#what were they on when they wrote this chapter

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 9

[chap eight] | [all chapters here]

Summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Me?? Taking another unexpected writing hiatus?? Never. But forreal, you all know how life gets. So, as a treat here's a longer chapter (that may or may not be a bit rambly) to make up for my absence. As I wrote, this just kept going and going, so I hope you all enjoy the extra few thousand words lmao

wc: 8.6k

Chapter Nine

The rest of Monday was absolute shit following your fight with Eddie. After spending the entirety of lunch break hiding out under the bleachers in an attempt to pull yourself together, facing your peers for the rest of the day was the last thing you wanted. The trek to your fifth period class was like some walk of shame, as if you were wearing some damned scarlet letter; it felt as if the entire school was watching you, waiting to see if you’d make yourself look like an idiot again or if you’d erupt. You had never felt so scrutinized before, so susceptible to judgment, but you fought tooth and nail not to give people the reaction they were hoping for.

The next day wasn’t any better. Once again, you felt the weight of everyone’s attention, you felt the pressure of all their judgment. Was this how it felt to be in Eddie’s shoes, how it felt to be a total social outcast? It was even shittier than you could have predicted, and you found yourself questioning the stupid little plan you and Eddie had been hatching that led to this.

It only grew worse as the day went on. Third period was arguably the most frustrating - you were stuck sitting next to Eddie for a whole damn hour, and he didn’t speak a single word to you. You didn’t even think it was possible for that boy to go quiet for longer than a few minutes, yet he proved you wrong, keeping his mouth zipped tight and his eyes on anything but you. Being ignored by Eddie caused your anger to flare, and if you had less self control you would’ve said something about it, would’ve given him a piece of your mind, but your frustrations had kept you, too, surprisingly silent. Or maybe it was the fear of looking stupid again.

Wednesday continued much the same way, although you felt less frustrated by everyone’s critical glances and Eddie’s willful ignorance of your existence. You thought maybe you were starting to get your shit together, that you had finally combatted all your pent up emotions and pushed them all the way down to the pit of your heart, where you'd just ignore them like you did with any challenging feelings. Hell, you were even beginning to fool yourself into thinking that you were feeling better, though deep down you knew that wasn’t true.

The worst that the week had to offer came during lunch that day, though, when you foolishly tried to approach Duncan and demand to know what the hell his deal was. You thought you had pulled yourself together well enough - you spoke with a sharp tone and a cool demeanor, but he and his gang of friends simply mocked your attempts at an argument. They did everything they could to make you feel small, but you kept it together, retreating from their harsh words with all the poise you could muster, hoping that your anger wasn’t too obvious. Their laughter and whispers wouldn't get to you, or at least you'd never show it - the whole school already saw you vulnerable once, it was not about to happen again.

 Consider your reputation officially fucking ruined. 

The thing that hurt more than any of their insults and derogatory words, however, was the look on Eddie’s face as you two met eyes across the lunch room, the way he watched you as you tried to march away from Duncan with your pride still intact. Eddie had been witness to the entire shitty interaction, you realized as you kept your eyes locked on his; the worry and concern so clear on his face caused a crack in your otherwise icy exterior, and you had to rip your gaze away so he couldn't see the hurt in your expression. You nearly broke down the very moment you were out of the cafeteria, the look on Eddie’s face burned into your mind.

The rest of the day was a fucking blur, and you were so emotionally worked up that you were grateful to leave school and go to the one place that could normally calm you down - the ice rink. Wednesday was always your skating day, and today you felt like you needed it more desperately than usual, thankful to spend a few hours on the ice after school. In all your moments of frustration, skating always did wonders to even you out, reminding you why you still enjoyed it after all these years - it helped calm your nerves, clear your head, and relax your heart. It helped to de-escalate your emotions, to make you think straight, and after how hard the past couple of days were, you desperately needed that.

Your anger at Duncan was still burning hot as ever, and even as you slowly relaxed you were still desperate to get back at him, not above stooping to his level. You’d have to corner him when he was alone, without his posse to back him up - then you could really hurt him with your scathing words. You also couldn’t help but wonder just how involved Amelia and Janet were in all this shit - if anything, this stunt was Amelia’s idea, but Janet? She couldn’t have been this cold and heartless; or maybe you just desperately hoped she wasn't.

As you looped around the ice far less elegantly than you normally would, you tried your damnedest not to think about Eddie, as if ignoring the thought of him would somehow remove you from fault. Now that you’ve actually had time to think about it, you knew you’d been mean to him just for the sake of it, just to let your frustrations out on someone. A younger you wouldn't have cared that you mistreated someone, would've just waved it off like a brat and moved on with your life. Hell, only a few months ago, you probably would've still found it comical to talk down to someone like Eddie the way that you did.

But you were not that girl anymore, although you also weren't emotionally ready to acknowledge that Eddie didn’t deserve your vitriol; after all, you were mean to just about everyone, what made him any different? You knew that you’d treated him badly simply because it was easy, because he was the only person there and you needed to let it out. The less prideful part of you knew that you were wrong for that, but that side of you had thus far been outweighed by your own stubbornness. Now, however, you were starting to think maybe you needed to do something about it.

On the one hand, you considered that you had no obligation to make things right with Eddie, and yet, something about that upset you. Were you really so terrible and bitchy that you’d avoid apologizing to him? Were you going to simply ignore him, if not treat him even worse than you’d already had been? That’s certainly something you would have done in the past, but somehow Eddie fucking Munson had made you a little less harsh than you once were.

No, you didn’t need to make this right, but you wanted to. Somehow, Eddie had undeniably grown on you, and at this rate he was virtually the only person you had on your side (that is, of course, if you don’t take into account his ignoring you the past two days). If anyone had even suggested a month ago that you’d be getting along so well with Eddie Munson, you probably would have gagged. What could you and a guy like him possibly have in common, what could you two possibly bond over? These were questions that you were still seeking answers to, even as you drove home after hours of skating at the rink.

Perhaps it was your sense of humor, so much more aligned with his than either of you had expected. Or maybe it was the effortlessness with which you could talk to one another, like you’d already known each other far longer than a few weeks. Hell, maybe it was that Eddie challenged you without even being mean about it, how he so simply gave you new perspectives to take into account and made you reconsider things you thought you knew.

It was strange to realize that, in your own way, you two had become almost-friends quite rapidly. Was that normal? Did other people feel so at ease with someone they’d known for only a few short weeks? You couldn’t remember what it was like when you became friends with Amelia or Janet or anyone else that ran in your former circle - had you bonded with them just as easily as you had with Eddie? Something in you suspected no.

But you tried to avoid thinking about that too much, because you certainly weren’t going to dig into it any deeper.

As you walked through the front door of your home, the silence of the house confirmed to you that your father was still, supposedly, at work. The only time you heard the buzz of electronics throughout the house was when he was around, because your mom never left a television or radio on unnecessarily. You’d bet that she was probably in the kitchen with the radio down low, just a bit of background noise to keep her company as she prepped for dinner. Or maybe she was on the phone in the home office, chatting away with one of her friends about the latest gossip in town.

You hated to admit it, but you and your mom were both used to your father not being around often - most days, he was gone before you left for school and didn’t return home until well into the evening. This had been the family’s routine for years now, so your father’s lack of interest in spending time at home no longer phased you. His absence was just as routine as your school schedule or your mom’s biweekly nail appointments.

You found it far more surprising when he was around - in fact, it almost dared to make you suspicious of him. Because you figured he never seemed interested in spending time with you or your mom, you couldn’t help but speculate what would prompt him to suddenly spend every night at the dinner table for a couple weeks, or to even suggest the family go out together on the weekend. You assumed it was some form of guilt - for a while now, you had yourself convinced that he was having an affair, so perhaps his brief bouts of attentiveness were his measly efforts to reconcile his infidelity with himself.

Of course, you’d never dare even imply this suspicion to your mother, for all you knew it could send her spiraling. And a part of you was convinced that perhaps she’d had her suspicions as well.

As you closed the front door behind you and slid out of your sneakers, you had every intention of running off to your room to avoid your mom entirely. After the week you’d had thus far, you’d rather be left alone, you didn’t want to get caught up in her usual superficial conversations. But before you could even take a step towards the staircase, your mom zipped out of the kitchen towards you, an eager shine in her eyes that almost made her appear younger. You gave her a quizzical look, taking a step back as she got just a little closer than you cared for; even with your parents, you preferred people stay at arm’s length.

“How was your day, hon?” She asked as if in anticipation of something. Your face twisted with even more confusion - what the hell was she so excited about? Was she really that oblivious to the funk you’d been in the past three days?

You stepped around your mom, intending to end this conversation quickly so you could disappear to your room. Your tone was dismissive as you replied coldly, “Not great.”

Her joy seemed to falter a little as she followed just a step behind you; clearly, whatever she wanted to talk about seemed to be important to her, “What do you mean?”

You paused to look back at her again, your agitation clear on your face as you studied her. You weren’t certain, but it seemed as if she were expecting a different response - a particular response. What exactly was she fishing for?

“Today sucked. Just like the rest of this shitty week.” Your tone was cold as you raised your brow, hoping that your attitude may deter her from asking anymore questions. Your callous word choice caused her to pull a face, studying your expression as if she were seeing you for the first time in a long time. For a moment, you thought maybe she’d actually act like your mother, you thought maybe she’d ask you what was wrong and offer a shoulder to cry on.

“I figured it’d be good,” she started with concern in her voice, putting on something of an encouraging smile, “considering the assembly on Monday.”

Dread immediately washed over you, her words causing your heart to drop into your stomach - how did she know about the assembly? The school wouldn’t have called the parents about it, they didn’t care that much. Maybe one of her friends had heard from their kid and then told her? Possibly, but not the most likely. So, how did she know?

All you could do was stare for a few tense moments, fighting to keep in all the feelings you’d just worked through on the ice rink. Your jaw tightened as you swallowed hard, attempting to quiet your mind and take a deep breath. Your intense eyes burned into your mother, who seemed to recognize that what she’d just said may have been a mistake.

“How do you know about that?” You probed with an edge to your voice, feeling as if all your emotions were going to come spilling out of you at any minute.

Although she appeared hesitant, your mom kept her composure, persisting to act bright in the foolish hopes that it would help you relax, “Amelia called while you were out.”

If your heart could drop any further, it would have. You began to feel almost out of body as you started to piece it all together, already realizing Amelia’s fucking game. She knew you wouldn’t have mentioned your dissolved friendship to your mother because of your distant relationship with your parents, and now she was using it against you. To what end? Simply to torment you more?

Receiving no response from you, your mother smiled encouragingly, still trying her hardest to keep things chipper as she continued, “She wanted to know if I’d like to be a chaperone for homecoming. She seemed so excited that both of you were nominated for homecoming queen!”

Your jaw clenched in anger, eyes growing harsher as they burnt into your mother. You had no reason to be mad at her, but at that moment your rage was coming back up, clawing its way out of you. It took everything in your power not to shout expletives in her face.

So, you turned away from her, trying to collect yourself by taking a few deep breaths. From over your shoulder, your mom continued, trying in vain to understand what was going on with you, “Honey, what’s wrong? This should be exciting news.”

You whipped around angrily, but bit your tongue as you two stared at one another, you in vexation and your mom in concern. You took one more deep breath while rolling your eyes, looking away again.

“Did Amelia tell you who I was nominated with? Or that we haven’t spoken a word to each other in nearly two weeks?” As your frustration bubbled, you met her eyes again, “Or that I was only nominated as some shitty prank? Did she mention that I ran out of the gym like a fucking coward because of how humiliated I felt?”

Your mother’s face was awash with concern as she looked between your eyes, and for a moment you really did think she’d comfort you, in fact, you were almost hoping for it. But that was quickly squashed, “Will you please watch your language? You don’t have to get so worked up.”

The upset on your face only increased - despite everything else you said, your language was the thing that concerned her most? You scoffed with frustration, shaking your head in disbelief as you all but shoved past her, keeping your wild eyes away from hers.

“You don’t even care!” You said venomously, stomping back towards your belongings left by the front door. Haphazardly, you shoved your feet into your shoes and dug around for your keys, “I’m not good right now, mom, and all you’re worried about is my fucking language! Do you care how I’m feeling?”

With a flustered look, your mom approached you, “Of course I care, but I can’t even understand you anymore! You’ve been so different recently, so much more distant. How am I supposed to know what’s going on if you won’t tell me?”

You simply shook your head, throwing your bag back on your shoulder once you had your keys. As you swung open the front door, it bounced off the wall, causing your mother to gasp at the aggressive act.

“Where are you going!?” She insisted while following you outside. You didn’t dare look back, marching towards your car as your anger continued to bubble over.

“Anywhere but here!” As you whipped around to the driver side door, you finally looked at your mother, who lingered on the front steps with a disappointed and confused expression. You were sure you looked absolutely wild and irate as you flung open the car door, carelessly tossing your bag inside and holding your mother’s gaze.

You could see that she was trying to make sense of the chaos happening right now, trying her best to keep it together as if that would calm you down now after everything that just happened. She wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so emotional and out of control - she’d seen you angrier these past couple weeks than you’d been your entire fucking life.

“Please just come back inside.” She tried earnestly, but you were too far gone to hear any of it. You ripped your gaze from hers and slammed the car door once you were settled into the seat, zipping out of the driveway fast enough that you nearly hit the mailbox.

You didn’t make it far, though, having to pull over only a minute later because you realized you were on the verge of crying. Fuck, when was the last time that had happened? You were never the type to get emotional like this, but shit, you’d had a stressful week. You had to catch your breath, to hold back your tears of anger, slamming your fists on the steering wheel a few times as if that could make everything better. You didn’t dare let a single tear roll down your face, but they were so welled up in your eyes that you could barely see, forcing you to blink and wipe them away.

What the hell were you doing? Where did you expect to go? These melodramatics felt fucking ridiculous, and you tried to convince yourself you were freaking out over nothing, although your emotions were clearly telling you otherwise. You couldn’t keep acting like this, you wouldn’t allow it - it wasn’t you, and it made you feel weak.

But shit, you felt like your world had been crashing down around you all week, and it was impossible to keep it together right now. So, you pounded your fists against the dashboard, hissing foul words while continuing to fight back everything that was swirling in your chest. You were certain that if any of your neighbors walked by your haphazardly parked car, they’d think you were having a total mental break. And maybe you were; fuck if you knew. You weren’t exactly thinking clearly right now.

After what felt like an eternity, you’d exhausted all your rage, dejectedly catching your breath and attempting to regain your composure. Shit, what were you going to do now? There’s no way in hell you’d go back home - you weren’t ready to deal with your mother again so soon. Or worse, your father, whose temper would simply set you off again.

As you swallowed down the lump in your throat, you couldn’t help but think of your fight with Eddie, and without any hesitation you accepted that right now you missed him. If you weren't so emotional, you'd have stopped to consider how strange that was. Maybe the past few days wouldn’t have been such shit if you’d just been nicer to him; maybe this was karma at work, making you miserable for how you treated him.

You had to apologize to Eddie. Right fucking now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As you drove through Forest Hills, you realized you’d never once set foot in a trailer park before. Looking out your windshield at the dark street, you were certain that one trailer home would maybe fill only two bedrooms of your own home. How people lived in such close quarters was something you couldn’t even comprehend, and on a normal night maybe you would’ve lingered on that thought. But considering that you came here on a mission, you were unable to become distracted; no, the anxiety that was rapidly growing in your chest kept you laser focused on the task you set out on.

It wasn’t until you reached this side of Hawkins that your fear began to mount - should you really be showing up to Eddie’s place unannounced? Is this terrible timing? What if his uncle was home? The further into Forest Hills you drove, the more worried you became. For all you knew, Eddie would slam the door in your face, tell you to fuck off and leave him alone. And after all the shit you’d dealt with this week, you couldn’t handle any more rejection.

Maybe you should just turn around and get out of here while you still have the chance.

But as that thought crossed your mind, you spotted Eddie’s van in front of one of the trailers, and your heart rate sped up to a frankly concerning pace. Shit, it was now or never. Turn back around and head home or face Eddie and his possible rejection. Frankly, both options sounded fucking awful.

For a few long moments, you simply lingered on the road, staring at Eddie’s trailer as your heart drummed in your chest; your eyes roved over the illuminated windows, half expecting to see Eddie’s silhouette appear in one of them any second now. But when no visual indicator of him appeared, you shook yourself back to the present, pulling up alongside his van with the brief thought that maybe he saw your headlights. You hesitated at that, waiting yet again to see if he’d appear in the window or at the door. Fuck, if you were going to be this nervous, you might as well just get out of here.

But you knew you couldn’t do that. You knew you had to talk to Eddie again, you had to have at least one decent relationship in your life right now. Considering that he was the closest thing you had to a friend at the moment, you had to make amends with him. Not that Eddie owed you any forgiveness, of course - again, the fear that he’d want nothing to do with you came creeping back up, even as you pulled the keys from the ignition and slowly stepped out of the car.

Fuck, what were you going to do if Eddie didn’t want to talk? You didn’t think you could manage to survive the rest of the week if he didn’t forgive you. Despite trying to ignore the thought, in a way you realized that right now you needed Eddie.

This shit better work.

You felt almost shaky as you approached the front door, hearing thrashing metal music reverberating inside the trailer. You had to take another pause at the door to collect yourself - you were not nervous like this, and you refused to appear this nervous in front of anyone. You were here to apologize, not to be vulnerable. So, you pulled yourself together with a few deep breaths, marching up to the door and knocking strongly before you could think to hesitate any longer. Considering how loud the music was, you realized Eddie probably didn't hear you, so you roughly pounded your fist against the door once again. You put on a brave face, taking one more deep breath as the music quieted and someone approached the door.

Of course, once you and Eddie locked eyes, you suddenly froze. All the things you’d rehearsed on the way over here momentarily left your head as you took in his surprised expression, the look in his eyes that suggested you were the last person he expected to see on his doorstep. For what felt like hours, the two of you stared at one another as you attempted to collect your thoughts, attempted to keep all your hurt from showing on your face.

You eventually had to rip your eyes away from Eddie, maybe then you could finally find your voice again. As you stared at his feet, you straightened out your back and clenched your jaw, trying to quiet your mind and get out at least one coherent thought. With a deep breath, you flicked your gaze back to his face.

“Can we talk?” Your voice came out strong, if not a little cold - good, at least you didn’t sound as weak as you’d been feeling recently.

Eddie’s expression was still a little taken aback, even as he tried to put on a calm, collected air. Had you not caught him so off guard, perhaps you would’ve been fooled by the lazy smirk he gave you or his seemingly relaxed posture. But given the look of near astonishment that was on his face only a moment prior, you knew he was probably just as unprepared for this conversation as you were.

“Well, since you drove all the way here…” Eddie trailed off in what was meant to be a casual tone, stepping to the side and nodding his head towards the trailer behind him. You looked between his eyes and the entryway for a moment before stepping up into his home, immediately taking it all in attentively - it was easier to focus on your surroundings than to focus on him and your emotions.

