 

“Lacy?” her voice points to you. Even the goddamn guidance counselor uses your beloved nickname.  

You don’t react. You don’t even know what you’re doing until you come to a couple of paces down the hallway, feeling the thin, straining rubber in the palm of your hand. Your footsteps make heavy, wet, slapping noises against the linoleum as you follow the half-slouched shouldered swagger of Billy Hargrove down the hall. 

Down, and down, and down towards the boy’s locker room and he doesn’t even register it, and you don’t even register that Ms Kelley is still calling your name–your full name, now–until she’s two dozen paces behind you, losing you in the throng of students making their way to class and you shove past half-dressed seniors in the locker room who guffaw at you in a way that feels like a knife in your gut and you yell, voice shaking–

“Hey Billy!” 

And launch the water balloon, making square contact with his smug face. 

“Cute fucking prank!”

His reaction, predictably, is way too slowww moooootion for your fucking liking, so you don’t even give him a shot to fully wipe his face off and mumble, “What the fuuuuck is yourrrr probbbblemmm, ssssllluuuutttt…” 

You just go for him with the ferocity of a jumping jackal. Hands ball in his stupid sleeveless flannel (it’s winter in Indiana, you West Coast jackass!) and you shove him against the lockers with– well, with the strength only an ex-cheerleader brimming with suffocated rage would have.

Metal clatters and one empty unit even careens over like a big tin domino and you say, “Come up with that idea all by yourself, you fucking nimrod?”

Billy just smirks at you in half-speed, mullet sopping, as if this is a come-on. “I had a little help.” 

It occurs to you that right here, right now, you could sell Nancy Wheeler down the river. You could be the you you once were, and you could say, well, primo observation skills, that pregnancy test wasn’t even for me! 

But you don’t, because a pinky promise is a fucking pinky promise.

You let go of Billy’s shirt. Step off. “You’re pathetic,” you spit, but it feels more pathetic coming from you. All that molten blood in your veins makes you want to eviscerate him and whoever else was involved in orchestrating this stupid, stupid, stupid prank. But you come up lacking. Fuck!

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you start to rush out of the locker room– but you’ve given Billy a reason now, and he’s gonna follow you. 

“Shit, are you crying? Those hormones must have you really messed up, huh?” he faux-croons, the thunk-thunk of his poseur motorcycle boots following you to the back entrance, by the sports equipment. Your eyes are streaming freely now, lashes frantically blinking a path to vision. 

But Billy isn’t letting up. And like the Pied Piper of slimeballs, he’s drawing followers– not least of which include Tommy Hagan. 

“What about that college dropout you’re banging, Lacy?” his nasally tone slices through Billy’s tarry taunting. “He know you’re knocked up yet?”

“Jesus Christ, Doevski! I’m impressed,” Billy laughs, “Just how many loads are you taking?”

An abandoned baseball bat lies on the ground, having rolled out of the sports closet; instinct behind the wheel of your personal van, you stoop to pick it up and shove through the doors. You can nearly feel the breath of Hargrove and Hagan and all of these horrific, horrific boys with nothing better to do than to torture you hot on the back of your neck. 

“Not yours, that’s for fucking sure,” you manage, your voice thick. The bat, at least, feels solid in your hand. 

“It’s fun not being frigid, ain’t it, Lacy?” Billy goes on, and you squint against the sunlight as you round the building. “Tell me this, Munson teach you how to suck cock yet? ‘cause if not, I got a little time on my hands.”

Forging ahead, you cross the tarmac of the parking lot. The soft frost hasn’t even totally thawed out yet, sparkling atop the paintwork of Billy’s blue Camaro.   

“That a fact, Billy?” you say, tears drying in quick streaks in that brisk morning air, leaving rivets in your made-up face.

You use your momentum to launch one foot onto the hood of Billy’s car, then the other. You nearly slip against the icy exterior, but steady yourself fast. Bat dangling at your side. Stomp. Stomp. You stand on the roof, and turn to face this congregation of assholes. You do not let sense set in, despite it threatening to inch through the white hot flame of your rage.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Billy outright cackles and Hagan and company guffaw along with him. 

“Billy,” you sigh, a little breathless from the speed at which you’d booked it from the locker room to the parking lot, and the sheer vigor of your shock, awe and rancor, and everything else, “What the hell am I supposed to do with your limp dick in my mouth? Chew on the fuckin’ thing?”

Billy repeats himself, a touch darker now. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“I’m serious!” you say, a little shrill, a little stomp to punctuate that last word, “One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!” 

Motorcycle boots advance towards you, and you point the bat at him like a broadsword. 

“Do not. Come any closer. Or I’m gonna start doing some serious damage to this ugly piece of overcompensation.”

“She’s bluffing,” Hagan crows, and you turn your flaming glare on him. You wish you had a mirror– you wonder if crazy becomes you. Billy takes a pointed step forward and you raise the bat above your, head bracing for action– that’s enough movement for him. 

“Gimme that bat, you stupid fucking cunt–!” But Billy’s cut short by a body barrelling into the side of him, knocking him askew. A jangle of denim and leather. The bat slips a little in your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off of me Munson–” 

“No way to talk to a lady, Billy!” Eddie gasps, tossing Billy back and letting his limbs hang. “You kiss Karen Wheeler with that mouth?”

Billy rounds on him like a triggered animal, spittle flying.

“Some fucking lady!” he snarls, “Got downgraded to that trailer park and now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

Activated, you throw that bat to the fucking wayside and scramble off the fucking car– nobody talks to him like that! 

But you’re not fast enough, nobody’s fast enough, nobody can compete with how huge and booming and definite Eddie’s voice sounds when he says, smile glimmering, sun breaking through the bleak midwinter… 

“You know what I like about you, Hargrove?”  

THKUNCK. Bone to bone, fist meet fucking flesh–

“Nothin’.”

A scuffle goes up, and Eddie can’t even feel the hits of Hargrove’s hands connecting with his face, chest, ribs, wherever– all he can feel are your arms locking in vice around his waist, putting yourself in the eye of the storm in order to yank him back.

—

You got an elbow to the crown of the head, which isn’t too bad, even if you feel like a cartoonish lump should be rising there. But look at these other guys. 

Billy with a black eye that’s bulging up rapidly, Eddie with a split lip and more than a couple of scratches on his knuckles. In that fray, he hadn’t exactly considered the implications of punching a guy with all his goddamned rings on. The implications being that shit hurt like hell. There is this radiating pain in his hand, not letting him unfurl his fingers completely. 

There’s also this radiating feeling of dread cloaking his entire upper half as you sit three-to-the-wall outside Higgins’ office. You had, in Eddie’s estimation, incredibly bad timing. 

See, considering the events of his past week, he was slowly making peace with the fact that he should probably be avoiding you entirely, even if that meant he died a little inside. He should have been doing that from the jump– but you, unbuttoned and reckless now apparently, kept requiring interventions so you didn’t get killed, or worse. 

And Eddie couldn’t help himself when it came to you. Especially not when you were standing on top of Billy Hargrove’s sick Camaro, swinging a baseball bat and getting called some shit that no one should ever be calling you. 

You’re out of control. Totally unsheathed. End of your rope. Unlaced. 

And he’d do just about anything to keep you safe. 

Even fuck up his guitar-playing hand. Which is also his…

“I can’t believe you fucking suckerpunched me,” Hargrove mumbles from your left. “With those ugly fucking rings on.”

Eddie can’t help himself, the last shred of propriety knocked out round about the time a knee to the ribs had winded him. “Aw. Billy. Don’t be so hard on yourself–”

“Eddie…,” you start, tone warning in a way that makes him want to pinch you, kind of. He leans towards Hargrove, meaning he’s leaning over you. Hair brushing across your shoulder. You notice that it smells distinctively skunkier than usual. Camping out at Lipton Landing?

“--honestly! You’re no sucker!” he implores, eyes shining in jest, “You totally had that coming!”

You hear Billy seething from his end, Eddie snickering from his and launch a well-timed arm in front of both of them before they can snap at it again. 

“Cut it out, assholes! This is becoming increasingly more pigheaded.”

“And you’re the voice of perfect reason now, huh?” Eddie sneers, not giving you much breathing room. “Where’s the bat at, Babe Ruth?”

“In the parking lot, waiting to finish you off,” you grit back, nearly nose-to-nose with him, because you don’t know how to digest the guilt of his aching fingers. 

“What are you mad at me for?” Eddie hisses, a smirk threatening to break his scowl, because he doesn’t know how not to provoke you.

“Knocking her up, probably,” Billy mumbles from the side. 

“Shut up, Hargrove!” you both snap, eyes never leaving one another. 

Higgins’ door creaks open and a quietly livid Ms Kelley says, “Lacy.” She jerks her head, motioning for you to up and at ‘em. You do, but not without one last look at Eddie, cradling his hand. Round, bottomless irises meet yours for a moment, then dart away with an impact that thickens your throat. 

His poor hand, you find yourself thinking.

“He needs an ice pack…” you find yourself mumbling, Kelley shuffling you into Higgins’ office. The principal sits behind his beat-up desk, fingers steepled. You absently wonder if he’s been campaigning for a new, shinier, possibly more oaken desk because this doesn’t paint the picture of threatening figurehead that he so clearly wants you to tremble under. 

You accidentally kick the thing, crossing your legs as you sit. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” Higgins declares. Here we fucking go. 

“Permission to state my case?” you attempt. This hadn’t been your first time in the principal’s office; minor classroom infractions, a saccharine we’ll do everything to help that we can after your dad’s arraignment, but this time was certainly the worst. 

“Denied,” he shoots you down.

