#I hate that I’m even doing this like get out of my fucking brain no like I hate it so much I can’t even express

[cherrycolored-punk]

take care - best friend! e.m. x fem!reader

Softember 🍂 prompt: “When have I ever listened to you?”

author’s note: a companion piece, a prelude if you will, to Still Frames. I’m starting to feel like I’m overcoming the hurdle in my brain and can start on my bigger projects again. For now, take some comfort in Eddie taking care of us 🧡 written with @joejoequinnquinn in my mind, hope you feel better xx

warnings: none, but you already know what I’m going to say. This is an 18+ blog, minors go away!

w/c: 2k

It started with a sore throat, an ache that you hoped was allergies but as the day progressed and your symptoms worsened you knew: it was the flu.

If there’s anything you hate more, it’s being sick but especially now that you live alone. Nothing worse than coughing up a lung, dizzy from the severe congestion throwing off your equilibrium, and trying to make soup.

A stupid can of soup that isn’t even your favorite.

Now, you sit up in bed with scattered tissues surrounding you like a makeshift moat and text your best friend. Bugging him while he was at work.

You: I’m dyinggg

You stare at the screen, willing an instant response but knowing he’s probably elbow deep in some car’s hood. The shop busier at this time of year.

Half-lidded eyes focus on the television screen as you burrow deeper into the comforter and clutch the phone to your chest, another episode of your favorite trash tv playing. You’re fighting sleep, stubborn as always, when the sudden buzz of your phone startles you.

Eddie: what’s new?

Jerk, you scoff. A tiny smile playing on your lips despite your best efforts.

You: you’d really make fun of me while I’m on my death bed?

And despite the distance, you can hear the way he grumbles when he reads your message.

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: what do you need?

Your fingers swipe over the keys quickly, a devious smile pulling across your face despite how you feel.

You: hit me with your van, stab me in the face…please end my suffering.

He texts you at the same time, knowing your history of dramatics.

Eddie: from the STORE

You: oh :(

You pout, even though he can’t see it.

You: nothing, I don’t want to get you sick.

The three little dots appear on the screen, and you wait for his response until they disappear altogether. Probably had to get back to work, you figure and toss your phone back onto the comforter. Re-burying yourself deep beneath the covers to rest.

—

A sharp knock on the front door wakes you, groggy and unsure of what day it is. For a moment, you don’t move. Confused as to who the fuck is at your door and lacking the energy to care. You just want to sleep.

The knocking continues, and you groan as you push out of bed. Dragging your feet to the front door. Hair in disarray, black Twilight shirt tucked into your oversized sweats and a cardigan hugging your frame. Looking as good as you feel.

Eddie smiles at you as you pull open the heavy wooden frame. The cold breeze greeting you and making you shiver despite the layers of clothes you wear.

“What are you doing here?” The words come out like a squeak, muffled by your congestion.

“I come bearing goods,” he holds up the bags before pushing past you and into your apartment. You’re a little gobsmacked, thoughts trying to catch up with what he said and you turn to follow him. Doing your best not to think about your appearance or how awful you probably look given your current state.

“I thought I told you not to come over,” you pout, pressing your elbows onto the counter top and watching his back.

He’s still dressed in his oil-stained navy coveralls, hair pulled back in a bun, and faintly smells like car grease. From what you can smell anyways.

Eddie looks over at you, concerned eyes dancing over your face, and a smirk pushing the dimple into his cheek.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You roll your eyes and shrug, because it’s true. He hardly ever did. Not now or the time he got that moth-man tattoo from a questionable shop or when he drank an awful concoction of alcohol right before a gig. He lived to do exactly the opposite of what you said…what anyone said.

He unpacks the grocery bags, a treasure trove of goods that he names as he sets them onto the counter and you watch from your spot on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“I got you theraflu tea, and I don’t want to hear you complain about the taste. You just need to drink it,” he scolds before you can even complain.

Your jaw snaps shut and swallow down your sarcastic rebuttal.

“Also got your favorite soup, four cans,” he holds his fingers up, “orange juice, Vicks, popsicles in case your throat hurts, those saltines you like, and,” he turns back to the other counter, reaching for something on its surface before looking back at you, “I brought Scream for us to watch since I know it’s your favorite.”

