#a hate crime from Spotify is what it is

[freakylilnutjob]

mixed feelings about all of this

[innocent-artery]

You Snooze You Lose

3.9k words

Summary: you're just about to give up on the dating scene altogether, so who better than your neighbor friend to show you how good dates usually end? can you tell this is my favorite trope

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader (can be interpreted as older!Eddie)

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!

~

Your head fell back against the car, inhaling deeply and heaving a long sigh that devolved into something of a groan. Your social battery was impossibly drained.

You had just come from another pitiful excuse of a date, someone from work that a mutual friend had set you up with. It wasn't a total disaster, but it didn't leave you with butterflies either. But you were home now, so you could forget about the experience for the timebeing.

A voice calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. It was one you recognized immediately as your next door neighbor, Eddie. When your eyes located him you saw him sauntering out of his open garage towards your driveway, beer in one hand and jean pocket over the other. His chunky boots set in stone his walk, so casual and powerful, and oh god he's right in front of you now.

"You must be doing some serious thinking out here," Eddie chuckled, leaning on your car opposite you. "Either that or there's more to that tree than meets the eye because you've been staring at it for the last five minutes."

You chuckled back at him. "You've been watching me?"

"With a face like that, it'd be a crime not to."

There it was again. That little game you and Eddie played. Even from your first day in the neighborhood Eddie welcomed you with his abrasive charm and an open invitation to his services on a car. Which he seemed to exercise often- his garage door was often open during the afternoons, blasting music as he sat under his car doing god knows what. He never failed to wave and wink at you as you pulled into the driveway every day as you came home from work.

As you became more accustomed to him, your friendship evolved into frequent Friday night hangouts, sitting on the ground in the living room with a six pack talking about anything and everything.

You hated to admit it, but it didn't take long for your cheeks and ears to start to get embarrassingly red in front of Eddie, especially when your conversation topics became more, well, intimate. Whether or not he'd picked up on it, you didn't know- nothing had ever come of your little crush; you'd been content to leave that between you and your vibrator.

"Kid? Y'alright?"

There you go again. You shook your head, blinking a few times before shooting him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, sorry."

"You seem a bit on edge. Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug. "It's nothing, really. Just got home from a date."

"Assuming it didn't go well?"

"It wasn't bad, it just- I don't know, it felt forced."

Eddie hummed, nodding lightly. "I hear ya. Tell y'what, take ten to get settled and let me clean up, then come over, we'll break out a couple of bottles and you can tell me all about it, yeah?"

"Sounds great," you agreed, and Eddie gave you a playful salute before sauntering back to his own driveway- which you may or may not have watched for a little too long.

Once you'd changed into more casual attire, you took the short walk down the street to Eddie's house. By this time, the sun was half set, and his garage had been shut, the only evidence that someone was home being the lights on in the kitchen.

"There you are. Was starting to worry," Eddie grinned at you as soon as the door swung open. You noted a flash of silver behind his teeth as his tongue swiped against his side teeth, and the tickling in your lower gut a moment later.

"Aw, you worry about me?"

“All the time, sweetheart,” the man flashed a grin, stepping aside to welcome you inside. "So, what's gotcha down?"

You heaved a groan, plopping onto his couch. "It's such a long story, I'm not even sure I have it in me to tell the whole thing. But he treated me like one of the guys. I mean, I want us to be friends too, but..." you clicked your tongue and sighed, words escaping you.

Meanwhile Eddie just watched you, arm slung over the back cushion across from you on the other side of the L of the couch. His beer bottle rested on his knee, balanced by his hand. "You wanted to be romanced."

"Yeah, I guess so. He didn't even make sure I got to my car safely."

Eddie's eyed widened, head cocking in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" When you shook your head no, he flung his hands in the air. "That's not even romantic! I do that for my friend's kids I drive around because I don't want them getting kidnapped!"

"I know, I know. That's not even the worst part."

Eddie scoffed. "What could possibly be worse?"

"Let's just say I know more about his bowel happenings than I would like to."

Eddie wrinkled his nose, sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, y'know princess, I get the feeling he's not your soulmate." He set his bottle down with a clink on the wood, running his hands up his thighs. "Man, even I could do better."

Something in your stomach turned over at the thought. Eddie seemed to notice your change in demeanor, however slight, and set his bottle down.

"Could you?"

Although it was after a few long, heavy seconds, the words escaped you faster than your brain could process them. Eddie's eyebrows twitched in something mixing amusement and bewilderment.

"I could," he mused. You swore that when he shifted his legs opened a little bit wider. "'Least your night wouldn't end complaining to a friend over a beer."

"Oh yeah? How would my night have ended?"

Eddie cocked a brow, lips curling.

You tilted your head to the side, eyeing him. Another long, heavy moment settled between you two, where you sat staring at one another.

Then your mouth moved of its own accord.

"Show me."

Slowly, so slowly, Eddie stood. sauntered over to where you sat. He watched you like a hawk, mischievous eyes captivating yours. A single, calloused hand reached out to your jaw, tilting it up a bit so that you were facing him. Eddie's mouth quirked up at the new sight.

"Y'want me to show you how your night should've ended, princess?" He crooned. You nodded dumbly, earning another chuckle. "Show you how you deserve to be treated, hm?"

Before you could give a response, Eddie's mouth was on yours, slow and deliberate and relaxed, seeming to simultaneously pull tension from your bones and set your skin on fire. Your fingers reached for his jacket, tugging him closer. Eddie gripped the couch back behind you to hold his weight, other hand coming to cup the back of your neck, slinking into your hair. His thumb rested on your pulse, smirking a little when he felt it racing.

"Pretty thing," he murmured in between hot kisses, "are you sure about this?"

"So sure, Eddie, please," you breathed, tugging his jacket off; the leather was cool to the touch, nice on your searing fingertips.

You could feel his mouth quirk up at your desperation. The hand that held the couch came down to your legs, lighting fire in their wake and finding the crook under your knee, tugging outwards. Heat brewed in your core at the implication- fueled even more so when Eddie pulled back with a grunt to tug his jacket away. Your eyes seemed to be locked in on his, somehow darker and lit with something primal. His kiss-bitten lips hung open in a lazy grin.

"C'mere, pretty." Eddie's hands grip your thighs with a searing mix of worship and need, pulling them apart and tugging you towards the end of the couch by the crooks under your knees. You let out a squeak, breaking quickly into a stifled hum of pleasure as his mouth found and made quick work of your neck, kissing and nipping and licking with that damn ball of metal down the front of your throat, hands splaying over your thighs appreciatively all the while.

"Eddie," your voice had risen into a near whine, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All thoughts were clouded with his storm- his breath fanning your jaw, warmth radiating onto your body, almost chest to chest, hands teasing dangerously high.

"Hm?"

"Please, please Eddie..." you weren't sure what you were asking for, really, you just knew you wanted more of him. However he would give himself to you you would gladly take.

"Please what? Y'know I'm all yours, honey, I'll give you everything you want and then some but I can't help you if I don't know what that is."

"More," you huffed, reaching for his wrists.

"More?" Eddie teased; the condescending lilt in his tone was overwhelmingly obvious, but in your frenzied state you only nodded limply. Your hand tugged at his, and he followed your lead as you dragged his hand towards your neck, pressing at the back of his hand to indicate what you wanted him to do.

"Oh? Princess likes choking, huh?" The excitement in Eddie's voice was hardly containable, but he managed to play it off cooler than how he really felt- like a dog who just heard dinner being poured into his bowl. "That is interesting."

Eddie's grip on your neck wasn't really that strong, but it made your head spin nonetheless, eliciting a weak, content noise from you.

"There we go, fuckin' love hearing that." Eddie gave a kiss to your cheek, his other hand occupied with sending shock waves down to your gut as his fingers walked up the back of your leg. "What else does princess want, hm?"

You only let out a whine, too engrossed with the building, unbearable heat in between your legs, which, at the sound of his nickname, twitched further open.

Lucky for you, Eddie picked up on that immediately. "Aw, sweet thing, shoulda told me." He tuts, moving both hands under you and rearranging the two of you so that your crotch was hovering over his thigh, other leg hooking onto yours so that you were spread open for him.

"Here we go honey, y'wanna use my leg, hm? Get yourself off?" His words were muffled by the skin of your shoulder.

Realistically you knew you wouldn't be able to orgasm from dry humping his thigh alone, but God you were so eager for friction you were willing to try. You whimpered an 'mhm', setting yourself down on his leg- even that small touch made you gasp. Eddie's hands reached for your ass, helping you grind down onto him, nearly knocking the breath out of you when the contact you so desperately craved turned into a wildfire of need.

"That's it, sweetheart, keep going. 'S'it feel good? Yeah?" He mimicked your whimper of response, proud grin never faltering, even as he nipped at your jaw. His hands, firm, surprisingly gentle for how rough and calloused they felt, traveled from your ass to your waist, fingertips slinking under the hem of your shirt.

"Can we take this off, princess? Want to see you, pretty please let me see you." His voice was low and sultry and had goosebumps rising on your back. You whined an 'mhm', the thought of what he was going to do when you were topless spurring you to pull it over your head yourself.

Once your chest was bared to him, Eddie's hands, trailing lightly enough to tickle, found your poor, sensitive nipples, thumbs brushing over them enough to make you jolt, gasping in surprise.

"Eddie, Eddie- fuck, more, need more, please," you cried, hand flying to his hair when his head dipped to lick over your chest. Whether it was to tug him away or keep him there, you didn't know.

"Aw, I know, you're just insatiable, aren't you?" Eddie gave you his best faux sympathetic voice, and for a minute you actually thought he might feel sorry for you, like it wasn't his plan all along to get you worked up like this.

Eddie's hands worked under your legs, pulling you closer to him before hoisting you up, stomping somewhere in the house you'd only visited a handful of times and never under this circumstance- his bedroom.

It was a dimly lit room, smelling faintly of weed, but you weren't given much time to take in the sights because Eddie plopped you down on his bed, immediately towering over you, caging you in with his arms. His curls tickled your face, then your neck when he moved there. A few sloppy kisses quickly turned heated again when his leg wedged itself between yours. You took the opportunity, however fleeting, to rut yourself against the material.

But this time Eddie gripped your hips, pinning you down. "Patience honey, I'm getting there." The glint of warning in his eyes had you nearly shaking in excitement. A glimmer inside of you wondered what he'd be like if you ignored his warnings.

Eddie slithered down, slowly, kissing his way down to your navel. You willed your hips to stay down, not to lean into his touch, but they did anyway. Your eyes fell shut, head falling back and fingers finding the pillow for something to weakly grip onto.

But a tap on your hipbone snapped them open, looking down at a pair of big brown eyes staring up at you, hovering over your cunt. Knowing what he was asking, you responded with lifting your hips, making it easy for Eddie to slip your bottoms down Your phone nearly fell out of your back pocket from the force with which he flung them, as if he detested the fabric for its audacity to cover you up.

"Good, doing so good." Eddie gave your thighs a squeeze, smiling up at you with something a little kinder, more endearing than the smirk he'd donned the whole evening. With another squeeze, his head dipped down close to your clothed cunt. You swore you could hear him inhale, but your train of thought was halted when Eddie licked a fat stripe up the front of your underwear, sending shocks to your already hypersensitive clit.

"God- fuck!" You tried to clap a hand over your mouth, but Eddie tugged it away as quickly as it came.

"Y'doin' alright, princess? You seem a little tense." Eddie's teasing lilt came from somewhere under you, you could see the grin even through closed eyes. You opened them anyways. His smile was turned into something more playful, a glimpse of the boyish humor he always charmed you with. His head leaned against your thigh like a puppy, pouting up at you with false concern.

"Wonder fuckin' why," you gritted through your teeth, throwing your head back in exasperation.

"Easy tiger," Eddie chuckled, fingers pulling your underwear down- this time you definitely heard an inhale. You heard him mutter something along the lines of "saving these for later."

Eddie's fingers were quick to find you again, thumbs brushing over the joint between your thighs and your pussy, as if he thought the action was soothing and not setting you on fire.

You let out a strangled sound. "Eddie, I swear, if you don't fucking touch me-"

"You'll what?" Eddie's brow raised. His gaze alone made any snide remark die on your tongue.

As if on cue, your phone, long forgotten on the edge of your bed, lit up with an incoming call.

"Well?" Eddie prompted. You reached for the phone, seeing the absolute last name you cared to see illuminating the screen. You gulped, a tinge of guilt seeping in.

"Ah, I think I know who it is." Eddie chuckled, forehead knocking into your thigh as he made a poor attempt to hide his thorough amusement. "Well? Y'gonna answer it?"

You paused, made a face. You didn't even want to talk to him, really.

Eddie barked out a laugh at your reaction. "Shame. He could've learned a thing or two."

You giggled, but it quickly turned into a loud moan as Eddie's tongue, followed by that damn metal ball in the middle, began teasing circles over your clit. Somehow you were both infinitely relieved and worked up even more. Your phone was long forgotten, flung a little too far as, somewhere in the back of your brain, you heard it clatter on the wooden floor. Not that you could be brought to care, not with the way Eddie's tongue felt tracing your weeping hole.

"Fuck, all this for me? Sweet thing, if I knew how good this pretty pussy was sooner." You wondered momentarily what the end of that sentence was, but with his lips around your clit you weren't too worried. Ceaseless and electric his mouth was, bringing you slowly but surely towards that high you'd been chasing fervently for an hour now.