You weren’t sure what you had expected of Eddie’s home, but as you stood in his small living room, everything appeared exactly as it should have - the place was cozy, decorated with items that were clearly personal, reflecting the taste of someone so unlike your own family. Back in your own home, the art on the wall was perfectly curated by your mother, the only photos being staged family portraits; the furniture was also meticulously decided on, meant to look cohesive and clean and modern.

Here in the Munson trailer, the space actually felt lived in - the coffee table was stacked with car magazines and western paperbacks, the walls adorned with collections of hats and mugs. The furniture was worn from years of use, the kitchen was cluttered, a fold out bed was pushed off to one side - yes, this home actually had life to it, unlike the stale living environment you were so used to. Without having met the man, you already had a strong sense of Eddie’s uncle just by looking around the place.

The more you looked at the Munson home, the more your curiosity grew - you wanted to ask more about Eddie and his uncle and all the little details that made them a family. But before you could get to know any more about Eddie, first you had to actually make things right with him. So, you turned your attention back to him, briefly catching the self-conscious look on his face that he very quickly corrected - did he feel judged, having you in his home like this? Was he worried what you’d think now that you had this more intimate glimpse at his life?

The two of you stared at one another for a few long moments; Eddie was clearly anticipating what you’d say next, and you were still trying to decide where exactly to start. You raised a brow as you let out a breath, forcing yourself to look away again so you could actually speak - looking Eddie in the eye like this made it harder to apologize.

“I shouldn’t have acted like that.” You started, letting your gaze continue to roam over trinkets and decor in the living room. Off to your side, you heard Eddie hum in acknowledgement instead of saying anything, which seemed to be your cue to continue. You sighed a little, forcing yourself to be honest, hard as it may be; your voice was a touch quieter as you added, “You didn’t deserve that shit.”

“No, I didn’t.” Eddie responded with a hint of harshness to his tone, but considering the circumstances, he didn’t sound nearly as mad as you’d expected. You slowly spun around, looking anywhere but his direction so your words would come more easily.

“I… like having you around.” The sentence sounded juvenile to your ears, but you simply continued, “I know all I wanted was to stir shit up and be left alone, but the past couple days--”

You had to cut yourself off, suddenly feeling a sadness well up in your throat - you were not about to break, not right now, not in front of Eddie. So, you swallowed hard and tried to calm down before he could see the chink in your armor.

“Not so fun being on the other side of things, huh?” Eddie chimed in, saving you from yourself with his comment. You turned to him with a nod, hoping your eyes didn’t give too much away.

“Fucking sucks, actually.” You managed a small, sad smile. It looked as if Eddie, too, wanted to mirror the expression, but he kept it to himself. You took in his posture, his crossed arms and guarded look, hoping that you were getting through to him.

You let out a sigh, your gaze drifting down to the floor as you struggled to find your words. God, being sincere shouldn’t be so damn hard, but you were never one to admit your faults, never the type to open up easily. Despite your usual confidence and brashness, you couldn’t even seem to form proper sentences right now.

“I forgive you.” Those three simple words drew a surprised look from you, to which Eddie shrugged as he continued, looking away with a coolness that surely had to be for show, “Your apology could use some work, seeing as you couldn’t even say ‘sorry,’ but you were forgiven the second I opened that door.”

That last statement was shockingly honest and somehow a touch too vulnerable for your liking - it made you nervous, and you couldn’t say why. Was Eddie just being hyperbolic, saying that to make you feel better? Or was it the truth, could he have possibly been willing to forgive you just like that simply because you showed up on his doorstep? Both of those ideas made you apprehensive in vastly different ways.

With a quick shake of your head, you tried to pull yourself together, straightening your shoulders and wiping the vulnerable look from your face. You met Eddie’s kind eyes with as much coolness as you could muster, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you were relieved with how this conversation had gone. There was a glint of amusement in Eddie’s face as he watched you, as if he knew exactly what was going through your head, as if he knew your calm demeanor was all for show.

Eddie looked down, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke, “So long as you don’t drag me to that stupid homecoming, we’ll be alright.”

You couldn’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at the suggestion, thankful that Eddie made the effort to break the tension in the room - you were done trying to be vulnerable, and it seemed that he could sense that, too.

“As if I’d let myself be the Carrie White of their shitty joke.” You gave Eddie a playful glance, catching the way his brow furrowed.

“Carrie, huh?”

You also gave him a look, “Yeah, you know - telekinetic chick who killed everyone at prom?”

The smile that graced Eddie’s lips was nearly infectious as he laughed with a shake of his head, “Oh, I know Carrie, I’m just surprised that you do - you don’t seem the horror type.”

You cross your arms teasingly - it was so easy to fall back into this pattern with Eddie, easy to bounce off each other. Admittedly, you missed it.

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me.” You counter with a small smirk, to which Eddie gave you a challenging look.

“Well, it would help if you opened up a little more, princess.” The nickname rolled off Eddie’s tongue with ease, and it was a relief to hear it - that had to mean you really were forgiven, that he hadn't just said so to make you feel better. Even still, you narrowed your eyes, prompting Eddie to continue in his defense, “I know nothing about your hobbies, but you know practically all of mine.”

You looked him up and down once, “You know that I skate.”

Eddie rolled his eyes teasingly, although he sounded deathly serious as he said, “There’s clearly more to you than that.”

The sincerity in Eddie’s tone juxtaposed his playful look, giving you pause, making you nervous. You answered simply and with a dismissive shrug, hoping it didn't lead into some deeper conversation, “Guess that makes you the first person to notice.”

You turned away from Eddie to continue looking around, taking in the room as you debated whether or not you’d elaborate on your interests. Considering that Eddie made a good point about not knowing you well, you caved - after all, did you want him as a friend or not?

“I love horror movies.” You take a few steps towards a shelf filled with videos and cassettes, your eyes slowly looking over the titles, “Books, too, but the movies are way scarier, so they’re more fun.”

A few familiar horror titles sat on the shelf, causing you to grin and glance back at Eddie, who seemed to be watching you attentively. Realizing he was caught staring, he quickly righted himself and met your gaze, his curious smile growing. You could see in his face that questions were forming, that he probably wanted to ask what you liked about horror or what movie was your favorite. Expectantly, you turned to face him with an eager raise of your brow.

Eddie looked between your eyes for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to say first, finally nudging his chin towards the VHS collection on the shelf, “You pick a movie, I’ll order us a pizza?”

You couldn’t help but be surprised at the suggestion - for two days you didn’t speak a word to each other, but again you were reminded of just how effortless it was to go back to the way things were. You smiled in appreciation for Eddie’s ability to make anything easy like this.

As much as you loved the idea, you hesitated, “It’s getting kinda late…”

Eddie waved it off before you could say anything else, “So? My uncle won’t be back for hours, and I don’t think either of us has anything better going on.”

So, you nodded, eagerly turning your attention back to the small collection of movies on the shelf - you wondered which ones were Eddie’s and which were his uncle’s. Quickly, you settled on a movie that you were excited to see there, grabbing it from the shelf and spinning to face Eddie as he dialed the nearest pizza place. You felt like an excited child as you held up Videodrome for him to see. Again, Eddie appeared surprised, but didn’t get the chance to comment as he was greeted by someone on the other end of the call. He probably wouldn’t have guessed Cronenberg to be your taste in horror.

With the pizza ordered and the movie loaded into the VCR, you and Eddie settled on opposite ends of the couch. Within a minute of the movie starting, however, you couldn’t help yourself as you began to eagerly go on and on about how technically impressive the effects in this movie were. You weren’t sure how long you went on for, but after a while you realized you were going on a tangent, cutting yourself off as you looked at Eddie for the inevitable judgment to come. You’d grown used to your friends rolling their eyes or your mom telling you to stop talking about disgusting horror movies, but Eddie looked so… attentive? So interested to listen to what you were saying?

You looked back at the screen almost sheepishly, but you could still feel the burn of Eddie’s eyes watching you.

“You’re kind of a nerd.” He said with far too much glee, causing you to whip your mean gaze back to him; Eddie was smiling from ear-to-ear, clearly pleased with himself and his discovery of your hidden interest.

“I am not.” You scoff, trying not to grin back at him. Eddie leaned across the couch as if to emphasize his taunting, his eyes challenging as he stared at you.

“You just spent five minutes talking about how much you love to watch a fake head blow up - seems kinda nerdy.”

It felt as if no rift had ever formed between you two, as if you hadn’t just been awkwardly trying to apologize to him some fifteen minutes ago. Eddie just made it ridiculously easy to relax, to forget all the bullshit from the past few days.

You gave Eddie’s shoulder a playful shove, so he sat back up in his seat, that wicked grin still on his face, “What, don’t want to be lumped in with the rest of us?”

Despite trying to give Eddie a threatening look, you knew your eyes were betraying you - all of the menace in your expression was destroyed by the way your eyes blatantly shone with amusement. You had to look away again, otherwise you feared you might laugh.

“Liking horror doesn’t make me a nerd.” You insisted.

“No, but considering you made a whole speech about how impactful Cronenberg’s use of gore is, I wouldn’t call you a casual fan.” Eddie teased, and even without looking you knew just how big his grin was.

So, you kept your eyes trained on the screen, hoping to become absorbed in the movie as you tried to ignore the way Eddie was studying you. And it worked for at least a few minutes - you began to smile at the familiar film, attentively following the story development, all the while slowly forgetting about the eyes practically burning a hole in your skull.

But in his typical fashion, Eddie couldn’t stay quiet for too long.

“Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers?”

Without missing a beat, you looked back at Eddie, unable to hold your tongue on the debate. Your tone was perhaps a little snobby as you answered, “Michael, obviously.”

Again, Eddie grinned largely with a challenge in his eye, “‘Obviously?’”

Of course, you knew what he was doing - he was clearly trying to poke at you, but damn it, it was working. You couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk about movie slashers to a captive audience, even if said audience was likely going to keep egging you on.

You rolled your eyes, folding your legs up on the couch as you turned your body towards Eddie, “Jason isn’t scary.”

“Not scary? He and Michael are basically the same guy.” You pulled a face at the comment, noticing that Eddie seemed pleased with himself for getting you going on the subject.

“And I guess you think they’re also just like Bubba?” Eddie grinned wickedly, so you quickly reached over to smack his shoulder, “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Say what?”

You narrowed your eyes, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to debate your point. You took a deep breath before looking back towards the movie, “Michael is better, end of conversation.”

“I’m more of a Freddy guy myself.” Eddie taunts, clearly not done tormenting you. You shot him a look from the corner of your eye, but didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of a response, trying to keep your attention on the movie instead. A minute later, Eddie chimed up again, “The Exorcist or the Omen?”

To that, you didn’t have as quick an answer, mulling it over for a moment before replying - when you answered with the Exorcist, Eddie couldn’t help but say that response was predictable.

So, it led you down the rabbit hole, Videodrome being totally forgotten in favor of debating your horror opinions. For every answer to Eddie’s questions, he had a counterargument - it didn’t matter whether or not you two agreed on something, he clearly just wanted to get you riled up. Maybe he enjoyed seeing you get excited about something, maybe he enjoyed the way you’d argue your case on characters you loved and hated.

When the pizza arrived, you raced Eddie to the door, paying for the food despite his protests, the pair of you clearly annoying the delivery driver who didn’t give a shit where the money came from so long as he got it. All through your meal, you two continued talking over the movie, which eventually reached its end and prompted Eddie to start playing another that you also wouldn’t pay any attention to.

As the night wore on, your debates eventually died down; your seat on the couch became increasingly more comfortable, and the shitty horror movie you had on was beginning to lull you to sleep. Considering how long your day - no, your whole week - had been, you were surprised it took this long for your exhaustion to set in. So, you slowly settled into the couch, progressively slumping into the cushions.

Seeing the tired look on your face, Eddie nudged you and insisted you lie down, and you were tired enough not to argue, resting on your side so you can continue watching the movie. You keep your legs curled up to avoid getting in Eddie’s space, but nonetheless your knees rest comfortable against his thigh. At some point between half awake and half asleep, you thought that maybe you felt his hand resting comfortably on your leg, but you were too tired to say for sure.

As the night wore on, you must have inevitably fallen asleep, because next thing you knew, you were being pulled out of a dream, a hand gently shaking your shoulder and Eddie’s far off voice encouraging you to wake up. You figured at first that the voice was just a part of your dream, but as the tone grew more clear and insistent, you were brought back to reality. Groggily, you blinked your eyes open with a confused glare - how long had you been out for? And what time was it?

Catching your eyes with his, the corner of Eddie’s mouth pulled back in a small grin, “Jesus, you sleep like the dead.”

A tired moan rumbled in your throat as your eyes narrowed. You tried to roll onto your other side as if you could somehow avoid Eddie that way, your words nonthreatening and heavy with sleep, “Fuck off…”

As Eddie sighed with annoyance, an unfamiliar huff of a laugh met your ears, but you weren’t nearly awake enough to even wonder who it belonged to. Eddie pulled at your shoulder so you couldn’t turn away from him, to which you whined again.

“No, you’re not sleeping on the couch, it’ll ruin your back.” Eddie insisted, teasingly pulling at your arm - if you weren’t still half asleep, it wouldn’t have annoyed you nearly as much as it did, “Come on, get up.”

You opened your harsh eyes again, knowing Eddie wouldn’t allow himself to be ignored. As your eyes adjusted, his face slowly came into focus, his hair haloed by the light of the TV; kneeling beside you, he was clearly trying to hide the amusement he found in your sleepy attitude.

The two of you stared at one another for a long minute as the fog slowly lifted from your brain, making you more and more aware of your surroundings. Your gaze drifted away from Eddie, noticing movement in the corner of your eye; turning in the direction of it, you made eye contact with a man who had to have been Eddie’s uncle. He quickly turned away, pretending to be preoccupied with something in the kitchen, as if that would give you and Eddie a measly sense of privacy.

With a deep yawn, you looked at Eddie again, begrudgingly accepting that you had to get up. You slowly rose into a seated position, your feet brushing Eddie’s leg as you moved to set them on the ground; he rose and took a step back to give you a little more space. Stretching your arms above your head and popping your neck, you looked between the two men, noticing that Eddie seemed to be somewhat sheepish, which made you curious. Was he embarrassed that this was how you and his uncle were meeting? Was it because he felt like you two were caught doing something wrong? Or was it something else entirely that influenced that expression on his face?

You sighed heavily as you rose to your feet, your face scrunching up a little as you looked around the room; your voice was still heavy with sleep as you asked, “What time is it? I have to go home.”

Eddie shook his head at the same moment that his uncle silently disappeared to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running drifting out from under the door; maybe he was trying to give you two a bit more privacy.

“You don’t have to go.” Eddie says in a surprisingly gentle tone, to which you furrow your brow, “It’s late and you're exhausted - just stay here tonight.”

You weakly tried to protest, although you were so tired that it was a relief to hear that Eddie wasn’t kicking you out in the wee hours of the morning, “I really shouldn’t.”

“You really should.” Eddie insisted, clearly not open to argument. Luckily for him, you accepted the response instantly, your head still too foggy to find a good enough reason to leave. So, you nod smally while trying to stifle another yawn.

Eddie points his hand in the direction of the bedroom, and you immediately accept the invitation, confidently heading that way as if you owned the damn place. You didn’t catch the tug of a smile that graced Eddie’s lips as he followed just a step behind you.

You entered the dark bedroom and all but collapsed onto the bed, hearing a slight laugh leave Eddie’s lips; at least he found it funny instead of rude, not that you were terribly concerned with that right now. No, the only thing on your mind at the moment was curling into the mattress and sleeping undisturbed for the rest of the night. You comfortably wrapped your arms around one of Eddie’s pillows, inhaling his lingering scent without considering what you were doing. 

“You gonna sleep in that?” Eddie teased, reminding you that you were still in the workout clothes that you wore for skating. Like a stubborn child unwilling to do a task, you grunted, sitting back up and trying to find Eddie in the dark. You caught his silhouette digging through what you assumed to be a pile of clothes, eventually pulling something out and tossing it in your direction. The t-shirt weakly hit you in the chest before falling into your lap, so you started to pull off your own soiled shirt, letting it fall forgotten somewhere on the floor.

Light still filtered into the room through the gap in the door, so you caught the way Eddie spun around to give you privacy just as you started to tug at your bra; you couldn’t help but smile, finding it funny as he pushed the door closed. After all, it was dark enough that he probably couldn’t see anything; and even if he could, it didn’t matter. Right?

Eddie kept himself preoccupied, returning his attention to the stack of clothes as you pulled his scratchy t-shirt over your head; thanks to the darkness of the room, you didn’t catch the way he glanced back at you curiously. Once you were comfortable, you lied back down and began to burrow in the blankets, pulling them over your head as you listened to Eddie strip out of his own clothes.

A few moments later, one of the blankets was being yanked from the bed; you greedily tried to grab it before it was gone, but to no avail, which prompted you to poke your head out from the cocoon you’d built. You couldn’t quite find Eddie in the dark, but you nonetheless furrowed your brow in the direction you figured he was in.

“What are you doing?” You questioned groggily as your eyes began to adjust; you could now make out Eddie’s shadow as he appeared to turn to you.

“Sleeping on the floor.” He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, nudging things aside with his foot before dropping the blanket to the ground. As he leaned over the bed to grab a pillow, you rolled your eyes and reached out to nudge him, making contact with bare skin before shuffling over to make room on the small bed.

“Like hell you are.” You attempted to snuggle into your new position, but seeing Eddie awkwardly lingering prompted you to reach over and give his arm a quick tug, “Get the fuck in the bed, Munson.”

Eddie hesitated a moment longer, and although he couldn’t see it, you stared at him in amused scrutiny. With a huff, you threw aside the blankets and hit the mattress once for emphasis, “Don’t tell me you’re nervous to share a bed with a girl.”

You readjusted to face away from Eddie, wrapping your arms around your pillow again and burying your face in it, getting cozy almost instantly. Behind you, he sighed before his weight shifted the mattress; just from the feel of his movements, you knew Eddie was awkwardly trying to stay as close to the edge of the bed as possible. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a smile at how stiff he was - at this rate, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep.

“Stop worrying about it, Eddie.” You muttered gently, curling up in the blankets as if you were a cat lying in the sun. A big yawn escaped you as you felt Eddie shift a little, and you knew you’d be out like a light any minute now, “Try to get some sleep, okay?”Eddie hummed in acknowledgement, and despite his best efforts to keep his distance, you could still feel his body heat radiating near you. Smiling comfortably to yourself, you quickly began to doze off, barely catching Eddie’s whispered “Night, princess…” before you fell back into a deep sleep.

.

.

additional a/n: I couldn't keep these two apart for even an entire chapter, so I hope their lil reconciliation was worth the wait!

taglist: @3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @avalon-wolf @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson

@daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220

@frogtape @fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @graciehams @kthomps914

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @maskofmirrors @mewchiili

@miaajaade @mmmunson @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive

@rcailleachcola @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

[rottingworship]

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x Reader | Chapter One

A/N: QUICK NOTE! MY BLOG IS 18+! This is just a silly idea I had, and after reading some fics here and on ao3, I wanted to post it! So, as stated this is a silly idea. While I'm writing this very seriously, it started out silly in my head. I don't know how to explain it. Also, this is my first ever creepypasta AND marble hornets fic. SO, please go easy on me. I used to be the biggest fan of both, but never wrote fics for either as I was like... 15.

