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esote-rika · 1 month ago

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lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well.

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since.

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything.

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals.

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing.

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic.

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together.

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.”

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions, you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak.

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him.

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost.

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him.

That’s inaccurate.

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification.

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body.

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat.

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices.

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body.

Soft. So damn soft.

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat.

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience.

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh.

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock.

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his.

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face.

There’s nowhere else he would rather be.

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed.

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock.

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs.

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust.

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him.

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!”

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.”

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

you’ll always know me

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: even as the crowds at his shows get bigger and bigger, eddie munson still has you, his very best friend. or, (for my swifties) eddie munson is your dorothea.

word count: 8.6k

warnings: fluff, a little angst, childhood best friends to lovers (sort of), weed and smoking, librarian!reader, first kiss, so many uses of the words “i miss you,” and some idiots in love !!!

a/n: hiiiii!!! this one took so long but i really love rockstar!eddie and i hope you do too!!! this is inspired by tis the damn season and especially dorothea by taylor swift <3 thank you to my love @inkluvs for encouraging me on this one ily!!!

♫♩♪♬

It’s surreal to watch someone close to you grow so much bigger than the town you live in.

To know that the person you see on the news, at award shows on your TV screen, is the same one who used to push you on the swings at the playground, who used to walk with you to and from school, who grew up beside you, closer than anyone else ever could have.

Closer than anyone ever would, still.

To most people, he’s Eddie Munson, lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin. To you, he’s Eddie, the best friend you’ve ever had.

You can go back years and years, and Eddie’s woven into your life for so much of it. So is his music. You can pick out the points: watching Corroded Coffin play for the first time in middle school, watching their first gig at the Hideout, being in the front row for it all wearing the widest smile, having the loudest cheers.

Even the late night phone calls you’d get when he’d be stuck on lyrics, when he wanted someone’s opinion and chose to dial your number instead of his bandmates’.

(“Hello?”

“I can’t get this line to sound right.”

“Let’s hear it, Munson.”)

You’re often in disbelief of where he is now. Not because you ever doubted him, but because even after so long, it’s strange not to see him every day. You’re insanely proud of him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him.

Because you do. You miss him so much.

A box sits on the top shelf of your closet, one filled with newspaper and magazine clippings, articles about the band’s success, positive reviews about their shows and their albums. Things to show that Eddie’s dream came true, and that’s a rare thing.

There’s only one kind of tabloid you choose not to keep: the ones booming with rumors you selfishly hope aren’t true.

‘Lead singer of Corroded Coffin has a new spark? Read more to find out who’s caught famous bad boy Eddie Munson’s eye.’

You see him constantly in pictures, through a screen, but you only really ever see him on holidays, when he’s able to come home. When he comes bursting back into your life in vibrant fireworks with his stupid, pretty smile and stupid, shining brown eyes. When he comes back only to leave all over again.

You only have yourself to blame, really, for letting it tear you up. Because more than anything, you’re happy for him, so happy you could never express it properly, but still, there’s an ache in you when he crosses your mind, when the feelings linger.

Life in Hawkins for you consists of working at the library, reading your days and thoughts away, hanging out with the gang when you’re up to it, and that’s about it.

Eddie always knows where to find you when he does come home, usually barging into the library with his arms open for a hug, one you rush into easily. You always spend the couple days he has in Hawkins together, being the you and him you’ve been since you were kids. But the lingering reminder doesn’t fade, the reminder of him having to leave looming over you like a storm cloud.

Eddie Munson comes home sporadically, unknowingly taking your heart with him wherever he goes. And when his inevitable departure takes place, you’re forced to regrow what’s missing from your chest. Every single time.

Besides his uncle Wayne, who could only ever see him as a troublemaking kid, you’re the only person who’s never treated Eddie any differently.

Not in high school when he was labeled a freak, not even when the fame rose so suddenly it felt like a tidal wave. You kept him afloat. You keep him afloat.

He knows he should call more often, he knows that even if the phone works both ways, you really don’t have a way of keeping track of which hotel he’s in, which state, which country, even. He knows that falls on him.

Your phone number’s burned into Eddie’s memory. He could never forget it, and still, he can’t seem to find the time to dial it. He’ll get called away, or he’ll just be getting back from a show and barely have the energy to shower before getting in bed. Worse, he’ll get the panicked sense that you won’t pick up anymore.

At least he’s never missed your birthday. That, he’ll always make time for, usually phoning you at the same time that a bouquet of flowers arrives at your door. And somehow, even when he’s away, you don’t miss his birthday, either.