"Eddie, Eddie, I'm gonna- fuck! So good, Eddie, I'm gonna come, pleasepleaseplease-" You could barely understand yourself speak, so lost in your cloud of pleasure. But Eddie seemed to understand perfectly, cooing sweet praises into your cunt as he shook his head back and forth.

"Gonna cum, princess? Go on, you've earned it. Been so good, so patient f'me. Good, good, let go." He pulled both of your hands towards your lower stomach, interlacing them with his.

The noises you made as you unraveled under his marvelous touch were downright pornographic, downright sinful. One might be tempted to say you'd forgotten how to blush, but the heat in your cheeks would have shot down the theory. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, pulling pure electric heat from your sex as you writhed and shivered from Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

But when the pleasure subsided into jolts, Eddie didn't stop. His tongue continued tracing your clit languidly, and- oh- a new sensation at your core had you squeezing his hands.

"Eddie, ohmygod-" Quickly you realized what he was doing, one finger prodding around your entrance before sinking into your embarrassingly wet cunt, which welcomed him. Your back arched when his finger curled, a guttural sound ripping from your throat as he pushed deeper, searching for that spot, the one that would ensure a noise complaint from a few neighbors.

"Shh, you're okay, you're doing so well, hm? So well, yeah, relax- just like that." Eddie hummed, another finger joining the first and a high-pitched moan from you following shortly after.

And then he found it. That damn spot deep in your gut, and he bullied it with his fingertips over and over and over again.

"Eddie!" His name fell from your mouth like a hymn, moans almost swallowed by the pillow you tugged to cover your face when the brief thought of the neighbors made you a slight bit guilty. Your second orgasm of the night was coming at you full steam ahead, much easier to find from your oversensitivity as well as the new sensation that joined his thumb swiping over your clit.

"That's it, princess, give me another. G'na get you nice and ready, yeah?" Ready for what, you had an idea that sparked, if possible, even more delicious heat in between your legs.

You were animalistic at this point, nearly screaming for him to make you come again. You almost sobbed when his fingers pulled out from you, hands reaching weakly for him.

"Easy, easy, I know. Gonna make it worth your wait, mm? You want my cock, sweet thing?"

Your mouth salivated at the mention, and you immediately propped up onto your elbows to watch him line himself up with you.

"Please, Eddie, please," you sighed, head lolling back.

And there it was, that delicious stretch that had your mind reeling and fingernails digging into Eddie's inked shoulders.

"Oh, oh oh, so good, so good, Eddie, right there!"

Your hands were grabbing for every bit of him you could find. Tugging his hair, scratching down his back, pulling his neck down into a searing, heavy-breath kiss.

"Fuck, princess, keep clenching and I won't last." Eddie grunted into your mouth. His hand, previously pressing onto your lower stomach, pulled your legs so that your ankles rested over his shoulders, bending down a little so that he could move deeper, and did it have you seeing stars.

"Keep- ah- keep going, please, 'm gonna cum, gonna- Eddie!"

Your cunt convulsed around Eddie's cock, throbbing inside of you as you felt white-hot release wash over you. You sobbed into Eddie's pillow, chanting his name as he overwhelmed you with praise. Eddie fucked you through it as best he could, but you could feel he was slowing down, spurts of wet heat in your gut moments later.

"Oh, baby... didn't know you could do that." Eddie was grinning like an idiot, incredulous grin staring down at his thighs. Dizzy, you looked down where he was staring like he just won the lottery.

His thighs were splattered with what you could only guess was your own arousal, even a few drops on his stomach.

"Oh my god," you flopped your head back, hand covering your eyes and trying to cover your embarrassed smile.

"Hey, that was hot." Eddie pulled your hand away, giving you that same sweet smile, squeezing your thigh before pulling himself out. You winced at the feeling, guilt following as you realized his sheets were definitely soiled.

You let out a long exhale, mind still racing. Eddie, having tucked himself into a new pair of pants, watched you. When he concludes you've had a moment to sit and think, he strokes your arm.

"Hey, cutie. You alright there?"

"Uh huh."

Eddie chuckled at the stupid smile you're sure you wore. "C'mon, gotta get you cleaned up."

"Yeah- sorry about your sheets."

Eddie pursed his lips, shrugged. "It was worth it, don't you think?" You attempted to stand, but Eddie held up a hand. "Allow me."

Eddie carried you into his bathroom, seating you carefully onto the toilet before excusing himself. He came back a moment later with your phone, wet wipes, and a glass of water.

You and Eddie fell into more casual conversation- the latter participant heavy on the cocky jokes- it was comforting. He'd offered you to stay the night; not like you hadn't conked out on his couch before anyways.

Brushing your teeth with your finger, you tapped your phone to check the time- and almost knocked it from the sink.

"FUCK." You nearly sprayed toothpaste foam all over Eddie's mirror, holding the phone inches from your face in case your vision had somehow failed you the first time.

"What, what what??" Eddie shouted from the shower, a bottle clattering on the tile shortly after.

You spat your foam out, coughing. You pulled the curtain open enough to push your phone into the shower to show him the time and name of your most recent call.

A pfft noise followed by loud cackling echoed off the tiles. "Oh shit! Y'think he got a show too, sure it wasn't FaceTime?"

Meanwhile you sunk your head into your hands in utter mortification.

Although a tiny part of you was laughing too.

~

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOUR

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.8+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

4:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

BIRDIE created a groupchat. 

BIRDIE added DINGUS, NANCE, JOHNNY, & ARGYLE 😎

DINGUS: why the fuck is my name dingus

BIRDIE: so… are we going to talk about how in love they look in that photo?

NANCE: Eddie looks like he’s going to commit a federal crime, Robin.

DINGUS: how do i change my name

ARGYLE 😎: a sign of true love my friends

BIRDIE: @NANCE SEE? he gets it. 

JOHNNY: Is this chat really necessary? 

DINGUS: guys seriously. how the fuck do i change my name?

—

HOUR FOUR - 7:00 PM

Let the record show that you don’t normally care about Lord of the Rings. You’d seen the movies out of obligation to your friends, nothing more, nothing less. You usually held complete indifference towards the trilogy. As a matter of fact, you’d nearly given Robin an aneurysm the day you’d informed them all you preferred the Hobbit trilogy over the original movies. 

Eddie, it seems, holds a similar sentiment to Robin. 

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he sighs dramatically, sinking into the couch and looking far more comfortable than he had previously. A bottle of cheap beer dangles carelessly in his hand. He’d decided to grab both of you one the moment this argument had begun, “You casually bring up Gandalf, and then you proceed to have the worst opinions on the greatest franchise of all time. A crime against humanity.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely through genuine laughter. 

You were laughing. You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, in his apartment, laughing with him rather than at him. It was a fluke in the system, a blip in the Universe. You tell yourself it’s just the effects of the beer. 

“What’s next? You tell me you prefer Star Wars over Star Trek? Or, let me guess, you’ve never read the books?” 

He looks nice like this, at ease. This hour might be setting the track record for the longest the two of you had gone without insulting one another, and you begin to wonder why you’d never been able to hold such a civil conversation with him before tonight. The two of you might not be agreeing or seeing completely eye to eye, but there was enough agreement to keep the entire debate chugging along. 

He notices your silence as you take a sip of the beer you’ve nearly polished off, smirking around the rim of it, a bit of beer lingering at the corner of your mouth. “Oh my God. You’ve never read the books.” 

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did!”

Your mouth is open, fighting back at the curl of the corners, unable to defend yourself because he was right. “I- Who even reads anymore?” 

“Excuse me?” his voice pitches as he sits up straight suddenly, “Oh, no. There’s no way you just said that. There’s no way you don’t read.” 

You shrug, and his beer is quickly set to the side. 

“C’mon, everyone reads. You’ve got to have a guilty pleasure book.” 

“Nope,” you tuck your bottle between your thighs, and catch the way his eyes had followed the bottle before snapping back to yours, “I just prefer the movies, I guess.” 

“No one prefers the movies. You’re a goddamn liar,” he shakes his head and some of the frizzy curls fall against his collar bones rather than continuing to tickle his shoulders, “You have to read something. Romance novels, boring essays, the news. Hell, even magazines or that written porn shi-” he cuts off when you smile at the mention of magazines. “Why are you smiling like that? Stop it. It’s creepy. Do you read those porno books?”

“God, no,” you laugh. A lie - you’d certainly read excerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey he was referencing to understand what the hype was to no prevail, “Just ironic you bring up magazines. You probably consider yourself a real connoisseur, don’t you?” 

He flushes crimson. His cheeks that had tinged pink from the warmth of the beer are now flaming red. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He clearly did. 

“Right,” you drawl, “So which article in that Playboy caught your eye? The one about the psychological deep dive into what makes sex so great, or the interview with that one porn star? No, wait, I got it! It was totally the one that gave fifteen ways to drive a girl crazy-”

“It’s not a fucking Seventeen magazine,” he snaps, but the malice in his voice is dull, “There’s no lists on how to get the girl, it’s a porn ‘zine, Jesus H. Christ.” 

“I know that, do you?” you press, reveling in the brush crawling its way down the side of his neck. 

He runs a hand over his face, groaning, “I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer. Fuck off.” 

“Do you just ignore all the photos of the beautiful women?” you don’t hold back your teasing, subconsciously leaning his way as your voice lilts with sarcasm, “Ignoring all those bushes? Or maybe you just prefer the Brazilian cut?” 

“I liked it better when we were talking about your illiteracy,” he deadpans, staring straight ahead at his entertainment center. 

“I never said I couldn’t read, just that I choose not to most of the time,” you finally pull back a bit, scared to push it all too far. You pull your legs up beneath you on the couch and move the beer that has gone warm to the table on the opposite end as his, “Sue me for trying to make friendly conversation.” 

You await his expected response about how this was not friendly conversation. You start to do mental gymnastics of a way to bring up the specific model he had marked the pages of, of the eerie resemblance she bears to you and a way to push his buttons regarding it. This conversation was following your script, not his.

Or at least, it was. 

“Fine. I prefer the bush, I always find the lack of hair kind of weird,” he says, throwing you off your game effectively. He stares at you with now expecting eyes, “What about you?”

You’re grateful you’d stopped nursing the beer, or you surely would have choked, “What?” 

“What’s your preference?” he clarifies, not backing down, “On yourself, on partners. Whatever.” 

“I- I don’t- I never-” you stumble over your words, at a complete loss for an answer. It only makes him smirk as he’s now the one leaning in closer, close enough to catch the smell of his cologne concentrated on him. 

You hadn’t realized you’d adjusted the boyish smell of the apartment until this very moment. 

“See? Not so fun when you’re the one getting asked the personal questions.” 

He’s right – you shouldn’t dish out what you can’t handle him throwing back into your face. 

“Fine,” you mimic him, squaring your shoulders, “Bush.”

“On yourself or others?” 

“Myself,” there was no use in being shy now, “But also on, uh, partners. Kind of unfair to expect something from someone I wouldn’t give in return.” 

He nods in surprising consideration at the notion. His face twists as if he’s taking words you’d thrown out there so carelessly to heart, as if there’s some hidden message that even you hadn’t realized was laced in the notion. For a moment, you start to believe he’s committing the words to memory before he answers you. 

“That’s fair,” is all he says. 

A moment of intense thought for that?

“What? That’s all you’ve got to say?” you scoff, and busy yourself with the beer again out of nerves. It’s warm and bitter on your tongue, but it’s better than looking him in the eyes. Warm, honey eyes you’d never really cared to notice before.

“Yeah,” he lifts his shoulders into an offhand shrug, “I mean, what else is there to say? Like you said, you can’t expect something from someone you can’t return.” 

Another silence drags out, and this time, it’s stifling. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Eddie being quiet would bother you, but it does. The lack of words in the air is leaving too much room for thought from both of you. It’s giving you too much time to think on those warm, honey eyes and those damn dimples. Trivial things about Eddie that you don’t care to remember past tonight. 

“My friend collects vintage Playboys,” you blurt out, internally cursing yourself immediately. What a stupid conversation segway. 

Should have teased him about the dog-eared pages, you regretfully think as you dare to look his way. 

His face is surprisingly smooth, eyebrows quirking up into the frayed edges of his bangs, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Yeah. Hell of a lot more bushes in the seventies.” 

A lot less of that model you like, you silently add, once more not voicing that concern out loud.

The dimples return. Those fucking dimples. “Hm, guess I should check them out, then.” 

“She collects them for aesthetic purposes,” you continue to ramble, filling the air, unsure of why you’re even defending yourself. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to dissect the small piece of your life you’ve offered, “It’s… It’s really cool, actually.”  

“It sounds cool,” he agrees gently. 

The other shoe is left dangling in the air, if it even continues to exist. 

You think about his earlier question, of whether you really wanted to keep up a miserable act for the entire twenty four hours. If the last hour hadn’t already solidified your answer, you knew now for a matter of fact that he had a point, even if he did proceed to insult you after the question. You didn’t want to spend this time miserable. The passing of time came easier when it was like this, all rounded-edged banter and friendly words exchanged. When Eddie Munson wasn’t being an asshole and making personal digs at you, he was actually a nice person to have around. 

You’d never tell him that, of course.