Something like affection stirs in your stomach but it bares a different face than the love you usually feel for him. It’s bigger and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

It’s the way he’s smiling, the familiar excited gleam in his eye as he looks at you. It’s the fact that he’s shown up after a twelve-hour shift with all your favorite sick foods in tow.

And he doesn’t seem to notice the way you gawk at him now, eyes round like saucers and unsure what to do when your heart is hammering in your chest. An unfamiliar thud that seems to beat in pace with every syllable of his name.

Your eyes trace over his face like you’re seeing him for the first time. The sharp edge of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the freckles that dot the slope of his nose, and when did Eddie become so beautiful?

It’s because you’re sick, you tell yourself. A virus is wreaking havoc on your immune system and there’s definitely less oxygen getting to your brain so it’s obviously affecting your thinking. There’s no way you like him as more than just a friend.

Right?

He rounds the corner and places firm hands on your shoulders, “Go sit down, get comfortable, and I’ll make you some soup.” He points his chin in the direction of your living room.

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs, waiting for you to argue but you’re stuck on the crush budding in your gut and all you can do is nod.

“She doesn’t want to argue?” He laughs, watching as you plop onto the couch and you know this is where you’re supposed to say something. Anything that resembles your usual banter.

“Brain is barely functioning,” you point to your head and he nods.

“I’ll try to get you doctored up,” and he’s already making quick work of the soup. Moving around your kitchen for everything he needs like he’s done numerous times before. You watch him from your place on the couch, cheeks heating the longer you do. Seconds dragging like minutes and finally you turn away. Doing your best to kill the crush but it’s already begun to sprout and grow.

In need of a distraction, you will yourself off the couch and pop in the dvd. Amused, as always, by the cheesy narration of nineties movie trailers. This is how Eddie finds you, sitting too close to the screen and not on the couch where he’d told you to get comfortable.

“What did I tell you?” He questions with a tut of his tongue as he slides the bowl of soup onto the coffee table alongside the sleeve of saltines he’d grabbed and the steaming cup of theraflu tea he made.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You mock his earlier sentiment and he rolls his eyes, pulling down his coveralls so he doesn’t get oil on your couch.

“Guess you’re not that sick,” he jokes, oblivious to the heat in your cheeks or how the sarcasm lodges in your throat.

Beneath the navy material, he wears a white muscle shirt that stretches across the muscle of his chest. Showcasing the expanse of his alabaster skin lined with tattoos. Flesh you’ve seen before but somehow has a new effect on you.

You avert your eyes to the bowl of steaming soup and crawl towards it, stomach grumbling for the first time all day.

“Thank you, Edward,” you give him a tight grin despite how grateful you actually are, finding that being a brat is the easiest way to hide how you feel.

He gives you a crooked grin, shaking his brown curls free as he gets more comfortable.

“Whatever, Princess,” his voice just as sardonic, taking pleasure in knowing how much you hate when he calls you that.

The two of you fall into silence, focusing attention back onto the small screen. Casey Becker runs from Ghostface, her screams of terror filling your living room. The flashes from the television bouncing off the white walls in the dimly lit space.

The apartment feels cozy, a small vanilla candle lit and your LED lights set to low. A faux-warmth that helps you relax, takes your mind off your cute best friend sitting only a few feet away. Not noticing the way he eyes you curiously as you continue to sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table and sip down soup when there’s an entire couch for you to get comfortable on.

“Why are you sitting on the floor? Do I have cooties all of a sudden?” He questions abruptly and flings the hair tie that was securing his curls in your direction but you lean out of the way just in time, blowing on your soup before slurping it loudly.

“No, but I do. I don’t want to get you sick.”

I don’t want to sit next to you while I’m questioning how I feel for you, you scream internally.

He waves you off with a shake of his head and pats the spot next to him.

“If I get sick, I get sick. Means an extra long weekend,” he grins, beckoning you to the sofa with a wave of his hand that you oblige.

You leave a few inches between, enough room for the Holy Spirit and the big feelings suddenly emerging. The distance not going unnoticed.

“Seriously, you’re being weird,” he laughs, “since when are you not all in my space even when you’re sick,” he pokes you and you feign a laugh. Pushing another spoonful of soup into your mouth, teeth scrapping against the metal of the spoon.