“Permission to submit a plea of temporary insanity, then,” you try, patting at the sore spot on the crown of your head. “You know this doesn’t bode with my track record. You think I climbed on top of Billy Hargrove’s car completely compos mentis? Please.”

A tense silence from Higgins’ and Kelley’s end.

“You saw what Hargrove did, didn’t you? That disgusting prank?” 

Again, nada.

“I’m a honor student, for Chrissake!” you exclaim, and Kelley plucks herself from the windowsill behind Higgins’ desk. 

“Were an honor student, Ms Doevski,” she corrects. “Your grades have been slipping since– the events of the last couple of months. You’ve dropped cheerleading, you’ve made really puzzling false claims about peer tutoring, you…”

“Yes! Yes, the events of the last couple of months, if by which you mean familial imprisonment, then yes, I’ve been a little distracted!” 

Higgins kicks back in his seat just as you hitch forward in yours, too angry to be pleading but too desperate to defy. His turn to mutter here we fucking go.

“I can turn this around,” redirected to Ms Kelley and her ever-sympathetic expression, “I can turn this around.”

“College applications deadlines are within touching distance, Lacy.” She of little faith. 

“I know that!” As if your hands aren’t itching every time college guy mentions Ithaca or… wherever the fuck it is he goes. As if that isn’t a crack in the assuredness that you were going to take flight out of this town in a spectacular fashion.

“Ladies– can we dispense with the hysteria and deal with the here and now?” Higgins insists and you and Kelley, despite your opposition, share a look.

World class, this guy. Top of his field, asshole-wise. 

“Two week suspension should do it,” he says, jotting something down. 

You open your mouth in protest and Kelley quells you– you’re in no position to start bargaining down. 

“Technically, she didn’t do anything,” and for good measure, but pressed, “Sir.”

“She climbed on top of that boy’s car with a baseball bat!” Higgins barks; now who’s hysteric?! “She had intent to do harm!”

“It was justified.” You can’t help yourself. 

Kelley stares him down, and that woman’s charm is something that should be studied in a fucking lab, because he relents right away. 

“Two weeks of Saturday detention, then. Christ. Am I going soft?”

You shake your head, all the knots in your body releasing just a little bit. You try to dig out what’s left of your once-famously refined charm, while simultaneously dashing towards the door before he can change his mind. 

“Au contraire. You’re a paragon of masculinity, sir. Regan could take a hint. Door open or closed?”

Higgins grimaces. “Send in Hargrove. Tell Munson he’s suspended. I don’t have time for both of those pricks today.” 

Eddie’s voice travels through the crack in the door. “I heard that, sir.” A beat. “I miss you, sir.”

You bite back a deeply reluctant laugh and jerk your head toward Billy. You’re up, champ.

Then, it’s the two of you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. Alone, save for the ever watchful jam jar eyes of Janice the secretary. Eddie is still nestling one hand in the other like it’s a baby bird with a broken wing. Shit, you really hope it isn’t broken.   

“You’re suspended. They told me to tell you.” It’s a statement made to turkey-stuff the silence more than anything. 

The way Eddie lolls his head back makes you want to reach out and push it in the opposite direction. You don’t know why. 

“You’re a regular town crier, ain’t ya.” 

“Hear ye, hear ye.” 

A leaden pause. Your hearts might have thumped both in time just now.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

“No leaving school grounds,” Janice unhelpfully squawks. 

Eddie gets up, drawing himself to his full height. Your eyelids flutter. There’s a little purple around that cut on his lip, which you bet is starting to throb something awful. You feel dwarfed beside him, and he uses his good hand to turn you by the shoulder and shuffle you past the nosy secretary’s post. 

“I meant the sick bay, Janice,” Eddie pelts, giving each vowel sound a hard flick. “I’m wounded. And she’s apparently pregnant. Or didn’t you hear?”

—

The nurse’s office is tiny and cramped, smelling of bleach with a glaring fluorescent overhead. Eddie has a hard time figuring out why anyone would come here to feel better. Especially given that Nurse Lydia is barely ever present. 

Eddie carpes the opportunity to slam himself down on her rolling saddle chair, gliding into your path as you try and snoop around for first aid materials.  

“I don’t think you should be driving that thing,” you remark, “You could be concussed. You’re acting concussed.” 

“It’s keeping me awake!” 

Eddie watches you, digging through drawers and pulling out tongue depressors, your teeth making an indent into your bottom lip. Your eyes are doing that darty thing, quietly frantic in place of an apology. You don’t know how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me. Instead, you’re acting like he’s bleeding out. 

“Lace, just wait for the professional.” 

The clip of your nickname makes you toss your stare over your shoulder, hardness framing your eyes like mascaraed lashes. Eddie stops rolling around at once.

“I am the goddamn professional, as far as you’re concerned.” Your little chin jerks towards the exam table that’s beat into the corner of the room. “Get on the bed.”

Whack-a-mole. Woodpecker. Other euphemisms for his cock developing a pulse. Eddie has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping. 

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

Scoffing out a little fuck you!, you go about scrambling together supplies and Eddie obediently launches himself onto the bed, the ancient thing creaking beneath him. When you finally approach him, you seem to be holding a lot of alcohol pads. 

The look before you admit to a shortcoming is one he wants framed. You always flick your eyes around like a guilty cartoon character, like Betty Boop on her way to gaining a doctorate in the pretentiousness of the English language, and pout. Lean your neck in, like you’re swearing him to secrecy. 

“I actually don’t know anything about first aid. Beyond the rudimentaries.”

Eddie chuckles. “You were a cheerleader. You were getting thrown in the air a whole bunch, if I recall. Feels like you should know how to like, resuscitate.”

“Rudimentaries, I said!” and you grab his injured hand a little roughly, alcohol pad torn out and ready, “Like, I obviously know alcohol disinfects a wound, ice for a bruise… I don’t know how to, like, reset a bone. Besides…” 

You inch closer to him now, wiping at his torn and tender knuckles a little too carefully. They’re just stupid cuts, Eddie thinks, his breath beginning to shallow. 

“...that Cat People remake was premiering at the Hawk the day we had first aid training. Like I was going to miss that.” 

He can feel heat radiating off your body, a core change for cold little you. Feel the fabric of your skirt brush the rip in his jeans. A little choked, he mumbles, “Cat People is a remake?”

“Based on the 1942 original,” you nod, flicking the tiny used pad in the nearby trash can. “I like it. But I like that David Bowie song more.”

“That song sucks.”

“You’re injured and wrong. What a shame.” Your fingers close around Eddie’s wrist and slowly, slowly press his forearm to his chest. “Keep that elevated.”

“It’s not broken,” and he’s staring at the quiet tremble in your bottom lip.

“Could be sprained,” head cast down again, tearing open another pad, and he can smell your hair, “Does it hurt?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, because he’s waiting for you to look back up. Because he thinks he’s going to carpe something else. 

You fall for it, and your eyes sucker him in. He feels weak in the joints. You repeat yourself. “Does it hurt, Eddie?”

He just nods, boyishly. Nearly passes out when your fingertips tilt his face towards the light. Skin buzzing underneath them, you peering at his mouth like you know what you’re doing. The slit in his lip feels raw and strained. 

“This’ll hurt, too,” you murmur, and he feels your breath against his jaw. A sharp prick from the alcohol against his cut doesn’t make him wince– worse. As you swipe the cotton against his bottom lip, he whimpers. Unh.

Oxygen stops short in your throat, hearing that. That noise. It sends a wave of motion through your lower body. You’re leaning awfully close to him, closer than you need to be. In fact, his knees are settled either side of your hips. How did that happen. When did that happen. How did you allow this. 

How are you allowing your fingertip to trace against his lip, alcohol evaporating without a hope or a prayer. How are you allowing yourself to look at him through the fan of your lashes, his injured hand still obediently propped against his chest. His good hand pressing into your lower back.

You taste the vagueness of the disinfectant on his lips as he presses them into yours. 

Jerking back, you’re not far enough away from him to create a distance that matters. All you see are Eddie’s eyes, flickering open, apologetic in themselves. About to tell you he’s sorry.

No.

Hands fly, one woven in the curls at the base of his skull as you kiss up into him, tongue an impolite peak. This is not the closet; this is arguably far more dangerous, with the nurse’s door still open a courteous gap. This is the harsh light of day. This is Eddie’s hand moving your skirt further up the curve of your ass. 

He’s grabbing onto you as best a one-armed man can, and your hand travels in turn. A jagged, fevered path drawing up his thigh until, under your palm, is the hard outline of him. The pressure of your hand over the denim-bound curvature of his cock makes him groan sharply, the sound pressed against your cheek. 

Face angles back for a look at him. Because this is bad, mindless, reckless, stupid. And he’s always worth a look.

You spot a tiny speck of blood on the pink of his lip from where his cut had split. 

And your curious tongue flicks at it. 

Eddie’s eyes flare. You, unable to unglue your stare from his, suck his lightly bleeding lip between yours. Fragile. Crushable. 

He did this for you. 

No one’s ever cared, or known you enough, to do something like that for you.

Desire moves you like a shockwave and your hand leaves his crotch to help you clamber onto the exam table, clamber into Eddie’s lap. 

Downright idiotic. 

You cast a glance to the door, Eddie’s fraught breath puffing against your neck. 

Thought you were a smart girl.

You look right into his face, the poster boy for sheer distraction, pre-occupation, skin-searing annoyance, nervous charm, surprising wit, magnetism, oh my… and feel his fingers edging far past the hem of your skirt, past the binding top of the thigh-highs you’re wearing because it’s fucking laundry day and stopping at the gusset of your panties. 

He can feel how wet you are.