Eddie’s sitting on the small couch in his dressing room, waiting to go on stage, thinking of you the way he often does.

He wonders if you think of him, too. If you miss him or if you’re angry that he’s gone so often, that he can barely even manage a fucking phone call. Though, you were never the type to be angry. Never with him, at least.

He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you tell him ‘good luck’ before going on stage like you used to. He peeks at the table next to the couch. Eddie’s not sure how much time he has before he needs to go, but he figures it’s worth a try.

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone in his dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Munson! You’re on in five!”

He’ll call you later, then.

“Beginning descent to the Indianapolis International Airport.”

The muffled sound through the airplane’s speakers is followed by the ding of the seatbelt signs being turned on. Eddie shifts in his seat to look out the window. He’s got his own little cubicle in first class, and though this is how he always flies now (other than when he finds himself on a private jet, which is even more unbelievable), he’s still not used to it.

He’s itching to get out of this seat, then he remembers that he’s still got the trek through the airport and the drive back to Hawkins. It’ll be worth it to see Wayne, who he doesn’t see nearly as often as he should, and get his classic hug with a slap on his shoulder.

It’ll be worth it to see you, who makes Hawkins feel more like home. You, who reminds him of the person he’s always been, the parts that get lost on the road. You, who hugs him tighter than anyone else ever has.

His hands clench into fits in his lap.

As soon as Eddie steps off the plane, his security team finds him. He’d assured them that he’d be fine, really, but this is how it is for him now. Through baggage claim and all the way to the car that’s waiting for him outside, security takes a step whenever he does.

Shutting the car door as he slides into the backseat, Eddie tips his head back and sighs.

The car ride feels shorter than usual, the city fading into trees and fields until the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign comes into view. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires as it pulls into the trailer park. Wayne’s got enough to get a better place now, Eddie made sure of it, but he never did. He’d never admit it but Wayne’s sentimental, and the trailer houses too many memories to let go of it.

After all, it was home.

Stepping through the front door there’s the smell that he’d never noticed until he’d been gone for weeks at a time. The settled dust, the faint smoke of cigarettes, coffee, and the room spray Wayne inevitably uses to try and cover it all up.

Eddie drags his bags inside, waves to his driver, and shuts the door behind him.

Then, Wayne’s warm rasp, “my boy. Get in okay?”

He’s wrapped in his uncle’s classic hug quickly, the pats on his shoulder and all. Eddie closes his eyes and soaks it in, just for a second, “yeah. It was fine.”

“Good, good,” Wayne says, pulling back and grasping Eddie’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “Take a shower.”

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

“Nah, that’s me telling you that you smell like airport, boy.”

“It’s great to see you, too,” Eddie says, smiling.

He and Wayne have the kind of relationship that time doesn’t really affect all that much. Whether Eddie’s away for a week or a month, or two, or three, they fall back into things like he’d never even left.

He knows Wayne’s probably lonely, probably hiding more than he could imagine, but he also knows that he loves him, and that’s always a good thing to know, to feel. Loved.

“Shut up, you know I missed you,” Wayne shakes Eddie’s shoulders and lets go, “now go wash up and you can tell me about your last show over some coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds good. I missed you too, Wayne.”

Eddie carries his bags into his room, leaving them open on the ground rather than unpacking. He’ll just have to pack them all over again, anyways.

Before long, the trailer’s small bathroom is filling with steam as Eddie steps into the shower, dropping his neck back and letting the water run over his shoulders, his back. He stands like that for a bit, simply letting the heat melt away at the tension in his muscles.

By the time he steps out, the mirror is completely fogged with steam, and Eddie wipes away at a section to look at himself. The bags under his eyes, the mess of his hair that he doesn’t bother taming, the small scratch on his chin from one of his rings. He shakes his head and heads into his room with his towel around his waist.

He throws on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded band tee, his hair soaking the back of it drop by drop.

In the kitchen, Wayne’s got two mugs of coffee sitting on the small table, a seat already pulled out for Eddie to take.

“Thanks.”

He nods, sipping from his mug as Eddie does the same.

In the silence, he can’t help but think of you, of how close he is to you now. Mere minutes away. He wonders what you’re doing, if you’re reading in bed after your shift, if you’d just showered like him, if you’re thinking of him, too.

“I saw her the other day,” Wayne says.

They both know he means you.

“How’s she doing?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll ask her that when you see her tomorrow, but she seemed good.”