He’s right, you’re intentionally annoying a majority of the time just to get a rise out of him. Invading his space whenever you get a chance and anything but that seems…off.

You scoot closer, stopping when your thigh rubs against his.

“Cracker?” You offer, holding the sleeve of them out to him. He gives you a curious quirk of his brow but doesn’t say anything, chopping your antics up to how bad you must feel.

“Thanks,” he grabs one and chews it loudly as he places his other arm over the back of the couch. The warmth of it felt just above your shoulders. Keeping you distracted as you try to watch the movie.

The soup warms you as you gulp the rest of it down and munch on some crackers, taking a few begrudging sips of the medicinal tea. A satisfied grin pulling at your lips when you realize you can’t exactly taste it, the congestion coming in handy to block its acrid flavor.

You shuffle around, picking up the remnants of your mess but when Eddie notices the empty bowl, he stands to clear the dish despite your protests.

“I can wash a bowl,” he waves your hands away and takes quick strides to the kitchen, “just relax and watch the movie.”

“News to me,” you tease, pulling the heavy blanket next to you over your lap and getting comfortable just like he’d instructed. Watching as the movie unfolds and Sidney first learns about the killer who may have ties to her mom’s death, all the while he cleans up the mess he’d made while making your food.

Your eyelids feel heavier as the minutes pass, and you’re doing everything in your power to fight it. To be a good host and enjoy his company for a moment longer.

Eddie returns, sliding into the same spot on the couch and grinning to himself when he notices you fighting sleep. Stomach full of soup and theraflu he’d made you consume.

You’re too tired to protest when he pulls you into his arms, rubbing a comforting hand along your back and smoothing out your hair. Even if you could, you wouldn’t fight it. Finding solace on his firm chest, arm wrapped around his torso and doing your best to fight off the sleep. Eyes glazed over as you focus on the screen, Sidney Prescott being chased out of the bathroom and into the arms of her suspect boyfriend. Not exactly paying attention to the film when Eddie’s hand rubs back and forth, all too comforting and a little hypnotizing.

He’s not watching either, enjoying the way your head falls forward as your eyes begin to close only for you to jolt awake. Swearing you’re not tired. Just as stubborn, just as cute, as you always were.

When you finally stop fighting it, he holds you close. Kissing the top of your head and tucking you in, falling asleep despite the ache in his back and the tension in his shoulders from a long day. He wouldn’t have wanted it to end any other way.

—

thank you for reading! xx el

[hannieoftheyear]

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post!

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.  

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before… 

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

[alagaisia]

Hey if you’re still enjoying and engaging with Harry Potter in any capacity you can unfollow me 😊 please and thank you

Like. I get it. I was super into it as a kid too. I did not have the social context to pick up on the antisemitism or transphobia or sexism or fatphobia or bioessentialism or racism or anything else. I also picked up on surface-level language of Fighting Back Against Evil and ascribed my own values onto what that meant and thought we were all on the same page. I remember when the original kids who grew up with the books started becoming adult fans and picking up on the (blatant!) antisemitism and everybody was still mostly willing to give JKR the benefit of the doubt on it. (“She was writing kids books!” They said. “She didn’t know she was penning a global phenomenon! She picked a common literary trend in European fairy tales (antisemitic caricature) and didn’t examine it closely. It’s a mistake anyone could make,” we said. “She would probably do things differently now. After all, she word-of-god confirmed the vaguest hints she dropped that Dumbledore might be gay,” we said.) There was actually a span of several years where biases inherent in the actual real content of the Harry Potter series were coming to light and even the people pointing them out still seemed mostly to think it was an unfortunate accident.

That time has passed. Years ago! We are long past the first months of “maybe she doesn’t realize this seemingly-feminist tweet she liked was made by a noted TERF” and then “how could she not realize that these many veiled TERF-y things she’s retweeted have implications for the many queer fans of her work” and finally “oh wow okay JKR just dropped an entire transphobic manifesto on twitter. I guess the transphobia was the point.”