Lips a breath away from each other, one set bleeding, one set housing a gasp. Eddie nudges his forehead against yours, the both of you blind to consequence.

“Just friends, right?” His breath is jagged and unconvinced, and your hips kick toward his hand. 

You do not answer.

Unbruised fingers push the fabric covering your radiating heat aside and you have to tighten your grip around the back of his neck so as not to tumble over. Eddie is not deft, because this isn’t the moment to be deft. He plunges two fingers into the plush of your pussy and looks to you with pleading eyes. Eyes that say, is this good, eyes that say, don’t make a sound.

You nod in the affirmative to both and he drags his digits out slowly. Rhythm picks up and you’re clenching around Eddie’s hand in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing and het-up moans being gratefully swallowed by him. Pad of his thumb moves to create rough, clumsy friction against your clit that elicits a sharp, high, wanton ah! from you, grinding against him in an unquenchable search for more.

“Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Eddie’s eyes keep searching you for approval and you’ve lost the ability to appease or deny him– all you know is the blind, nonsensical want that’s pouring out of you is being lapped up. Lapped up. His tongue, you want his tongue everywhere, but it’s working at your earlobe, your neck, sucking, whispering, “Just friends? Lacy?”

And when you cum, it’s fast and hard and suffocating, an achievement you’re close to angry at him for– because no one has ever been able to break you apart that fast. 

Or at all.

He can never know. He’d be so insufferable about it… some bare fragment of a thought passes through your brain, synapses busy firing elsewhere.

You’re rocking against him through the crest, pressing your forehead to his with such a force that you’re frightened it’ll splinter, you’re murmuring, “Eddie… Eddie, d–hmn, fuck…”

And you can tell by the way he’s attempting to press his body against you that he wishes he hadn’t bust that stupid fucking hand of his, so he could hold you properly– and you’re right. You’re right, you’re always fucking right, but you told him to keep it elevated and he’s going to do what you say.

He’s got no choice when it comes to you. 

He needs you safe. Needs you happy. No matter what.

Which is why he’s got to pull this bullshit move. 

Eddie is patient and watches you regain a little consciousness, faster than he’s sure you’d like. He extracts his hand and, sticky with you still, wipes it on the thigh of his jeans. Heart thundering in his ears, he tugs you into one more breathless kiss and wonders if you can still taste the rust sharpness of his cut in between your lips. He’s strangled himself against cumming up till this point, and this doesn’t help matters. An imperceptible spot of pre-fun lies in his lap but the thing is, the really fucked thing is–

Eddie gently shoves you away, mind silently babbling for the right thing to say. I’m sorry is something you’d see right through, get off is too harsh, oopsie is too fucking whimsical–

But you, ever-perceptive you, you realize your place. Knock yourself back into reality so fiercely that he’s afraid it’ll bruise you, lovely, awe-inspiring you that just softened into his hands like that. You clumsily clamber off the exam table in a hot flash of rejection, which– no, god, no, he doesn’t mean that…

“I–”

“No, I know,” you grit, prickly all over. Thumbing at the edge of your blurred lipstick. “I know. I certainly know.”

Eddie dares to look at you and you dare to look back at him. His lips looking worse off from you, but at the very least kissed. At the very least kissed, but you could cry with the empty feeling inside you. A cavern of a girl. You nod curtly, like this is the conclusion of a particularly charged run-in of acquaintances, not like you wanted him to swallow you whole moments ago. 

Slipping out of the nurse’s office, you run right into the myth that is Nurse Lydia. 

She looks tan. 

“He’s,” you struggle, “He’s waiting for you.”

—

Cheating out sick from school and taking a shift at The Bookstore following the latest in a series of apparently neverending aftershocks was probably not the smartest call– but hell, you’re fresh out of smart calls.

Ivana smells a rat, and she doesn’t take to rats lightly, so she gives you your space. 

The morning ticks on at a pace that feels supernatural; like you’re witnessing outside of your body, like you can’t orient yourself in the right direction. You attempt to arrange and rearrange poets from alcoholic to puritan. You sell someone a copy of The Fountainhead without giving them their free blistering evisceration of Ayn Rand. 

You’re at a loss. A shameful, dangling loss that almost makes you feel pious. Like you should go to confession. 

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned… I let my one-time best friend, current-cloudy object of my affection get beat up for me then bring me to climax in the nurses’ office. 

You retread the same sentence in your over-thumbed copy of Save Me the Waltz like a table corner you keep stubbing your toe on. 

We couldn’t go on indefinitely being swept off our feet.

You said it, Alabama. Something’s got to land.

And, because someone down there wants you dead, land it does. 

The bell of the store’s door clashes upon opening, and all of the energy draws toward one magnetic point. A shock of silver hair, standing on end catches the lamplight, glowing almost eerily. 

You feel a zzzzip of static. The air feels charged.

He doesn’t face you right away. Kind of slinks into the place, edging along the shelves. 

“Say, Lacy. Ballpark me somethin’,” his Southern drawl is barely contained within the Midwestern flatlands of his accent, bursting through the baseline like a corpse that hasn’t been buried deep enough. “How long… do you think…” His fingers tap along the worn spines of the display, creeping closer to the counter, “...it would take… to read all these books?”

The lilt of his voice is so familiar that you recognize it instantly. Even the way your name falls out of his mouth. Like a funhouse mirror, a distortion of a voice you’d come to…

Well. Let’s not get into that. Let’s get into this.

A roguish smile with a couple decades of road wear on it and a tacky Hawkins High class ring on his finger. You could’ve sworn Eddie told you he dropped out. 

“How many years in the big house with nothin’ better to do?” He finally stops and pivots on his heel. The way he looks you over makes you nauseous and lightheaded, like he took a long, long sip out of you. Jammed a straw in your jugular and sucked. 

Lot of blood play happening ‘round these parts.

“Hello, Al.”

“Hello, sweetheart. You filled out.”

author's notes: christ alive. i mean WELCOME BACK! i really missed you guys. happy new year, thank you for keeping me on the level with writing this chapter, it was so much FUCKING harder than i anticipated! was it too much warped angst? are the feelings complicated? does the pope shit in the woods?!!!!! you betcha. anyway, be seated for today's lesson - "less oedipus-y, more ea--..." there is an ending to that joke that i felt was too crass for the moment but if you can guess it you win a prize - the patchwork girl of oz is the seventh book in the wizard of oz series by l. frank baum! obviously. it's actually a laugh riot, you should check it out. scraps, the eponymous patchwork girl, is a full tilt lunatic who's kind of a bit of me. but theoretically, the patchwork girl made out of a thousand different scraps of everything else... bit of lacy innit - the mage in the mink coat is self referential lmao we've gotten to THAT point in the story - gravity's rainbow is a book that guys i dated used to recommend to me constantly which is like infinite jest for people who are ran through - i'm really fucking with college guy at this point, making him drive a ford cortina. because i think it is ugly - the plot of the annotated book that lacy gives eddie, still life with woodpecker by tom robbins, is... interesting eye emoji eye emoji. tom robbins also wrote even cowgirls get the blues which was adapted into a feature film starring, say it with me, robin's mom - the link wray song that soundtracked the lipton landing visit in question - "charlie? or linda kasabian?" go ahead and read the white album by joan didion for me wouldja buddyroo, just like lacy and nancy already have - fun fact, i played a two person game of gin rummy with myself to get into the mindset for this chapter. i suck at it - torchy blane is another one of my pre-code wonders-- glenda farrell plays an intrepid newspaperwoman, and this character actually went on to inspire lois lane from superman - and I KNOW some of you are going to be mad at lacy for fucking college guy, but... shit happens when you're a booksmart lovedumb eighteen year old that can't face up to her feelings! i don't wanna hear it! - fred benson i love you baby! i'm almost sorry i called you william randolph hearst, newspaper magnate and all around lunatic and the inspo behind the diss track citizen kane, but i'm not! - nancy wheeler has a photo of nellie bly in her locker where a photo of her beau should be - so echo & the bunnymen's 1984 album ocean rain is obviously most famous for the killing moon (jonathan byers you ARE my donnie darko) but may i point your attention to motherfucking seven seas - OH YOU KNOW I (EDDIE) HAD TO DO IT TO 'EM. this was shameless but i've had this in my heart for over ten years babe - for the purposes of this timeline, you know eddie is keeping higgins in pills. which is why he hasn't been kicked out of hawkins high so fast his lunchbox would combust - nurse ratched, obviously from one flew over the cuckoo's nest and that ill-fated ryan murphy series....tf was that...but also from this fucking sick tune! - save me the waltz is by zelda fitzgerald! my loves, thanks for hanging in for this chapter. i know it was a wait, but i hope you enjoyed! i also know it was a little more angsty pants than my usual fare-- but look baby. we need grist for the mill, okay? as always, reblogs, comments and likes are FIERCELY appreciated! love u all so much. my little hellcats. to die by your side etc

[fairlyang]

Let you break my heart again 🕷️

you are in love with your best friend

w/c: 999

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

tags: kinda angst? you’re so in love, he doesn’t feel the same, heartbreak, shitting n crying, slightly delusional

notes: the grip this song has had on me the past two weeks- this idea came to me last week I just HAD TO-

part two

You had been feeling down the entire day since you saw Miguel post the new girl he had been talking to and calling her his girlfriend with today’s date on the caption.

Him calling you a couple hours after asking if you wanted to go to a party with him only added salt to the wound.

You have been hopelessly and desperately in love with him since your freshmen year of high school.

8 years.

8 years of silence.

8 years of torture.

No one even looked his way in high school because he, alongside you, were known as the science nerds of the school. You obviously didn’t care, if anything it made falling for him that much predictable.