Warnings: blood, reader has... a power(?), eventual smut, sorta kidnapping, the operator gets your ass, semi-brief mentions of vomit (nothing too in detail!), reader wishing for death, mentions of murder, not really proofread, me taking my own artistic liberties...

word count: 2.7k

The woods are ever expanding. You feel like you’ve been running forever. Barefoot and barely breathing. You reach a field and run towards the middle of it. Every inch of you aches and your lungs burn. Your head begins to pound. You freeze when the moonlight hits some tall silhouette standing what feels like miles away.

It’s faceless.

You want to puke. You look behind you, wondering if you could book it back out of the woods. You already saved yourself once, you do not want to need to do it again. You know you can not do it again.

As you turn to look over your shoulder you see one of the men who were chasing you earlier. A hatchet in his hand. You look to both sides of you and see a man in a mask on each side. You drop to your knees, and let out a loud scream. Maybe someone will hear you? You doubt it. Your hands go to your head and a loud whimper escapes you.

“Please,” You cry quietly. You know that thing can hear you though. “I wanna go home.”

“N–No can do.” A voice comes from behind you.

The men are closing in on you.

“You killed our target!” The masked man on your right growls out loudly.

Your eyes widen. “There is no blood on my hands!” You cry, folding into yourself. A sob racks your body.

Your brain starts to feel fuzzy. Your nails dig into your scalp and a scream rips from your throat.

Join me.

What you can only assume is the silhouette across the field is in your head. You shake violently. “No!” You scream aloud, your voice ripping through the cold, night air. You have a feeling you don’t have a choice though. You killed the target. The voice reverberates through your head. “Please!” You hope maybe one of the men will save you. Your eyes are on the dirt in front of you. A static sound is stuck in your mind.

Your hands move from your head and to the dead grass below you. You dig into the dry soil and scream again. “Stop!” You shake your head again, trying to make the noise come to an end. “Make it stop!”

There is no choice to be made. The voice booms. You yelp. You look back at the man with the hatchet and begin to plead. “Kill me…” You whisper to him. “Kill me!” You scream this time. Hoping and praying he complies. His hand twitches, and for a moment, you are sure he is listening. He stops though. He stiffens and straightens up.

“It won’t work on us.” The man on your left sounds so matter of fact. “The Operator makes sure of it.”

The Operator… That must be the thing across the field. Your eyes shoot up to him and you think about bargaining. “I won’t tell anyone about this!” You grovel. “I’ll go home and go to bed, and then wake up tomorrow like nothing happened!”

You are useful.

His only response. The sick feeling is getting worse. “Okay!” You shout at him. “Please, I’ll do it! Just… Stop! Make it stop!” You muster up all the power you can in that last sentence. Another scream rips from your throat, one sending chills down the spines of the men around you.

Most excellent.

The static grows louder momentarily, and your hands move back to your head. Your spine snaps back, your back arching and one last scream pulling from your lungs. Once the static stops, you lurch forward, vomit, and fall to your side. Your head is still pounding, and you shut your eyes. You are out almost immediately.

_-_-_-_

You wake up to rummaging around you. You do not open your eyes immediately. Your head is spinning, and you are sure any source of light will cause you pain. So, you lie there. As you begin to fully wake up, you remember everything that happened. You are most likely not in your own home.

Your eyes squint open and the movement around you gets closer. Eyes are staring back at you. His mouth is covered. You gasp and move back, a sick feeling settling in your stomach again. You are going to puke. You sit up fast, making the nausea worse. You look around the room and spot a trash can in what seems to be the kitchen. You stand up, cover your mouth, and sprint towards it. As soon as you reach it, you drop to your knees and begin to dry heave. There is nothing on your stomach.

Your eyes shut tightly and you whine. You rest your head on the side of the trash can.

“Co–come on!” A voice comes from behind you. “I’m n–not ugly!” He's frustrated.

You peek over your shoulder and realize the man is standing right behind you. “Don't look at me!” You hiss. Swatting him away to no avail, you lean back over the trash can let out another, softer whine.

“Dude!” Another man walks into the room. “Were you waiting for her to wake up, Toby?”

“Sh-shut up, Brian!”

You stand up from the trash can when you realize you aren't going to be sick, and you turn around. The look on who you only assume is Brian’s face is shocked none the less. He quickly gives you a soft smile, acting as if he did not just make a horrified expression at you. You pout at him. Your hand goes not your stomach, and you want to cry.

Then you catch it. A glimpse of your hand. It is dirty and blood is caked under your nails. Your blood. You settle in the fact you are just going to feel sick from now on. While looking down at your hands, you notice your feet are bandaged. You hear chattering in front of you but you're too focused on yourself to realize what's being said.

“Who fixed up my feet?”

“Tim.” Toby and Brian say in unison.

“I wasn't about to to–touch feet. And yours were b–bloody!” Toby announces it so matter of fact.

Tim seems to have made his way into the room, or you hope he's Tim and there are no other men hanging around. “You make it sound like you don't deal with blood regularly.”

Toby scowls. “It–it’s different!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He looks at you. Saying your name. Your stomach flips. You never had said your name. “Looks like you're part of the team now–”

“The team!?” Your voice is hoarse from screaming the night before. Your mind is boggled. “I was just fucking chased down… by you three I think–” you try to shout, “–had some... thing speak into my mind, and now– Now I'm part of some fucking team?” You want to explode.

“Well, yuh–yeah.” Toby says it so matter of fact. Your fists ball. They all notice. “You accepted this.”

You can easily fly off the handle. Maybe it is best you do… You rush Toby, ready to throttle him. You do not even get to touch him. You are intercepted immediately, and your arms are restrained. You struggle against strong arms as they wrap around your biceps and torso, keeping you from reaching Toby. Your legs kick out and you are quickly maneuvered backwards. Your back hits the wall and you let out a frustrated cry. Your wrists are held at your sides and Brian is almost on top of you.

“We do not want to hurt you.”

“You tried to kill me last night.” You hiss at him, your voice low and venomous. His grip on you tightens and you try to move your wrists. You struggle fruitlessly. “Let me go.”

You watch Brian's eye glaze over momentarily. His grip loosens and suddenly your head gets tingly. Before you get out of his grasp he tightens back up “Stop.” His voice… Your legs buckle, eyes widening for just a second.

You let out a steady breath. Your eyes lock with his, he doesn't look away. Thank God for unknowing men. Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Let. Me. Go.” His hands fall to his sides and his eyes glaze over again. Suddenly, you don't feel so well. You fall back against the wall with a groan, and you grab your head.

“Your nose–” Tim says as you realize it's bleeding. “What the fuck?”

You slide down the wall and cover your nose. Blood is steadily dripping. What the fuck is right. You look up at the three men in fear.

“Hey! Do not look at us th–that way!”

“What way?” You snap back.

“Like you didn't just mind control Brian!” Tim looks concerned to say the least.

You look up at Brian with fear filled eyes. Maybe he will kill you for that outburst. After a moment of pure silence, you stand up to rush to the bathroom. They let you go. You eventually find the bathroom and shut the door tight, locking it. When you look in the mirror you want to scream. You understand why Brian seemed startled when he saw you.

Your face is dirt covered and tear stained. Blood, that is most definitely not yours, is splattered against your clothes. Which leads you to remembering what happened before you were being hunted in the middle of the woods. You outwardly cringe, a chill running down your spine at the memories. You decide to rinse your face with water and as you stand there, you realize how sore you are. You have time to process how much pain you are in. You want to cry again.

You finish rinsing your face and walk from the bathroom. You make your way back to the living area and the three men stop talking. Their voices were hushed anyway, but you pinpoint the exact moment they shut up. You are ready to go ballistic. You hold it together.

“You–You’re really pretty without all th–that dirt on y–your face.”

“Toby.” Your tone is a warning. You shut your eyes and inhale sharply. You hear someone hit Toby and then he groans. He apologizes. “I have questions for you guys.”

“We have questions for you.” Brian shifts.

“Okay,” You don’t want to answer their questions at all, “how about: I ask a question, you answer, then you ask a question, and I answer. That way all questions are answered.” The three look at each other and then nod. “Okay, first question, what the fuck happened last night?”

“You killed our target.” Tim shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

“What does that mean?” You want to scream.

“Not your turn,” Brian shushes you. “How did you do that to me?”

“Your ‘operator’ didn’t tell you?” You scoff at them. When they all seem unamused, you sigh. “I don’t know, I just… I can control people. Always have been able to, since I can remember. I mean,” You pause, eyes looking off, gathering your thoughts, “Not all people. Like, babies and animals I cannot control. Their brains are different. But! Most people are controllable.”

“Is th–that what happened last night?”

You scowl at Toby. “Not your turn,” You mimic Brian’s earlier tone. “Where’s my phone?”

Toby pulls it from his pocket and shakes at you. Like it’s some enrichment for you. You narrow your eyes. “My tuh–turn.” You can tell he’s smirking; he sounds smug. “H–How did you kill our target?”

You really do not want to answer that. Your stomach begins to growl. The sick feeling has subsided for now, and you haven’t eaten in… a while. You are starving. You place your hands on your stomach and sigh. “Is there anything to eat?” They all look at you with confusion. “I’m not avoiding the question, but if I don’t get to eat… I will be avoiding the question.” You smile at the three of them. Brian groans. He motions for you to follow him, and you do so, willingly. No questions asked.

They all make note of that.

“Here is the kitchen. Feel free to look around.” Brian sighs. You nod. “Now, answer the question.”

You open the cabinet and find some cereal. “Okay,” as you pour a bowl you answer the previous question. “What happened last night–” you grab the milk out. As you pour it into the bowl, the scent hits you. It is spoiled. You gag.

“You gotta stop doing that–” Tim scrunches his face up. “The gagging–”

“Who the hell let this spoil!?” You look at the date and reel back. “Well, I’m no longer hungry.” You get rid of cereal and notice the men are on the edge of their seats. Waiting for your answer. “Anyway,” You nervously rub your hands on the outside of your thighs. You do not want to recount the night. “I just, I’m on vacation, last night was the beginning of it–”

“Where are y–you from?”

“Not your turn, but I’ll be nice–” You shoot a look at Toby. “Here. I’m on vacation from work. Not everyone has the luxury to leave and go somewhere amazing. But I am– I was going to make the most of it!” You are growing anxious. “My ex–” You close your eyes.

“He’s the one you killed?”

You immediately snap. “I haven’t killed a single goddamn person! As I’ve said before, there is no blood on my hands.” You growl out. They sense you’re on edge. “He came to town; he moved away a while back. Moved onto greener pastures, or whatever–” You roll your eyes, “–but he wanted to pay me a visit…” Your stomach is turning. You shut your eyes gathering your thoughts and grip the hem of your sweater. “He decided to, uh–” You cut to the chase. “He had a gun. He did not come to just visit me. And apparently,” You let out a nervous laugh, “pastures are not always greener when you move away.”

Toby, Tim, and Brian are all listening. Very well.

“My turn!” You try to shift your mood. “Can I have my phone back?” You place your hand out at Toby and bat your eyelashes at him. “Please.” You are staring at him through your lashes.

Toby laughs at you. “S-sexy, but no.”

Your face drops. You ignore the ‘sexy’ part. “Did you forget I can mind control people?”

“Did you forget your nose just exploded with blood?” Brian scoffs. “You are not mind controlling any of us without consequences.”

He’s right. You sigh. “Scratch that last question, when can I get my phone back?”

“When we can trust you.” Tim is blunt.

Your eyes darken. “Fine.” You cross your arms. “Whatever, I don’t need that anyway. But–” You pause. “I will need, like, I don’t know– My fucking essentials?” You want to shout again. “Like face wash, deodorant,” You pause, humming, “tampons. Oh yeah, and clothes.” Because they really have you fucked up if they think you aren’t getting those things.

The three look at each other and then back at you. Tim is the first to speak up. “I’ll take you to get some stuff.” They are not about to let you leave alone. “You said you live in this town, right?”

“Well,” You look around you and out of a window, “I couldn’t tell you where I was right now, so I don’t know.”

Toby huffs. “We’re in m–my cabin.”

Oh, how dare I not know that, you think to yourself. “That gives me nothing to go off of. But, if we’re still in the same town, yes, I'm from here.” You deadpan. “If you get me out of these woods, I’m sure I could show you where my apartment is.”

“Hold on,” Brian speaks up. “Tim, Toby, come here.” He motions for them to follow them out, and they all motion for you to stay put. Once again, you listen. And once again, they all note how obedient you are.

You hear them mumbling. You can’t make out what Brian is saying, but he’s the most concerned it would seem. You wait patiently for them to get back to you. You look around the kitchen and examine everything. The place doesn’t look too lived in. The table is… not very used but definitely looks older. The sink only has your dirty dish in it, nothing else. This may be Toby’s place, but he or his friends definitely are not here often.

“Come on,” Tim walks back over to you, “we’re gonna go to your place.”

Thank God, you sigh. You want to shower more than anything. Getting away from whatever the fuck is going on is a close second though.

“Wait a minute,” You look down at your bandaged feet. “I don’t have shoes.”

[hopelesslydevoted2paige]

003. opposite

pairings: paige bueckers x fem singer! reader

word count: 564

warnings: none i think

su’s notes: 3rd chapter GRRRRREEEE this poor girl somethings always gotta happen when she goes out.. 😞 this kinda reminds me of deja vu by olivia rodrigo too 😆 anyway hope u guys likeit i love this song so much

series masterlist

she looks nothing like me, so why do you look so happy?

“Wanna eat out?” Azzi asked you, her eyes still on the game in front of her.

You’ve gotten slightly better in the past two weeks while you were staying with her. You did have enough money to get a place of your own, but no one had brought it up.

Azzi didn’t want to admit it, but she enjoyed your company. She wouldn’t mind if you decided to live with her permanently.

You looked up from your phone screen. “Yeah sure. Where are we eating?”

“We can go to the pizza place a few blocks away?”

You stiffened, the memories with Paige flooding your head. “Uh-“

“Fuck, sorry. We can always go somewhere else-“

“No it’s fine!”

Azzi placed her controller on the table. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna have to get over it eventually.”

—

You walked into the restaurant, the warm air immediately hitting you both.

The waitress looked up at the two of you. “Table for two?”

You nodded as you both followed her to your booth.

“Wanna share?” Azzi asked as you both got settled.

“Cheese?”

Azzi grinned. “You know it.”

“One four cheese pizza please.” The waitress wrote down your order while nodding.

“Any drinks?”

You shook your head. “Just water thanks.”

“Me too.” The waitress nodded and walked away.

While waiting for your food, you and Azzi engaged in conversations about random topics and joked around.

“I never said that!” You laughed loudly, making people look at you weirdly.

“Yes you did! I remember it very clearly. You were like-“

Your attention went to the door as the door chime echoed throughout the restaurant.

Your smile dropped, making eye contact with the blue eyes you knew too well.

“Y/N? You okay?” Azzi placed a hand on your arm.

Paige mirrored your expression with her arm around her ex’s shoulders. Well, girlfriend.

Azzi looked over her shoulder. “Oh.”

“One cheese pizza?” The waitress smiled warmly and placed the plate on your table.

“Thank you.” Azzi smiled awkwardly and turned back to you. “You wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from Paige. “It’s fine. Let’s just eat and get out of here.”

Azzi looked at you sympathetically before nodding and grabbing a slice.

She tried to distract you with some small talk, but it didn’t really help when Paige was in the booth right next to yours, giggling and looking as happy as ever.

“Paige stop!” Her girlfriend giggled, wiping the tomato sauce off her cheek.

Paige scoffs. “Oh please, you still look pretty.”

You felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces. What hurt you the most is that Paige wasn’t even wrong. She was gorgeous.

“Azzi, i’m sorry. I just can’t-“

She nodded, raising her hand as the waitress from earlier went up to you guys.

“Can we get this to-go?”

She smiled warmly. “Of course! I’ll be right back.”

Thank god the service was fast. Less than two minutes later, the waitress brought your take-out bag as Azzi handed her a twenty dollar bill.

“Keep the change.”

“Thank you so much! Have a nice night.”

“I’ll try to.” You mumbled under your breath.

Azzi nudged your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

You glanced at Paige one last time, to find her already looking at you. You could tell from the pained expression in her eyes that she wanted to make things right with you.

You sigh and look away. “Let’s go.”

and i know now, even if i tried to change, that somehow you’ll end up with her anyway.

[sidekick-hero]

It's finally here, my entry for the @steddiesummerexchange. This is a gift for my dear friend @starryeyedjanai - I was so delighted when I found out you were my giftee 💜💜💜 Your prompt 'Steve can't get his inheritance until he marries someone' really tested me and took me out of my writing comfort zone. I hope you like it and that I did your prompt justice! Special shout out to the best beta in the whole world, @acasualcrossfade 💜🙏

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3 - the fic is finished and has 4 chapters, the last one will drop June 24

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 1 (5.6k) under the cut

"Rob! Robbie!" Steve yells as he walks into their two-bedroom apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. "Robin Juniper Buckley, where are you?"

He hears the telltale clatter of dishes and sure enough, he finds his roommate and best friend in their tiny kitchen washing the dishes. It's his turn to do them, but his schedule has been hell this week. He's been spending so much time at the firehouse cooking for a crew of five to twelve perpetually hungry firemen and women that the thought of cleaning up their kitchen at home has made him want to cry.

"I'm here doing the dishes, because if I didn't, we could have proven Darwin's theories right here in our kitchen." Despite the scolding words, she doesn't look particularly angry at him, and he figures he'll be forgiven in no time. She knows he's been working himself into the ground lately, pulling double shifts whenever his boss will let him. Living in Chicago is expensive enough, but Steve also has to think about Max's education. There's no way his little sister can't live up to her full potential just because their parents are assholes who stopped caring about their children the second they turned out not to be the perfect son and daughter Richard and Emily Harrington wanted them to be.

He walks up to her and hugs her sideways, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment as he mumbles, "'m sorry, Robs. I'll make it up to you."

She sighs, and he knows he's already forgiven. "I know you will. It's okay. Not like I forgot to do something once or twice."

He leans back to look at her for full effect, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, like when you started dating Chrissy and were so busy having sex that you barely left your room or her apartment?"

Robin swats at him with the towel slung over her shoulder, but there's a smile on her face at the memory.

"Okay, now that we've established that you're jealous that I have an incredibly sexy and wonderful girlfriend," Robin says, ignoring his indignant Oi!, "do you want to tell me why you stormed in here yelling out my full name, which I've clearly forbidden you to use except in emergencies?"

Her question brings back the excitement that propelled him from the grocery store to her apartment in record time, and reminds him of the news he's been dying to share with her in person, rather than by phone or text message. He needs to see her reaction firsthand.

Taking hold of Robin's shoulders, he locks eyes with her azure gaze, unable to contain the grin that splits his face in two. "She’s gone!"

Robin blinks in confusion, prompting him to clarify. "Grandma Harrington, she's kicked the bucket, bit the dust, you name it."

A puzzled expression lingers on Robin's face momentarily before realization dawns. "No way! She... really?"

Unable to contain his excitement, Steve gives her a gentle shake. "Yes, really. Grandma Harrington finally called it quits."