“It’s why I collect all that,” he motions his hand towards the shelving of figurines and trinkets, “I just think it’s cool, you know? I… Uh, I sort of lied earlier. Most of that shit isn’t that expensive. But it’s not about how much it’s worth money-wise, it’s just worth a lot to… to me.” 

A glimpse of crimson, a flash of vulnerability that proves that Eddie has a heart just as you do. It beats erratically, and it can bleed just the same. 

“That makes sense,” you offer in response. You may not get it, but you wouldn’t push his buttons on the topic. They may be nothing but clutter from your perspective, but the same could be said about the vintage Playboys your friend collects. The same could be said about plenty of things that are sentimental to you. “Doesn’t it get creepy, though? Like, you bring home a girl-”

“Or a guy,” he interjects, making you smile. 

“You bring home a girl, or a guy, and you’ve just got Gandalf staring you down while you make a move. Or… Or, Darth Vader?” you squint to pinpoint another figurine, “Is that Darth Vader? Didn’t you say Star Trek is better than Star Wars?” 

“Never said that,” he points at you with a tilt of his head, “I just don’t prefer Star Wars over Star Trek.”

“Have you seen Star Wars? It’s way more entertaining.” 

“Have you seen Star Trek?” he counters, but it’s clearly rhetorical as he continues on, “I like both. Having a preference for one doesn’t mean I’m completely against the other. Besides, the light saber effects are fucking incredible.” 

“So you prefer the prequels?” you ask eagerly. 

“I guess. I mean, the original trilogy is still badass and a classic,” he stands abruptly, and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, but he just walks over to the Darth Vader figurine to pick it up and bring it back over with him as he flings down onto the couch, now several spaces closer to you rather than opposing ends, “It’s kind of hard to beat the ‘Luke, I am your father’ reveal,” his voice dips down to a deep tone, a fairly spot on impersonation, “But it was also nice seeing his origin story.” 

“Plus Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are gorgeous,” you add, almost daring to lean over and bump shoulders with him. But you don’t. You keep what little space remains between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The eye candy is what gets you.” 

“And the cool effects!”

“Right. Next you’re going to say you definitely watched for the plot, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And the plot’s name just happens to be Ewan.” 

You bite down the grin that starts to ache your cheeks, because you’re not supposed to smile around Eddie this much. “Now you’re getting it.” 

The hand holding the Darth Vader figurine suddenly thrusts out in your direction, and you find yourself jumping a bit. When you don’t take it, he waves it around a bit, raising an eyebrow, “It doesn’t bite, you know.” 

“You said to not touch your shit.”

It’s a pathetic lie, you both know it. But he doesn’t know how scared you are to brush fingertips with him, how the way his arm being so close has electricity buzzing from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. One small shift, one outreached hand, and your skin would brush his. 

It would surely be nuclear. An explosion with no survivors, least of all you. 

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve disregarded that rule the entire time, why start being a goody two shoes now?” he teases. 

Which is fine, except Eddie teases a certain way – with his entire body. His knee knocks into yours, he leans into your space, a boyish grin spreads over his lips. You’ve seen him dance around this kind of lighthearted conversation with everyone else in your friend group except you. It’s uncharted territory, and your heart nearly breaks out of your chest from its rapid racing.

You’re just lucky that there’s two layers of jeans between your knees. The nuclear explosion will have to wait for another day.

Instead of an answer, you reach out and grab the figurine nimbly by the small leg. Your fingertips narrowly evade Eddie’s and you’re eternally grateful and his arm retracts. You poke and prod, gently wiggling the red, flexible stick that serves as his lightsaber and pinch at the edges of his cape. 

In your silence, Eddie speaks, “It’s not a crazy collectible or anything, like I said. It probably would have been more valuable to keep it in its packaging, but one time Wheeler brought his little sister over while they were in town, and she wanted to see him out of the box, so I took him out. You know Wheeler, right?” 

You shake your head, inspecting the figurine even closer now. It still looks brand new; you’d never be able to tell that a child, presumably, had played with the ‘toy’. 

“Oh,” Eddie looks taken back, faltering slightly, “Sorry, I- I just sort of assumed that…. You, uh…. You had met Steve’s children.” 

“Oh!” your head shoots up from where your nose had been nearly pressed into the figure, taking in the detailing of the chest piece, “You mean Mike? I’ve heard about him, yeah. Just in passing, though.”

There’s more for Eddie to say, it’s clear in the way his mouth falls open with the corners quirked, but then you’re interrupted by a phone ringing. 

Your phone. 

Steve’s contact photo occupies the screen for the second time tonight, a ridiculous photo of him scowling at the camera in a yellow jumper while holding a can of pringles in front of him, one of his hands bringing a single chip to his pouting lips. 

“Let me answer it,” Eddie insists, holding out his hand as you stare down at the phone, still chiming annoyingly. 

“Were they supposed to call this often?” you ask, knowing well enough that Eddie didn’t have the answer. 

His hand waves in impatience, and you don’t put up a fight as you let him take the phone and swipe the answering bar, focusing instead on the Darth Vader discarded into your lap as he puts the call on speaker. 

“Hello?” Eddie answers in a chirpy tone. 

“How many times do we have to te- hold on. Munson?” Steve starts off aggressive, but his tone melts into confusion, “Why the hell are you answering her phone?” 

“Because I’ve murdered her,” he flatly replies, but his face doesn’t match his tone at all. 

He fucking winks at you. Your grip on Darth Vader tightens until you’re afraid you're about to snap it. 

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke.”

“Where is she, Eddie?” Steve sighs like an irritated parent, in no mood for games, “Please tell me you didn’t manage to make her lock herself in a room again.” 

“I told you. She’s gone. Sacrificed to the Dark Lord or whatever. Just got to go dump her body in the lake-”

You shouldn’t joke along with him, but you still whisper the correction of, “The canals.” 

“Sorry, I mean the canals.”

Another deep sigh. You can picture the way Steve was currently pinching the bridge of his nose at the two of you. 

“I heard her, you idiot. Now that we know you’re both clearly alive and well…. Where the hell is our photo proof?” 

You both share a look, and you quickly mouth, already?  

Eddie shrugs and mouths back, I guess. 

“We lost track of time,” you finally say out loud, still locked in eye contact with Eddie. His brown eyes are surprisingly captivating, several autumn shades all woven together. Burnt orange leaves, red apples, brown sweaters. You never thought you’d be able to see a season in someone’s irises, yet here you were, picturing it clear as day. “Let us hang up and we’ll send the photo.” 

Steve starts to speak, but Eddie’s thumb is quick to end the call. The moment your lock screen stares back at both of you, you look at the time. 

7:41. Shit. 

“Oops,” Eddie whispers as he hands the phone back over, “They really gave us quite the grace period that time.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, quickly opening your damn camera app. “So, how do we want to do this one?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment before he launches himself back to his side of the couch, and motions for you to toss him your phone. 

And once again, you put your faith in him, not even hesitating this time. 

It happens naturally; you both mirror each other, drawing up your knees, your sock-clad toes bumping firmly against one another. Your back is supported by the worn arm behind you, similar to how Eddie’s is, as you face him. 

He quickly angles the camera towards you, sticking a hand out into the frame while raising his middle finger. You don’t know what to do, so one hand holds up the Darth Vader as the other mimics flipping him off. 

A soft click from your phone. The photo’s taken, and you’re not even sure if you were smiling. 

“Trade,” he leans forward, one hand holding out your phone, the other reaching out for Darth Vader. 

You oblige, and go through the same process for his photo. His white socks contrast your black ones, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards no matter how hard of a line he presses them into. You can’t look at him directly, and settle for watching him through the screen as you hit the small grey button to snap the photo. 

Just as quickly as he had shoved away from you, he’s back at your side, watching you send off the photos to the group chat with a thumbs up emoji. You take a deep breath, scanning over the pair of photos until it’s confirmed that they’re delivered, and lock your phone. Your brows are furrowed in your reflection staring back at you through the black screen. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours?” Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind. 

No, you don’t. No matter how wrong this levity with Eddie feels, no matter how uncomfortable it is each time you remember that he’s meant to be the enemy and not someone to share laughter and smiles with, you don’t want to waste these remaining twenty hours being miserable. 

“What’s up?” Eddie’s actual voice echoes in real time as you continue to stare at your reflection.

“Just thinking,” you grunt. The thought of admitting your decision to Eddie is much more intimidating than simply acknowledging it to yourself. 

“Dangerous.” 

Instead of quipping something rude back, you decide to be vulnerable with Eddie. You decide to crack yourself open just a small bit, just as he had done microscopically when he spoke of his collection of items. It’s a dangerous gamble, and you don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it. 

“You were right, earlier,” you force the words out, fighting the way they try to cling onto your tongue and remain safely in your throat. 

“About… what?” He looks distrusting, and for good reason. He said plenty of things earlier - you could be preparing to remind him of any number of rude things he’d spewed. 

“About keeping up the miserable act,” you explain, turning your head to him and abandoning the phone, “You were right. I don’t want to be miserable this entire time. It… It goes by faster when we’re not about to strangle each other, believe it or not.” 

You swear you see his shoulders sag in relief. “Well, yeah, I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually.” 

“Shut up,” you force a scowl, “My point is… I don’t know, maybe, we could try to- try to just- we could be-”

“Civil?” he finishes the sentence you stumble over. 

You nod, “Yeah. We could be civil.”

The word feels foreign on your tongue. Civility was not something you’d ever considered with Eddie, but the last hour had proven it to be possible. 

“Okay,” he nods along with you. He turns his entire body to face you, knees once again bumping as he sticks out a hand for you to shake, “Deal. We will try to be civil the rest of the time.” 

“Civil,” you repeat yourself again, more sure this time, still staring at his offered hand.

An olive branch. The opportunity to work together to survive the next twenty hours. The opportunity for his bare skin against yours. 

You think again of nuclear explosions and pulsing electricity, of open chests and matching scarlets, of smashing glasses against walls and ruined parties, of wounds healing over in scar tissues as they glow a gentle pink.

Civil. You wonder if that’s one of the words they’ll include on your gravestone as you reach out your hand and let Eddie’s palm meet yours. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[darkfictionjude]

They say that small towns hide the darkest secrets. At least that’s what your mother always said about this one. You thought she meant how Father Simmons has a well-known drinking problem, how Mrs. Gladstone’s son looks more like his uncle than his father or that the mayor has been in power for 15 years because of voting fraud. Things everyone knows. Human Things.

But now as partially eaten bodies have been left in alarmingly rates all over this small town the world has no record of, you now know she meant something else.

Play as peculiar and disturbed individual surnamed Crown after the very town your ancestor founded, returning after a traumatic event two years prior that landed you in a psychiatric hospital. As your comeback coincides with a rapid increase of disappearances you find yourself embroiled in a town conspiracy, a past that’s more alive than ever and the ever shifting self interested motives of those who claim to be your allies.

Who can you trust? What’s the truth behind your family? What are things that you see in the dark?

Sometimes it’s hard to tell what shapes monsters come in.

Customize your MC from looks to gender

Reveal your sister’s disappearance

Rely on a group of complimentary polar opposites to find out the mystery and save your life

Befriend or romance a choice of three from enemies to lovers, childhood friends or an eternal admirer

Rating: 18+

Crown - Playlist

You. A person with some personal issues, some family issues and some murder issues.

Imre Duran - Playlist

Quintessential good-boy-next-door. The most most-liked teenager in town. As son of the mayor and pageant queen, Imre has an image cultivated by him and maintained through his status which is why his back door activities are his cherished secrets. He is rather eager to help you… isn’t he?

Nia Mir - Playlist

In the very real and present high school hierarchy Nia would be one of the nobles. As a wannabe doctor with a loathed father and an absent mother her dream is to leave behind this backwater town and all it’s weird phenomena that she doesn’t care to know more of. She liked you, once.

Lorcan Stark - Playlist

Every town needs its bad boy and so Lorcan has aimed to be as every bit worthy of that title. The shunned son of a murderer and his victim, he is not really thought of as having a future beyond prison and petty crime especially in a town like this. You don’t remember a time when he didn’t hate you.

Salvatore Crown

Your brother. The heir to whatever fortune your family has left and the only one of the family who seems to like you.

Orla Crown - Playlist

Your sister. No one ever knew what she thinking, a closed box full of unknowns. You knew she kept things, especially from you.

Mayor Duran

Seems like every other politician. Oddly enough no one ever really sees him, an entity watching over the town.

Mother

She never acted like one to any of her children. She’s never sober anymore.

Mrs. Mir

Disappeared years ago without a trance. No one remembers her first name. Was thought to have been clinically insane.