At least for anyone with eyes and good at deciphering body language.

Which Miguel wasn’t.

Somehow he never realized and you never had the balls to confess your love to him.

After graduating high school he had quite possibly the biggest glow up (unbeknownst to you he had turned into spider-man) and first semester of uni changed everything for him.

He had girls eating out of the palm of his hand and practically falling to their knees for him as if they hadn’t been using him to do their homework just a few months back.

Miguel didn’t seem to care or see through all the girl’s intentions.

Meanwhile you had liked him when he would wear nerdy little crewnecks and those thick glasses that had now been long abandoned.

You liked him when he was getting brutally bullied and were the only one to ever stick up for him, but it never going well for either of you.

You liked him when he was going through a hard time with his mom and relied on you heavily for nearly everything.

You liked him when the revelation of who his father was, tore him up to literal pieces.

He was always in your head. Whether it be daydream, hearing someone talk about him, or actually dreaming about him at night.

Only in your mind can you pretend that you’re his girlfriend. That he likes you.

That you’re his first and only choice.

That you’re the only one he wants.

That he’s just as in love with you as you are with him.

He had taken over all your thoughts possible and it never got any easier.

You thought you’d get over it after sophomore year but it only grew as he ended up being your only friend throughout high school.

Nothing was more heartbreaking than having to hear him talk about all the girls he would go out with, or fuck.

The worst was when you’d actually go to parties with him. You’d end up almost throwing up or crying in the bathroom after seeing yet another new girl grinding herself against him or a girl making out with him.

It never ended up being less heartbreaking. You had luckily made a few friends who tried their best to help.

Peter B and MJ.

Somehow you befriended them your first year of uni and all four of you became a little group. They were your occasional saviors when you’d find yourself sulking over Miguel being with another girl.

They’d always try to distract you and cheer you up.

Or if they were the ones to spot Miguel fooling around they’d turn you to the opposite direction to avoid your heart from crumbling again.

You felt as if you were being entrapped.

It was almost as if Miguel subconsciously knew what he was doing.

Because when he grew bored of a girl all of a sudden his attention would be fully on you.

Buying you food, getting you cute little plants, helping you study.

It was an endless cycle of pain and heartbreak then yearning and being enamored by him.

Right now was pure heartbreak and misery.

You had been crying for hours on end now and just let your sad playlist loop.

All you were wishing for now is that one day you’d stop falling in love with him.

That somehow your feelings for him would wash away and you’ll never have to deal with this heartbreak ever again.

But it’s been long now. These feelings weren’t going to disappear.

And he wasn’t going to magically fall in love with you.

Especially because he’s always been the one to let anyone and everyone know that you were only his best friend. And nothing more.

But the way he’d wrap his arms around you, leave kisses on your forehead and cheeks just boggled your head.

The way he would just stare at you when you were rambling about the newest science news you’d heard about.

The way he would hug you tightly at the most random times imaginable.

The way he’d willingly put his jacket on you if it were too chilly outside.

The way he would get so overprotective when a guy asks you out.

So you were always questioning what he really thought of you.

He never made it easy to decipher any of his feelings unless he was telling you up front, which he almost never did.

As more hot tears fell down your face, you could only pray that someone will like you like you like him.

It felt like such an impossible ask.

You loved him so much and you could practically feel pieces of your heart breaking. Why couldn’t he just reciprocate your love?

Why did you have to torture yourself like this?

Why is the only time you’re truly happy (besides when you’re with him) is when you’re dreaming about actually being with him?

Why is it so hard for him to romantically love you?

Why does it always have to be platonic?

Maybe one day you’ll be able to get over him and these feelings won’t be as strong.

Maybe one day you’ll find someone that’ll know how to take care of your heart and return your love.

Maybe one day it’ll be him.

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

overwatch ratings based on how they would date

did this a while ago but spent too much time on it for it to not be posted. this is just a personal opinion and personal ratings based off lore and bias tbh. this will be updated with every hero (if I remember to lol)

Tanks:

D.VA: 6/10. Caring and loving, fun gaming dates, but gets recognized a lot, and if it came down to it she’d choose her job to protect south korea over her lover

Doomfist: 4/10. He’d be a gentleman but probably only in it for sex or to be a sugar daddy. He’d treat his “lover” with respect tho so not a total loss i guess.

Junker Queen: 7/10. After the shit she’s been thru i think she doesnt really want a partner cuz shes afraid they’re just using her to get to the throne or that she’ll lose them. She’s protective and caring but also a bit overprotective to the point where it’s like okay calm down. Also might get into a few fights but eh.

Orisa: 0/10. she thinks it would be cute to be in a relationship but knows she cant be in one due to being the “protector of numbani”. so no.

Ramattra: 8/10. Deadass depends if it’s an omnic or not. If his lover is an omnic he will cherish them and take care of them, knowing that they’re one of the few things he loves in this life. If it’s a human then theres some. Problems. He doesnt open up easily and while he’s still protective and caring he can sometimes get very distant towards them because he fears that they only got close to him to use him or kill him.

Reinhardt: 9/10: Perfect gentleman. Treats you with respect and love, and cherishes you no matter what. -1 is because he can be really loud sometimes even when he doesnt mean to be

Roadhog: 5/10. I think of him as aroace but he would try and give it a shot just to feel what it’s like. Hes very quiet but also very calm. He would listen to his lover and do his best to help them, but he moves around a lot thanks to junkrat now and might cut off communication with you just to keep you safe when he's on the run

Sigma: 5/10. A real gentleman, would treat his lover with respect and kindness and love. Only downside is when he has one of his mind breaks and breakdowns. He forgets who he is and just focuses on violence. Also his control of gravity in that state is very fucky so if he’s having a breakdown his lover might get throw to the ground. He feels like jackshit afterwards and probably realizes it’s best not to have someone he cares about so close to him

Wrecking Ball: 0/10 no. he would simply not even if he wanted to. Aroace hampter 

Winston: maybe a 1/10. i feel like he doesnt want a romantic relationship with anybody and just wants friends (aroace monke)

Zarya: 6/10. Protective and caring but would focus too much on her job. would also pick her country over her lover if it did come down to it

Mauga: 8/10: Would treat his lover right and give them anything they asked for. Free beach house, gifts, and a loving, protective, obsessive bf. -2 because slight yandere vibes and can get too possesive-

Damage:

Ashe: 6/10. Partners in crime kinda thing but if you’re not really into that stuff she’s probably not that into you. She has BOB watching you when she cant during a fight but shes always next to you when she can be.

Bastion: 0/10. Dude just wants to live in the woods with his bird he doesnt want that stuff.

Cassidy: 8/10. Southern sweetheart. Treats his partner with love and respect. Only downside is that he’d be out a lot doing his job, but he would let somebody else do it to be with you if it’s a special occasion or if he really wants to stay with you.

Echo: 2/10. Not big on romance but would try it out for science. Sadly in the end it’s not real love so. Oof

Genji: 9/10. Probably doesn’t want a relationship at first because of his body but he gets used to it and opens up his heart. Honestly very good boyfriend would be there to listen and help you with stuff. -1 cuz he might be out doing overwatch stuff a lot and also might not be the most exciting person to be around if you're a hyper person.

Hanzo: 6/10. Can’t see him getting in a relationship after everything thats happened but if he did he’d be kinda bad at it but you could tell that he’s trying his best.

Junkrat: 5/10. I love him but i cant really see him *staying* in a relationship for long. He doesn’t know how to stop sometimes and can get really annoying really quick but he loves making things for his lover and would do his best to keep them away from the dangerous bombs. He loves them a lot but doesn’t know how to turn the love down. Really clingy so if youre into that cool.

Mei: 9/10. Absolute sweetheart. Loves you to bits and takes you out to her favorite restaurants and stuff. -1 cuz you had to have a long distance relationship due to her being in Antarctica and the fact she slept for years with no communication with her lover-

Phara: 4/10. Cares about her job more but would be an okay girlfriend, doing the basics.

Reaper: 1/10. He’s done with love and would probably just just be a sugar daddy or just be there for sex. Even if he did find himself feeling something he’d ignore it and move on

Sojourn:5/10. Not interested in dating or finding love but if it finds her she’ll go for it. Pretty nice girlfriend, makes sure to take care of her lover but does focus on her job a lot more sometimes.

Soldier:76: 0/10. Not interested and has made sure to break off any past relationships. Doesn’t want the people he cares about to get hurt. So he still cares but doesnt go see them.

Somba: 7/10. Would be a pretty good girlfriend if she wanted to have a relationship. She keeps all people she cares about far away and unaware of her deeds at Talon. So a long distance relationship until she can take some time off to go see her lover and vibe.

Symmetra: 3/10. Doesn’t know how to even start a relationship and doesn’t really want to. Her job is important to her so she wouldn’t want distractions from it.

Torbjorn: 6/10. His wife and him had a few children and have been married for a while so he’s probably got the whole love thing covered.

Tracer: 9/10. Probably one of the best on this list. She’s loving and caring and makes sure to spend a lot of time with her partner. 

Widowmaker: 3/10. Last partner she had was um. killed by her so. +3 if you could break down her walls and see the real her but very low chance

Venture: 8.5/10: Would talk to you about rocks, fossils, and everything else they can think about. They’d even let you name rocks around the house. -2 cuz they’ll talk your ear off about rocks n stuff while also bouncing around everywhere. They can also be gone for long periods of time but always makes sure to call. If you can deal with the infodumping and adhd then 9.5/10 for you 

Support:

Ana: 5/10. She doesn’t want a relationship but she’d be very loving and caring to her lover.