They look at each other, their grins widening until they both look like madmen. Steve is aware that all of this is probably a highly inappropriate way to react to the death of a human being, but Eleanor Harrington had been the worst human being Steve or Robin had ever had the displeasure of meeting in their lives.

She had visited her son and daughter-in-law infrequently over the years, never giving them much warning when she was coming over and occupying one of their guest rooms for the unforeseeable future. More than once, Steve had come home to find her sitting at the kitchen table or on the sofa, staring at him with her judgmental gaze, disappointed in him before he even crossed the threshold. Any friend who had the misfortune to accompany him was ordered to sit with her and be interrogated, always found wanting as her grandson's companion. Everyone was beneath a Harrington, even Tommy, even though his father was a lawyer. ‘Too many freckles and that awful grin’ was one reason, ‘I don't like the way he looks at you, Steven, too greedy’ was another.

Robin, who had become a permanent fixture in Steve’s life after becoming his project partner in one of their shared classes his junior year, hadn’t fared any better. To this day, Steve has no idea how Grandma Harrington found out that Robin was queer, because at that point Robin hadn't even been out to her parents, only Steve. But when she did, she had spit at Robin. Steve had lost it then, too angry, too hurt to think rationally. He had thrown caution to the wind and come out to her, too, even though the thought of liking boys was still new to him, something he was still trying on to see how it would fit.

He doesn't even know what he expected to get out of it. Certainly not acceptance or even approval, no matter how much a part of him still craved that from his family. The only thing he got was her calling them both horrible names and saying such cruel things that Steve had to hold Robin and wipe away her tears afterwards.

That episode alone was reason enough for Steve to hate the old woman. Never mind that she had raised his father to be a bigoted, heartless man who had never learned what it meant to truly love anyone, not even his own son or daughter.

When their faces begin to ache from smiling, Robin shrugs casually, as though dismissing the significance of the moment. But Steve knows better. He knows the weight of hurt and resentment they both carry because of that woman.

"Rest in peace, I suppose," Robin remarks with an air of detachment, and Steve can only offer a noncommittal hum in response, realizing that any words he might speak would only add to the inappropriate nature of their conversation.

"Alright, so what does this mean for you, Steve?" Robin asks, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Is this going to change how you deal with your family?" She pauses briefly before adding, "And what about your inheritance?"

Steve offers a slight shrug, his expression turning pensive. "I'm not entirely sure yet, Robs," he begins, his tone serious despite the lingering excitement from their earlier celebration. "I mean, I guess it means I don't have to deal with her anymore, which is definitely a relief. But as for the rest of the family, I don't know. They've never been particularly warm or welcoming to me, you know that. I mean, you’ve been there when they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist to help me get over being queer. I doubt they've changed much since then."

Robin nods in understanding, recalling the numerous tales Steve had shared about his family's cold demeanor and their refusal to accept him for who he is. She reaches out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I mean, you know she was loaded. So yeah, there is an inheritance, but -" Steve continues, his gaze distant as he contemplates the implications. "There's a condition in Grandma Harrington's will. I can only inherit if I marry someone.”

Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Marry? Seriously? That seems archaic, unfair, and downright manipulative."

Steve lets out a wry chuckle. "Tell me about it. Grandma always did enjoy her control games. It's probably her way of trying to mold me into the perfect, straight grandson."

"You've got to be kidding me! Seriously? You... what, have to marry some woman so you can be the perfectly acceptable heterosexual son and grandson your family always wanted? Fuck off!" Despite the heavy topic, Steve can't help but smile at Robin's outrage on his behalf. He could always count on her. After all, she was there to pick up the pieces when his parents told him in no uncertain terms to either learn to be straight or leave.

He left and lived with the Buckleys until Robin graduated and they moved to Chicago together. It was the best decision he could have made, even if it still hurts some days.

For a moment, they both fall silent, each lost in their thoughts. Then Robin squeezes his hand again. "We'll figure it out, Steve. We always do. And hey, maybe this is the perfect opportunity to really stick it to them."

"What do you mean?"

A devilish grin spreads across Robin's face. "Tell me, does her will say that you have to marry someone, or that you have to marry a woman to get your inheritance?"

Oh.

Oh.

Steve looks at Robin, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. “You’re a genius, Buckley,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s time for us to pay my attorney a visit.”

Turns out Robin is right. It seems that Grandma Harrington wrote her will at a time when gay marriage was still illegal in most states, and never thought to change it after the courts made it legal in Indiana and Illinois in 2014.

Steve's lawyer, who he honestly couldn't afford if it wasn't for the fact that she was an old family friend, agreed to help him pro bono just to give his bigoted parents the middle finger, as her sister was a lesbian. She said that the requirements of the will would be met if Steve married a woman as well as a man. As long as it was a legally recognized marriage, he would get close to half a million dollars. Enough to pay for Max's education, the rest of Robin's student loans, and maybe even a small house here in Chicago for him and Max once she was done with college and wanted to live with him until she was ready to be on her own.

The only problem was that Steve didn't have anyone to marry, woman or man.

His last serious relationship had been in high school, for crying out loud. Not for lack of trying. Steve loved love, but love apparently didn't love Steve back. Robin insists that's because he's sabotaging himself. She thinks deep down he's afraid of getting hurt again, so he only falls for people who a) he can't have or b) are a terrible match outside the bedroom.

She might have a point, he thinks in his more introspective moments. He has no shortage of options, and he always finds someone to hook up with, but he rarely makes it past the second date.

"Maybe you could hire someone?" Robin suggests, sipping her Dirty Shirley. After seeing John for some legal advice, they had gone straight to their favorite bar to hold a strategic summit over drinks.

So far, they have only made it to the drinking part.

Sighing deeply, Steve considers the idea for a second before shaking his head vehemently. "No way. I'm not paying some stranger to marry me. It's probably illegal anyway, and it sounds a lot like prostitution."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say when Robin raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "And what, Steven, is wrong with prostitution?"

"Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. A job like any other job,” he hastily assures her.

His answer seems to satisfy her and he knows she's right. It's just that sometimes the things he's been raised to believe, thanks to his extremely conservative parents, are hard to leave behind. They have a tendency to bubble back to the surface when he least expects it.

"That's what I thought. But I get it, it feels wrong to pay someone to marry you."

"Exactly. And I mean, it's about trust. Who guarantees that they won't double-cross me somehow and run off with all the money? I can't risk that."

He looks over at his best friend, his platonic soul mate, whom he trusts with his life and, more importantly, his little sister's life. Right now, he thinks, there’s only one person he could imagine being married to.

"How about we get married?"

He regrets it as soon as he asks.

Not because he thinks Robin wouldn’t do it, but because of the two of them, she is the one in a loving, stable relationship that could very well end in marriage one day. It's unfair of him to put her in a situation where she feels like she has to choose between Steve and Chrissy.

Worst of all, he knows she still wants to say yes to him. He can see it in the soft, sad way she looks at him. They both know they'll spend the rest of their lives together anyway. The simple truth of both their lives is that they would do anything for each other, walk through fire, face any horror the world could throw at them, just to see each other happy. And it's not like they couldn't get a divorce later, so Robin could still marry Chrissy, sure. But it would take something from her.

"Steve, I -"

"No, wait, don't answer that. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't -"

"It's not stupid, it's just -"

As they talk over each other, their voices clash until they both instinctively reach over, silencing each other with a hand over their mouths at the same time. Their wide-eyed surprise quickly gives way to laughter as they realize the absurdity of the situation.

Steve is the first to recover from their fit of laughter, quickly sobering up to reassure Robin in a mild voice. "Seriously, Robs, I shouldn't have asked you to do this because it puts you in a shitty position. I know how much you love Chrissy and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. Especially when the two of you could finally get legally married. I don't want to take that away from you and make you agree to a fake heterosexual marriage like it was the 80's."

She looks at him with her big blue eyes, impossibly soft, and takes his hand in hers.

"Steve," she begins, her voice as gentle as her gaze, "thank you. For getting it, I mean. It wouldn't be all fake, though. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you're right, I'm not in love with you and you're not in love with me. And we both deserve to marry someone we feel that way about. In a perfect world, we would. I mean, I don't even know if Chrissy would ever want to marry me, but," Robin stops here, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh my God, Steve!" Robin cries out in excitement and wonder, her reaction clearly colored by the strong cocktails their favorite bar always provided, before her voice becomes softer again, but no less wondrous. "I really want to marry her. I want to marry Chrissy so badly, Steve, I can't believe I didn't know.”

"And I can't believe you're realizing this after I asked you to marry me. Way to keep a guy's ego in check," Steve jokes with a big grin on his face. It's less news to him than it is to Robin, to be honest. Ever since Robin stumbled into their apartment with a piece of paper in her hand with a number on it, gushing about the gorgeous woman she had just met at the bookstore where she works, Steve knew his best friend was completely smitten with Chrissy Cunningham. That was four years ago, and they are still going strong, obviously madly in love.

She throws her arms around him and says, "I'm sorry," not sounding sorry at all, still giddy with her newfound realization. "I'll make it up to you. I actually might have an idea how we can get you your inheritance and still stick it to Grandma Harrington."

"I sense a but."

"But I can't guarantee it'll work."

"And..."

"And you might not like it at first, but honestly, it's genius, you just have to trust me. And if it really doesn't work out, then we'll get married and you'll pay for my 'I'm-sorry-I-love-you-please-stay-with-me-even-though-I'm-fake-marrying-my-best-friend' vacation with Chrissy. And the divorce."

Maybe it's the three beers he's already had, or maybe it's the fact that Robin would actually marry him just to help him out that makes him agree. He's sure he'll regret it along the way, but maybe he should take a leap of faith. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. No way to find out but to try.

Drunk Steve is clearly an optimist.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but all right. What's your plan?"

Robin grins mischievously, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she leans back, holding Steve at arm's length.

"Steve Harrington, you won't regret this, I promise," she declares, her tone brimming with confidence.

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress a chuckle at Robin's enthusiasm. "I'll hold you to that, Robin. But seriously, when do I get to know the master plan?"

Robin's grin widens, but then she sobers slightly, a hint of seriousness creeping into her expression. "I need to talk to Chrissy first. It's... complicated. But I'll tell you everything as soon as I can, I promise."

Steve nods, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside him. "Okay, fine. Just... don't keep me waiting too long, okay? I've had enough surprises for one night."

Robin reaches out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I won't, Steve. Trust me, this is going to work out. You'll see."

Despite his lingering doubts, Steve can't help but be swayed by Robin's unwavering confidence. With a nod, he squeezes her hand back, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever Robin's plan entails, he knows his best friend has his back. And maybe, hopefully, they'll come out on top after all.

Drunk Steve should not be allowed to make any decisions, sober Steve decides.

Because he instantly regrets trusting Robin's secretive plan as soon as he steps into their apartment a week later, only to find not just Robin, but also her girlfriend Chrissy and Chrissy's best friend and roommate Eddie lounging in their living room.

All eyes turn towards him as he enters.

Robin's expression is the most transparent. Though the furrow between her brows is subtle, her lip-chewing and rhythmic tapping betray her worry, likely anticipating his reaction to whatever scheme they've concocted.

Chrissy, on the other hand, wears a radiant smile, her bubbly demeanor suggesting she's delighted about something. Yet, Steve can't shake the feeling that her enthusiasm might spell trouble. While he adores Chrissy and cherishes her friendship almost as much as he does Robin’s, he's well aware of her propensity for stirring up mischief.

Their shared history stretches back almost as far as hers and Robin's. It's a tradition for Robin and him to introduce their second dates to each other, one of their many platonic soulmate privileges. Steve often wonders if this practice inadvertently sabotages any chances of a third date, but he's unwilling to compromise on the importance of his friendship with Robin.

In any case, if someone can't accept his slightly unconventional bond with his best friend, they're probably not the right fit for him anyway.

Eddie's expression proves the most enigmatic. He appears utterly deer-in-the-headlights, his wide brown eyes resembling those of a startled doe. His usually pale complexion now seems even more ghostly. Steve notices how Eddie's fingers have been incessantly tousling his hair, rendering his dark curls resembling more of a chaotic bird's nest. Steve recognizes this as one of Eddie's nervous ticks, alongside fidgeting and rambling. His suspicions of Eddie's unease appear justified as Eddie avoids meeting Steve's gaze, opting instead to stare down at his hands, absently toying with his rings.

Something is going on and Steve has a sinking feeling that he won't like it.

"Um, hi?" He offers tentatively, his gaze flitting between Robin, Chrissy, and the nervously fidgeting Eddie. "Am I missing something here? Is this an early birthday surprise? Because if it is, I hate to break it to you, but my birthday's not for another nine months."

Before Robin can respond, Eddie interjects, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, Steve! Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nah, no birthday party, man. We definitely know when your birthday is!"

"We do?" Chrissy chimes in with a playful grin, clearly jesting, as Steve knows she's the one who meticulously keeps track of important dates in their circle.

Eddie, caught off guard by Chrissy's banter, stumbles over his words. "Uh, yeah, of course! February 23rd. Remember that baseball-themed cake from last year? I almost dropped it on the icy ground!"

Steve remembers it too, mostly because he was so chuffed to learn that in order to save his cake, Eddie had taken the fall instead, choosing to land on his admittedly not very well padded backside so that the cake could live. He had been unable to sit properly at their little gathering all evening. Steve had felt sorry for him, but also fond in the face of Eddie's sacrifice for him.

"It's so good to see you, Steve. You look great today, that shirt really makes your eyes pop. Doesn't it, Eddie?" Chrissy gushes, nudging Eddie's side as he just stares at Steve in a way that makes Steve worry that he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Um..."

"Okay, what's going on, Robin?" Steve turns to the only person who doesn't act like she's on drugs or caught red-handed at a crime scene. Or both.

Robin, bless her soul, doesn't beat around the bush. "I told you I had a plan. This," and she points to Eddie of all people, "is my plan."

"That's Eddie," Steve states the obvious, but he feels he can't be blamed. Nothing makes sense, so he's glad for every single thing he knows. Then the rest of her statement sinks in.

Blinking at her, his eyes wide, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You can't be serious!"

There's no way she's saying what he thinks she's saying. Because right now it looks like her plan to help him get his inheritance involves marrying Eddie. Which, no. No, no, no, no. Not Eddie. Maybe she means some other plan that Steve has forgotten. Like Eddie helping him with Dustin's birthday surprise, which sounded much more likely than -

"I told you he didn't want to marry me," Eddie's voice sounds loud in the stunned silence after Steve's reaction. "This was a stupid idea, I don't even know what I was thinking." Then, addressing Steve with his eyes somewhere to Steve's right, "Listen, man, I'm sorry. I totally get it, no hard feelings, okay? I wouldn't want to marry me either."

The wry chuckle doesn't sit well with Steve, nor does the way Eddie still refuses to meet his eyes, or the fact that he's started walking toward their front door. Before he can think about it, his hand wraps around Eddie's arm as he passes Steve on his way out.

"Eddie, wait." Eddie does, looking at Steve's hand wrapped around his forearm. Steve's grip isn't tight, so Eddie could easily break free, but he doesn't. He just looks, quietly waiting. Still not meeting Steve's eyes.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I was just surprised, okay? A little warning would have been nice." The last part is mostly for Robin, who at least does look contrite at his words.

"It's fine, Steve, really. Don't worry about it. Now, if you'll excuse me. Places to be, things to do, see you when I see you, you know the drill."

Steve could let him go, maybe should let him go, because Eddie is obviously embarrassed and the whole situation has gone south anyway. But Eddie doesn't sound fine, and Steve feels terrible about his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Something that is usually Robin's specialty.

So instead of letting Eddie walk out of the apartment, Steve steps in front of him to block his way. "Eddie, please wait. I really didn't mean it the way you think I did, you have to believe me. You're a catch, okay? Anybody would be lucky to marry you."

And okay, wow, he didn't mean to say that, but it's the truth.

"You really mean that?" Eddie asks, pulling a strand of hair in front of his mouth. It looks incredibly cute and Steve wants to kill Robin for putting him in this position. She had said that he would not like her plan and that should have been reason enough for him to stop her. Because now he's between a rock and a hard place.

Either he lies and lets Eddie walk away thinking he's not good enough to be married, even if it is a scam to get his grandmother's inheritance. Or he tells the truth and risks getting his heart broken or their friendship ruined.

Because the thing is, Steve means every word. Steve has had a crush on Eddie for years. He's been able to keep those feelings in check because he and Eddie never spend time alone together. It's always group hangouts, or Eddie being there when he and Robin visit Chrissy, or Eddie joining them when they meet at their apartment. It also helps that Eddie keeps his distance from him. Sure, he's nice enough to Steve, but every time Steve tried to get close to the other man, his efforts were rebuked until he got the memo and stopped trying.

Before he can come to a decision, Robin steps in.

“I’m sorry we’re springing this on you, Steve. I could’ve prepared this a little bit better but Chrissy and I were so excited that we found the perfect solution, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“And this is the perfect solution,” Chrissy jumps in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tell him Robin!”

Infected by Chrissy's enthusiasm, Robin’s voice carries an equally excited note. “You said it yourself, you’d need someone we can trust. And you trust Eddie, don’t you?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “Of course I do.” He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath next to him at his decisive tone. Eddie’s a great guy, him rejecting Steve’s advances doesn’t change that.

Of course he trusts him because Eddie never gave him any reason not to.

But he remembers the stories Chrissy told them to explain why Eddie was a little wary of Steve. Apparently, Eddie didn't have it easy growing up. Chrissy wouldn't go into details because it's Eddie's story to tell, but she did mention that people used to treat Eddie like a criminal, a fuckup, trailer trash. Especially the jocks and rich kids at their high school, so since Steve was kind of both, Eddie had been wary of him.

So much so that Steve had overheard Eddie asking Chrissy once, early in her relationship with Robin, why Robin kept bringing that rich asshole jock over all the time. The words had hurt, but Chrissy's explanation had softened the blow. Still, he'd stopped trying to flirt with Eddie after that because he'd figured that even if Eddie came to accept him, he'd never be interested in going out with someone who reminded him so much of all the bullies in high school who had made his life a living hell.

All of which makes it easy to see how Steve's implicit trust could come as such a surprise to him. Which still kind of stings, because Steve had hoped that the last four years had shown Eddie that Steve was not what Eddie expected him to be just because he grew up rich and popular and into sports.

Before he can get lost in his thoughts about Eddie and what he has to do to earn Eddie's trust the way Eddie has his, Chrissy chimes in again, raising a finger. "So you trust Eddie. That's like the most important thing. Second," she raises another finger, making a playful peace sign in their direction, "Eddie's single. Not like Robin."

Ah, okay, Steve can see why Chrissy is so excited about her and Robin's 'plan'.

"'m sorry, Chrissy, for proposing to your girlfriend," Steve sheepishly apologizes, giving her a crooked smile, which she returns with a sunny one of her own.

"No hard feelings. I get it, believe me. Being with Robin means being stuck with you. Just like Robin is stuck with Eddie. Which is the third reason why this is a great idea," she adds, raising another finger. "We all spend a lot of time together already. Nothing really needs to change."