Demo (updated 9/20) | Spotify | Patreon

To episode 5

[rigormortissettingin]

how to get perfect grades from a short attention span girlie that nobody asked for

when you get home from school, rewrite all your notes from all the important classes that day (if you’re a british slag like me then just do all your gcse subjects)

learn how to do deep work: work for a really long period of time with barely any breaks where you don’t get distracted and get shit done — having noice cancelling headphones whilst listening to white noise etc works best for me

don’t let anything distract you, put your phone away in another room, etc

if you can’t concentrate, before your revision sesh, stare at a still object for 1 min to help with your focus

have a schedule/a weekly routine!!! i know you’re lazy and have been avoiding making one so here’s my routine: on school days I rewrite all my notes from the classes (that you care about) that day and do some homework then leave the rest for the weekends

mindset is EVERYTHING. be positive about everything in your life and stop being a pessimistic bitch. everything will be okay. jeez.

for music, find a few white noise/focus music playlists and listen to them with noise cancelling headphones for most intense focus (linking my fav spotify playlists below)

write everything out by hand. don’t be lazy you dumb fucker and type everything up on quizlet. quizlet is bullshit and you know it. it’s been scientifically proven that writing things out help you remember them better

go over things early in the morning and late at night (quickly proven to stick in your brain more)

find what works best for you. find your perfect environment, music, time of day to revise, method etc. i work best in my room after 4 pm by using flash cards I have written out by hand

don’t let food distract you!!! if you have snacks nearby but you’re eating them instead of working then put them away

have an app for revision. study bunny if my favourite one it’s so cute but it doesn’t distract me

holidays are a blessing. dedicate some time every day in the holidays for revision, even if it’s not a lot

have a good balance between school and other hobbies. i would say have a good social life but i honestly don’t think having one is that important. or at least it’s not important to me, but if you want a good social life then go for it

have goals for the future, like if you want to go to uni and where you want to go if you do, what field you want to specialise in, etc and work towards them

if you want to exceed in school then you have to make revision and academic excellence your coping mechanism or a safe haven to calm you down

reading books, especially literature helps so much with everything. not just your vocabulary but it also helps your understanding of the world and helps you see everything in a different light. and don’t give me that “but i do read” bullshit because tiktok smut twisted love twisted hate icebreaker all that crap that you’re not even old enough to read don’t count. my fav books if you need any recs: the virgin suicides (not literature, just well-written), the secret history (not literature, just well-written), girl, interrupted (again, well written but not literature), crime and punishment, carmilla, dracula, alice in wonderland, emma, pride and prejudice, sense and sensibility, much ado about nothing, a midsummer nights dream, rebecca, the outsiders, little, women and loads more

delete social media if it worsens your mental health or your grades. deleting tiktok has been the best decision of my entire life, i was so unhappy for so long because endlessly scrolling was a coping mechanism but now im actually happy for once in my life and my grades are quite good

pray like you didn’t revise and revise like you didn’t pray

i have to have a number 20 because odd numbers besides 13 and 7 annoy me

thank you

[honeypawsart]

"BUTTERFINGERS" AU, EARTH-0164

"Hi, my name is Dr. Johnny B. Ohnn. No, not the Ohnn you're thinking of. I'm from an alternate dimension (EARTH-0164). If Johnathon Ohnn didn’t become The Spot because of the supercollider explosion, but rather just accidentally dropped the dark matter capsule. Causing a slow spread of dark matter to corrupt his body over time. That's me."

Dr. Johnny B. Ohnn is an ex-Alchemax lead scientist who designed and began the creation of the Supercollider. On the day of the funding ceremony for his project, he accidentally dropped a canister of dark matter he extracted from a mini-collider test model, which he was to use as a demonstration for the presentation. The dark matter painfully spread to several portions of his body. However, instead of support after his accident, he was ridiculed by his respected friends and coworkers for being so clumsy and unprofessional. "Butterfingers" was a common yet silly thrown at him afterward. Johnny quit his job out of frustration, turning on the Alchemax company to make them pay for his deformities... using them to his advantage.

Johnny is generally very grumpy. This is due to his dark matter deformities being very uncomfortable. It feels like burning, itching, and chronically painful to deal with daily. The black spots feel void of sensation however, it's the white areas that hurt him the most. He uses cold water showers and drinks to help soothe the pain. The dark matter corruption on his body feels like jello, memory foam, or oobleck to the touch; it's solid at first but things can sink into the nothingness void.

The corruption is relatively slow, and by the time he's 41 years old, he's 80% corrupted. At this point in time, although he's still clumsy as ever, he's more confident in his ability to use his powers to his advantage. He adopts the nickname "Milky Way" then (based on another popular chocolate bar candy).

Johnny also has a pet shrimp named Shrimptin Beck. Later on in his isolation, he builds a functional Mysterio robot suit for Shrimptin to move around and help with his crimes. They sort of have a "Megamind & Minion" relationship haha

Johnny B. Ohnn is not a huge fan of his dimension's rendition of Spiderman. Her name is Lucky Charm, and is the exact polar opposite of Butterfingers. But you know what they say about "opposites attract" ;)

Earth-0164 Spider-Man, aka Lucky Charm! Works at the Trophy Bugle casino part-time! The rest of her time is spent saving their city using their very luck-driven superpowers! On their off days, Gwen Amber (lol yes that is my actual first and middle name, cringe is free) works as a regular employee at the Trophy Bugle Casino, owned and run by J. Jameson who HATES Lucky Charm for potentially ruining his business. Butterfingers ended up hitting up a casino after his accident- he always loses and gets frustrated with the hosts and that’s how he and Lucky Charm meet the first time, but she INSISTS on trying to make him better outside of work so they sort of get close as they teach him ya know?? Meanwhile, he doesn’t even realize that out of all the hosts at the casino, the one he happens to bump into is the hero he should hate for being against his motivations.

✮ ✮ ✮ That's all I have for now in the Earth-0164 canon!! I hope you guys enjoy this sort of long, info-dumpy post! He also has an official Spotify Playlist! Fan art is 100% welcome of Butterfingers. I also don't mind if you draw yourself/oc with him. Just please realize some boundaries with him. I will not tolerate any sort of "proship" art of him with any underage characters, since he is an old man (36-41 years old). He's very special to me, so please be respectful about that!

He's also my OC, so please tag me in any posts of him as well! He has a tag on all socials as #butterfingersohnn as well! All fan art is uploaded to his toyhou.se page.

That's the end!! Thanks for reading :D

[libraryofloveletters]

Holiday Tunes

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: daniel's terrible taste in music, cheesiness, reader has beef with mariah carey and her hit christmas song lmao, lack of dancing and singing skills, tickling, daniel is so cheesy.

Word Count: 570

Author's Note: this was a random one, I was lacking ideas for daniel lol

--

He insists on making a playlist for the holiday party, picking the worst possible songs on the planet.

Your holiday party was tomorrow and your boyfriend. Daniel insisted on making the playlist for the party. You had a million and one things to do so you figured one less thing for you to do, the better.

Now was it your fault, leaving Daniel with Spotify premium and your laptop, knowing he can get a little unhinged? Yeah, but to be fair, you were hoping for the best.

He was a little too quiet for a little too long, and when you went to check on him, he was just about finished with the playlist. Daniel put every cheesy Christmas song he could ever find on Spotify into one playlist.

"Look!" He shows you, proud of his creation.

You take a quick scroll through it, it was fine. You figured you wouldn't have much time to listen to it anyways as you'd be busy hosting tomorrow.

It wasn't until you spotted your most hated song in the universe on the playlist that you turned to Daniel. "Seriously?"

"What?" He asks, feigning innocence.

"You know I hate this stupid song."

Daniel laughed, "but why?"

"It's repetitive, it makes me wanna throw my laptop out the window."

"Well please don't commit crimes against your laptop when it was I who put the song on there." He smiles at you, "but, it's gotta stay on there."

"Why?" you groaned, giving him a disapproving look.

"Well for one, it's iconic. Two, everyone knows the words and three, it's the best Christmas song ever."

"Actually, Frosty the Snowman is the best Christmas song ever but okay.

There's a wicked smile on Daniel's face, the man hitting play on the song you despised  the most in the world. "No," you pointed your finger at him and he shook his head, getting up.

"Daniel, don't."

The man starts dancing around the living room, singing at the top of his lungs. "What more can I do? Oh baby, all I want for Christmas is you! You, baby!"

You rolled your eyes, getting up to leave him in the living room but Daniel grabs your hand, pulling you to him. The man spun you around and as you did most times, you pulled away from him. Before you could actually get away, your boyfriend picks you up, spinning you around as he sings at the top of his lungs.

"Danny!" You shouted, giggling as his finger brushed over your ribs. "Put me down!"

He listens for once, dropping you on the couch and climbs on top of you. Daniel kisses all over your face and simultaneously, his fingers make their way to your ribs, tickling your sides. You're squirming under the man, struggling to get away from him.

"Stop it!" You squealed, still wiggling under him.

"Let me leave the song on!"

"No!"

Daniel smiles, still tickling you until you're almost red in the face. You realize he's not giving in anytime soon so you cave. "Fine!" You huffed a breath when he finally moved his hands. "You can keep the stupid song on there."

He smiles, nodding happily. "Perfect," he whispers, leaning down to give you a kiss before he pulls you to sit up.

"You know what I want for Christmas, sweetheart?" He asks, a wicked smile on his face

You roll your eyes, "don't even say it.

"You," Daniel kisses your cheek, hopping up on the couch as he starts singing the wretched song again.

[alittlebitofsainz]

you’re just a boy (and i’m kinda the man)

prompt: “i’m on a one-way trip to take over the world, and i thought you did, but you don’t understand.”

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

summary: daniel leaves mclaren, and you decide to put your career first, at the cost of the person you love.

a/n: genuinely made myself sad with this one, sorry :( song is by maisie peters!

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“I just don’t understand how you can stay with them after everything they’ve put you through.”

you ran a hand through your hair, exasperated.

“that’s just it, danny, you don’t understand.” you sighed, slumping forward on the desk, your elbow resting on the surface and your head resting in your hand. the other hand was gripping the phone held to your ear. “this is my career, it’s my entire life. I might not get another opportunity.”

“you know it’s the same for me, right?” daniel’s voice crackled through the phone after a few moments of silence, his volume quieter now. “this is the end of my career, probably. but it’s gotta be better than staying with mclaren.”

you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see.

“but you’re you, danny. you’ll get another chance, I’m sure. you’re one of the biggest faces in this sport.” you sighed again, “but I’m just me. no one is gonna offer me a second chance.” you tried to explain, raising your head slightly to glance at the rain softly hitting the window.

you heard him mutter something inaudible on the other end of the line, the words obscured by the static of the airwaves. you knew he hated when you did that, talked down about yourself. you’d lost count of the number of times the two of you had sat shoulder to shoulder in your drivers room, trying to boost each others spirits after a bad race. daniel was your teammate, your closest friend, your partner in crime, the love of your life. he’d always been able to see things from your point of view. why couldn’t he understand this decision? a conversation from a few months ago drifted through your mind. whatever we do, we do it together. you’d been the one to say that, and now look at you; reluctant to follow daniel into the unknown because you were scared. scared of the uncertainty. scared of losing your one shot at this career. you’d meant what you’d said at the time, but… no. you couldn’t do it. daniel was nearly the best thing that had ever happened to you, second only to earning a seat in formula one. that had to come first. you had to put yourself first. but it didn’t seem to make this phone call any easier. god, you wished you weren’t hundreds of miles away.

“just think, me, you, the outback. we’ll have all the time for dirt bikes and beach trips that you could possibly want.” daniel’s voice brought you back to the present. you could hear the crack in his voice as he tried to persuade you, the one that told you he already knew this was a losing battle. he was losing you. you tilted your head back, looking up at the ceiling; for the first time you were actually glad that this was all happening over a phone call, that daniel couldn’t see the tears forming on your lower lash line.

“I can’t, danny. you know I can’t.” even if daniel couldn’t see you crying, you were being optimistic if you hoped he couldn’t hear it in your voice.

“I know.” he sighed, the noise soft, quiet. there was silence on the line for just a moment, and you felt inclined to fill it, terrified that the conversation was already drawing to a close. you didn’t want daniel to hang up. you didn’t want to believe that this could all be over just like that.

“I’m really sorry, dan.” you apologised, saying anything to try and keep the momentum of the conversation.

“you don’t need to apologise. it’s not your fault.” came his predictable reply, but his tone was missing the kindness, the affection, you’d come to expect from a phone call with daniel. his voice was flat, monotone, and you found yourself unable to read how he was feeling. it had been a long time since that had happened; you and daniel always used to be on the same wavelength. it felt alien, like you were out of your depth. was he angry? upset? did he just not care anymore?

“we can still make this work, can’t we?”

you’d been avoiding the question, but now there was nothing left to say but that. the pause on the other end of the line didn’t fill you with confidence.

“I want to, god, you don’t even understand how much I want to.” came daniel’s reply, voice no longer monotone, instead betraying the emotions he was feeling. you winced as you could almost hear the ‘but’ on the end of his sentence.

“we can try, right? like, I can come visit you over christmas, then next year you’ll probably be at some of the race weekends anyway, and then I can try and get away from training during summer break…”

the more you spoke, the more you realised how hopeless this was. how could you expect to put enough effort into this relationship when you only had a few weekends spare per year? how could you expect daniel to come and watch and cheer for you at each race weekend, knowing that you were living his dream and he was stuck on the sidelines? your voice faltered as it trailed off, the realisation hitting you. fuck. this was it.