Baptiste: 8/10. Great boyfriend, lovers needs always come first and he’s very open and always has an ear out to listen. -2 because he’s constantly on the run and the relationship could get stressed.

Brigitte: 5/10. Mostly focused on her work but would make a pretty good girlfriend if she finds the right person. The relationship would mostly be a test one because she lowkey doesn’t understand it.

Kiriko: 4/10. Would love to be in a relationship but protecting her home is more important than finding love to her.

Lucio: 9/10. Actual sweetheart. Would make music for you and would cancel shows last second if something came up and you needed something. If you need anything he’ll be there to help.

Mercy: 8/10. She’s really focused on her work but no matter what would take time to come stay with you for a while. -2 because sometimes too focused on work and sometimes doesnt have time to see you for a long time.

Moira: 0/10. Not looking for a relationship and would probably lie just to get you strapped to a table and butchered.

Zenyatta: 7/10. Would make a decent boyfriend but he can’t have relationships due to being a monk. He’d be there to listen and to give advice when you needed it.

Liveweaver: 9/10. Perfect boyfriend in every way. Like no competition. -1 cuz he's on the run from multiple governments so he won't be able to talk all the time or be with you much to his dismay. multiple texts a day tho

Illari: 4/10. Tbh I can't see her getting into a relationship after everything. She's too scared that something will happen with her powers again and hurt her lover

[its-elioo]

RnM Headcanons:

I promised to write some headcanons about the girls and their guardians some time ago. I finally had motivation to write them down, so here there are!

Optimus Prime and Sunset Shimmer:

- Sunny never had a father figure in her life and really enjoys it when they spent time together

- Optimus is very caring and protective of his charge

- You know this thing where you tell your dad you like this specific stuff and then he brings you more? That’s definitely OP

- One time he overheard Sunset having discussion with Pinkie Pie about their favorite desserts. After mentioning that she really likes strawberry cheesecake, and that’s her favorite fruit, Optimus swiftly assigned himself a mission

- Later, when Sunset had to leave her home to get some groceries, she was greeted by bunch of wooden boxes full of strawberries on her front door

- She was flabbergasted

SS: Optimus- how did you-?!

OP: I heard you mentioning that you enjoy this specific type of fruit.

SS: You didn’t need to bring me a whole stack of it!

OP: Oh, apologies… Do you perhaps need more?

SS: Wha- NO!

- They both like reading so they will certainly share their opinions or recommend some of the books they like (especially history ones)

- Usually there are moments when one of them starts feeling down while talking about their past

- Lots of comfort and reassurance

- You cannot tell me Sunset hasn’t call him ‘dad’ at least once on accident

- She will most likely feel super embarrassed about it, however, Optimus will start crying from the inside

- One time she even decided to draw him a portrait as a small gift (he kept it in his quarters and smiles every time he sees it <3)

Arcee and Twilight Sparkle:

- You guys know Eda and Luz from the Owl house? That’s them. Except that Arcee is waaay much more of a strict and protective mom figure

- This motorcycle lady doesn’t understand half of the science stuff her charge is saying but that doesn’t mean she is not listening

- Calls her ‘kid’ most of the time, even though Twilight said she was a full grown adult who can take care of herself

- Arcee has these ‘mother/carrier instincts’ she just can’t help but WORRY

- Really enjoys to rest besides her human companion and listen to her talking

- Fun fact: it took a bit longer for Arcee to realize that she had become a parental figure... again

- One time, Twilight asked if she can learn some words of their Cybertronian language and Arcee gladly accepted to teach her

- They often go out for a drive, especially when Twilight gets too overwhelmed with work

- How many times did this girl fell asleep while doing her studies? Arcee lost count.

- Robot mom grabs a blanket, wraps it around her and carries her to somewhere more comfortable

- Heck she will even hold her till she wakes up if she can’t find a place for her to take a proper rest

- Will kick anyone’s ass/aft if they disrupt her sleeping

- Brains and brawn duo

Knock Out and Rarity:

- So stylish and dramatic

- *cough* theatre kids *cough*

- Can literally stare at you with judging faces while also gossiping about your appearance

- Shopping? Oh, absolutely.

- What’s better than having a guardian who can transform into a car and carry your bags in his vehicle mode?

- To return the favor Rarity offers him a hand with polishing his finish

- They have this ‘relaxation day’ once in a while

- Buffing, manicures, watching movies, trying on some makeup or outfits, you know it

- He really wanted to try these types of masks which made your skin cleaner and softer. Doesn’t give a flying frag if he is a robot, will even use a mass displacement to try it out

- Knock Out is kinda touch starved and it didn’t took Rarity too long to realize that

- Her guardian often suggests if he can hold her or if she wants to sit on his shoulder-pad while he works

- This big cherry bot really enjoys to run his digit around her curly hair or to playfully poke her cheeks

- As his best friend, she always gives him compliments for the good work he has done

- There was even a moment when she was in her robot form and she cupped his face-plate while praising him

- And let me tell you. Knock Out was absolutely stunned. He was on the verge of TEARS. (poor boy needs more love and attention)

- Hugs are a must, he just starves for them

- Appreciates it a lot whenever Rarity is there for him

Sideswipe and Rainbow Dash:

- SIBLINGS SIBLINGS SIBLINGS

- They are the MASTERS of pranks

- Chaos, absolute chaos I tell you

- Pretty cocky and competitive too

- Some of their team members even wonder how are they not related??

- Often show off their abilities and talk about how they are 'the most skilled person/bot there ever is'

- They share one brain cell

- Both of them care deeply for each other, they just show it through actions. They aren’t really into the sharing feelings conversations but if things get pretty tough, they will have to talk about it, whether they like or not

- Sideswipe has these overprotective habits where he keeps his optics on her all the time or stays pretty close during any dangerous situations. This dude just doesn’t want to see her getting harmed otherwise he will flip out

- During their free time they like to play video games, go racing or just go for a casual drive, have training exercises (soccer, fighting etc.) or to annoy the rest if they are bored and have nothing else to do

- Will never tell this to anyone else but there a few occasions when they like to rest together

- Imagine one of them has a nightmare or can’t fall asleep. It’s snuggle time.

-If he is recharging in his vehicle form, Rainbow will grab a pillow and curl up on the seats OR he will lay on his chassis and rest his helm over his crossed arms, then he can nestle her close to his face-plate

- Sideswipe is a music enjoyer so he will definitely hype her up when she plays the guitar

- Rainbow teaches him all of the slangs and memes she can think of

- They cover one another or make up excuses if they want to go out to have some fun

- Dash pretty often forgets about things she needs to do (chores, homework or smth else) but her guardian is there to remind her

Bumblebee and Fluttershy:

- The 'parent friends' of the group

- Bee has these awful dad-jokes that he uses and somehow Shy is the only one that will laugh at them

- Some of their teammates tease the two about them acting just like love-bugs

- Bumblebee was so delighted when Fluttershy got out of her shell and finally felt comfortable around him

- Finds it adorable when she becomes too flustered and covers her face

- Like to talk about their interests and listen to each other

- Sometimes he gets a bit nervous and forgets how to properly talk (even if it’s a compliment or want to ask her something) she thinks it's cute

- If she gets too scared her first instinct is to quickly hide behind him

- He really loves listening to their band’s music when they practice at the base

- Both enjoy the late night drives when they can relax

- They often talk about Earth and it’s most incredible places they have seen or wish to explore. Bee will probably plan a short trip just for the two of them, the Groundbridge is right there!

Smokescreen and Pinkie Pie:

- This two are always full on energy

- Will never get bored when they are together, they will find something fun or mischievous to do

- *gasp* Oh no, Smokey is sad? Np! Pinkie is here to help! She has her ways of cheering people up.

- Poor big bot wishes he could taste human food. Every time he sees her amazing baked goods he pouts

- One day she made some cupcakes with blue-yellow icing that matched his color scheme (he didn’t cry after that nooo)

- He can get anxious tho, especially when Pinkie is too carefree (he doesn’t want his human to get hurt after all)

- Smokescreen is a show-off so he usually tries to impress her with his fighting abilities and speed

- This sweet girl always encourages him and supports her guardian no matter what

- He is amazed by the many talents she has (baking, playing the drums, roller skating etc.) like how?? What she can’t do?!

- Will always remain surprised by her hair. She keeps so many things inside, how is that even possible? Guess it will remain a mystery.

Bulkhead and Applejack:

- When I tell you AJ is one of the strongest members in the team, I mean it

- She can lift every heavy and large bot with EASE

- Their hugs are so funny and adorable she sometimes doesn’t realize she is actually lifting him from the ground

- Often talk about the good old days or the cool adventures they had

- Sometimes they have wrestling competitions and what do you know, AJ wins them all!

- If no one else is around, Bulkhead will help her out with the chores in the apple farm

- Will sometimes stumble on something by accident and apologize immediately

- Applejack thinks his clumsy and nervous side is pretty sweet

- She always appreciates his assistance (even tho he crushed several trees, oops)

- He definitely likes hearing her cute snorts when she laughs

[the-banana-0verlord]

how are you ? hii ^^, I would like to request for the third year boys I think they are rook, leona, vile, malleus, lilia and trey well with a fem mc who is very bad at studies because she had never attended a school before so this is her Taking classes for the first time and taking exams, that's why she works hard even though she failed several times, she never gives up~ one of her favorite phrases is "if I fail 99 times, I'll continue once more, maybe the 100th will be the winner" hehe <33

again, i apologize for the request taking so long 😅

How the third years would react to a Reader who is bad at studies

Notes: Gn reader, i totally forgot idia existed 💀 Either that or it was a conscious decision.