“How'd you know I’m gonna see her tomorrow?”

“Come on, kid. You go to the library the day after you get in every time and think I don’t notice?”

Eddie looks down at the mug in his hands, his face warm. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t have him feeling all shy and nervous, like he’d been caught, but it does.

“She misses you,” Wayne adds.

“She tell you that?”

“Doesn’t have to. I’ve known that girl since she was little and running after you on the playground. I can tell.”

Wayne has always said that you’re as good as family, after all. Eddie used to joke that his uncle liked you more than him, and you used to laugh and joke back that he was right.

Eddie’s suddenly very excited to sleep, only to get to tomorrow quicker.

“I miss her, too.”

“Yeah, kid. I know,” Wayne leaves it there, switching things over, “I saw you almost eat shit on TV the other day.”

“Come on!” Eddie groans. He’d tripped over a fucking wire on stage. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was still fuckin’ funny.”

“Of all the shows, you just had to tune in for that one.”

Wayne asks about the tour, about how Eddie’s liking it this time around, about whether or not there’s anything new he’s working on.

In return, Eddie asks about the mechanic’s, about whether or not Wayne’s back has been acting up (which earns him a light slap on the back of the head), about what’s changed in Hawkins since the last time he’d been home.

Even through the smiles he shares with his uncle, Eddie’s wondering how you’ll react when you see him tomorrow, picturing how it’ll feel to be near you again. He gets that feeling in his gut, the butterflies that are nerves and excitement and questions and feelings rolled into one.

He’s pretty sure he dreams about you, too.

Your shifts at the library are always long; full days of scanning and shelving books. You’re lucky to say that you actually like your job. The smell of worn pages, the peacefulness (save for when Dustin comes barging in with his stack of overdue books that you let him off the hook for every time), the interactions that are almost always short and sweet since it’s meant to be a quiet place.

Your eight or nine or however many hour days go by much quicker now than they did during your high school job at the grocery store, that’s for sure.

You’re pushing the put-back cart between shelves, humming a random song quietly as you place the books where they belong, sometimes pausing to straighten things out. It’s the middle of a weekday and you’re the only person in there anyway. That is, until the small bell on the front desk dings.

“Just a second!” You call, squeezing between the cart and the self beside it to walk over to the front desk. You think your heart stops altogether.

You’d recognize that head of hair anywhere, the dark, frizzy curls. Hell, you’d recognize that damn denim vest anywhere, even the stance of the person wearing it. “Eddie?”

He turns around at the sound of your voice, and something lifts from his chest when he sees you. A grin spreads wide on his face, splitting his cheeks and crinkling his eyes in the corners, “there she is.”

Usually, when he comes home, it’s on a holiday and you’re expecting him, watching the door and waiting for him to walk through it. This time, you had no idea he’d be coming home. It’s the best surprise you could get.

You’re practically running into his arms, and he wraps them around your waist easily, yours tossed around his shoulders. Your face is buried in his neck, breathing him in, making sure this is real. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands clutch at the fabric over your sides, his head twisting so he can place a kiss over your hair, “had a break from tour. Missed home.”

And sure, Eddie hadn’t really realized just how much he missed it until he came back, it’s crystal clear now, with you hugging him. He really, really missed home.

You want to say something stupid and emotional like it hasn’t felt as much like home until now, or I missed the sound of your voice and the smell of your shampoo, but that would probably reveal a little too much.

“Just home you missed or…” you tease, pulling back to look at his face, his brown eyes that sort of sparkle. Your hands stay on his shoulders, his on your waist.

“I missed Wayne, obviously,” Eddie replies, acting oblivious and smiling at the small furrow in your brow.

“Eddie!”

“Aw, come on.” He tugs you in for another hug, his cheek squished against the side of your head. “‘Course I missed you, trouble.”

Trouble. You never knew you could miss a single word so much.

Eddie started calling you ‘trouble’ when you were kids, sometime in middle school when you’d stolen a bunch of his mixtapes and only returned them weeks later, when he finally noticed. He’d snatched them out of your hands and muttered ‘you’re trouble’ and it just stuck.

“Thank you,” you say, laughing when Eddie pulls back frowning at you. “And I missed you, too. Duh.”

“Duh.” He mocks. He lets go of you fully but doesn’t go far, leaning an elbow against the desk, “you’re doing okay?”

“I’m good. Things don’t change all that much around here, you know that.”

“I’m not asking about around here, I’m asking ‘bout you.”