“please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, y/n.”

you’d never heard daniel’s voice so quiet, with so little power behind it. you didn’t know whether you were even pleased that he was as devastated as you were about all this: how could this be the right decision when neither one of you wanted it? such was the reality of this sport. you swallowed thickly - daniel was right, there was no point in drawing this out, making it difficult. you wouldn’t be reduced to begging; at least you could walk away from this with your pride, if nothing else. you wiped a tear from your cheek with the heel of your free hand, the other gripping the phone so tightly that your knuckles turned white, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“no, you’re right. I’m sorry.” you mumbled in reply, once again glancing up at the ceiling to try and stem the flow of tears. you tried not to picture daniel doing the same thing on the end of the phone; it would only make you cry again.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll catch you at races and stuff, next year.” the finality in daniel’s voice made you draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the aftermath. at least you and daniel had never gone public, you were grateful for that much. still, you’d been best friends in the eyes of the public, practically joined at the hip. people would notice when you no longer spent any time together. you tried to park that thought as your mind started to race; there would be time to deal with all of that later.

“yeah. I’ll see you around.” you couldn’t believe this was the way it would end. I’ll see you around. as if you hadn’t spent the last year and a half in each others pockets. as if every kiss and every I love you meant nothing now. as if you hadn’t spent long nights planning out your future together. none of it mattered now, you realised, tears threatening to fall once again.

“I loved you, y/n. never forget that.”

it felt like your throat closed up at that, unable to dignify daniel’s words with a suitable response. there was so much more you wanted to tell him, wanted to say, but you couldn’t even manage to say it back. you bit your lip, letting silence fill the call for one last time, before pulling your phone away from your ear and hitting the button to hang up.

a tear hit the screen of your phone right next to the daniel’s contact name, before the call ended, and his name disappeared.

[white-poppie]

ST✩RBOY: random hxh hcs

Now playing- STARBOY by The weekend ft. Killua, Kurapika, Chrollo, Illumi Tw: dissociation

💿 Kurapika

The most perfect man there is to exist!!?!!

So I know Kurapika had to almost grow up by himself, so I think he can handle household chores very well.

I would like to think that he somehow discovers baking. I just know he would be good at it <3

I just know he has super pretty cursive handwriting -sighs dreamily-

If you hug him, I know he would be so hesitant, but would slowly nuzzle deeper. If you were close to him and finally hug him, he would literally try his best to hold back tears (Please tell him, it's okay to cry!)

He smells so good omfg. I can't decide between Vanilla or some earthy smell, either way, it's so comforting yet at the same time it's like *eyes roll to the back of head*

You can read this for more scent hcs: Serenade my Senses

Call him pretty boy and he would be so shocked the first time, but as he gets used to it, he gives coy smile <33

I like the think it takes him a long time to get comfortable, but when he does it's so soft that it feels like breathing air. He is so touch-starved tho, so I can imagine him getting clingy after a while. (same bro same)

He is the knuckle and neck kisses type of dude *cue the flusters*

He hates Andrew Tate and his fans like he would go spit on them if could, this guy has the most healthy masculinity in all of anime and I love him for that.

Doesn't really understand the concept of memes tbh, he needs some explaining but he will laugh a little when you send them, he will once in a blue moon send memes but only the cat ones.

(realises how much I wrote for him while about to write more. This man has me on a chokehold frfr)

💿 Killua

He has trans-supporting t-shirts for him and Alluka. They are all matching.

Takes Alluka to pride parades! He has them sat on his shoulder the entire time too!!

Cant comfort a person even if his life depends on it. If you are crying he is just there like 🧍, awkwardly offering you some chocolate robots tho.

He just can't sit without moving every second! Literally a cat 😒

Older! Killua around 16-17 is a massive flirt! He is so quick to pull out reactions from anyone and takes a sick pleasure in it too??

Calls himself 'The Rizz lord' unironically.

His top Spotify artists would be Chase Atlantic, Mother-mother, The Scotts, Nirvana, Mitski and the Arctic Monkeys. Basically really an alt-rock/indie thing going on (us bro.)

💿 Chrollo

Mansplain, Manslaughter, Manwhore, Manipulate, Malewife ™️

Reads macabre literature like Crime and Punishment, No longer human, if we were villains, the secret history etc.

Tbh I feel like unlike how the fandom portrays him, he is a rather normal dude.

Gothic Academia ultra pro max.

Did the Soldier/Poet/King test, wanted 'king' but got 'poet'

Doesn't have pets because he thinks he can not take care of them

He loves animals tho, idk he seems the birds type of guy.

He likes the 'ominous' kind of birds more; like Ravens, Crows, Vultures and eagles.

Listens to Lana Del Ray and Maneskin, no questions asked.

Is scared of diving into conspiracy theories because he knows he would get sucked into the black hole because he is very interested in morbid things.

He is a DC fan, especially Gothan chronicles. (is that what it's called? Yk the things related to Gotham: joker, poison ivy, harlequin etc.)

Tried journalling once, failed terribly, and stopped after a week.

💿 Illumi

Oh wow, he is a difficult one to write about, but you guys love him, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hate to say this, but I think he frequently dissociates, usually for very short periods of time, he doesn't even know it tbh, just thinks he is out of the element.

He is subconsciously under a lot of stress so his mind tries to flee from it by dissociating.

I wrote a little more about this here: Stuck in a vicious cycle

I think he likes potted plants, especially succulents. He is patient so I can see him take care of even the very difficult ones.

If he is going on a mission, he would go to his mother (because he cannot trust his siblings and father in this matter) like 'take care of my child.'

She actually manages to keep it alive somehow??

I think he knows how to do origami (he saw a child making a paper crane once and got curious.)

Illumi genuinely doesn't know how to care for his hair, he just follows whatever his mom tells him to do, so thank Kikuyo for those luscious tresses.

He has a hyper-fixation on mushrooms (not the psychedelic kind you weirdo). He knows the names of a lot of mushrooms.

Just imagine him and Hisoka taking walk and he randomly spots a mushroom and mumbles to himself 'Coprinus comatus'

and Hisoka is like:

(yes it's a bad meme, but it's the effort that counts)

🏷 Tags: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp,@rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @innerpurple, @cleaningfairylevi, @webawee

⤷‧₊˚ Hunter x Hunter (ハンタ x ハンタ)

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒《 Join my Taglist •

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2024 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #2

Welcome to our second wrap up of 2024!

Two weeks of posting have passed, and we have already revealed 19 absolute bangers for you, and there are plenty more hits still to come! Today we're not only thanking our creators but the readers as well!   🎉  Thank you all for being amazing!

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️ And here for the YouTube playlist.

Please enjoy this week’s entries below the cut:

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 MY FRIENDS SAY I SHOULDN'T SEE YOU ANYMORE [T, Digital Art ]

🎵 Song Prompt: bad idea right? by Olivia Rodrigo  🎵 Summary: Both Draco's and Harry's friends don't approve of their little... dalliance. But it's so hard to stay away from each other! Could this be a bit more than just casual?

📻 He Did IT! [Not Rated, Digital Art]

🎵 Song Prompt: No Body, No Crime by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: Harry: I think he did it but I just can't prove it, 'Mione!!  Hermione: And, what exactly did he do, Harry?  Harry: I-, I don't know! Something! He has to! It feels weird every time I look at him!!  Hermione: .....  Ron: ......  Ron: Mate...  Or, it's sixth year and Malfoy is definitely up to something! Why else would Harry's heart beat so fast every time the stupid git so much as looks at him!?!

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Draco Malfoy’s Guide to Seduction (DISCLAIMER: not guaranteed to work on one HJ Potter) [M, 11,107 ]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Push the button' by 'Sugababes'  🎵 Summary: Harry's gorgeous. Draco wants him.  Draco's exasperatedly trying to get him to get. the. message.

📻 karma is a (cat) [E, 8,714 ]

🎵 Song Prompt: Karma by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: Draco knew that his karma would come one to him one day and make him pay for all the mistakes he made during the war.  But he didn’t expect for it to have four legs, white whiskers, and a soft bushy tail.

📻 Kiss and Tell [E, 27,786 ]

🎵 Song Prompt: Kiss and Tell by Bryan Ferry  🎵 Summary: Sometimes, Harry really fucking hated being himself. All he wanted was to be left alone. That, and someone to share his life with. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so.  When Harry’s sex-life was plastered across the front page of the Daily fucking Prophet, he decided to get away until it all died down. Unfortunately, trouble had always known how to find him.  Would it be possible to forgive the unforgivable?

📻 When the Flood Comes [E, 10,340]

🎵 Song Prompt: Eat Your Young by Hozier  🎵 Summary: Nine years on from the war, Auror Potter is upholding the Ministry of Magic's rule of law.  Senior legal counsel Draco Malfoy is challenging it.  And absolutely nothing is as it seems.

📻 Never Getting Over You [E, 4,396]

🎵 Prompt: Attention by Charlie Puth  🎵 Summary: Harry finally gets the push he needs to fight for what he's lost after a breakup that no one wanted.

📻 Mermaid [E, 3,000]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Mermaids' by Florence and The Machine  🎵 Summary: “Your magic,” Harry says. “It’s gone.”  “It’s a curse,” Draco says, sounding wry. “Courtesy of Aunt Bellatrix. Disown a Black, and you’ll take their magic away, too. Even if their family name is Malfoy.” “What could bring your magic back?” Draco laughs in his ear. “True love’s kiss," he murmurs. And then he turns in Harry’s arms.

📻 Us, infinite (unfortunately) [E, 77,287 ]

🎵 Song Prompt: All Things End by Hozier  🎵 Summary: It’s very fitting for how Harry’s life has gone thus far that he gets trapped in a time loop without rhyme, reason, or warning.  To make matters infinitely worse, the one other person stuck on the same hellish chronological ride is Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire.

🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶

📻 [Podfic] Move, move [T, 54:30 ]

🎵 Song Prompt: Bar Italia by Pulp 🎵 Summary: She grabbed Harry’s hand, slipping something small into it and pressing his fingers around it.  “Dilectio. It’ll cheer you up. Make you feel like dancing.”  Harry gaped at her. Drugs. Ginny’s fucking giving me drugs?  At Stasis nightclub Ginny does indeed give Harry drugs. But it's all good: Malfoy looks after Harry, and Harry grapples with newfound enlightenments, not to mention a newfound fascination with all things Malfoy—one which persists even when he finds out what Malfoy's up to.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/3/2024

having a lot of fun with toddler enrichment activities in this household, until we bit through the bag and the foil and the water and hated that experience

listening

fun citypop version of Good Luck Babe! by Amandumb and Sakura Wine, “ganbatte” scans to “good luck babe” SCARY well. this is both off a tiktok my best friend sent me and the spotify recommended weekly

-

reading

quite frankly this makes me nervous and i am backing up my blogs as we speak. i sort of believe them when they say that we won't see a difference on the front end, but this is a HUGE migration. SOMETHING is going to go not perfectly.

William Greenleaf's TIME JUMPER (1980, 224p) and Joe Millard (my beloathed)'s Blood For A Dirty Dollar (1980 European reprint of a 1973 American book, 156p). thank you philip. time jumper is from a thrift store somewhere (possibly from the free book shelf at the umass engineering library) and the cowboy book is from ebay. they lied about the condition and the heavy smoke smell so i ended up getting it for free :) in no world is that a Very Good condition book!!!

time jumper! i do not think the back cover blurb (below) is very accurate.

COMBINED DESTINIES! One Earth of the far future, city dwellers live in a technologically advanced environment, while bands of nomads barbarically hunt and farm the plains. Hidden within the city is Erin, a crazed scientist, who is constructing a timejumper. On the plains is a nomad boy who quests after the city's secrets. Unknown to both, an evil force works to keep them apart, for it knows that if they ever meet, a new Earth destiny would be inevitable!

i looooove a bubble city. i love long lingering shots of technology and city-scapes and city politics. i would not call the nomads barbarians, bc they are a trading society who set up crop irrigation in their seasonal fields and have a giant traveling library with card catalogue. i would also not call Erin crazed or hidden, bc he is the richest man in the city. reclusive, yes. single-minded, yes. pretty sane though. he is a little person and i think the book handled this fairly deftly for 1980? most of his obstacles are physical and not societal. finally, the evil force is not working to keep them apart bc it doesn't even know about the outside kid. they mostly just want to stop anyone from leaving.

now that we know the back blurb is lies, what's the deal with this book? mostly wrestling with how automation leads to a loss of purpose and flattening of culture, breaking cycles, cyclical natures of histories thereof, and repeating old sins. however, one of the more frustrating endings ive ever read with the very last paragraph containing the suicide of a minor character. we simply didn't fucking need that last paragraph.

i found the dialogue a little bland but book overall quite evocative. it felt like a sixties scifi show constructed from castoff theater sets. it felt like this screenshot from rollerball. a lot of shapes. a lot of giant gardens. a lot of flattened textures.

i also liveblogged the cowboy book here. we've previosuly looked at the one with the balloon and the jailbreak but this is the one with the mad englishman and the imported castle and the missing scientists. i love a description of Legally Not Lee van Cleef Because We Don't Have A Royalty Agreement

-

watching

X-Men: First Class (2011, dir. Vaughn) was way more fun than i was expecting??? it's fun to watch these with my bestie's husband who is a fairly intense x-men fan and Will pause the movie for several minutes to explain why a specific character's death was fucking bullshit or answer one of my stupid costuming questions

-

playing

the new mesoamerican fire-aligned nation of Natlan is out in genshin impact! VERY beautiful region even though i think it is a crime, to me personally, to show me a village of observation balloons and then tell me i can't actually go there for six weeks until the next patch.

this is a little bit more of a frustrating experience bc my tolerance for the least little thing going wrong is at record lows. once you hit 100% on a map region it feels more like a true 100% ing the area, which is a little scary bc this usually means you have anywhere from 10-20% more Stuff to do and find and collect. one quest is straight up bugged for me (very unusual) and i cannot get a specific mechanic (the yunkasaur, the little green pokemon lookin motherfucker above, flame spitting) to fire with any sort of accuracy. why have a sight and a center pip if you CANNOT aim it.

some parts of the map look a little more seussical than others.

to whoever made sure this observation balloon lined up with the window when you entered this waypoint building, i see you. thank you.