Yeah, there were a few months after that where people were still processing and still working through how they felt about Harry Potter and all of its flaws with the context of the now open transphobia of the creator. I was there for that. Remember how I was one of the kids who built it up into something noble and worthwhile based on my own beliefs about what messages it was probably trying to convey? Turns out it wasn’t trying to say any of those things, and when you take the time to examine all of the terrible shit that made its way into the text whether JKR intended it to be there or not, the whole series falls apart. It’s weird to discover that there’s a room in your house that’s rotten to the core, but eventually you figure out you can’t live like that, still going in there and holding your nose and pretending it’s still the same room you thought it was when the termites were only inside of the walls and hadn’t yet started chewing their way through the furniture. Because what’s going to happen is that they are going to infest the rest of your house. If you decide you can ignore transphobia and antisemitism and everything else just because you liked the color of the wallpaper, the rest of your principles are going to crumble too. You get rid of that fucking room. You put those books on a high shelf in the back of your closet behind other outgrown clothes and interests and you move the fuck on.

JKR uses the money made from her transphobic antisemitic children’s books to actively funding hate groups and to lobby for legislation that will and has actually affected the actual lives of trans people in an entire country. We are past the point of grieving something you were wrong about in childhood. Kids are wrong about a lot of stuff. You grow up and you learn new information and you change your behaviors based on it. You have to choose. It is transphobic to pretend there is not transphobia where there is. It is transphobic to support the work of someone who is using those funds to take rights from trans people with every fucking dollar. It is hateful to continue to engage positively with a story that at its very core is rooted in hate and bigotry and prejudice. You can choose to do all of those things but you cannot claim ignorance of them and you cannot choose those things and still pretend that choosing them upholds the values we convinced ourselves that Harry Potter stood for over a decade ago as uninformed children. You cannot choose to do those things and pretend to still support your trans and queer and Jewish neighbors. I do not want you in my neighborhood. Leave.

[genderfluid-druid]

“what happened to him?” “he read a book so bad he returned it to the library a third of the way through, but now his brain won’t stop chewing on the potential it had 😔”

[konshokoentaiko]

i always thought i was a very typical enemies to lovers girlie but i think i just realized my actual taste in ships is the dynamic where the two are supposedly equal rivals/enemies who represent diametrically opposed themes (for the Aesthetic), but in actuality it’s just one of them yanking the other around on a chain while the other whines and rages and protests and ultimately makes an absolute spectacle of themselves

so uhhh. how did THAT happen and when and why

[peapod20001]

Did sleeping help

No </3

[teethgnashing]

i need to stop talking abt body image issues with people who don’t have a double chin

[bo0zey]

when gerard way said “when i grow up i want to be nothing at all” i felt those words in my gdamn soul bro

[badolmen]

So funny how trauma will just kick you in the fucking teeth with the most random triggers.

[no1ryomafan]

SRW is such a funny thing for me to think about cause it’s like “wow a trpg game that’s been ongoing for decades that really encapsulates how huge and significant mecha is to japan by having every and all mecha been featured in this giant crossover that also has really cool attack animations that replicate the shows they’re from well, with new original content for some shows sprinkled in as well” at first glance then I proceed to be salty by going “oh wait the main show I like in here is only ever used for one iteration which they end up butchering and all the other mechas I’ve liked have shown up maybe once because I’ve liked the ones that had to flop in Japan- also this game caused tags to be unnecessarily filled with crossovers and people acting like they know a series just because it was in SRW thanks I hate it” and this cycle is only a constant because I haven’t actually played a SRW besides 30s demo for a bit 💀

[milo-is-rambling]

I am so high I love you dabs I love you big bong rips I love you huge heavy bong I love you only having 20 dollars to my name and no plans but getting high and ignoring it I love you oh no I’m thinking about it

[hellfireeddiemunson]

sick of making plans with a specific friend only for her to not reach out abt actually hanging out until the afternoon after i’ve waited all day to hear back from her or for her to just cancel last minute entirely after i’ve again waited all day to hear back from her

[seilon]

man im really fucking bad at hanging out with people no wonder i have like two friends

[jocelynships]

Me: I have motivation to draw!

My hand: Yeah we’re not going to cooperate with you

Me: :/

[buck-yyyy]

i feel Very Weird

[lilyaceofdiamonds]

I really hate how much my brain hates to do new things sometimes