You tug at the hair tie on your wrist. “I’m fine, Eddie. Promise.”

He nods, and there’s a small lull in the conversation that pinches at your chest for some reason. The sort of silence that never used to be there when it came to you and Eddie, always filling it with conversation or letting it be comfortable. Now, there’s something like awkwardness stretching and it stings.

Because it shouldn’t be there, because he’s Eddie and you’re you and you’re best friends and that’s all there should be to it. But it isn’t. You’re the same people, but so much is different.

“You working late?” He asks.

“Until we close.”

“Care for some company?”

You tilt your head at him, “you really wanna hang around the library for the last four hours of my shift?”

“Sounds like fun to me. I’ll even push the cart for you, and you can tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”

It’s funny that he thinks he’d ever have to convince you to spend time with him, when you’re practically pulling at any thread of him that you can, when you’re taking anything he has to give you. Two days, a week, a couple of phone calls.

It’s all better than not having him at all.

“Only if you tell me what I’ve missed, too. Like all the cool celebrities you’ve met.”

“Not as cool as you, trouble.” Eddie taps your nose, smiling at the way you scrunch it in response.

“Shut up and start pushing the cart, Munson.”

He stands straight and salutes, “yes ma’am.”

You’re still smiling when you shake your head, “idiot.”

Eddie really does spend the rest of the day with you, pushing the cart while you re-shelf books, sitting in the extra chair behind the counter while you file returns, ducking when someone else walks in.

He asks you about Robin and Steve, Dustin and Lucas, how the kids are finding school, whether Nancy’s been hired at a big paper yet. He asks you about your family, and most of all, about you.

He hangs onto every word you say. And not once do you say anything to make him feel bad for being away, if anything, you can’t stop telling him how proud you are, especially when he talks to you about what’s in the works.

“I always told you you’d make it, Munson.”

“Wouldn’t have done it without you, trouble.”

The next morning, you’re sitting across from him in the corner booth by the window at Benny’s for breakfast. The same way you did every Friday in high school, at the same table.

Whenever you wind up at Benny’s when Eddie’s away, you tend to avoid that booth. It’s pathetic. Like his absence is clearer than ever sitting there when he isn’t. When he’s not putting whipped cream on your nose or stealing food off your plate.

Now, it’s his presence that surrounds you, his smile and his laugh, his foot nudging yours under the table.

The menu is sticky under your fingertips where you hold it, faded from sunlight and discolored from coffee spills that stain the page. You don’t really need to be looking at it—after years of coming here, you’ve probably got the thing memorized—but you need the time to collect yourself. To remember that this is Eddie, and there’s nothing to be nervous about.

You need the time to stuff down that flutter in your gut and in your chest.

On the other side of the booth, Eddie takes your distraction as a chance to really look at you. The details he can’t seem to picture when he’s away like the flecks in your eyes or the exact shade of your lips.

He never realizes just how much he misses you until he’s home. Until he’s sitting across from you and listening to the sound of your voice clearly instead of through a crackling phone’s speaker, until he gets to see the way your eyes light up slightly when you laugh.

It sort of hits him all at once, and he’s thinking, God, I should call more often. I should visit more often.

After a couple of minutes, you look back at Eddie, “you know what you want?”

“I’ve been getting the same thing since high school, trouble. Don’t need the menu.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go order,” you say, placing your menu back in the holder by the window.

When you start sliding your way out of the booth, Eddie places a hand over yours on the table, “I can get it.”

You look down at your hands, his skin on yours, like you’d expected to see something there. A spark, a burn scorching your skin in the best way.

“I know you can,” you say, smiling at him. “But it’s my treat, okay? I want to get it.”

Eddie always feels sort of guilty when he’s not buying, because he has more than enough money to take care of it, more than he knows what to do with. Sometimes (often), people expect him to pay, even. And just like you’d known how he was feeling, you shut it down with a flash of your smile.

You shift to squeeze his hand before getting up and heading over to the counter, leaning on your elbows as you wait your turn.

Still, Eddie’s looking at you, his hand in the same spot on the table.

He knows that, despite it not being a busy morning at Benny’s, people are looking at him, whispering the way they did even in school. Only now, they’re saying they can’t believe it, look at him now, instead of calling him a freak. And just like in school, having you around makes the talk bearable. Hell, it makes it disappear, if only for a little while.

When the waiter finally comes over to take your order, you send him a kind smile, rattling off yours and Eddie’s orders.