-

making

fallow week.

[jinxxedmisery]

God... WHY!? (NSFW)

Headcanons plus a short fic.

Warnings: NSFW content.. this is literally a scenario about Gojo being a goofball during the deed...

Anywho... enjoy...Hope you like dead memes and cringe... (I hate myself for writing this... This should be a war crime)

Generally Gojo enjoys bringing humor into the bedroom, he really loves seeing you laugh.

But sometimes... He can get so fucking annoying.

As you lay on your back, hands pinned down to the bed, Gojo on top of you, thrusting into you in just the right way to make you scream...

A song you know all too well comes on... He's played it during sex so often. After that damned reddit r/AITA post he will not stop.

You've begged him to delete it from your Spotify playlist, but he never did.

Nasty little shit likes to see you go from whining about wanting him deeper to whining wanting him to stop acting like an idiot

Ofc.. He likes calling you really stupid pet names as well.. in and out of the bedroom..

And you better believe he thrusts with the rhythm of the song playing.. not the beat... Like a psychopath.

"Satoru....." you whine. A smirk appears on his lips as he continues the eratic thrust pattern.

"Hmmm? what is it munchkin?" He says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes

"Please... for fuck sake turn that shit off... and wait... 'Munchkin' did you just call me 'Munchkin'?" You resist the urge to push him off of you and onto the floor

"Aww does my little boo thang not like what I call them?" You narrow your eyes at him

"Do you want me to shrivel up and die down there?" He rests his head on your shoulder and you feel him grin against your skin, you gulp in response fearing what would come next.

"Oh pookiebear~ You'll be okay won't you? You still want my girthy meat stick right?" he whispers in your ear, you hate to admit it but it could almost be hot... If he weren't whispering the most deranged shit into your ears. "You love it when my hotdog is inside your moist cavern don't you?"He whispers making you cringe. "And when my hands move to touch your sensitive nubbins" He says, moving his hand over to your chest, teasing your nipples. "How about I purple your nurple, would you like that my candybear.. the jelly to my peanut butter~"

"Satoru.... I hate you so much right now" You complain, He evidently takes pleasure in your cringing as he chuckles leaning in to kiss you. His thrusts once again moving to a pleasurable rhythm. No matter how much you groan and act like you hated him for it, you still truly love him. And that included all of his bedroom antics. In fact, you appreciate it sometimes, he always knows how to make you laugh and well today was indeed one of those days.

Just as you were soaking in the serious affection he was finally giving you after his goofiness.

Two Trucks came on. And he began bobbing his head and syncing his thrusts to the music. You scream in exasperation. "SATORU GOJO I SWEAR TO SHIT I'M NEVER LETTING YOU TOUCH SPOTIFY EVER AGAIN!!!"

He slept on the couch that night.. As he should.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWO

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni, eddie is especially mean in this one (be warned), mentions of blood (in metaphors, not literal)

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 4k+

→ a/n: i just wanted to take a quick moment to say thank you for all the love on the first chapter of this!! i appreciate it beyond words <3

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

2:00 ─ㅇ───────────────── 24:00

HOUR TWO - 5:00 PM

It’s a miracle. Eddie is surprisingly quiet for the first hour after your small kitchen dispute. 

He resides reading a book on one end of his couch as you sit awkwardly on the other end, fiddling with your hands before finally caving and deciding to scroll mindlessly on your phone. You exhaust every social media app you have downloaded – Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr – before finally turning to Tik Tok. Adjusting your volume doesn’t even cross your mind. 

That’s all it takes to finally set Eddie off. 

It starts small; he shifts around after the first video, a prolonged sigh after the second video, a quick side-eye after the third video. Finally, after the fourth video and no sign of you turning down the volume, he huffs and snaps his book shut. 

“Do you have to watch that shit so loudly?” 

His tone is laden with utter annoyance. You’re caught off guard initially, having blatantly ignored his previous signs of being irritated by the noise, and your head whips up in his direction with wide eyes. The shocked look on your face quickly contorts when you catch his stare, full of hatred and vexation. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scoff, “Let me just die of boredom I guess.” 

“I didn’t say you had to do that,” he narrows his gaze and matches your attitude with ease, “Just… solve the boredom quietly. Like I did.” 

“You were quiet because you had a book. I don’t have a book.” 

He waves an exasperated hand towards the coffee table where you catch sight of a few magazines, “Please, take your pick.”

You lock your phone reluctantly, tucking it beneath your thigh as you lean forward to glance over your options. There’s one about cars, obvious by the shiny vehicle that sits pretty on the cover, and a few hidden beneath it. You reach out and shift the laminated papers about and catch sight of a Rolling Stone cover. 

That one piques your interest, but stubborn as ever, you won’t admit it. 

“Those are the most boring fucking magazines I’ve ever seen. Who the hell likes to read about cars?” you deadpan, holding the car magazine up with a scowl. 

“Me.” 

“Predictable. What’s next, a Playboy?” 

“You’re hilarious,” he says without a hint of amusement, “Truly a comedian. Can’t you just see the tears streaming out of my eyes from how hard I’m laughing? Incredible.” 

You decide to not entertain him any further. Your hand grabs the Rolling Stone magazine, ignoring his burning gaze before you settle back into the couch. 

If he wanted to be a dick, that was fine. You were used to it by now; you’d spent the last year growing accustomed to his cold shoulders and his bitter moods around you. At this point, you expected nothing less from him. Spending a little extra time together didn’t magically change it – at both your cores, you harbored a disdain like no other. You fundamentally hated Eddie, and Eddie fundamentally hated you. The confined space, forced proximity, ticking doomsday clock, and promise of cash did nothing to put any notches in those feelings. 

“Interesting choice,” he murmurs under his breath, beginning to relax back into the cushions as well. 

“What? Is it a crime for me to like-” you pause, flipping the magazine shut to check the slick cover for what the specific issue was even about, “-The Ramones?” 

So maybe saying you liked The Ramones was an overstatement. But at this point, you’re only picking a fight for the sake of picking a fight. Because you don’t know how else to communicate with Eddie aside from with a sharp tongue and turbulent sense of sarcasm. Because when it came to the two of you, there was no such thing as small talk. 

Everything was always big. Loud. Screaming matches, bold assumptions, critical insults. 

“Pump the bitch breaks,” his eyebrows furrow, as they always do when he glances your way, “I was trying to be civil.” 

“I didn’t think civil was in your vocabulary when it came to me.” 

He exhales deeply, letting his head fall back in contempt for a moment before he lifts it and looks at you, “Is this really how you want it to be?” 

You don’t reply, and he takes it as his cue to continue. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours? Won’t it get exhausting acting like a spoiled brat for that long?”

“I’m not acting like a spoiled brat,” you snap, the magazine now discarded and draped across your knee, open to a random spread, “As far as I’m concerned, it’s not an act. Make no mistake, Munson, I am only doing this for the cash.” 

His book lays to gather dust on the coffee table as he leans his elbows onto his knees, twisting his body ever so slightly to face you more fully, “Really? There’s gotta be easier ways to make cash. I’m sure if you asked Stevie boy real nicely, he would have let you put that mouth to use for a quick buc-”

You cut him off, because you know how this sentence ends, and it’s too far. He’s crossed a line. You had expected it, should have seen it coming sooner, but it’s crossing a line all the same. 

“Stop,” you firmly instruct, holding up a finger, “Not that it’s any of your miserable business, but me and Steve are not like that. At all. So you can fuck right off with that comment,” you only pause briefly, and you’re glad when he doesn’t interrupt you, “And, may I remind you, you’re also getting payment out of this. I could say the same thing to you, dickwad.” 

It had been a curious itch beneath your skin – you knew why you needed the extra cash so badly, but you had no idea why Eddie did. Beneath all the hate, all the irritation, the question had come to mind briefly. But it had been pushed down by disinterest in all things regarding the man before you. At the end of the day, you didn’t care what motivated him. You didn’t care about what he did for work, you didn’t care about what magazines he read, and you definitely didn’t care to know if the five hundred was as necessary for him as it was for you. 

This was a means to an end – nothing more, nothing less. 

“Dickwad?” His nose crinkles as he parrots your words back to you, “Jesus, did you ever learn any new insults past middle school?” 

You’re ignoring him once more, picking the magazine up off of your knee and burying your nose in an article about the greatest punk albums of all time rather than letting yourself be dragged into further conversation with him, trying to send the message that this discussion was over. 

The message isn’t received. It flies right over his head. 

“Pardon me for the assumption,” you can see him hold his hands up in mock surrender in your peripherals, “You and Harrington just seem close.” 

You should just keep ignoring him. You should actually read the words inches from your face. You shouldn’t say another word; your gut is screaming at you to not say another word.

But you ignore your gut, just as he’d ignore your disinterest in talking to him. 

“What happened to being quiet? I think I liked it better when you weren’t speaking to me,” you try to say casually, keeping an air of indifference. You should have known better. As your mother always said, once you start feeding a stray, they continue to come back. 

“Sounds like it’s a sore spot. Are you and Harrington that close?” 

“Not in that way,” you grit out behind the pages, “We’re close, but not like that.” 

Your answer doesn’t satisfy him like you’d hoped, “Oh, it is so a sore spot.” 

When you finally drop the magazine to properly look at him again, it only fans the anger. He looks smug as he crosses his ankle atop his knee, leaning back and looking you over as if he can read you like cellophane. 

“It’s not,” you stress, “Seriously. Drop it.” 

In all truthfulness, it wasn’t a sore spot – not when it came to Steve. You’d always been strictly platonic, fitting fairly effortlessly into his and Robin’s friendship. 

“You definitely want to fuck Steve.” 

“You know what I actually want right now?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“To knock your teeth in.” 

The magazine is tossed back onto the table, nearly sliding off the edge from the force behind your throw. He’s relishing the way you’re continuing to get more upset, the way he’s still inching beneath your skin in a grating motion. To him, this is all just a joke. 

“I’d love to see you try, sweetheart,” he mocks, smiling with his teeth as if to taunt you. 

“Why did you even agree to this?” you finally turn your body towards his and mirror his position, “Is it fun to you? Is that what it is?” 

The smile widens, “You know what? Yeah. It is fun to piss you off.” 

“Yeah?” you imitate him, putting on a forced smile in an attempt to look as ridiculous as he did right now. You fold your hands and prop your elbows onto your knees, continuing to mock mercilessly as you balance your chin atop them and bat your lashes dramatically, “Please, tell me more. Tell me all about how fun it is.” 

In an instant, you drop the smile and begin to return to your previous position. It was rhetorical – you don’t expect a response, and yet he offers one nonetheless. 

“Well,” he begins, “First of all, the way you go red in the face is fucking hilarious. Seriously, it’s just like the cartoons. Absolutely ridiculous. I think by the end of this, I’ll get to see steam come out of your ears,” you’re already reaching for your phone, tuning him out, as he continues on, “And then it’s the way you’re just so damn easy. I mean, come on. Sometimes, all I have to do is breathe, and it sends you on a tirade. You just make it too simple, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. The nickname is prickly and as uncomfortable as ever, lodging into your ears against your better judgment. It creeps across your brain, travels down your spine, numbs your fingertips. You hate the shockwaves it’s capable of sending down your nerves. 

He’s right, at the end of the day. These days, you hardly put up a fight in expressing all your negative emotions towards him. If necessary, you could pinpoint a time where he really did simply breathe and you had proceeded to curse him out for it. Sometimes, just the sight of him can sour your entire mood. He’s an ever-present, persistent, irritating rain-cloud that looms on the edges of your life by circumstance. You can’t get rid of him. You can’t get rid of your hatred for him; you’ve always had a preference for sunny weather. 

“Careful,” you hum, not looking his way as you glance down at the time that glows from your lock screen: 5:46 PM. “It almost sounds like you enjoy my presence, Munson.” 

Indifference. You needed to practice indifference to survive the next twenty three hours. 

“Oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” he says, “You are the worst part of my days. You’re like bad leftovers – everytime I see you, the bile immediately rises in my throat. Whenever Steve mentions you’ll be somewhere, I cancel plans. Whenever you show up without warning, I start counting down the minutes till I can get away from you.” 

The indifference begins to break. You finally look at him, keeping a steady expression. 

“You could go missing, you could vanish off the face of this earth, and I wouldn't blink an eye. As a matter of fact, I’d probably celebrate. Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.” 

It hurts. It might be Eddie, and you might be used to his spiteful words he uses as weapons against you, but it still hurts. The sting resembles a slap as you process each of his words. Each deliberate syllable – the specific referencing to the group as his friends and not your friends, the unblinking glare of his dark eyes, the insinuation that your death could bring him joy – drives deeper into your chest. It’s a human reaction; it doesn’t matter if the boy before you is the enemy, it still bruises to hear anyone say such things about you. The human need to be accepted, to be liked, to at least be tolerated, still twists in your gut. 