Aside from the fact that Steve secretly wishes things could change between him and Eddie, he's not so sure that's true. But to argue her point would mean revealing more about his feelings than he's comfortable with, so he lets it slide for now.

Objectively, Steve knows they're right. If he didn't still feel... something for Eddie, he probably wouldn't even hesitate. Because yes, he trusts Eddie not to screw him over, and he's also a close acquaintance who's been teetering on the edge of being a real friend for years. But he's also the reason Steve had to leave last year's Friendsgiving party early because Eddie showed up with some guy who couldn't keep his sleazy hands off of him. It drove Steve crazy to see someone else have what he wanted so badly.

In the end, it is the thought of being able to give Max all the chances she deserves that finally makes him look back at Eddie.

"And you're sure you want to do this? Fake marry me, I mean. Because, Eddie... I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being willing to do this to help me out, but... you don't have to do this, okay? It's not your mess or your fucked up family, it's mine."

Finally, Eddie is looking back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I do. Wanna do this, I mean. I know I don't have to, but -" Here Eddie pauses, apparently searching for the right words. After a few seconds he breathes a sigh and continues. "Look, for once, I love the idea of sticking it to an old homophobic hag, so that's a big incentive. Also, I was actually hoping you could help me out as well. Because there's this amazing record store that's for sale, but the bank refuses to give me a loan unless I have some kind of collateral. So I'm kind of hoping that being married will sway them."

At Steve's surprised look, Eddie hastens to add, "I don't want your money! That's for you and Max. Just the fact that I'm married to someone with money will probably be enough. And we can totally do a prenup or something like that."

Eddie sounds anxious, like he's afraid he's said something wrong, when in fact he's doing Steve a huge favor and asking for something incredibly small in return. Steve thinks he can't be blamed at this point, he just has to touch Eddie. So he does, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Eddie. Really. Of course we can go to your bank and convince them to give you the loan. It's the least I can do to thank you."

It feels good to be holding Eddie like this, even more so when, after a moment's hesitation, Eddie hugs him back. Even though they've known each other for years, Steve can count the times they've done this on one hand. It's never lasted this long either, and Steve can't suppress his disappointment when Robin interrupts the quiet moment by clapping her hands excitedly, causing Eddie to pull away.

"Oh, I'm so glad we worked it out. Go us!"

Chrissy, just as excited, jumps up and down next to Robin. "I'm so happy for you guys! We can totally help you plan the wedding. It's going to be great, I know it."

Steve and Eddie look at each other in growing confusion.

"Chris," Eddie begins, his voice careful. He's clearly more experienced in dealing with an overly excited Chrissy, so Steve lets him take the lead. "You do realize that Steve and I are only getting married on paper, right? I don't think -"

"You can still have a wedding!" Chrissy interrupts, clearly not deterred by anything silly like pragmatism or logic. "It's still a special day, and you deserve to celebrate it with your friends and family."

Before Steve can say anything - what, he has no idea - Robin jumps in on the ‘you should have a real wedding’ party.

"Besides, it has to look real, right? Why wouldn't you have a real wedding if you were getting married? Everyone would wonder. It's just easier to pull out all the stops and make it look as real as possible so no one will question it."

And that... actually made a lot of sense. Goddammit.

Looking at Eddie with an apologetic look on his face, Steve says, "I guess she's right," and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘I wish she wasn't, but what can you do’ kind of way. Eddie, to his credit, just sighs and nods, accepting his fate with as much grace as he can. He glances at Chrissy, who is almost vibrating.

"Fine. Chris, do you want to help us plan a wedding?"

She actually squeals. "Yes, yes, yes!" Then she rushes over and pulls them into a group hug.

Steve, looking over Chrissy's head at Robin, opens his arm. "Come here, Buckley." It's all the invitation Robin needs to join their celebratory hug.

For just this moment, Steve allows himself to feel as if this is all real, him and Eddie announcing their wedding and their two best friends in the whole world sharing in their happiness. It's a nice feeling, and when he leans his head on Robin's shoulder and looks at Eddie, he finds him looking back with the same soft smile on his face as the one Steve thinks must be on his own.

[voidsteffy]

Home: Chapter I

Premise: Viraj x fem!OC Ramya [Hi! Nanna] -> A comment from Viraj drives a crack through Ramya's fragile soul. Best friends to lovers trope, she fell first he fell harder trope. A bit of melodrama / quick escalation. Angsty(?) Beware, not proofread in my eagerness to finally post this.

A/N: I finally wrote!!! This one for my moots @iworshipsappho who commented on my post about this and motivated me to the moon, and @mahi-wayy and @vijayasena and @mellaga-karagani whose zeal and totally cool (hip, trend, movement whatever you wanna call their greatness) fanfics on South-Indian movie characters. @viswa-sakhi -> akkay look at what I've been upto! and @budugu -> yendi, yevanna matladande, yevaina paata padande!

« • • • »

The thing with her was that she did things for others she didn’t have to.

She didn’t have to give Viraj her first ever photoshoot as a costume designer to propel his career. She didn’t have to watch him propose to another woman. She didn’t have to spend all her time tending to his family after his wife left him.

But she did it all, because she was in love with him.

Ramya first met Viraj when they were interning at a magazine. In those days the jobs blended into each other like the days blended into nights, like sunrise did into sunset. But he made it all something memorable. Soon, chats at the office turned into talks on the sidelines, and then into long deep talks all night long.

The moment she saw him, she knew this was the man who was going to break her heart.

It’s okay, maybe that would mean she had a heart in the first place. Ramya couldn’t feel it except when it ached.

While her career as a costume designer grew, her calls with Viraj became few and far in between. Until she visited Viraj in Coonoor.

She hadn’t known about Yashna then.

Hadn’t known about just how infatuated Viraj was with Yashna, and to no fault of his. Something with them just seemed to click, and for the first time in all eternity, Ramya— someone who hadn’t felt pain in her life— ached at the love blooming before her eyes.

Ramya’s life hadn’t been easy by the least, but she refused to cry. She hadn’t cried when her parents admitted they conceived her just to have an organ bank for her ill older sister. Or when her sister collapsed and died of an aneurysm before she could help. Or when her parents disowned her out of grief.

She wasn’t about to cry now either.

Alone in that decorated hotel room, never having felt lonelier in her life, Ramya let the first sunrays of Coonoor pierce her with the warmth she sought in Viraj’s touch. She had come there in hopes of confessing her love to Viraj but it was too late.

He had given his heart to Yashna and there was no turning back from it.

“Hey…” Viraj’s voice came from the other side of the door after a knock. “It’s Viraj. Are you awake?”

Ramya didn’t answer him, all but praying he’d go away.

“I don’t know if you’re listening, you’re probably still asleep. Maybe it’s good that you’re not gonna hear this…” he sounded excited, the sound of his feet pacing echoing on the wooden panels.

She held her breath.

“Nothing…! I feel— God, I haven’t felt like this ever Ramya!”

She felt his fist lightly thump on the door, and she could feel the smile on his face, the happiness and the lightness in his throat. Ramya slid down to the floor, legs pulled to her chest and arms around herself, her back to the door as Viraj spoke on.

“I love Yashna!” he gasped as soon as the confession left his lips. “I love her so much Ramya, I just feel like I can do anything with her by my side. I’ll protect her, I want to marry her.”

Oh to be loved that way by him, she thought.

This eternity to love.

The next to be loved.

« • • • »

Ramya wasn’t married to Viraj or Yashna, but somehow she was always involved in their lives.

Convincing Yashna’s father, protecting them from her mother, arranging the wedding. Ramya did it all. She really couldn’t bear to see Viraj nor Yashna miserable.

She hadn’t realised this until the shock on Justin’s face sunk in.

“Why are you giving away this money amma! If he wants to buy a house he’ll buy it with his own money.”

“C’mon Justin. This is Viraj we’re talking about, you know he’s too proud to ask,”

“But you saved this money for your wedding.”

The money she had handed over to him didn’t matter much when compared to their happiness, she just couldn’t explain it.

“Yes, but this is their marriage. That’s more important.”

He had looked at you then, perhaps deeper than he ever had looked at a person. And after a long pause, he smiled and nodded like he knew the secret to a universal illusion.

« • • • »

Though Yashna had mentally left him long before she had physically left, her disappearance from Viraj’s arms was jarring. She had left their little baby behind, who didn’t understand anything but the fact that she had no mother.

Mahi was the first baby Ramya had picked up.

It was also the first time (in a long time) that Viraj’s daughter stopped crying.

And so a new family was formed, glued together by the needs and dreams of Mahi: just her, Ramya, dad, grandpa, Justin and Pluto. Years passed and the good-night stories grew longer. The birthdays were grander and the smiles less heavy.

In every conference call that Viraj and Ramya attended for Mahi’s cystic fibrosis treatment research, everyone assumed she was Mahi’s mother.

It wasn’t long before Viraj stopped correcting them. However, Ramya remained just a friend, his best friend. She lived in the room across from him, had the password to his accounts, his favourite menu was on her speed-dial, Mahi’s school schedule and medicine timings synched to her calendar. She still didn’t have Viraj’s love.

Not that she loved Mahi for Viraj’s love in return, or practically lived in their house and took care of them to get a love confession from her best friend.

But everytime Mahi asked that one weighted question, it left Ramya questioning her own love.

“When will I hear my mother's story?”

That night, she was worn out by the world and its noise, and Viraj wasn’t home yet. Mahi had grown especially restless with her father’s dismissal of any story with mothers. It made her act out a bit no matter who it was at.

“Sorry kanna, enough stories for tonight. It’s getting la—”

“So you’ll tell me tomorrow?”

“We’ll see Mahi, it’s Nanna’s turn for storytime tomorrow.”

Mahi grew pleading, there was an ache in her eyes. An ache that was never palatable to see in a young girl’s face. Mahi was little, she didn’t understand the concept of losing a mother, or being abandoned. To her, there had always been a mother and she was still here somewhere, but just absent from dinner tables and baking competitions and bedtime stories.

Now that she thought of it, Ramya seemed closest to a mother she’d maybe ever have.

“But he never tells me that story!”

“Mahi…” came Viraj’s stern voice from the threshold of the pink room. “Don’t trouble Ramya.”

“But nanna!”

“No buts, enough bedtime stories for tonight Mahi!”

Ramya left the room to leave father and daughter alone, but when Viraj came out at last after a heated argument, he wasn’t just tired or sad. He was angry.

He stomped up to Ramya at the kitchen platform where she was reheating dinner.

“Did you promise her you’d tell her about her mother?”

Ramya, as usual, was quick to deny. Yashna, however beautiful and ruled by her mother as she was, was the last thing Ramya wanted to broach at storytime.

“No, of course not. Did Mahi say that?”

Viraj visibly shrunk into a chair at her question, his hands twitching on the platform as he shook his head in a no. Ramya placed her own above them, making Viraj to look at her.

“You know… You have to tell her about it all one day.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not you too Ramya.” Tired to the bone, now afraid of mentioning Yashna as much as she was afraid of loud noises.

“What ‘not you too’ ? There’s a reason everybody in this house keeps begging you to rip that band-aid off Viraj. It’s one thing to start this facade, but an entirely different task to keep lying everyday about it!”

She hadn’t realised when her voice had gotten so passionate, when she had forgotten the clicking of the oven and started glaring at her best friend.

He wasn't any more pleasant.

“Oh!” he scoffed, “You think I do this for fun? Huh? You think I like not giving my daughter a mother to even imagine? You think I like being this tired overworked single father whose daughter is being raised by a stranger?”

He said the last word with such venom, a hand recklessly flying to gesture to her, that her prediction of all those years ago came true at a heavy expense.

The thunder tearing from the skies flashed across Ramya’s face, and in that moment, Viraj realised he broke her heart.

“Stranger…” she whispered.

He shook his head, shooting out of his seat to do damage control but perhaps he couldn’t ever repair the wound he caused.

“You think I’m a stranger? Stranger to who? You? Mahi?”

“I’m so sorry Ramya. I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Mahi’s first word—”

“I’m so—”

“—No!”

Viraj froze at the shake in her voice. She was inching away from him, away from years of feeling like a part of this sweet family.

“Mahi. Mahi’s first word was ‘Viraj’ because I kept calling your name whenever I was near her. Her favourite colour changes every week though she denies it every time. This week it’s Falu because she didn’t like the name ‘Maroon’. She scored such good marks in her test today. You know the first thing she asked for, after she showed me her report card? You. Her father. She wished she could ask for her mother but she’s known no one. No one!”

Every word from Ramya felt like it was coming from between the cracks of her soul. It broke something in Viraj.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Ramya sniffled, but didn’t let anything else betray her. The world was a blur, but all she cared about was getting out of the house before she’d say something she would regret. She loved Viraj, but she didn’t want to become him.

“She doesn’t know you fully because a part of you will always be with her.  She’ll never know me because I’ve given away all parts of me to you. And you call me a stranger!”

It was not everyday he heard the harsh truth from Ramya. Part of her thought Viraj knew she loved him. At the very least, she thought he respected her.

“Everyone around you is chipping away at themselves protecting a reality you created Viraj! Do you realise just how much you’re suffering because of that reality, how much you’re making us suffer?!”

Somewhere in her moisture-framed vision, Ramya knew she was gathering her keys and bag to get out of the house. But it wasn’t until the rain spatter hit her that she realised she was rushing out. Viraj was just a cry behind her, begging her to forgive him, apologising.

She saw a car pull up in the driveway, Justin’s face illuminated by the overhead lights inside before he jumped out with concern.

A pair of arms enveloped her shoulders. It had been too long since he hugged her, more so like this. Like he was afraid of losing her, afraid of her losing it.

The back of her blouse getting wet with Viraj’s warm tears, and the rain kissing the pair from all around, they slid to the ground.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry”

Justin’s shouts became closer and closer until he stood in front of them. He kept asking what happened but she was out of words to describe the sudden pain in her life. Maybe it had always been there.

If she was a stranger to Viraj, who else did she have? Maybe not even herself.

Her first cry tore out of her throat, and it agonised her more than abate her grief. She caved into herself and Viraj bent with her, on her back with his cheeks muttering the same nothings again and again.

“Justin…!” Ramya cried.

“Amma? Tell me, what happened?!”

“Justin! Please take me away.”

“What?”

Against Viraj’s protests, she stretched a hand out for Justin which he took as fast as lightning.

“Please take me away! I want to go… G-Go—”

He pulled her out of Viraj’s desperate grip into his arms. “Let’s go… Where should we go?” He took her purse, supporting her towards his car. Justin dreaded the day he’d find Ramya on Viraj’s doorstep with her heart broken and her life flashing before her eyes. He hated this.

“It’s ok, it’s going to be ok… Easy there…!”

“I want to turn back Justin!” she cried into his shoulder. His brotherly arms around kept her grounded. “I want to turn back so badly. But before I go back to him, take me away.”

“Ramya I’m so sorry!”

Viraj’s cries turned to his father-in-law at his doorstep while Justin got Ramya safely into the car. They were silhouettes marred by the elusive darkness of the night, wracked with guilt.

“Let’s go…” Justin sighed. “It’s going to be ok amma.”

“I want to go home!” she cried.

“Home?”

“Home…! I want to go home! Home! Please take me home… I want to be home!”

« • • • » stay tuned for Chapter II « • • • »

(moots, tell me if you wanna be tagged❤️)

[grison-in-space]

I'm sorry? Pigeons have to coo to ovulate?

okay, okay, I left this one out in the tags without elaborating the other day and you were not the only person who asked-- @nanavn and @corvus--caurinus were also curious. I did not have a ton of time yesterday when my brain was not leaking out my ears, so here I am today.

First, I apparently misremembered my grad school teachings: the best-documented case study of doves being required to hear their own coo in order to ovulate is that of the ring or Barbary dove (Streptopelia risoria), not the rock dove which gave rise to our domestic pigeons (Columba livia). They look like this:

They're the domestic doves you see sometimes that aren't domestic pigeons.

But yes, I was completely serious: hens need to very specifically hear their own nest coo to ovulate. The way it works is this: these doves have a very specific courtship pattern, where courting males at different stages of the nesting process perform first a "bow" coo, then a nest coo. Then the hen makes a nest coo back, and the pair goes on to build a nest together in which the hen will lay fertile eggs.

If you prevent the hen from producing this coo--and the first paper I've linked does this in several different ways with both neural lesions and also mechanical blocks of the synrinx--she will not ovulate. Then Dr. Cheng tried rescuing the effect for doves who could hear but not produce their own coos by playing back recordings of devocalized doves' own nest coos, recordings of other hen's nest coos, recordings of male nest coos (their own males, I think, for preference?) and no recordings at all. Hen nest coo recordings, especially the recordings of the hens themselves, were enough to rescue ovulation effect... but deafened hens who could, themselves produce nest coos weren't able to make ovulation happen half the time even when the male was right there. The male nest coo and his mating display is really important, because his coo stimulates the female to make her nest coo, and that's where ovulation starts.

In 2003, a little over a decade later, Dr. Cheng wrote a whole book chapter about auditory self-stimulation as a phenomenon in neuroendocrine shifts. It makes for pretty interesting reading! I'm going to really enjoy it this afternoon. Stimulated ovulation is actually a pretty common phenomenon in animals--often it makes more sense to only bother ovulating if you know there's a partner around to use whatever eggs you yield up--but this one is one of the most interesting and elaborate systems out there, and definitely the one that offers the most options to a given female dove to potentially consciously control her reproductive output.

But grison, you might ask, what about the doves outside my window? Is this just a function of this one dove species, or are lots of doves doing this to make ovulation happen? So I went looking to find out whether anyone has checked. The thing is that the heyday of pigeon behavioral research has faded somewhat in the intervening decades since Dr. Cheng's discovery, so there's not as much as I might hope where people sat down to investigate the question. I did, however, find a neat study on Columba livia demonstrating that auditory stimulation is more important to courtship displays and success than visual displays are, although of course the multisensory courtship is stronger than either sensory modality alone. So yeah, the cooing back and forth really loudly is part of a display that is functionally necessary for successfully producing offspring, and the auditory component is important for basically every pigeon that has been studied in this respect (albeit that number is pitifully small).

I also found this really interesting review of known uses of birdsong to set internal emotional states in birds (either for the self or for a partner or flockmates) that I want to look into with more detail, plus this really thoughtful review from Dr. Donna Maney talking about how "incentive salience" can use learning and experience to make certain cues bring up neuroendocrine changes in state over time, which helps individuals control how their endocrine system is reacting to stimuli in the world they've been shaped by. Clearly I have some reading to do...

[ladyazurith]

Thoughts on and Headcanons for Rook Hunt

Rook is a very divisive character for me, and I’ve gone back and forth on how I feel about him. I absolutely hate how he treats the nonhuman students. I also hate the vin where he comments on Vil gaining weight when it wasn’t even noticeable to someone with normal eyes. That’s not a healthy mindset. Nor can I ignore the wall of hidden photos we see peaking out behind the wallpaper in his (canon) room. 

I do not like how he handled the end of Chapter 5. The way he gushed about Neige and revealed his obsession, right in front of Vil, after everything that had just happened. I know people get upset over the fact he voted for RSA, and while I think it was a dick move for him to have revealed that it was his vote that cost them the show. It’s more that he hid something like that from Vil, and given how they talked about everything related to the theater together, and he knew Vil’s connection to Neige it just feels…really shitty that that's how it came out. 