🦁🦁🦁

🦁Leona Kingscholar 🦁

🦁Studies were never a problem for him. He always passed his exams with flying scores without even trying. 🦁So since everything came to him so naturally, it was hard for him to imagine someone not having the same easyness as he did. 🦁You were at the opposite ends of the spectrum: He didn't care about school yet excelled at it, while you were still optimistic when your scores barely passed the passing note. 🦁You made him care again. He helped you with your studies and you got progressively better. 🦁And it's not just your studies who got better, his also. Because of you, he put effort in what he had to do. Under all his grumpiness, he thanks you for it.

👑👑👑

👑Vil Schoenheit👑

👑Sure, you weren't all that good, but you tried, and in Vil's book, that's more than anyone could do. 👑Also, he's not one to pass the opportunity to help someone become their best selves. 👑So he helps you. The time passed with you is enjoyable thanks to your cheerful personnality. 👑He also enjoys teaching you. Why don't you come around to Pomefiore so he can teach you makeup?

♦♦♦

♦Cater Diamond ♦

♦Of course he'll help you, that's what an upperclassman does! ♦But to be truly honest, most of the "study times" are just you hanging out. ♦But when you actually study, he's not half-bad as a tutor. ♦He's not the best, but at least you can see your grades get a little better.

🏹🏹🏹

🏹Rook Hunt 🏹

🏹What wonderful ardor and persistance you have! Oh, how it makes his heart flutter! 🏹A hunt for a good grade is a hunt all the same, and you have the qualities of the best huntsman. 🏹You never seem to catch your prey, though, so he'll just ahve to give you un coup de pouce. 🏹Not all minds work the same, so maybe yours just works differently than the norm of teachings. 🏹You'll be studying school and he'll be studying you.

♣♣♣

♣Trey Clover ♣

♣He's pretty used to tutoring since the underclassmen in his dorm usually go to him for help or advice. ♣He was willing to help from the start, but your positive attitude motivated him more than the complains of the others he tutored spouted every second. ♣He's in the science club, so that's covered, and cooking always help with mathematics. ♣Yeah perfect teacher 10/10.

🐲🐲🐲

🐲Malleus Draconia 🐲

🐲You're asking him, Malleus Draconia, to help you study? 🐲He should be offended, but he finds it so intriguing and amusing he'll indulge you accept your request. 🐲I mean, there is no one better to learn from than from the best.(He's a very terrible teacher though) 🐲Your positive attitude is also refreshing from the gloomy and terrified faces of his daily life.

🦇🦇🦇

🦇Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

🦇Don't ask him for potion making, but he'll be perfect for teaching history. After all, he was there when it happened. 🦇...Except he wasn't. When XXX thing went down, he was hammered with his friend Jerry on the other side of the continent. 🦇He's still kinda helpful with the big lines, but don't really expect much. 🦇That or he'll put you through Silver and Sebek's training regiment. Don't know which is worse.

***

Hope you enjoyed!

Have a good day/night!

[g-xix]

idk if ur requests are open but do you think you could do a chrismd nsfw alphabet?

ChrisMD NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Just the sweetest- making jokes and getting you clean... Never an awkward moment. He has the door open whilst he runs the two of you a bath so that he can still see you and make sure you're okay and make some shitty jokes that make you groan even more than you were groaning whilst he was fucking you

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Prolly the thighs, I reckon he likes a thick pair of thighs... First time he saw you wearing a short skirt he was just so empty-headed, just too obsessed with the sight of your thighs and the way they looked so fucking good every time you stepped, rubbing against one another and almost deserving his head between them... He just had to leave some hickeys on your inner thighs before you left wearing that.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) I think Chris doesn't like finishing inside you- he prefers seeing it ON you- whether that be smeared across your thighs, all over your face, on your tongue or titties... After the post-cum high he does feel a bit guilty for that, and tries to clean you up pretty quickly.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Oftentimes when he's playing a game with his friends or just edited- you're sat on his lap just cockwarming him. Obviously, it just looks like he's holding your waist whilst he's playing with the other hand, but in reality he's gripping your waist so that you don't move and tease him by trying to make him groan whilst his cock is inside you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) I feel like before dating, he was quite out there and got himself quite a bit of experience. Obviously in the relationship when you first did it with him that was a bit of a shock with how good he was, but over the years of the relationship he's settled into it and found what he really likes doing with you

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Doggyyyyyyy... He loves a thick girlie and the recoil has his head absolutely spinning, it's just so good for him. Love doing it with a mirror in front asw so that you can look at Chris and he can see your absolutely gone expression whilst he's pounding you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Chris would be such a joker, you've seen in the vids how he always manages to slip a overused or kinda shitty joke in... Yeah, well- same for sex with him. Always slipping in a crappy joke before slipping into your pussy ✨

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I think he shaves it clean when he does shave it

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) I mean, he deffo doesn't have meaningless sex- it's moreso just intimate because he's completely genuinely himself whilst he's doing it. Like, he makes the same sorts of jokes during sex whilst he does when you're just chilling with him and you have to love the fact that he can make you laugh even when he's 7 inches inside you-

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He filmed a friends buy me 26 presents for my birthday video at one point, and Stephen thought it was a great gift to give him a really high-tech fleshlight... like, really high tech. Has allsorts of features. So of course Chris used it (just for science)... And wanking has never been the same since.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Fucking suspenders. The surprise of coming back from a date and pulling your skirt up just to realise that the tights he though you wore were actually suspenders, and just one of the pieces to the lingerie set you wore beneath your outfit is alawys just such a kink for him. Snapping the band against your skin and thirsting over how deliciously your thighs spill from the top of the tight, sheer material... Chris would have you wear those every day if he could- but if you did then you might have a seriously leech problem, the way Chris would constantly have his head between your thighs.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Probably the kitchen. Sounds awful, doesn't it? But there's something so hot for the both of you when he bends you over the island, your tits pressing against the cool marble whilst he buries his head between your thighs or pushes his cock between your folds, having your moans echo through the apartment- looking out of the window at the bustling streets, knowing that anyone could look up and see what Chris was doing to you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You wanting it. Nothing more hot to him than having you plop on his lap and take his headphones off, whispering into his ear how you need him and grinding down on him there and then. That gets him going, and triggers him to leave everything he's doing and give you exactly what you want until you really can't go any longer.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Nothing dangerous/weird. All the body-waste ones like piss, faeces and blood he can't get behind... He hates the thought of anything to do with knives either because he's scared he would accidentally slip and end up hurting you

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Prefers to give fo SURE. Loves being between your thighs- ESPECIALLY face sitting. You were so nervous to try that out but Chris was so eager- he wrapped his arms around your thighs and practically clamped you down to his tongue, which flicked and lapped so sensually you were grinding down on his tongue and moaning like there was no tomorrow. He's completely intoxicated by the way you moan his name and the way you pull his hair, so he's groaning into your pussy and only making you wetter with the way his voicebox sends vibrations straight into your core

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) I reckon he loves a fast pace, not necessarily rough unless you're asking for it- but he's snapping his hips against yours fast, just racing you to your orgasm

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) I reckon he just loves a quickie if you or he is horny before you have to go out. He loves just pushing your panties to the side and lowering himself between your thighs, granting the two of you that sexual satisfaction whilst racing against the clock to make sure you're not late either

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) I think he is a bit of a risk taker. He loves doing it when he knows it's risky the two of you might get caught- whether that be separating from the group and doing it as quietly as you can in the toilets, or sharing a hotel room and doing it knowing the others could walk in at any moment

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Oh yeah this guy has stamina. Could fuck you two times back to back, just needs you to nod your head and say you can go another round, and he's taking you for your third as well

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Uses his fleshlight when he's alone at home and sometimes whilst the two of you are having sex he'll press your vibe to your clit for that added stimulation. He generally does that on the last round just to have you screaming his name, legs shaking by the time you've cum.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Yeah, he's unfair but only a bit. Won't edge you repeatedly type of unfair, moreso the make-you-beg-for-it type unfair.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Definitely talks to you, whether that be a shitty joke or a bit of praise/degrading. Yeah, Chris switches up between degrading and praising depending on the mood and day and overall what he thinks fits better. He does love you screaming his name though- he takes a bit of pride in the fact the neighbours know his name and the landlord has had to warn him about the noise complaints.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Recorded the two of you fucking one time. Had the phone in his hand, recording the recoil and showing off your ass with a red-hand mark and white cum on it as he finished. He uploaded that to his computer randomly a few weeks later whilst he was scrolling through his gallery and was so turned on watching it again that he had to send it to you with a you're so fucking sexy, we gotta do this again sometime

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Right, so. Christopher Dixon is a little man, but I THINK that he is a little man with a LARGE wood. Deffo above average, I wanna say about 7 inches

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Pretty high I'd say. Definitely have sex at least once a week- tend to do it more during winter than summer just because it's too hot and the two of you would rather be as still as possible with the fan cooling youse

Z= Zzzz (How fast do they fall asleep afterwards) Doesn't really need to fall asleep, could go his whole day after if you've just done one round or so. He's the type of guy to stay awake until you fall asleep, so if you did it at night he'd be holding onto your waist and just listening to your breathing- synchronising his to yours until you were asleep

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

Very sexy indeed. Hope you all enjoyed + feel free to flood my inbox w requests n chatting bits n bobs, love having a natter to everyone here xoxo

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[little-cereal-draws]

ok i see everyone's "ballister and ambrosius as nimona's parents" stuff but i'm going to raise you this

Ballister and Dr. Blitzmeyer as nimona's parents

I know there's the Gay Dad au sanctifying ambrosis as nimona's dad but he seems to get frustrated with Nimona more frequently than Ballister and I kinda got the sense that adopting her was mostly Bal's choice. Don't get me wrong, ambrosius has moments where he enjoys himself and he loves her, but I don't think he's thrilled abt the idea of her being here forever. He gives "good at babysitting but needs to give the child back at a certain point" vibes and obviously he can't do that when it's his kid

However in the Everything Is Fine au (the one where they all live in the cabin in the woods) Blitzmeyer is Nimona's guardian and they move from the city to the woods together, eventually moving in w Bal and Ambrosius.