And he only presses forth. He doesn’t catch the pain spreading in your limbs because you don’t let the hurt raging in your chest spread across your face. You don’t let him see you bleed. 

“I’d attend your funeral with a party hat and sparklers. Confetti, even. The whole nine yards along with my finest bottle of champagne,” he hammers the final nail into a coffin, one that you’re not sure of whom it belongs to. Maybe it’s yours, sealing you six feet under with your cursed emotions. Maybe it’s his, locking him into the tomb to dwell in his ability to always take things too far. 

You won’t let him see you bleed.

You stand abruptly, making him flinch in the slightest. You keep your face turned from him as you take your phone and storm off into the hallway wordlessly. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” he calls after you. 

But he’s not following you. No footsteps echo your own as you turn into the only other doorway aside from the bathroom. 

He has a clear line of sight of you from the couch, and he can see you disappear into his room. 

The door slams shut behind you with a riveting bang. Your nimble fingertips fumble with twisting the lock into place, chest heaving as you finally let your eyes burn. 

He can’t see you. You finally bleed. 

The tears are feverish as they roll down your cheeks one by one, taking slow steps backward as you squeeze them shut and will them away. There are no accompanying whimpers, or sobs, or hiccups. It’s just you, the salty streams, and the now overwhelming scent of him.

He’s only managed to make you cry, make you bleed this way, once before. The night of Steve’s party, the night you had attempted to make him bleed in retaliation. You’d harbored the need to cut him open desperately that night, to crack open his chest and assure yourself he could bleed the same scarlet as you, that there was still a weathered heart behind his calloused ribs that could beat the same as yours. 

But you never did. At the end of that night, you had been the only one left bloodied and bandaged, aside from Steve’s glass as collateral damage. He remained unscathed.

The door knob shakes suddenly, and your eyes flash back open. Another shake, and you hear him huffing. 

“Seriously? Did you just lock me out of my own room?” His voice comes from the other side of the door. 

The bleeding stops. The wound seals. Even if he can’t see you through the door, just to know that his presence resides on the other side of it is enough to put an end to your trembling breaths. 

“Fuck off,” you call out hoarsely. 

“Let me in. It’s my room.” 

“No.”

He sighs, and a thump sounds that you assume is his forehead falling against the wood in defeat, “Why do you insist on acting like a child?” 

“You’re the one with a collection of action figures!” you fight back with your weakest insult of the night. He twists the doorknob without fruition a few more times, a couple sharp knocks sound as you turn to get a better look at the room you’d run into without observation. 

It’s nothing extravagant, which makes sense. He has an entire apartment to spill his wretched personality across, which means there’s no need to condense it into the decor of his bedroom. He doesn’t have to express himself in a limited space as you do with your dorm. There’s a few posters of various bands hung crookedly on the wall, a dresser with a few of the drawers half open with assortments of clothes peeking out before they overflow onto the carpeted flooring, and a bed left unmade. His jersey sheets are plaid, worn and clearly well-loved. Despite the expected mess trailing about the rest of the floor, the space beside the bed is left cleared, and you decide to settle yourself down onto the patch. 

Your phone buzzes in your tight fist as your back settles up against the side of the bed. 

“Unlock the door,” his voice persists impatiently again. 

“Go to Hell.”

“I’m already there. Stuck with you.” 

Maybe the wound isn’t quite sealed, because the words fall like salt into your chest. 

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.” 

There’s more to say, but the chiming of a phone cuts off your thoughts. You glance down to your cell phone – not yours. 

The ringing is more muted, behind the door. With Eddie.

It’s Eddie’s phone. 

You’re about to call out a snarky remark about him getting that, but the ringing cuts off before you have the chance. It’s clear he’s walked away from the door as the echoes of his voice fades, the conversation inaudible to you through the walls. 

Your fingers dig into the carpet beside your thighs as you pull at individual strands that stick out, finally discarding your phone on the opposite side. Eventually, your touch trails closer to the edge of the bed, plucking, plucking, plucking until you collide with laminated paper sticking out from beneath the bed. 

What’s this? 

Just as you’re about to pull what you assume is a magazine from beneath the bed, your phone begins to buzz violently, this time the ringtone being your own. 

The screen lights up with Steve’s contact photo. It can’t be good.

“Hello?” you answer once you pick the phone up after a few moments of pause. 

“You can’t lock him out of his own room.”

“Oh, hey, Steve. I’m great, thanks for asking. Really living the drea-”

“You can’t lock him out of his own room,” Steve repeats with more emphasis, disregarding your sarcastic tone completely. 

You stare across the room at an acoustic guitar resting on a stand. This machine slays dragons, it reads in bold, white lettering. 

“So you were the one who called him,” you mumble. 

Steve sighs over the line, “No. Nance called him, because you haven’t sent the proof to the chat yet. We were trying to give you guys a grace period, but-”

“But you assumed we’d already murdered each other,” you finish his sentence. 

“Can you blame us? What did he even say to make you board yourself up in his room?” 

You scoff softly, “He didn’t tell Nancy?” 

The moment Steve mentioned Nancy was the one calling Eddie, you’d simply assumed he’d filled her in. 

Before you’d weaseled your way into the friend group, there had been clear, strong bonds already set in place: Robin & Steve, Jonathan & Argyle, and Nancy & Eddie. Three sets of best friends who all wove together to form their large friend group with ease.

You were the odd man out. They never treated you as such, except for Eddie, but it was an insecurity that could eat you alive if you ever gave it the time of day. And maybe that was why Eddie’s earlier words had cut so deeply. He was voicing a fear you always tried to bury deep down. 

“No,” Steve says as if it were obvious, “He just started going off about how you had locked him out of his room amongst…. Um, amongst other things.” 

Other things. You could guess what those other things had been; no doubt, he’d spent his time on the phone bitching about you. He’d probably called you every crude name in his rolodex of hatefulness. 

“Right,” you drawl, eyes flickering around the room to seek out another distraction to mindlessly stare at. Suddenly, you remember the magazine you had discovered just as Steve called, “Well, nothing surprising. The usual, really. Just how he hates my guts, he finds me annoying, he wouldn’t care if I died-” 

“-What?” 

You ignore Steve’s gasp of disbelief and carry on, “-All the classic insults you would say to your arch nemesis.” 

Steve says your name softly, still carrying an air of shock, “He didn’t mean that. I- Listen, he’s an asshole sometimes, but I guarantee he would care-”

“Who cares?” you interrupt, “I don’t blame him. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to care if I meet my untimely demise. I kind of figured he was going to murder me anyways, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was… that was joking around, he…” Steve trails off, because you both know he’s full of shit. 

There was no joking around between you and Eddie. A painful truth, considering when you first joined the friend group, you had such high hopes of getting along with him. 

“It’s whatever. Do you still need me to send proof?” you ask, fingers now playing with the crumpled edges of the magazine. Even half-hidden, you could see there were pages that had been dog-eared. 

You almost don’t hear Steve as he tells you that it’s fine, that now they know the two of you are definitely together. It’s already nearly time for the next check in anyways. 

“Alright, in that case…” your tongue peaks out as you begin to tug the magazine out of hiding. The moment the magazine's title comes into sight, you gasp, frozen as the phone nearly slips out of your hand.

Fucking jackpot.

“You good?” Steve asks. 

Playboy. A goddamn Playboy magazine. 

“Never better,” you rush out, eager to hang up so you can utilize this ammunition against Eddie, “Talk later, Steve-O.” 

You don’t give him a chance to echo a goodbye before you hang up, tossing your phone off to the side with a muted thump. Your focus is entirely on the magazine before you, crinkling as you hold it in your hands and bite back laughter. 

Against your better judgment, you open the cover, mouth falling open as you flip through page after page of nude women and cigarette ads. Some pages stick together, and you don’t dare to peel them apart, cringing at the thought of just why they’re sticky. You come to the first page that had been dog-earred, and your jaw clicks as your mouth falls agape. 

Fucking pervert. He’s a goddamn pervert. 

A well-timed knock sounds at the door once more, Eddie’s knuckles sharp in their three strikes, “Can you let me in now?” 

It’s the closest to a please you’re going to get. 

“Sorry, busy!” you call out in response, still staring at the spread.

The nude woman eerily resembles you. Same hair, same skin tone, similar noses. The Universe has dropped the most loving of gifts in your laps in the form of this magazine, something you know you can use to get under Eddie’s skin as severely as he had done to you. 

“Busy?” he protests, knocking on the door again before you hear the shaking of the doorknob again, “What the fuck are you doing in there? I told you, don’t touch my shit.”

You bite your lip, smile curling the corners of your mouth as you finally stand from the floor, knees cracking as you keep the magazine open to the photo. Eddie has gone scarily quiet, and you can’t even make out his breathing. His shadow has stilled completely as it peaks in from under the doorway. 

He’s never living this down. 

You’re still grinning with ill-intent as you shout, “Wow. Who knew I was right about the Playboy?”

Those words are all it takes for the frantic pounding on the door to begin.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @imtryingahh @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @liv0679 @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @eddiemunxson @ohmeg @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @whosbettysstuff

(if your name is crossed out like so, it means i am unable to tag you)

taglist is now closed. &lt;3

[xxsp3llb0undxx]

The Pack With A Gen-Z!Reader // HC

Sam:

Dude would be so confused.

You're just yapping on about some random tiktok you saw.

Sam just looking at you like you've lost your mind.

Don't get me started on him trying to understand slang.

Sam would literally have a heart attack trying to figure out what you are saying.

Gives me the vibes of trying to be down with kids but fails miserably.

Definitely thinks he's cool because he found out about the dab and won't stop doing it.

He once locked you out by accident and all he was met with was “open the noooor”.

He thought you were having a stroke.

Paul:

My sweet baby Paul would be utterly confused at first.

Might think you're possessed.

He finally figures it out and he's all for tiktoks

Helping you prank the pack and getting it on video.

Definitely bullies you if you're trying a new tiktok trend.

Is the type to obnoxiously start screaming "Yaaaass gorrrl"

Jared:

Don't get me started on this boy.

Major younger brother vibes.

Sees you trying a new recipe? Will literally scream in your ear and run away.

Will join in with making tiktok videos.

Starts reciting random shit he's seen on Instagram reels 100%

The most in tune with the Gen-Z kids, giving feral energy.

Jacob:

Judging you all the time.

Why do you keep saying girl boss?

He would honestly hate you if you constantly kept saying random tiktok sounds.

"Hi I'm Shelley Duvall" is now stuck in this poor boys head.

Will personally ask Edward to suck you dry

Would be absolutely mortified if you said you might like it.

Embry:

Partner in crime.

1000% up to piss anyone off.

Everyone knows the Gen-z kids always do something really fucking random.

Wanna steal a car? Embry is already grabbing a crowbar.

Wanna take pictures of Sam asleep and stick them all around the house? Fuck he's already got the camera.

Wanna tie-dye random clothes? Already getting the bleach ready.

Quil:

Terrified.

In a constant state of fear when he's around you.

Like, he doesn't know what you're gonna do.

Bark at him? Definite no.

Set the house on fire because of a spider? He's outta here.

Crying because you couldn't renew your spotify/apple music? Doesn't know how to react.

Quil.exe has stopped working.

Seth:

Seth is a little puppy.

Will literally do anything you ask.

Go up to Sam and start reciting the lyrics to I'm A Survivor? He is already marching over there.

You ask him to make bread from 1930 with you? Sure, he doesn't care that it has random ingredients in it.

Would definitely let you do the "p for papas, it's a papas party" on him while in wolf form.

Leah:

Questioning everything.

She asks where your shirt is from? The only response she gets is "Gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss"

Utterly confused.

Wishes she could travel back in time and kidnap the maker of tiktok so she wouldn't have to hear "Attenzione pickpocket" for the 100th time.

Will cry if you start trauma dumping out of nowhere.

Give my girl Leah a rest

[sokoneedsagun]

So in honer of both of the polls I've done so far (one saying that people prefer long from posts in multiple parts, and one for who people want more content of) and Jason Todd currently being in the lead I want to go through something I've seen lately.

So by now I'm sure that people have seen at least one video/post about Jason Todd and the new Hozier song nobody's soldier, but I haven't seen anyone explain why exactly it is so fitting so I will

Pre-Chorus:

so in the pre-chorus of the song there are the lines "If I tell you this is drowning, You tell me I'm walking on water, I could bring fire from the mountain, You tell me it feels a little colder" And focusing on the first half specifically, I think the way it ties into Jason is having such big shoes to fill and such high expectations placed on him when he was so young. Jason becomes robin around the age of 12, and at that time he's taking on the role that Dick used to have (keep in mind Dick is 18). This is a 12 year old boy with no training filling the shoes of an 18 year old who had been training as robin for near half of his life. He is stepping in and doing his best to meet Bruce's expectations of him, so while he may feel like he's drowning in all of it Bruce is assuming if not expecting that Jason can handle it because he is so eager to.

Chorus:

The chorus gets a bit more nuanced (at least for me, honestly all of this is), but starting with the line "I don't wanna choose between being a salesmen or a soldier." There can be a very literal interpretation to it, bruce calls his son a fucking soldier, after becoming red hood Jason is a crime lord and heavily controling the drug trade of Gotham (hence the salesmen aspect).