On the other hand, I really do think he cares about Vil. I have never truly shipped them together (the only time I’ve written them in a relationship together was in a poly with Cater) I do think he loves Vil in a brotherly fashion. And I think they’re important to each other. Vil especially I think values Rook’s friendship more than he wants to admit. (This is also kinda why I think his actions at the end of chapter 5 were so crappy)

At the same time, I think he suffered from character assassination at that point. They needed Rook to do what he did to thematically fit the narrative and his role as the royal Hunstman. And they cared about that more than if it was something Rook would truly do. As much as I love twist and the story, I find myself having this complaint often. They’re more concerned about the overall narrative than what actually makes sense for the various characters. I could write an entire essay on this especially where Cater is concerned, with him and his interaction with the other characters and his place in the overall narrative. (Again a subject for another time)

On a less serious note, as far as romance goes, I’m reminded of a line from a very old Christmas movie called “White Christmas” where one of the main characters goes. "I'm not the marrying kind or the engaging kind, I'm more the I don't mind pushing my best friend into it but I'm scared stiff when I get anywhere close to myself kind" I can see Rook endlessly encouraging Vil to pursue his heart (With me it's him insisting to Vil he does have feelings for Cater and should give him a chance) But the idea of his own actual love affair terrifies him. He’d rather just watch other people fall in love. 

I do think he has several secret perches around campus that no one knows about. 

I also think he and Cater would be absolutely great and chaotic friends, that would strike fear into Vil’s heart. They both share a love of photography and him. I can just imagine Vil having to endure the two of them talking about him while he’s sitting right there lol. 

I also gave them an anonymous magicam account where they post pictures of student life on campus (Mostly taken by Rook, but some by Cater) 

I developed Rook’s Family for a fanfic I wrote a while ago. So some of this comes from that. I know if we ever get to meet his family this will all be obsolete but its still fun to work with. I also won't go into to much detail here, because his Family could be an entire post on its own. (Just like Cater’s) 

His father works directly for Leona’s brother (And previously their father) as head of Royal Wildlife Management in the Savanah, a position his family has inherited for generations after they made the move there.  A position his eldest brother will inherit one day. His eldest Sister I made a traveling exotic vet. 

Rook himself is a fraternal twin. Reinette (the name I gave her) also has magic but doesn’t attend NRC because it (appears) to be an all male school. But she acts much like Rook did in his Savanaclaw days. Longer hair, sunbaked skin, and loaded with freckles. 

His younger brother I named Florent and idolizes his big brother, and is the only other Hunt child to have magic. He’s set to go to NRC as a first year when Rook is a 4th year. 

His youngest sister and the baby of the family is Fleur, and shares Rook’s and their father’s love of theater, albeit for the more technical side, and also has more than a slight obsession with Vil.

At his core, I don’t think Rook really feels like he fits in anywhere. Pomefiore and Vil have come as close as it gets for him, but it’s still not right. He’s restless, and is still searching for his “home”. 

As an adult, I’d given him the profession of a wildlife photographer (French Steve Irwin is how I described it) It’s something I think he’s well suited for. 

That’s probably enough for now, thank you if you made it this far ^^

[lionlena]

I can't be everywhere (No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader) ANGST! Part 4

Summary: You knew Joel was a busy man, but you never thought that when you needed him most you would hear, "I can't be everywhere." As if your pain meant nothing. So you decided that you couldn't be everywhere either… You couldn't be in his heart anymore.

Warnings: NSFW, self-harm (something like that), rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, ANGST, miscarriage, misunderstanding, loss, mourning, broken heart, age gap (17 years), Joel is 45, depression, Joel tries hard, but… He can't show his true emotions…

AN: I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter. I have the impression that it is not much different from the previous one... But it was still necessary.

Part 4

Joel didn't drive away. He couldn't. He sat in the car for a long time, gripping the steering wheel with his hands and swearing. He was mad, but not at you. He was furious with himself. Nothing was going according to his plan. He was supposed to earn your forgiveness, not fuck you like you were just a whore to take advantage of. He hit the steering wheel angrily.

"Fuck!"

After a moment, he took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hand. There wasn't much he could do. He wanted to go back to your apartment and talk to you, but he was afraid he would screw things up again. He finally started the engine and started the long drive home, not knowing if he had any chance with you. * When Joel left, you felt empty, but you didn't miss Joel himself. You missed his presence. His strong, masculine scent, the shadow cast by his broad shoulders, his heavy steps, his breath on your neck as he pressed his cock into you…

You barely ate the breakfast he prepared for you. Then you slowly walked towards the couch. You felt sore, but that was the point. When you lay down, you pulled the pillow Joel was sleeping on to your face. You pushed your nose into the fabric and stayed in that position for a long time.

The following days seemed better to you. Not 'good', but not 'worst' either. You cleaned up the house a bit and went for a walk a few times, but when you pushed your fingers into your pussy during the shower and didn't feel any twinge of pain, your mood worsened again.

The days turned gray again and pizza boxes began to gather under the couch.

Three weeks after Joel left your apartment, you were lying on your bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Joel stopped texting you and you didn't know if he had finally decided to give you space or given up on you.

You bit your lip and looked at the message you had written but still didn't hit send.

"I'm pathetic…" you growled and pointed your thumb at 'Delete'. "Fuck it." You hissed and sent the message. * Joel was at work and was speechless when he read your message.

'Fly to me. I need you.'

He stared at the message and couldn't move. When he returned home after visiting you, he swore to himself that he would leave you alone. When he thought about how he fucked you, he felt disgusted with himself. He should never have treated you like this. And he thought you had every right to hate him.

And suddenly he got the message. As if nothing had happened. What was he supposed to do? Subconsciously, he felt that you were playing with him, that you treated him like a toy that you could throw away whenever you wanted. But on the other hand, he felt like he deserved it. And he felt a strong need to protect you. If you wrote to him, it meant your mental health was worse. So he finally wrote back.

'I'll be there in two days.'

In return, he only got:

'Okay.' * Tommy looked at him like he was crazy when he told him about it.

"Are you kidding? She hasn't spoken for three weeks. Suddenly she calls you like a dog, and you obediently buy a plane ticket. Look, I understand that she's hurting and you love her… but your relationship… if you can call it a relationship, has become strange…"

Joel snorted and tossed the green shirt into his backpack. You loved it when he wore it, and he didn't forget about it.

"Maybe this is a step towards repairing our relationship."

"Dude… she just wants…"

Joel glared at him.

"I know what she wants and I will give it to her. I will give her everything… if it will make her forgive me."

Tommy sighed and shook his head. He saw that there was no point in arguing with his brother. Joel could be damn stubborn. * You weren't too concerned about Joel's visit. You only cleaned up as much as was necessary. You didn't go pick up Joel at the airport either. You wanted the rules between you to be clear. You didn't care about him. You just needed him. At least that's what you told yourself.

But when he knocked on your door, you felt this strange twinge in your heart. You knew your actions were wrong. You wanted to use him to feel alive again for a moment. But you quickly dismissed those thoughts. It was because of him that you were where you were… It was his fault.

You opened the door and immediately pulled him inside. Joel only managed to croak out, "Hi…" before you connected your lips in a rough kiss.

When you broke the kiss you looked at him. He was wearing the shirt you always liked and he smelled of the cologne you bought him at the beginning of your relationship.

He cared.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, but it was too late to back out. Or maybe you didn't really want to back out… You couldn't. The void inside you was eating you alive and you had to fill it with something.

You pulled Joel towards the couch and pushed him. As soon as he was in a sitting position, you immediately sat on his lap, facing him.

Joel ran a hand through your hair and looked at you with concern.

"Don't you want to slow down?"

"NO." You growled and pulled his hair.

Joel nodded. He started kissing your neck gently and sensually, the way he used to do. You groaned in dissatisfaction and pushed him away.

"Stop!" you growled.

Joel looked at you like a beaten puppy and leaned back.

"I'm sorry… I thought that's what you wanted."

"Because I want." Joel seemed completely lost, so you added, "But not like this. Not so gently… I want you to bite me, scratch me… I want you to be primal…"

You could almost see the pain on his face.

You sighed and went to get off his lap.

"Fine… You can go back to…"

Joel suddenly grabbed your thighs tightly, digging his fingers into your plump.

"Wait." He growled. "I'm not done with you yet."

You smiled at the twinkle in his eyes. You awakened the primal beast in him and you didn't regret it.

Joel finally started doing what you wanted. He squeezed your hips and thighs with such force that you knew he would leave bruises. He bit your neck and shoulders. And finally, he fucked you on the couch, hard and without mercy. And you could feel the familiar pain… A pain that was soothing to your soul. You knew it would only help you for a few days again. You didn't even try to delude yourself. But you couldn't stop it either. *

Joel emerged from the bathroom wearing only baggy sweatpants. He was surprised when you offered to let him take a shower, but he didn't complain.

You were taking a nap on the couch and he looked at you and sighed. He wasn't stupid. He knew you were depressed and wanted to help you. He also knew that you were using him, but he felt that it was the only way to be close to you. The truth was that he still loved you very much and was afraid to think what you might do if he gave up on you.

He walked over to the couch and sat on the floor. He looked at your thigh and felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He ran his fingertips over the bruises that were forming on your skin and felt self-loathing. It wasn't that he had never been rough in bed before. It happened and sometimes there were bruises on your thighs. The point was that previously such sex was always preceded by affectionate gestures. And after sex like that, he could wrap his arms around you and assure you that he loved you. He could care about you… And now there was a wall between you…

You woke up feeling his touch and slowly sat down on the couch, moving away from him.

"You're sleeping on the couch." You said quietly. "The blanket and pillow are in the closet."

Joel nodded and whispered:

"Can we talk?"

His tender voice surprised you. For a moment you wanted to agree. You wanted to fall into his arms and cry. You wanted to cuddle into his strong, bare chest. But you pushed this desire into the deepest abyss of your mind.

"We don't have anything to talk about."

Joel grabbed your knees in an almost desperate manner. And he looked at you in a pleading way with those brown puppy eyes.

"You don't want to talk… That's fine. But let me tell you something."

You sighed and nodded. It was strange seeing Joel in such a situation. On his knees and vulnerable.

"I'm listening."

Joel took a shaky breath and began to speak.

"I regret the way I acted… I regret not giving you the support you deserved… I know I hurt you and that I acted like an asshole and… I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I'm just asking you to let me take care of you. Let me again be in your life."

There was silence and you didn't know what to say. His words were like a dagger to your heart. You knew you were treading on shaky ground. How were you supposed to combine it… The desire to keep him at a distance and the need for him to be next to you and support you.

"Fine, but on my terms."

Joel nodded without hesitation.

"I'm not going back to Austin. You can visit me whenever you want. We fuck whenever I want, in a way I want. You can text me and call me… And most importantly. We're not talking about…" You took a deep breath. The words barely passed through your throat. "About losing a child."

Joel closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't perfect. This wasn't what he had hoped for. But it was also so much more than he had before. He knew that this solution would not heal your wounds or his. It was more like a painkiller. But what choice did he have? No contact, exchange of two words, your cold look…

He got up from his knees and kissed your forehead.

"Of course, baby."

When he sat down next to you, you allowed him to pull you to his side and hug you. His closeness plus the fact that you were sore gave you a sense of peace. It was an intoxicating mixture. A drug that helped you forget how you really felt.

"Shall we watch something?" You asked, wanting to change the subject somehow.

"Sure. Do you want to choose?"

You nodded and he handed you the remote.

"When do you have a plane?"

"Tomorrow evening."

Still looking at the screen, you muttered:

"So we'll have time to do it again."

Joel nodded, sadness appearing in his eyes. He knew you didn't mean vanilla sex. You both knew it.

You both also knew that everything was still wrong. But at that moment, as you sat on the couch together, cuddling together and watching a random movie, everything seemed perfect.

It was a fleeting moment, an illusion of happiness, but You wanted to stay in this bubble for a while longer. * In the morning, you ate breakfast together, which Joel had prepared. Then you agreed to go for a walk with him. You didn't talk much, but you weren't silent either. You weren't hugging or holding each other's hands, but you were walking close enough to each other that at times your shoulders were touching.

From a distance, someone might mistake both of you for good friends, and you thought you were going to treat Joel that way. Like a friend… who fucks you hard on the kitchen counter. A detail you were going to leave out if anyone asked.

You could see that Joel was trying, but he still couldn't stop himself from making sweet gestures. A kiss on the forehead, a pat on the back, pet names… In fact, he was even more affectionate than before. It irritated you at times, but it also intrigued you. You wondered if it was fake, to lull your guard, or if he had really changed.

But it didn't matter that much because you had set the boundary. When he wanted to kiss you goodbye, you placed your hand on his chest. Joel raised his eyebrows and you said,

"Remember… My rules. We don't kiss goodbye like a couple in love. You pack your things, leave, lock the door behind you, and go back to Austin."

Joel's jaw moved anxiously. He felt a twinge of anger but remembered that he wasn't the victim.

"So this is what it's going to be like now?"

"I'm not forcing you to do this, Joel. Besides, you were the one who insisted on the contacts."

He had to admit, you hit the nail on the head. You broke off contact with him, he was the one who couldn't let go.

He let out a long sigh and rubbed his forehead with his hand.

"Okay. But can I… Can I at least kiss you on the cheek?"

You reluctantly nodded and he immediately leaned down and pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Bye." He whispered.

"Bye."

When you closed the door behind him, you slid down the wall and sat on the floor. You pulled your legs to your chest and hissed as you felt how sore you were. But it was good. This is what you wanted. Right?

You sighed heavily and started to think about what you felt. You knew what you were doing wasn't healthy, neither for you nor for Joel. But you couldn't stop it. You felt like it was the only thing keeping you from drowning in despair.

You finally stood up and noticed that Joel had forgotten his green shirt. Or he wanted to mark the area… You took the shirt in your hands and pushed your nose into the material. His scent brought back memories for you. His lips on your forehead, his hand combing through your hair… After a moment, you put aside your sentiments and threw his shirt into the laundry basket.

That evening, before taking a shower, you undressed and stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom. You turned around and looked at the bruises Joel had left. You pressed your finger into the largest bruise on your hip and hissed in pain.

Yes, pain was the last thing that could bring you comfort. *

Joel fell tiredly onto the bed. He felt he was too old to travel all the time, but he wasn't going to give up. He looked at his watch and realized he only had five hours of sleep left.

He groaned and rolled onto his back. He couldn't sleep. His mind was filled with the image of you. He would give anything to have you in his bed again.

He began to wonder if his shirt would bring you comfort. Will you wear it to sleep? This image filled his mind. You, dressed in his shirt, leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee handed to you by him. He closed his eyes and gripped the sheets tighter. He was determined to fight for you even if he crawls on the ground from exhaustion. *

Part 3

Part 5

Tag list: @fahemzzz @picketniffler @elliaze @txtattoostark @this--is--music @anavatazes @simplyreading96 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @southernbe @sarahhxx03 @noisynightmarepoetry @jasminedragoon @pedromousposts @joeldjarin

Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed

[skepsiss]

For the @steddiesummerexchange to @stevesjockstrap!

Batter Up: Chapter 5 of 5

Read [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

Rated: Explicit

Summary: This fluffy story is about Baseball Player Steve Harrington, meeting Rock Star Eddie Munson and the whirlwind 1-week romance turned committed relationship. They're instantly obsessed with one another, but neither knows how to take things to the next level. Enjoy Steve being a love-sick idiot! (The story turns explicit in Chapter 4, other chapters are all fluff).

Timeskip time (It is now 1996). We join Steve and Eddie many years in the future during a massive change in their now-established relationship... them coming out to the media. It's a big deal, and Steve is sort of stressed about it, but of course, Eddie is there to support him. A sweet, domestic end to show that their love was and is true and will last the ages. <3

Read Chapter 5 below, or [read it on Ao3]

This is the end of the ride; I originally wrote this chapter as chapter 1 and the other 4 as "flashbacks." @thefreakandthehair suggested I flip them around, and I think it came out quite romantic in this order. Thank you again to @/thefreakandthehair for Beta reading!

Graphic made by me!

Steve’s leg bounced involuntarily as he sat with his head hung toward the TV. He wasn’t sure what he was anticipating exactly, but it almost felt like he was waiting for a bad report card, or when he was waiting to know if he’d been drafted back in his rookie days.

It had been a decade since Steve was in school, and it had been years since he had been nervous about his career. He was one of the top players on the White Sox, so he didn’t have anything to fear. Well, that wasn’t totally true, but his performance as a baseball player didn’t put his job at risk. 

No, the only thing that could put his career at risk was Eddie. “Knock, knock,” Eddie said as he stood in the doorway, hugging the frame as he leaned in. “You sitting in the dark alone, big guy?” “Hey…” Steve replied warily, blinking when Eddie flicked the light on and walked over to the couch. 

“You stressing out?” Eddie asked as he sat down, his hand instantly on Steve’s thigh and soothing his bouncing leg. “No—well, yeah, of course… but nothing we can do about it now, right?” Steve breathed, dropping his hands from his hair as he looked back up at the TV. Eddie followed his gaze and the room went quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft murmuring of the news broadcasters in the background. 

“It’s going to be alright, Steve,” Eddie encouraged after a moment, squeezing his thigh. Steve shifted in order to sit back, taking Eddie’s hand as he went so he could kiss Eddie’s knuckles. It was an attempt to calm himself down, but it didn’t help all that much. He had anticipated being nervous like this– being afraid– after they had decided to come out to the press. It had been a long time coming, but Steve couldn’t help the creeping feeling of regret in the back of his mind. 

“You don’t know that…” Steve breathed, not wanting to put his anxiety on Eddie but knowing that if he kept it all inside, it would fester. “Steve,” Eddie replied, sounding apologetic as he tucked up on the couch in order to press closer. His long hair tumbled over his shoulders and Steve focused on the way the patterns and colours on Eddie’s skin shifted as he moved. 

It was easy to pick apart his tattoos when Steve was anxious, watching and reading the words that were scattered across his arms and his collarbone, until he was looking at Eddie’s face. “We’ve gone over this— Helli and Ang have gone over this with us,” Eddie repeated for the umpteenth time, reminding Steve what their agents had said, but Steve didn’t just nod and roll over this time. “I know, but it’s just—” he sighed, grumbling at the end. He shifted on the couch, turning to clasp both of Eddie’s hands in his; he kissed his knuckles again until he got a small laugh from his boyfriend. “It’s so much… worse for me. The possible fallout— Eds, what if… Jesus… what if they cut me because of it?” Steve asked, not risking looking up at Eddie as he spoke. His fears weren’t unfounded, he knew that, but they had known that coming out as a couple would have its consequences. “Yeah, it’s scary for me too,” Eddie confirmed, obviously trying to soothe Steve but not doing an amazing job of it. “Not exactly easy being a rock star and suddenly going: Yeah, I’m queer.”