Besides this au I don't think Blitzmeyer and Nimona ever interact, but I thought it was very interesting how the one time they do, she's also Nimona's guardian (I believe that's the word ND Stevenson uses, not "parent.") Already in this one picture, they look happier than Ambrosius did lol

I'm sure movie ambrosius would be much more willing to try and get to know nimona but what if the sticking point is with her this time? She can't get over what he did to both her and Bal, he reminds her too much of Gloreth, she's still wary of anyone that was that ingrained in the institute, and a million other things. She knows he's really trying and feels bad about everything but bc of all she's been through, she's not quick to trust people who betrayed her. Especially if she's only had bad interactions with them until this point. She avoids/shuts down his attempts to connect with her and is generally closed off and angry when he's there. It's like a kid hating their new stepparent lol Both Bal and Ambrosius know it's nothing personal, just the defense mechanism that's kept her safe from people like ambrosius for so long, but it still hurts. Eventually, he gives up trying to reach out to her and figures maybe she'll come to him or maybe they just won't be as close as he hoped.

Now, Bal's weird science friend is someone more Nimona's speed lol Blitzmeyer has somehow remained almost completely immune to institute propaganda, doesn't really care abt breaking things (the law included) if it can further her work in some way, and is just kooky enough to appeal to Nimona. She lets nimona help in the lab and doesn't mind the million questions she asks because that's just another opportunity to talk abt her work. They go on some adventures getting stuff for Blitzmeyer's experiments and really bond. Eventually they become pretty close and Nimona frequently goes out of her way to see Blitzmeyer.

One night late in the lab, Bal mentions that Nimona really likes her and Dr Blitzmeyer is like "really? no, not that much." And Bal's like "no, really that much. About as much as she likes me actually." And then with creeping awareness they both slowly look at each other with the realization that they're co-parenting now and actually have been for a while. After the initial freak out, they keep going almost like normal but throw in an outing every other month or so. They'll take Nimona for ice cream or some other casual thing and she's none the wiser that they've figured her out. One night as they were coming home from a movie or smth Nimona says, "I'm so glad we did this, I love spending time with my two favorite people." Nimona keeps walking but they have to stop to silently freak out to each other a bit lol

The only problem is that they frequently get mistaken for a nuclear family on these outings. And it doesn't help that Bal and Blitzmeyer often refer to each other as "my partner." (They open a lab together at the end of the comic and I think they would as well after the movie, so they are literally business partners and lab partners. But I like to hc them in a queer platonic relationship as well, so the word "partner" has a double meaning here. Ambrosius is Bal's romantic partner and Blitzmeyer is his platonic partner. They all talked abt it, it's all good.) Every time this happens though, Bal has to explain that they're just friends and he actually has a husband back at home. Some people go "ok, 'just friends,' sure. wink wink nudge nudge ;)" or "ok... does your husband know...? That you... and her...? ok, ok." It makes Bal angry when this happens but neither him or Blitzmeyer cares enough to actually do anything about it. Nimona just laughs at the stranger's confusion at their unconventional family.

Anyway, they're just two friends who somehow found themselves raising a 1000 year old shapeshifter together lol Ambrosius is disappointed Nimona didn't like him as much as he hoped but now he can just stay home and vibe lol

[fanfiction-blep]

Just watched Avatar 1 again Quaritch is sooooo fucking hot like damn

Can you maybe write something about human Quaritch (when you take request from of him in human form) how he fell in love with a scientist fem!so and him just being totally in love and love sick for her

Hope you had a good day ❤️

Honestly I am conflicted about human Quaritch. But here I go. Also I turned this super angsty and I’m not sorry. I might write more on this I just wanted to get something out for you guys I’m going though the backlog of requests. Have a good day anon!❤️

Human Miles Quaritch X Human Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, pining, mentions of injuries. Angst.

I don’t see him being super lovey dovey as a human

However.

Let’s say your the “one” and he hates that he fell for you you were a science ‘nut’. And he would do anything for you.

He’s the “I’ll kill anyone that touches you” kinda guy.

He’s the kinda guy that sees a flower and brings it back to you cus he thinks you’ll make it look pretty.

He’s traditional in some sense. He believes in wooing a women. So he’ll leave you notes.

“Come see me after lights out” and you would. You would sneak out and talk and drink.

More thank once he had you sat on his knee and arm around your waist head turning to look at you once in a while. He would try and convince you to spend the night in his quarters.

His drunken confession would be that “I won’t be making love ta ya yet darlin’ I just wanna hold ya”

You weren’t a doctor. You weren’t trained in medical science. Yet every time he hit injured he turned up at the door of your lab or even your quarters.

Eyes sparking with joy when the door opens to show your angered form. “Again!” It wasn’t a question at this point. You almost think he was doing this on purpose. You just didn’t get why.

He would sit so still when you patched him up. Whether it was a graze or fill gash that required stitches. Even when you have to use a needle to pull the edges of the torn skin together, he doesn’t complain. He sits there legs spread eyes focused on you, a dangerous smirk on his lips. When you were done he would sit up throw you a wink and mumble “thanks sweetheart” walking away.

He would always find reasons to want to be around you. Picking things up when you drop them. Grabbing things when you can’t reach, almost acting as a shadow.

He asks you random questions. Basic stuff but if it isn’t obvious that he should know he will either radio you or find you somewhere.

“How many hours in a day on Pandora again? Never adjusted..” “36 colonel…” “thanks darlin’”

When you disappear into the mountains with Jake and the others he’s restless. He doesn’t like you being so far out of the way. Somewhere where he can’t protect you.

He will try and ask about you in subtle ways. In his replies to Jakes reports he will try to ask how the group as a whole are doing. “Is the group functioning to the east capacity” Jake maybe be a golden retriever boy but he isn’t dense. He will reply to all the important information and then pushing his luck he will add. “(Y/N) is fine”

When he fly’s out the drag you all back to hells gate and Lyle gets a little rough with you… he goes insane.

When his eyes meet yours he stiffens. You were standing behind grace. Arms folded over your chest and a obvious bruise on your cheek. He does his best to keep his composure but when you are all taken to your cell he stops you pulls you to one side.

He traps you between his arms, back flush against the wall. “Who hurt you” “Lyle” you bite back his expression scared you he looked like he was about to explode. “I’ll fucking kill him”

He kept you by him for the rest of the evening his hand resting on the base of your back. Something so subtle and gentle but you don’t know how to feel. You don’t know how you feel. And when Jake and the others break out, you run.

And it breaks his heart. You grab a mask and you bolt for the ship. Knowing he won’t shoot, knowing he will avoid trying to hit you. In hopes it will save your friends. He stands there. Staring at the spot where he lost sight of you.

And he wonders where he went wrong. He waits until it hits him. He never once said the words “I love you”

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 1, Wave 1, Poll 13

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave here.

Jedidiah A.A. Martin-Camp Here and There

Qualifications:

refuses to label his sexuality but BOY does he like men (looking at Mr Sargent for this one :3) also has ADHD! but its not known how attention deficient or hyperactive he is

also is a stupid cringefail loser who I want to push down a slide that's been fermenting in the sun all day during summer <3!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Propaganda:

Raised in a religious yet wealthy household, Jedidiah Abraham Adonias Martin--also known as "Jed", "Jeddie", "The archivist", "The clockmaker", or various misspellings and mispronunciations of his name--refuses to label his sexuality, but BOY does he like men (looking at Mr Sargent for this one), and also has ADHD! He may have dropped out of medical school and is "too repressed to write poetry", but he's still one of the camp nurses, alongside Sydney October Sargent! After talking to a bunch of birds, we found out that Jedididididiah will die on a Thursday (not a spoiler as of writing this). It has also been confirmed that he has a photo of Sydney on his desk (aww) and he plays D&D. Oh, and he's terrified of all things shelled. Would you like a snail as you think about voting for this loser? (affectionate)

Submitted by @spud-the-stupid

Ballister Boldheart-Nimona (Film)

Qualifications:

He has a boyfriend (and then they have a sort-of-breakup but they're back together by the end) and he has a prosthetic arm.

He’s gay and missing an arm.

He’s explicitly gay, in love with a man. He loses his arm then builds himself a prosthetic while on the run like a badass.

His boyfriend cut his arm off :( he uses a prosthetic now. His arm got chopped off after being falsely accused of killing the queen, he spends the rest of the movie with a prosthetic metal arm. His arm was also chopped off by his lover, Ambrosius Goldenloin, during said false assassination.

Canonically has a boyfriend and built his own prosthetic

Qualifies by both being canonically disabled (amputee) + canonically gay

Propaganda:

Please plz plz vote for him

His boyfriend cut off his arm. He made himself a prosthetic. He used his arm to block someone’s sword. He kissed his boyfriend. He has sad wet cat eyes, which isn’t relevant but still. He has them.

He’s so GOOD even though he’s having like the worst day ever (specifically talking about movie but webcomic also applies). He has the biggest wettest eyes how can you not root for him????

People love him! He kinda looks like a sad, poor little cat. A real soggy wet kitten man.