But in another sense it can heavily represent the relationship Jason has with Bruce and the fact that in many iterations of cannon that relationship is dependent on Jason's agreence to give up the way he's been running Gotham.

He's forced to choose between being Bruce's son (and practically by default also being his soldier), and being the red hood, a crime lord and running Gotham's underground how he sees fit. Hence being forced to choose between being a salesmen or a soldier.

The next part is the line "Let me look a little older, let me step a little bolder." This to me ties in with the fact that Jason died as a child, he was a 15 year old boy and while he was dead I doubt that Bruce could think of him as anything different.

But Jason as the red hood isn't a child and he defineinetly doesn't want to be seen as one. He wants to be preceved as older, he wants to be seen as an adult who built himself his own life without Bruce no matter what he did to do it, he had to be bold in his actions (look at the infamous duffle bag.) to get what he wanted. And Bruce didn't like that, he hated how bold and "reckless" Jason was being by not following his rules.

As for the next part "Choose between being a butcher or a pauper." Jason grew up increadibly poor in crime alley, as a child after Catherine Todd died he was homeless, he didn't have anyone to help him or anywhere to go, then once he moved in with Bruce he was compleatly reliant on him (one of the definitions of a pauper is someone who relies on charity), so throughout his entire adolecence he was a pauper; he was compleatly reliant and at the mercy of Bruce and other people in power around him.

But as an adult Jason is the Butcher. He is the one controling Gotham's underground and many of the people in it, he has no qualms with killing; and he was the one who did that. Jason made that life for himself alone, he made the choice to become something more then he could as a child even if it was something he never would have done before his death.

"Honey I'm taking no orders, gonna be nobody's soldier." This is just another iteration of just not listening to Bruce anymore. He doesn't follow his rules and he's not going to take orders from anyone anymore, he is his own person and he isn't a soldier to anyone any longer.

That's about as far as I looked into the lyrics for this, if you haven't listened to the song I highly reccomend it, it isn't what I would usually listen to but it's so fucking good. And like always these are my opinions, if you disagree feel free to (respectfully) explain why in the comments or tags

[poppitron360]

*slides you a 20 [whatever currency you're using] bill* now tell me about how you got to ship valzhang and what you like most about it, along with your headcanons and scenarios

...please<3

THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU.

Okay sorry for taking long to reply I needed to schedule 3hrs out of my day to respond to this because I have a LOT of thoughts- Valzhang was my otp LONG before Valgrace. Be prepared for a lot of caps lock, keysmashes and exited ramblings.

We are phenomenally deprived of Valzhang fanart/fanfiction and that is a CRIME. They are so fun and cute to draw next to each other because they’re just so different- I love how Leo looks SO FUNKING TINY next to Frank.

But seriously, we are lacking. I searched up “Valzhang” on Pinterest earlier and there is NO JOKE only 5 pieces of fanart on there. We need to step up our game!

I’ve already posted this, but here is some Valzhang fanart I drew a while back-

So, how did I come to become the No.1 Valzhang Defender, you ask? Well…

Reading TLH was going slowly (bc of Spotify Audiobooks and their stupid listening hours feature), but I needed to shovel content into my brain like popcorn and so by the end of the first book I’d known all the spoilers and I knew that Frank and Leo would have a rivalry- and I was already SUPER attached to Leo, so I was prepared to HATE Frank.

So imagine my absolute frustration when I read SoN and found myself absolutely falling in love with this massive softie. I tried not to, I really did, but I couldn’t help it.

So, naturally, I was COMPLETELY on board with them becoming besties.

I was also all for their rivalry because it had so much potential for Leo angst- he’s already antagonising himself because of his powers, so someone else treating him like shit would only make him feel worse- thus I have more ways to cathart my own pain through fictional characters, so either way, it was a win-win for me.

But the blossoming bromance we got from it-

Oh my gods.

I already made a post about my feelings on Valzhang and how Caleo is just a shitty re-cycled version of them, but NO WAY was that all my thoughts, so here goes (and bear in mind I am only on HoH so this isn’t even their arc as a whole):

*Clears Throat*

*Shuffles note cards*

*Clears throat again*

*Deep Breath*

1. FRANK IS NO LONGER AFRAID OF FIRE BECAUSE OF LEO!!!!! I mean HOW CUTEE IS THAT!!!!!! He thought that there was nothing worse than fire, he was terrified of it, it was his biggest weakness. And then he met this tiny annoying hyperactive boy who is the MOST UNLIKELY OF FRIENDS- And he taught him to not be afraid. Like there is a moment where his trousers are literally ON FIRE and he doesn’t freak out because Leo taught him to not be afraid anymore. AND IT’S NOT JUST BECAUSE OF THE POUCH!!!! Frank learns to trust Leo with his life- and there’s that moment in that scene where he’s faced with a choice to give him The Stick or not, and he chooses to trust Leo. He learns that fire (Leo) may seem scary and intimidating, but it can also be good and warm and wholesome and healing.

2. AND IT GOES BOTH WAYYYS!!!!! Leo was afraid of opening up to people, of letting down the mask and letting people see the real him. Sure, he did it a bit with Jason and Piper, but notice how in TLH, he only does it bc he didn’t have a choice. He used his fire powers to save them, and then Jason sort of just pieced together what happened the night Leo’s mom died. The first time he actually TELLS someone about it was when he tells Frank- someone who he thought was big and intimidating and so was putting his defences up with the jokes. To him, Frank looked just like someone who would’ve bullied him in the foster homes, he was the last person Leo thought he’d open up to. But he does, and Frank comforts him. They realise they’re not as different as they thought, and bonded over similar trauma and dead moms.

*Takes another deep breath*

3. LEO REALLY IS SO BRILLIANTLY TINY NEXT TO FRANK. IT. IS. SO. CUTE. Unlike Calypso and Leo, who were not planned out, Frank was WRITTEN to be Leo’s rival. They are exact opposites. The Yin and the Yang. The Sun and The Star (lol). They both juxtapose each other so beautifully- on the surface they contrast and clash but looking deeper they actually parallel each other but ultimately they compliment each other both in flaws and in strengths!!!! (*steadies myself on table* “Whoa, flashback to GCSE Eng Lit- using the same analysis structure. Are you proud of me, Miss Cox?”) But seriously, they initially are rivals because they look like complete opposites- tall/short, muscular/built like a twig, calm and careful/reckless and loud, animals/machines, Roman/Greek, Outwardly confident/Outwardly insecure, etc, etc.

4. But, as I said, looking deeper, they actually have a lot in common. Not just losing their moms, but Leo’s just as afraid of fire as Frank is. The only difference being that Frank’s afraid because of how it could hurt him, Leo’s afraid because of how it could hurt others, which directly contradicts Frank’s initial impression that Leo is self-centred and egotistic. Honey, that’s just an act. They’re also both very insecure, and both feel like the least useful member of the seven, and struggle to feel accepted. Because of how Leo felt threatened by Frank, he put his defences up and lashed out with his jokes, attacking Frank where he was most vulnerable, ridiculing him. They completely misjudged each other at first, and had an ANTI-meet-cute (Leo firing on New Rome) and it took a while for them to take down those walls that they’d built up, making it a lot more meaningful when they do open up.

And now we get onto specific hcs/scenarios I have, and I have a LOT of them:

1. Nico reveals to Leo that Frank’s mom is in Elysium because she gave her life in war to save others, whereas Leo’s mom is not, and instead is in Asphodel, despite all the little things she sacrificed in order to raise him, knowing he’d be important to the fate of the world. This causes a lot of resentment and jealously for Leo, as Frank has the one thing he desperately wants- a chance to see his mom again, make things right, get closure. Frank is annoyed by the fact that Leo is suddenly acting so cold and angry towards him, until Leo finally explains why.

2. Leo’s lactose-free mac n cheese is Frank’s favourite thing on earth. He has some sort of magic ingredient that makes the fake cheese not taste so plasticky, but he refuses to tell Frank what it is so Frank has to keep begging him to make it. Leo also makes it high in fibre and carbs, so it’s good workout food. Leo makes sure all his meals are Frank-Friendly.

3. I need to see them in battle together. Frank is incredibly anxious and overprotective of his tiny reckless bf/bff. Leo’s just a ball of freaking energy bouncing around going “ahahahbahjabkakdfkajkjaaa” and Frank’s like “Leo, no, those have teeth-“ He’s fine though.

4. As much as Frank acts like he hates Leo, he would risk his life for him in a heartbeat. I imagine Leo gets injured in battle and Frank drops whatever he’s doing and just fucking RUNS to help him. I can vividly picture him transforming into an elephant and scooping an unconscious Leo up in his trunk, and carrying him over to the medic tent. Yes, he’s currently being fired on by so many enemies, but nothing matters except getting Leo to safety.

5. Frank helps Leo with his machines. He can turn into small animals and get into tiny spaces, and he can become desert creatures, so the heat in the engine room doesn’t bother him.

6. Frank often finds Leo asleep on top of his blueprints, his welders-goggles askew, and he turns into a cat and curls up next to him to keep him company.

7. Also, when Leo skips meals because he’s spent too long working and he’s lost track of time, Frank makes sure to bring him food and water and his ADHD meds… and then he asks him to make him some mac n cheese.

8. Frank knows about PTSD from seeing his mom and her military friends, and so is often there to comfort Leo when he has flashbacks to the night his mom died, or one of the other miserable things that happened in his childhood.

9. All the things that used to freak Frank out about Leo (Leo making fun of his insecurities, Leo’s fire, the whole Sammy thing-) they are now 100% comfortable joking about together. Before, Frank would get upset when Leo ridiculed him, but now Leo does it as a sign of affection rather than as self-defence, and Frank can tell the difference. It is their love language.

10. When I write fanfiction, I often write important scenes when I think of them, and then write around them. Sometimes, it’s just one or two lines, for example I found this in my notes app the other day:

“I hate Hera,” Leo said, “She yeeted my dad off a cliff.”

“Yote,” Frank corrected.

And I had nothing written around it, nowhere to put it, it was just lying there. Anyway, that was important to share.

11. Also, I have this:

“I’m hugging you now,” Frank said, pulling Leo into an embrace and squeezing him tight.

“O- Okay, big guy,” Leo said, his voice muffled in Frank’s chest. His tiny body was practically swallowed in Frank’s bear-hug. He squirmed and fought and wriggled, but his weakling arms worked about as well as spaghetti against Frank’s brick-like build.

“No,” Frank insisted, “I will smother you with love and affection.”

“Get. Off.”

“No.”

“Let go of me, Zhang, or I’ll burn you.”

Frank let go. Leo rubbed his bruised arms.

12. I ship them platonically, but the joke-flirting is 1000% a thing they do. Hazel is the main pedaler of this, and often introduces them as “My boyfriend Frank, and Frank’s boyfriend Leo.”

13. Frank reluctantly admits to Leo that he likes Taylor Swift. Leo is obvs a swiftie, so absolutely goes MENTAL at this news, ofc ridicules him mercilessly for it, despite how hypocritical it makes him look (“This is not about me!”), but still insists they sit down with Hazel and make friendship bracelets (Frank no longer has the heart to tell him that he wasn’t actually a huge fan, just had a couple of her albums and liked her songs, unlike Leo who knows every word to every song, all the lore behind it, and Tay’s favourite colour, star sign, and shoe size.) AND I KNOW I HEADCANNON EVERYONE AS A SWIFTIE SHUT UP LET ME PROJECT.

14. Frank buys Leo fidget toys he think’s he’ll like. Sure, Leo can make his own, but it’s the sentiment that counts.

15. And they stay friends after the War. Frank frequently visits from New Rome University. They have long iris messages where they gossip and talk shit.

16. Leo becomes godfather to Frazel’s children. Absolutely SPOILS THEM ROTTEN (I also have a shit-tonne of hcs about Leo babysitting Percabeth’s kids, so lmk if you’d like to hear that.) Will visit the Zhang-Levesque household on the weekends, makes the kids gifts, teaches them how to safely use a fire extinguisher, helps them prank their dad.

17. I know Jason is meant to be Leo’s best friend BUT if Valgrace was cannon then that would leave room for Frank to be the BFF. NO BUT, YOUR HONOUR, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND- They started out hating each other, but then became INSEPARABLE once they took the time to get to know each other and realised they were actually really cool people. It’s not enough for them to be friends, they need to be BEST FRIENDS. They need to be their ONE AND ONLY. They need to knock on each other’s cabin doors on the Argo II at 3am and have long discussions about Their Feelings. They need to be 100% comfortable with each other and tell each other everything. Yes, Leo is annoying but he is Frank’s annoyance. Yes, Frank is a goof but he’s Leo’s goof. BEST. FRIENDS.

They’re just such an unlikely pairing, I love them sm.

Thank you for sticking with me, I will not apologise for my ramblings, you were warned, but if you did make it to the end, here, have a sweet 🍬 You are clearly just as dedicated a Valzhang stan as I am (It is currently 00:54am where I live)

I will probably have a lot more Thoughts and Feelings coming your way soon, so don’t think for a second that I’ve got it all out of my system. I still haven’t finished the series yet, and I know that as soon as I post this I’ll think of something else that I should’ve added, but I hope this was enough for now.

(Also, I’m British, so I’d use a £20 (“twenty pound”) Note, in case you were curious.)

Again, thank you so much annon for the Ask- as you can see, I LOVE VALZHANG.