“Eds,” Steve sighed, leaning back and away as he struggled through his emotions. “It’s not the same.” “What’re—” Steve didn’t let him finish, cutting Eddie off before he could get offended and blow this up into something it wasn’t. “Freddie Mercury? Elton John? David Bowie— I know none of them are metal, but it’s not… unheard of to have queer dudes in the music business. Baseball— sports… name one person,” Steve continued, sighing heavily as dread clutched at his heart. This was what he was scared of. He didn’t like putting all of his fears out into the universe, but it had to be said. He didn’t want to be the first ‘out’ bisexual guy in sports. He didn’t want it to be a big deal. He didn’t want to be known for being good at baseball and being queer. But he had known that when Eddie had talked to him about making their relationship public. It was hell keeping it a secret, but it wasn’t exactly easy being open with it either. 

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t know sports star names,” Eddie scolded, no heat to his comment. “But I get your point. Look, Steve, baby… we don’t have to worry, we’re secure. If the… league has an issue with it, I can support us just fine. We’re not—” “I’m not worried about that, Eds,” Steve interrupted, sighing as he risked looking back at Eddie again. He looked upset but in that sweet, concerned kind of way. Eddie was trying hard to comfort him, and Steve could tell that he was frustrated that it wasn’t working. “I… I don’t want to stop playing baseball,” Steve swallowed, watching as Eddie nodded and looked away. “I know we’ll be okay, it’s just….” “You’re worried about your team,” Eddie concluded, wiggling up the couch more so he could sling his legs over Steve’s lap, snuggling in. “How they’ll all act.” “Yeah…” Steve confirmed, pulling Eddie’s head to his shoulder so they could cuddle up. That was the fear. That was the most terrifying part of it. 

He and Eddie had kept their relationship a secret from everyone but their best of friends for five years now, and enough was enough. But Steve had been playing baseball for longer than that. He knew half the guys on his team for longer than that. They had won and lost, cried and cheered together— he had been to some of their weddings. They were brothers in one way or another, and the idea of any of them treating him differently was terrifying. 

Corroded Coffin already knew about their relationship, and Eddie’s bandmates hadn’t even batted an eye at their relationship (even if Steve knew they had given Eddie guff about dating a jock). Their agents knew, their friends knew, their families knew… the fallout because of their relationship thus far had been minimal. Steve knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, but even his own parents were starting to come around to the idea. His mother more than his father, but there was wary acceptance. Still, as out of touch as Steve’s parents were, even they had warned him against making this public. 

Even if his team did accept him, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be run out of the league by every other player out there. He risked a lot, and he hated that his fears were founded. 

Despite all of that, Steve was sick and tired of lying about being in love. He hated watching Eddie get jealous when sports magazines crowned him one of 1996’s most eligible bachelors. He hated seeing Eddie wading through the crowds, and the paparazzi begging him for news about his love life. And he especially hated how clipped and vague Eddie had to make his professions of love in his songs. How proud he’d be to share a song he wished he could sing about Steve. How every time they danced together, it was only in the privacy of their own home. How, on paper, they didn’t even live together to keep the press off their backs. He hated it. He hated having to keep it a secret, and he was amazed they had been able to hold out for five years. 

Five years. 

In all those years, the thing that excited him the most about coming out was being able to hold Eddie’s hand in the airport. He wanted to be ushered into a car together while cameras flashed at them. 

To just be together. For real. 

“In sports news,” the television chimed, and Steve looked up from his daydream to see what the broadcast had to say. “In a People’s Magazine article this morning, White Sox player Steve Harrington and—get this—lead singer of the rock-metal band Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson, have given an exclusive interview announcing that they are in a committed relationship. Did you hear this, Paul?” Steve sucked in a breath as Eddie adjusted and reached for the remote, turning the TV volume up.

“You think Dave Pallone had anything to say about it?” The announcer joked, and Eddie looked to Steve for an explanation. 

“Ex-umpire,” Steve said, sucking in a breath. “Outed as gay in 1988… accused of… paedophilia, which was later… it was untrue.” Eddie’s expression soured as he looked back at the screen, muttering a rude curse under his breath. Steve just squeezed his hand, knowing that the joke had been crude and meant to be mean, but it felt like peanuts compared to what they could be saying. “Big news,” the broadcasters continued, “you think Rolling-Stones and Sports Illustrated are mad for not getting the exclusive?”

“I want to talk about the photos they used,” the other announcer indicated as the screen adjusted and some of the pictures from the photoshoot Steve and Eddie had done came up on the screen. They were all classy photos, and Steve had been pleased with the pictures of Eddie and him on their back sun-deck, sitting together like a proper couple. 

“Bit of an odd-pair, don’t you think?”

The conversation seemed to devolve further into gossip, and Steve breathed out. All in all… it hadn’t been too bad. One day down… hopefully the rest were just as benign. 

“How many housewives do you think are sobbing?” Eddie asked, sitting still. That wasn’t like him, and Steve could tell Eddie was trying to concentrate on not fidgeting. He appreciated his attempt at pacifism. “Why? Because they’re heartbroken that neither of us are single anymore?”

“Yeah, if I was forced to watch baseball with my pot-bellied, gross-ass husband every week, I’d be pissed the hot short-stop player was taken, too.”

“Are we married now?” Steve joked, trying his best to keep the mood a bit lighter. Eddie smacked him on the chest with the back of his hand, obviously annoyed to hear Steve take the joke in that direction. “You do not have a pot-belly. And you’re the farthest from gross a man can be, Mr. Five Shampoos and Conditioners,” Eddie retorted, making Steve scoff in return. “Five? I do not. That was one time when I was testing out new brands,” Steve scolded, unable to help the small smile on his lips. “Uh-huh…” Eddie said as he raised a brow at Steve, both of them obviously aware and relieved that the other was trying to keep the atmosphere lively. “Love that you don’t deny the fact that you force me to watch baseball.” “Force is a strong word.” Steve smiled, glancing at the TV as they changed the subject to something more sport-related and less tabloid-centric. “Sure, I mean… at least the guys look good in the uniforms,” Eddie teased. Steve pulled a face and pinched Eddie on the arm, causing him to yelp and scramble off the couch. He was smiling so it was obvious that the touch hadn’t been painful, even if he was acting dramatic on purpose. “True to my roots!” Eddie yelled, backing to the far side of the room. He was taunting Steve, but Steve wanted to play into the nice break from the stress of their announcement. 

“Something you don’t let me forget,” Steve chastised, getting off the couch and approaching Eddie as if he was cornering a wild animal. Eddie was smiling at him still as he hunched a bit and started to circle around the outside of the room. “Not my fault that Chrissy’s only selling point to make me go was that the player’s asses looked great in their uniforms. Yours better than most, might I add,” Eddie grinned, dashing for the door on the far side of the room. Steve easily caught him around the waist and Eddie shrieked before Steve pulled him into a tight hug. He leaned over his shoulder, kissing and nipping at his neck while Eddie kicked lamely in a faux attempt to escape. “Thank you for not telling that story in the interview,” Steve breathed, poking and squeezing Eddie’s sides to make him squirm more. “I don’t need the words ‘I’m so much of an ass man, that I had to talk to him’ memorialized in People Magazine forever.” Eddie snickered, wiggling away from Steve’s touch. He craned his neck and Steve settled in order to steal a kiss. “True, though,” Eddie pestered, kissing back as he stopped fighting and Steve let him turn around in his arms so they could kiss properly. “Wanted to see it up close and in person. Not my fault you found me irresistible when we actually met.” It was Steve’s turn to snort as he held Eddie’s cheek and fed into the kiss more, charmed beyond belief by this dork. 

“Yeah, you seduced me by tripping down the stairs to try and say hello before I left the after-party. Biggest game of the preseason and you bullied your way onto the guest list,” Steve replied, starting to sway them a bit as he dropped one hand to Eddie’s lower back and took one of Eddie’s hands in his other. He transitioned them into a bit of a slow dance, even though there was no music playing. “I didn’t bully my way onto the guest list, I just… asked Ang about getting me invited for… reconnaissance,” Eddie teased, putting his free hand on Steve’s shoulder. Eddie wasn’t much of a dancer, but Steve appreciated it when he let these moments linger. Steve liked dancing, even if he knew Eddie was just entertaining him while trying not to step on his toes. “Paid off, didn’t it?” Eddie asked, tucking his face into Steve’s neck as they swayed. “I just… wanted to be around some hot baseball players for a night, didn’t really expect you to…” “Want to see you again?” Steve asked, recalling the memory fondly. 

Eddie hadn’t been on his radar at all before that night, honestly. Maybe he had seen Eddie’s face in magazines or tabloids from time to time, but he knew next to nothing about the metal singer, even though he was already popular in the music world at that time. Steve himself had still been considered a rookie, even if he had recently been put on consistent rotation at short-stop. That had probably been why Eddie had noticed his ass: players in his position tended to crouch a bit more in that position in order to catch grounders. 

Regardless, he had been quietly charmed by Eddie stumbling toward him at that party. He wasn’t even drunk, just clumsy, and Steve hadn’t known who he was at all. He was just some long-haired, tattooed guy with too-tight pants and a shirt cut so deep, Steve hadn’t been able to resist looking. 

All in all, Eddie had been a little rough around the edges, and he had been interesting to talk to—mostly because he didn’t seem to be trying to flirt or charm his way into Steve’s life. If anything, Eddie was more established than him at the time, and that felt less… dangerous somehow. 

Even then, Steve had known he was interested in men, but he’d never pursued a connection. It was scary being queer in the sports scene, and he was happy enough to date women. Eddie though… Eddie had touched him right away. Laughed and shoved his shoulder, his arms… he hadn’t been afraid to be a bit flamboyant, yet he had been completely masculine in a way Steve wasn’t used to. Even after their conversation had ended, Steve couldn’t help but steal glances at him across the room for the rest of the party. He had even ended up staying later than he had planned.

Eddie hadn’t flirted with him, not at that time, but Steve had found himself wishing that he had. They had kissed for the first time a few days after that, once they’d sussed out if it was safe to flirt with one another. Steve could remember never feeling freer than at that moment as he pushed his fingers into Eddie’s curls and Eddie held his face, unceremoniously sticking his tongue down his throat. 

Eddie had gotten what he wanted, and Steve had gotten something he had only ever dreamed about. 

Steve jolted out of his reverie as Eddie unabashedly groped his ass and hummed into his neck.

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbled, grabbing a handful and jiggling Steve’s butt through his pants, obviously thanking his ass. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been blinded by love.” “Charming,” Steve sassed, leaning back a bit to get away from Eddie’s touch. He held on fast though, grumbling as he moved with Steve.

“You were so hoooootttttt, Steve,” Eddie whined, dropping his other hand to Steve’s other cheek. “I have never been more captivated in my life. Like, sure, I was cheering for the other team, but that was only ‘cause when they hit the ball you got real low and like it was a fucking show… man.” “Were?” Steve asked incredulously, finally reaching around to grab Eddie’s wrists.

“Were, are—always will be,” Eddie complained, letting himself be manhandled away. “Does this mean I can grab your ass in public now? Cup a feel whenever I want—” “No,” Steve retorted easily, holding Eddie’s hands up between them. “I’d rather we not jump directly into being horny in public.” “What about your tits?” Eddie asked, making claws with his hands as he reached for Steve’s chest. “Definitely not,” Steve chastised, knowing that they both already had a hard time not touching in public when they were together. He didn’t mind that Eddie found him irresistible, but he also knew they both had to ease the public into seeing them together. The last thing he wanted was a scandal. Eddie groaned openly, letting himself go limp in Steve’s arms. Steve scrambled, catching Eddie by the armpits, and hoisting him up. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” Eddie sighed, flopping his head back as he continued his dramatics. “Okay, Mr. Fantastic, pull yourself together,” Steve teased, pleased to get a snicker of recognition from Eddie at the comment. “Robin is going to be here in thirty minutes, and we should tidy at least a little bit.” “If we tidy fast,” Eddie asked, opening one of his eyes and clapping his hands together as if he was about to pray. “Can we get a quickie in?” Steve rolled his eyes at the comment, still unable to hold back his smile. “Please? Please, please, please—” Eddie begged, still leaning all his weight on Steve. “All this talk of your ass in those pants has got me all worked up. Please—”

“Jesus,” Steve sighed, dipping Eddie a bit more, before pecking him on the lips. “How the hell did I fall in love with a horn dog like you? Well, hurry up, the mess in the kitchen isn’t going to deal with itself.” He teased, but he knew that they were probably both on par when it came to being horny for one another. Eddie blinked at him a moment and then kissed him back hard before scrambling out of his arms. “On it—” he gasped, stumbling to his feet before swiftly exiting the room. Steve sighed and shook his head in Eddie’s direction, his heart full as he watched Eddie disappear into their home. Their home. It would be nice to finally be able to say that. To know, on paper and in person, that they were together for real. Steve walked back to the TV and lingered for a fraction of a moment before picking up the remote and clicking it off. He’d worry about all of this later… they should be celebrating, not stressing about coming out. He was in love, and he was glad that he was finally able to say that to anyone who would listen. 

He was in love. 

[end]

[bettsfic]

18 and 19

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

passage below the cut! this is from Skinless when Layla and Henry meet. by this point we've mostly been in Henry's POV, where his coworker Layla seems like a nice young woman with whom he is foaming-at-the-mouth obsessed. we get to her POV (second person because that's just how she thinks, and also this is a flashback because her pacing and story structure is entirely separate from Henry's because i hate myself i guess) and find out she's been totally deranged for Henry from the beginning. this is the first time we see Henry from outside his POV.

backstory:

the career fair scene went through many iterations but has become an unfortunate foundational turning point of the story, despite the fact that a commercial underwriting department of a bank would never be at a college career fair

i did once research every question of every exam for a class where i thought the professor was being cruel. i also went to the dean about it, and there was an investigation, and every single student in the class went from a C to a B. (that's how bad it was: we all had the same grade, based on basically nothing, which was deeply ironic considering it was a statistics class)

like Layla, i've also had the Kids in the Hall theme song stuck in my head for most of my life

ultimately Skinless is a light-hearted rom com about two walking red flags who are trying to make their relationship work even though one of them is not who he says he is and the other is plotting a murder

the ethics test at the bank was really only 10 questions

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

the first thing i ever wrote was a series of stories in my diary when i was 8 or 9, and they all had the same premise in different settings: a child lives in a community but everyone hates him (they were always boy povs) and eventually the child runs away or is killed by the townspeople and everyone is much happier with him gone. the end.

a wrote a bit more here and there until i was 14 or so, at which point i seemed to forget writing fiction was even a thing. i kept a journal from 14 onward and that was the only creative writing i did besides the occasional poem until i was 24 and started writing fanfic.

i'm now 34 and i have an MFA in creative writing and half a PhD, and i've had some short publications and won some awards and i do artist residencies sometimes and have an agent. i'm hoping to put two manuscripts out on submission later this year or early next.

one of which will be Skinless, an excerpt of which is below the cut.

from Chapter 5:

In your final semester of college, you attend a career fair. As you wander the booths, you begin to consider that there might be industries more suited to people like you. You spot a bank. The man standing at the booth is talking to someone. You notice immediately that his congeniality is feigned, proven when the applicant walks away and his face returns to apathy. 

He is wearing a sharp black suit. Black dress shirt. Black tie. He is in his late twenties, perhaps. He has light brown skin and his hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a way that makes you eager to touch his head, feel it against your palm. He is tall and broad-shouldered, but he holds himself like he isn’t, slightly slouched, the way people stand in public transit to give others more room.

Something about him piques your curiosity, and as you walk toward him the small spark of your initial question mark grows into something that consumes you. You can’t even tell what exactly is drawing you to him. It’s not his beauty—although, aesthetically speaking, he is quite pleasing. It’s not his attire, though it’s strange to see a businessman in all black. It’s not the bored blankness of his face that reflects how you have felt these past four years pretending to be a peppy sorority girl. But it’s something, and suddenly you’re standing in front of him and handing him your resume.

He takes it and scans it. This is a bizarre interaction, this not speaking and not acknowledging each other thing, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Without even looking at you, he says, “Tell me about a time someone blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault, and what you did about it.” 

His voice doesn’t match him at all, this enormous man with this soft yet vaguely robotic voice. When you say nothing, he glances at you expectantly. You feel small and young. He doesn’t even see you. You are just one student among the many he will speak with today. 

“Last semester I had a professor who didn’t like me so he tried to give me a B,” you tell him. “I guess because I kept finding errors in our exams and proving it by cross-referencing the textbook. And it was outdated, so even if the exam matched the book, I’d be able to find newer research that conflicted with it. In a fifty-question exam, he would have to throw out almost half the questions and everyone got a way better grade.”

“You researched every question of every exam?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“He called a girl stupid and made her cry. And anyway, it’s not really ethical to be teaching outdated research.”

“So you—”

“Got him fired.”

“Fired? Really?”

Not exactly. He just didn’t get assigned any sections the following semester. You shrug. “Adjuncts are expendable.”

“And you don’t consider any of that underhanded?”

“I’d rather be underhanded than complaisant.”

Briefly he looks you dead in the eye. It ignites something in you like a match being struck. All the stupid princess movies you hated growing up and which Candy still makes you watch are right: love at first sight is real, and it happened to you, the person least qualified to do anything about it.

When Angie from the bank’s HR department calls you to schedule a formal interview, you begin your preparations. You buy an interview outfit. You ask Candy to teach you how to do your makeup and hair. Then you study. Common interview questions. How to answer them. What the fuck underwriting is. 

You arrive at the bank certain that the beautiful career fair man won’t be there, but he’s the one who greets you in the lobby. He’s once more wearing all black.

“Hi, Layla, good to see you again.” He holds out his hand to you. “Henry King.”

“Henry King,” you say back, awed as you shake his big, beautiful hand and look into his big, beautiful eyes. You’re going to be Layla King one day. You promise yourself you won’t go home and practice your future signature, because that would be ridiculous. 

Now you are in an elevator with Henry King, going all the way up to the thirtieth floor. He opens his mouth to pop his ears at floor sixteen. 

“Mr. King?” You wait for him to say, Call me Henry, but he doesn’t. “Do you have any tips for me?”

“Wouldn’t that give you an unfair advantage?”

“Don’t you want me to have an unfair advantage?”

He looks down and away, scratches his head, and even though he’s not smiling you get the impression he’s pleased. “As long as you don’t admit to being a psychopath, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I would never admit that.”

The elevator doors open and he holds them for you to step out first. “Just be honest,” he says, “and be yourself.”

When you arrive on your first day, Henry King is waiting for you in the lobby again, and he’s still not smiling but there is something in his eyes that tells you he’s glad to see you. He holds out his hand and says, “Congratulations.”

You won’t be shaking Henry King’s hand. You hug him and he goes oof. Tentatively he pats your back. When you pull away, you say, “Thank you for getting me the job. It really means a lot to me.”

He seems to be short-circuiting, like you have suddenly initiated improv in a well-rehearsed play. It’s fine. You have the job now, and after all, he did tell you to be yourself.

During your training, you’re required to read the corporate ethics guide and take a ten-question test. The questions are so obvious that you don’t really have to read the guide. In fact, you only need an eight out of ten to pass—which has frightening implications for the state of ethics here—but you read it like you’re studying for the MCAT. 