Let's see. He and Ambrosius are lovers, or at least boyfriends, from the moment they're introduced. Ballister gets his arm chopped off by Ambrosius during the false assassination. Ballister spends the rest of the movie trying to convince Ambrosius and the kingdom of his innocence, with a metal arm replacing his missing one. It originated the phrase "Arm Chopping is not a love language!" Did I mention he's a main character too?

Is a science nerd, built his own prosthetic arm with his non-dominant hand, accidentally adopted a trans chaos demon of a 1000yo being

A knight, Nimona's best friend and father figure of sorts, but the plot mostly revolves around him- Ballister is framed for murder and has to hide while trying to figure out who framed him and how to prove he's innocent. Nimona becomes his sidekick (he didn't want one, she just showed up at his place one day like a very chaotic stray cat) and together they form a great duo against the corrupt government. This is complicated by Ballister's ex Ambrosius, who accidentally cut off Ballister's arm and is a bit brainwashed by government propaganda. Oops. You should watch Nimona it's great 💞🦈

Submitted by @foulfirerebel (fifth person) and at least 7 others.

[agaypanic]

Benny x female reader where he puts a love potion spell on her to make her fall in love with him but to his shock it doesn't work and take effect because she already loves him

A Faulty Love Potion (Benny Weir X Reader)

Masterlist

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Summary: Deeply in love with you, Benny uses a temporary love spell on you to feel what it would be like if you loved him back. But for some reason, you don’t act any different.

A/N: tbh i was gonna just link a benny x reader i already wrote that involves a love potion, but i figured this was different enough for me to write 

***

“Benny, are you sure you should be doing this?” Ethan asked as he watched his best friend cook up his latest concoction.

“E, it’s fine,” Benny responded, not taking his eyes off the bubbly mixture. “It’s a way toned-down version of the last love potion we tried, and this is only for twenty-four hours. Just enough for me to bask in the experience of Y/n loving me. Plus, once the twenty-four hours are up, she won’t remember any of it, so it won’t ruin our friendship.”

“Why not just ask her on a date or something? That would be way less trouble.”

“Sure, but this is way more fun,” Benny said, bottling the potion and holding it up proudly to Ethan’s view. “Ta-da!”

At school the next day, you found Benny hanging around your locker. It seemed like he was trying not to look suspicious, immediately making you suspicious of him.

“Hey Benny…” You greeted, wondering what he was up to. 

“Hey, Y/n!” He responded excitedly. You raised a brow before looking away to open your locker. 

“What did you do this time?” You asked, earning an offended and dramatic gasp.

“Why do you assume I’ve done something?” You gave Benny a knowing look, and he dropped the act, fishing around for something in his bag. “Okay, okay. But it’s nothing bad this time. Look!”

You glanced over to see a vial of glittery liquid in Benny’s hand. He handed it over for you to inspect.

“It’s perfume,” Benny answered your question before you could ask it. “It’s for science class. Wanna try it?”

“I don’t know. Does it smell rancid?” You joked, laughing at Benny’s adorable eye roll. “You’re lucky I love ya.” You laughed, taking the cap off of the vial. Benny’s heart skipped a beat at the statement, wishing you meant it the way he wanted. But soon you would, because you took a small testing sniff of the contents. Deeming it okay, you took a deeper inhale.

Benny waited for some kind of change in behavior; he thought he’d be able to notice the light love potion take effect. But instead, he watched you nod and put the cap back on.

“I like it. Good job.” You handed the vial back to Benny, who reveled in the contact of your hand touching his as you returned the perfume. “Kinda smells like you.”

“Me?” Benny asked curiously. Of course, the potion would make you think of him, considering it was made so you would fall in love with him. But he didn’t think that it would smell like him, or that you would recognize his scent. Benny wasn’t even aware he had much of a scent.

“Yeah.” You nodded, giving him a small smile. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s really good.” The bell rang, unfortunately cutting your conversation short. “I gotta go. See you later, Bens.” 

You shut your locker and walked off, leaving Benny confused.

***

Benny spent the rest of the day wondering why you were acting the same you did any other day. The potion should’ve worked. Even if it was toned down, he thought you would have at least had a noticeable change in behavior, whether it was small or not.

When he talked to Ethan about this, he was just told that he probably made the potion wrong. But Benny was sure that he did it right. 

The following day, Benny decided to tell you about his little magic attempt. After all, you’d forget about it once the twenty-four hours were up. He could confess, and then you’d forget it even happened, saving your friendship even though it meant Benny would have to suffer in silence again.

“Hey, Y/n.” Benny greeted you at your locker once again. He looked at his watch, seeing that he had five minutes to do what he wanted to do.

“Hey, Benny.” You responded, smiling at him brightly. “How’d your little science experiment go?”

“Fine.” He said, albeit a bit disappointedly. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Um… I kinda lied when I told you that was for science class.”

“Oh?” You looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.

“That perfume was actually… a love potion.”

“What?” You didn’t sound mad, thankfully, just a bit confused. “Why would you lie to me about that?”

“Because I really like you… Maybe even love.” Benny looked at his watch again. Three minutes left. “And I wanted to know what it would feel like if you felt the same, even if it was just for a little while. But nothing happened; you acted just like you normally do.”

You should’ve been mad at Benny. He tried to make you fall in love with him, even though it was temporary. But instead, you laughed.

“Well, of course it didn’t work, Benny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I already love you, doofus.” Benny looked stunned by your casual tone. You set your hands on his shoulders and stepped closer, hoping to ground him. “Of course, I’d act the same.”

“You love me?” Benny asked, seemingly in some kind of daze. You nodded, and his hands found their way to your hips and pulled you closer to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.” You answered simply, face heating up from being chest to chest with Benny. Benny’s lips gravitated to yours, kissing you somewhat shyly. You kissed back eagerly, although you tried to keep the affection tame as you remembered where you were. 

Suddenly, Benny pulled away, making you frown.

“You’re gonna forget all of this.” He whispered, tone saddened with the realization. You furrowed your brow, about to ask him what he was talking about, but he continued. “The potion will make you forget this happened once the twenty-four hours are up.” You must’ve been out of time based on how urgent he sounded.

“Then make me remember.” You said, and before Benny could ask for more clarification, you pulled him back in for another kiss.

When the potion’s effects had worn off, you pulled away from Benny confusedly. You were about to ask him what had just happened, but he interrupted you.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“What?”

“I love you.” Caught up in the moment, Benny kissed you once more. Although you were wondering why you couldn’t remember what had been going on, you reciprocated the contact.

“I love you too, Bens.” You muttered against his lips, your little display of affection soon being interrupted by the ringing of the school bell.

[simplyender]

You previously mentioned that Johnathon probably had a less than ideal childhood. If you are still in the mood for headcanons, would you mind sharing your thoughts on his upbringing/childhood/adolscence? The good, the bad, whatever comes to your mind. Thank you! (I wonder if he was still roommates with Quentin Beck in the movieverse)

Thank you so much for asking!!!! Sorry about taking so long to respond, work has been exhausting for me, and I really want to give my best answer, hence why I stew over asks quite a bit, lol

ANYWAY,

• Apparently, The Spot from the comics is originally from Spokane. Yeah, I'll incorporate that one in to my personal beliefs.

• He reads to me as having come from an upper-middle-ish class family.

• Only child, but his parents were frequently busy with their jobs, and when they were around, they didn't exactly have or bother to make the time for him.

• Pretty judgemental parents in general.

• Despite that, he still spent a fair amount of time trying to prove himself worthy of their attention, a difficult task with...Mixed results, mostly leaning towards failure.

• One of my friends was once like "There was definitely a time where he wanted to show them something he made and got snapped at for bothering them.", and yeah I totally agree with that.

• Over time he became more reclusive, spent more time in his room than anywhere else. He preferred reading, learning to code, and working on his own little projects over socializing, something he wasn't all too skilled at. It wasn't like there was much to socialize with at home, anyways, considering he would either be ignored or treated like a nuisance a solid 90% of the time.

• This was a double edged sword, though, since he'd also been yelled at for "being in his room all the time" a few times.

• Was used as a scapegoat quite often.

• After a certain point he moved on to trying to get his validation through other means. High grades, impressive science projects, plans to become a scientist and making the biggest damn breakthrough ever seen, do something that will change the world forever. Because then nobody could ignore him or treat him like he's less if he managed that.

• But obviously they're not the worst in his mind because they helped pay for college, so,,,,,,

edit: actually thought about this some more and he probably got a scholarship. oops lol idk high academics.

• Saw the 1933 Invisible man at a young age and absolutely loved it, he spent a short period of time trying to figure out how to make himself invisible, and kind of wished that dr. Jack Griffin was his real dad and that also maybe he'd kill his parents, healthy and not worrying thoughts from a probably 8 year old. It's been around 25+ years since then, but he'd still get seriously embarrassed if somebody brought up his old attempts.

• Had a massive growth spurt in his early teenage years, which automatically put a target on his back for even more bullying.

• Started experimenting with his fashion and putting some more work in to his appearance close to the end of high school. Still sucked at keeping up with haircuts and remembering to shave, though.

• Was probably at his peak in college, honestly. Nicest place he's been in. Least bullying he's experienced. He even made a friend or two!

• IMO he was totally roommates with Quentin in this universe too, they were on different tracks, but all in all, they got along pretty well! John was happy to help him with with whatever he was working on, although, John mostly kept his personal stuff to himself (still appreciated the extra hand with carrying things...), or at least tried to. Whether he was listened to or not is another matter entirely. When they collaborated, they were a real dream team. Unfortunately, they kinda fell out of contact after college, so it was a pretty big surprise to John when Mysterio got caught and it was released that his old college roommate had become a supervillain.

....Which only further entrench him in the "I'm meant to be Spider-Man's nemesis" mindset, by the way.