The section on dating in the workplace is a single paragraph. Should two employees engage in a romantic relationship, it says, it must be reported to HR. It also says that a manager dating a direct subordinate is grounds for termination.

You hail Henry over to your computer and show him the company policy on dating. Any other person would see how obvious you’re being. Not Henry. Henry says, “The ethics guide is a CYA document.” 

He uses that acronym a lot. It means Cover Your Ass. More specifically, it means to analyze all documentation from the perspective of the documenting party, whose goal is, above all things, to avoid a lawsuit. And in the event of a lawsuit, to avoid losing it.

“Look,” he says, pointing at your monitor, bent over your shoulder as you sit in your desk chair, so close you can smell him. He smells so good it makes you angry. “It says you have to report it. It doesn’t say what happens after you report it. That means the decision moves to the manager of the employees in a relationship. Then HR can wipe their hands clean of it, and the manager can fire both employees, citing that a potential breakup would create a hostile team environment.” He points to the next sentence about managers and subordinates. “It says ‘eligible for termination,’ but it doesn’t say who gets terminated. Again, probably both.”

You look up at him. “So we really can’t date?” 

Given his lack of a reaction, he seems to take your “we” to mean all employees of the company.

“It’s unprofessional.”

 

Every day the stakes grow higher. You study Henry, in part, thinking that if you dig deep enough you will find nothing, you will discover he is like all the rest, boring, bearing the sad burden of existence and merely passing the time until death. Watching television. Picking up a hobby. Sports. Disgusting.

You decide that you must first befriend Henry King. You have learned that people like talking about themselves, and for the most part they love being asked questions, because it is the status quo in the world to be self-interested. For all your faults, at least you are not self-interested. You’re very interested in others, and you’re so glad to be able to see this, in some ways, as a strength. You are at once perfect at everything but also somehow have no admirable qualities. You ask Henry King many questions and he tells you, simply, “I’m not answering that.”

You take a different tactic: you tell him about yourself. You try to be interesting. The cool stuff you learned in the classes you took, the drama of Candy’s vocational school love life. He listens and goes “uh huh.”

Next, you try to make him laugh. You are a funny person simply because, like all things, you’ve trained yourself to be. You have watched many hours of standup comedy and sketch shows. You’ve had the Kids in the Hall theme song stuck in your head for most of your life. 

One day, you’re busy looking at a client file while returning to your desk and run into the cubicle wall. Henry King laughs at you. That’s a start. 

After many months being his personal court jester, you conclude that Henry King exists in the infinitesimal Venn diagram overlap between having a dry sense of humor and being totally unable to understand sarcasm.

You’ve been looking forward to your first annual review, seeing evidence of your excellence. You’ve spent this past year learning quickly, working hard. You work through lunch sometimes. You arrive early and stay late. You take on as many deals as you can, some weeks more than Henry. You make sure everyone on the team gets a card and a cake for their birthday. Finally, you enter Jerry’s office with a notebook and a smile.

Fifteen minutes later, you return to your cubicle with a single sheet of paper marking you adequate. In every category, you “meet expectations.” No raise. No bonus. No promotion. 

Henry has a bad habit of offering hard truths in a way that is not at all gentle. “Look,” he says when you slump down into your desk chair. When he begins a sentence with “look,” you know you’re about to hear something horrible. “You’ll never get an A at work.”

He goes on to tell you the worst of all truths—that banks thrive on inefficiency and hard work is rewarded with only more work. And if you do too much work, employees will start to get fired, because it’s clear the workload isn’t high enough to justify paying so many people. You’ll also set a new standard for yourself, and if you set that standard too high, if you burn out and stop meeting it, you’re the one who’s going to get fired. The only reward you’ll ever receive is the privilege of returning to work the next day. 

To prove it, he pulls a manila folder out of his desk cabinet and hands it to you. You open it. Inside you find eleven identical sheets, each one declaring Henry has met expectations for the year, each signed off by the revolving door of bookrunners.

He’s the hardest worker you’ve ever known. You have a crush on him, sure, but even if you didn’t, you would still admire him. He’s diligent and patient, level-headed. He’s at least as smart as you, if not more. In every way, Henry King has exceeded your expectations. 

After work that day, you cry in your car. You haven’t cried since the time you watched Lacey torture a squirrel, and you witness it with interest and confusion. You’re not crying; crying is happening to you. Henry passes your car on the way to his. He pretends not to notice.

The next day, he asks you to lunch. You tell him no thanks. He does what you do: leans on your desk and stares at you for so long that you can’t ignore him, which is actually super annoying. You can’t believe he tolerates you. And since you’ve never taken no for an answer, neither does he. 

“I’ll pick you up and carry you out of here,” he says, nudging your shoulder. You’re always touching him but this is the first time he has touched you. Your face feels very hot.

You enjoy the thought of him picking you up and carrying you. You like how big and strong he is, even though he doesn’t seem to know that about himself, like a giant dog that thinks it can sleep in your lap without crushing you. 

He might be flirting with you. You’ve never actually been flirted with. You go to the copier to get your printouts. They’re still printing. Suddenly you’re swept up into his arms. You yelp.

“Put me down,” you say.

“Not until you agree to go to lunch with me.”

He holds you like you’re no heavier than a big client file. You know you’ll get in trouble if anyone sees you, but everyone’s at lunch. He takes you to the elevators. 

“Okay, okay,” you say. “We’ll get pizza.”

At lunch, in a roundabout, somewhat evasive way, he tells you what a good job you’ve been doing and that he appreciates your hard work. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, choking up but refusing to cry in front of him. “I really look up to you, so that means a lot.”

A silence follows that would be awkward to anyone else, but you understand that Henry needs these occasional pauses. For him, silence is not something that stretches across time but must be carved into it. He makes spaces for feeling, for thinking, for simply being in the company of someone else. 

These traits make your crush grow to unwieldy proportions, but after a year of trying to get his attention, you’re still just a plucky young apprentice to him. You don’t know anything about him. You’re close to giving up and you’re shocked by how badly that hurts. A boy you like doesn't like you. Your broken-heartedness is so clichéd, so conventional, so boring, and yet it’s the worst thing you’ve ever felt. 

One day, you tell Henry a story about a high school friend, nameless, and he says, “Wait, is this Michelle or someone else?” 

You stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. He listens. He’s been listening.

“Yes,” you say, “it’s Michelle.”

Another time, waiting for a table at lunch, you accidentally stand in the path of someone making their way to the host station. Henry puts a hand on your lower back and guides you closer to him, out of the way. 

Every once in a while, he plucks stray hairs that cling to your wool coat.

A new thing begins to grow, so nebulous and strange you don’t at first allow yourself to acknowledge it. Over time, it becomes too big to ignore, and finally you look right at it: 

You love Henry King. 

You no longer just want his attention, you want him to touch you, curl up on the couch with you and watch TV each night, have children with you, grow old and die with you. It’s disorienting to know something in your head immediately but not actually feel it until a year later. You wonder what other things you have only thought but not felt. You wonder how long you have confused thinking for feeling.

[fruitybashir]

I KNEW IT

well. he was missing the rain and the musical number but other than that? only took him 13 chapters and 4½ months to live out that fantasy lmao

[good-beanswrites]

🎬: About Es being a past prisoner and the secret 11th prisoner in your AU. But advance apologies if I'm overstepping into your AU!

I had this idea from a story that pretty much did the same thing. Going off there are novels/manga on Milgram and there being another Es and their own prisoners running another Milgram (but differently) I imagine this Milgram projects has been going on for a while, and our Es was from a previous project who might have gotten the worst verdict (or the most spared out of everyone), and was given this final task as a warden for the next group of prisoners. This is why they so readily agreed and had their memories wiped for this Milgram project instead of being weary on a shady project on judging an almost crime, they've already been through this.

(BTW is it bad and worrying for one of our ten fav prisoners to be the next Es if this is legit...)

Anyway, that's why Es is in Milgram in your AU, I guess? And the lore drop that Kotoko picks up on them being the 11th prisoner, I can imagine her also talking to Kazui since he's a policeman to see if she could cross out any theories on who Es is (Did they look familiar. Possible missing child. Any cases to do with an almost crime by a child other than the 10 of them here). Kazui knows Kotoko wants to investigate, but reminds her that, like in their prison while the trial is on, the facilities they're in have high security too. They do have the freedom to move about, but still limited.

If they're trying to investigate Es, maybe Fuuta, Kotoko and Mikoto can try to do the hacking on the comp Mikoto's allowed to use to Photoshop some shots for the MVs and photos (Fuuta and Kotoko seem to be able to search up info they need I think...). Yuno, Mahiru and Muu can work on charming the staff to see if they can spill more deets on Milgram. Not sure how much the group can gather, but oh boy fun times in Milgram can turn into another sort of stress in this AU...

No worries!! Like I said before, this whole au has been a fun collaborative project, so there's no overstepping :) I am sorry I won't be writing a lot on the ending until we get more info, but that's just the perfectionist in me who doesn't want to be proven wrong 😅 Still, I love tossing around and digging into ending scenarios, I really love this!

Because that would make a lot of sense why they're so willing to subject themself to the whole experiment! They remember how tough their experience was, and are confident they can care for the new set of prisoners while doing their job. I'm imagining they get the opportunity to return as guard, and get to have a nice talk with their own guard first. Once they fully understand what it's like, they're know they can handle it and sign up. It adds a bit of drama, too, since they must have been really young committing their crime in order to complete a years-long experiment prior to this one. They would have been like 10? Oof. (Now I wanna see their three trial songs 👀)

And like you said, that also brings up the question of the new warden. Though I think it's based on verdict results, I can just picture Jackalope keeping an eye on everyone during filming. He studyies their interactions and personalities, keeping his own set of notes on who would make a good successor. (I'm not going to go through every character but there are pros to any choice, it's very fun picturing them all taking the job.) Haha, on the other hand, maybe the reason Kotoko keeps bringing up her role as Es' partner/bringer of justice is because she did discover the truth. She drops as many hints as possible so she can be chosen next 😅

Ooh, I love her working with Kazui on an investigation! The fact that eh may know details on recent crimes (and almost-crimes) is super fun to work with. He's the last person who's going to spill a secret, so the group could go several trials without realizing Kazui had actually heard all about their situation this whole time.

(Getting sidetrack for a sec, I'm suddenly realizing that he and Kotoko may have heard things about the crimes in canon, too. They're a bit unclear about how much time passed between the murders and arriving to Milgram, so maybe he heard some things. I don't know how well-connected Tokyo police departments are, but Yuno, Fuuta, Muu, and Shidou are all nearby. There's definitely a chance he caught word of the vigilante nearby, and she heard about the odd policeman's suicide. Both of them could have heard about the tragic housefire, the disgraced doctor, or horrible schoolgirl murder nearby.)

Anyway, I like that idea of Kazui wracking his brain for any similar cases. Though, if he had, Milgram may have had the foresight to wipe parts of his memory, too. Maybe he does end up using his call to reach out to Hinako and have her look into it from the outside. Sadly, Kotoko seems the type to sacrifice her personal call to reach out to a connection who can help as well. I'll have to think about how closely Jackalope monitors those calls, hm.

I'm going crazy over prisoner investigation team !! Kotoko and Fuuta had the online knowledge to find some good info, and Mikoto and Kazui seem like they'd have a huge network of people they can ask for info and favors from. Haha, I'm torn whether Mahiru would have flirting down to a science or if she'd refuse to do it since it wasn't real love 😂 Still, she's very good at reading people and could definitely help the others charm and bribe their way into some restricted areas. Amane and Haruka can also charm with their innocence/cuteness (though I'm not sure Amane would). Shidou seems very organized, he'd have a plan and backup plan and backup-backup plan ready, no matter what happens. I think it's even funnier, then if Milgram had run several experiments prior. Jackalope would think this was just another runthrough, and for the first time the ten subjects decided to organize together and Cause Problems.

I think there's a beautiful irony in a story featuring ten prisoners planning a jailbreak to save the prison guard...

[ghost-proofbaby]

i’ve said it once, i’ve said it twice, i’ll say it a million times — writing willow and eddie will always feel like coming home to me. i know eddie x oc isn’t popular but- god, these idiots are so near and dear to my heart.

[triopsarecute]

Come to think of it ORV had a better impact on my mental health than my therapist.

[kariachi]

Sometimes one remembers that the most common ancestral race of hobbits is described by Tolkien as "browner of skin" then the less common two (who might have been mostly outbred over the many years? on the topic of the "fairer of skin and also of hair" set Concerning Hobbits describes that "the strong Fallohidish strain could still be noted among the greater families, such as the Took and the Masters of Buckland", which to me implies that while there's still clear ancestry there they probably still have heavy Harfoot or even Stoor influence going on- otherwise why describe it as a 'strong strain' rather than just say they're still primarily Fallohidish families? especially when you consider that the section in question is discussing that they were particularly bold and adventurous for hobbits and so given what the Tooks and Brandybucks are like it may be more often a matter of inclination rather than visuals- not to doubt that the visuals show up, but probably not as often as inclination, especially if you allow for the secrecy-focused courting habits mentioned in the first draft of the first chapter of LotR (as published in The Return of the Shadow: The History of Lord of the Rings Part 1, by Christopher Tolkien, pg 17, yes I did go hunting), which would make marriages between differing groups so much more accessible (and may actually be why that's a thing)), that their curly hair is consistently pointed out, and that our initial description of hobbits given in The Hobbit specifically mentions "nimble brown fingers".

And then one gets aggravated all over again at how long it took for non-white hobbits to show up in adaptations and the sheer number of people over the years who have tried to make out like non-white hobbits would be such a horrible canon-breaking thing.

[halfelven]

love random not even logged in readers just dropping their 'constructive criticism' on your 100k+ story that you're putting online entirely for free. this is just a rant btw

"You obviously have a great talent and I think you should work on honing it some. As much as I’ve enjoyed the story, there are a few things that stand out that you might consider looking at. I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven? It doesn’t flow smoothly because sometimes we have these wonderful character vignettes, like Illumi and Kalluto on a road trip or Kite/Leorio/Gon/Killua in an apartment where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats, like Kalluto and the spiders. In addition, it contributes to confusion because sometimes we see established characterization turned on its head. Especially the weird way everyone all of a sudden just sort of was OK with Kalluto being a spider and then working with Illumi when they just went to all that trouble to escape him? It all kind of feels forced and not natural. You know?

Anyway, I’ll definitely keep reading and look forward to seeing what happens."

first: love you trying to sound legitimate with your "in addition" like this is some kind of writer's workshop. second: in what way would I, the writer, think that an incomplete part of my story in which the reader does not yet know most of the main motivations (they are only hinted at so far) feels forced and not natural when I know what's happening, where it is going (and where I haven't had other readers comment with confusion about that part)

and moving on. don't do this. also like i said this is a wip in and no, no one is cool with Kalluto being a spider and no they're not cool working with Illumi, really. it was already established that some of them /have/ been working with Illumi before this~ he's someone that they know. like have you never been in a seriously dangerous situation that you just have to get through before you get back to what you want?*** also at this point Chrollo's real motive hasn't been entirely revealed.

Killua keeps changing his mind about what he's doing because he's a scared kid whose self-hatred is destroying him from the inside out. the POV is so tight that I have to keep dropping reminders that what is stated in the narrative is often not true! Illumi's POV, for example, keeps showing Killua as really loving him and being happy he's around but struggling with a desire for freedom, while with Killua's POV he's terrified of Illumi most of the time. like how is that not obviously a distorted POV where you can't trust the narrator?

"where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats"

this part is especially irritating because it's like yeah that's how I want to write it? this isn't a published novel. I don't have to commit to making sure every scene is important to the plot. I can spend time writing a full scene about someone drinking a glass of water and then 13 chapters in a row that are for moving the plot forward. I didn't even tag it as a novel... I did tag it for unreliable narration and I keep getting annoyed that people keep ignoring that.

"I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven?"

it's both??? it's neither??? it's a fanfic??? why do I keep getting comments lately where people are expecting me to adhere to like fucking publishing standards. this keeps up and I will write a chapter which is entirely about a minor character drinking a glass of water. watch me. I'll write one about phinks drinking a glass of water and you'll like it*

"Overall, the story is good and presented a compelling alternative to CA. Look, each fan has their own opinion on CA and I know I didn’t like it. I think it was a product of what Togashi was going through as he began to experience health issues and then finding himself right back where he said he wasn’t going to be mentally after he ended his earlier manga. We can never know for sure, but it certainly had a “watch it all burn vibe” to it near the end. I honestly believe he wanted it to end with the finality of Gon’s suicide as a capstone statement, but was probably convinced to go a different route, which kinda of left a jarring feel in the narrative and culminated in a rather unsatisfying end to Gon and Killua’s journey. Despite that, I am very reluctant to read fics where the events of CA are erased or grossly modified and honestly yours is really the first long AU/alternate timeline I’ve enjoyed"

okay first of all, I love the CA arc. but I had to split a point off where Kite was going to survive. why do you have to leave this whole paragraph about how you think Togashi was or wasn't going to go with the CA on my fanfic? I didn't even write this as 'oh look at my alternative to CA bc I hated CA' I don't really look forward to hearing comments about how random people didn't like so and so aspect of the story that I'm basing my story off of. I've never written fanfic for a story that I didn't like (except for some things that I don't have published I wrote at a request for friends for a fandom they were into that I wasn't really) and yeah I've wanted to 'fix' aspects (like tolkien's treatment of women for example) but I am not looking for your 'this is what I hated about the source material' comments on my stories

tired of getting comments with little 'oh I didn't like your style at first but now I do' or 'here's how to fix your story!' unsolicited advice from people who aren't better writers than me (I don't even want it from people who would be better writers than me on stuff I'm just doing for fun and for free)

when did stuff like this become normal? at least don't be a coward and be not logged in so you can't even get a response notification. like girl they aren't cool with it! why do you think everyone is on guard standing around like they're in a fucking hostage situation? how do you see such wildly different interpretations from different character's POVs and think it's not intentional? what part about Kite watching Killua like a fucking hawk makes you think he's going to let Illumi take him after this?

like if you've never had to smile and pretend to be cool with your abuser (pretend to love them) or someone who was threatening you to keep someone else safe then good for you! it fucking sucks! also don't know how to explain to you what a child who is growing up in an extremely isolated abusive situation goes through (though I keep writing about it in this story you should catch on...) but it's a million back and forths with emotion and feelings--especially if their abuser does (to in some way or to some degree) love them. and it is often blaming themselves. I'm not letting my years of studying human psychology and child development go to waste here**

is this story perfect? no but I'm not gonna hire an editor for a fanfic. and everyone's interpretations of characters will be different. especially with child characters who are going through huge changes in the world around them and their personal lives. part of the appeal of fanfiction is 'who would they become if this happened instead?' *sorry I keep writing about starving and not having clean drinking water but I will never stop because that's what I grew up with and it's hell. also phinks drinking water would be compelling since I assume he'd have harder access to clean drinking water

**hunter x hunter is also one of the only stories I have encountered with characters who have backgrounds as fucked up as mine and Togashi's interest in human psychology really stands out.

***like good for you but that was most of my life and you sometimes just have to shut up and get through it. and no I will not put my notes in the right order bc I'm not being paid enough****

****I'm being paid nothing