Eddie watches the entire interaction. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else, that it’s because he’s just making sure you’re alright. It’s certainly not because of how pretty he thinks you look today, not because of how hard it is to keep his eyes off of you.

The waiter is a younger guy, probably around your age. Someone Eddie doesn’t know. He seems to tell you a joke because you laugh, bright and sunny, and Eddie suddenly wishes that Benny was the one taking orders.

Because he should be the one to make you laugh like that, to be on the receiving end of your grin and crinkled eyes. Because there’s this weight in his stomach that feels a little too much like jealousy. Because you’re his best friend and he fucking misses you.

Eddie looks down at his hands and twists his rings around and around until you come back, the old booth squeaking as you sit down.

“You okay?” You ask, always noticing his nervous habit of fiddling with his rings.

She’s my friend, he reminds himself. My best friend, that’s all.

“‘Course I am.”

“The guy at the counter, Dan, wanted me to tell you he’s a fan.”

He shakes his head, “I can't believe I have those. Especially in this town.”

“Excuse me? Your biggest fan is sitting right here, in this town, Munson.”

He probably thinks you’re joking with the way he chuckles, chest rumbling. But, you’re not. The shoebox full of clippings says enough, and you don’t think he’d ever let you live it down if he knew about it.

“She want an autograph?” He teases, the heaviness in his stomach melting away. Your biggest fan.

“In your chicken scratch? Yeah right.”

It’s not long before your food arrives, plates of waffles and fruit, sides of bacon and hashbrowns. Of course, you inevitably end up with whipped cream on your nose and food missing from your plate.

It’s your favorite kind of breakfast.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van—the same van he’s had since high school, that he refuses to replace—heading towards Steve’s place. It’s not unusual for either of you to be meeting up with the gang, but Eddie’s still nervous.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks you.

They don’t know he’s in town, and as sure as you are that they’ll be thrilled to see him, Eddie isn’t convinced. You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze lightly as he drives.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy to see you. Don’t you trust me?”

“‘Course I do,” he says easily, without thinking, “just haven’t seen anyone in a while, you know?”

“We all miss you, Eddie. It’ll be fun!”

Logically, he knows nobody’s gonna kick him out, or treat him any differently, but it doesn’t stop him from getting nervous. You wanted to surprise everyone, and how could he say no to you? So, here he is, gripping the steering wheel too tight and worrying too much.

Pulling into the driveway, he nods, “here we go.”

You hop out of the van before he has it shut off, but he catches up quickly. He follows you to the side gate of the house, watches you unlatch it and stroll into the yard. The sound of voices mingling hits his ears as you walk around the house and find your group of friends sitting around in lounge chairs.

“Look who I brought,” You announce.

Your shout is followed by eyes flicking towards you, then Eddie who stands beside you. Then, a chorus of his name, plus Argyle’s “rockstar!”

“Hey guys,” he says, waving shyly.

It’s odd to feel this way around these people that he’s known for years. Robin and Steve who’ve rented him way too many movies for free, Nancy and Johnathan who are probably why he graduated high school, and Argyle who was always his most loyal customer.

All of these memories and he feels a little too much like a stranger. At least he’s got you, who feels like one of the only sure things in his life. No matter how long goes by, you’re there, and he hopes you always will be.

“You want a drink?” Steve asks, leaning to reach into the cooler beside him.

“I’ll take one, thanks,” you say, catching the can Steve throws to you.

“I’m driving,” Eddie says, jingling his keys.

“Eddie Munson being responsible,” Robin teases, “they grow up so fast.”

And just like that, he feels a little better. These are his friends, and even though he’s not around all of the time, and even though he may not be as close to everyone anymore, they’ll still be his friends.

You sit down on the empty lounge chair and pat the space beside you for Eddie, sending him a smile that says both ‘told you so,�� in your snark he can practically hear, and ‘everything’s okay,’ in your kind way.

He plops down beside you.

“How’s everything going?” Johnathan asks him.

Not wanting all of the attention on him, Eddie keeps his answer short, “busy, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” Robin adds.

“You could definitely say that.”

Though, Eddie has this strange feeling that he’s missing something whenever he’s gone. It’ll go away, but somehow, it always finds him again, when he’s debating on calling or not, when he’s hit with a memory of you in the front row at the Hideout when he’s on stage.

He looks over at you and finds you smiling softly at him, eyes fond. He can’t believe he’s the one you’re looking at like that.

Eddie blinks and turns back to the group, “how about you guys? How’re the jobs?”

The chatter picks up and surrounds him, but Eddie can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at him just then. He’s never had someone look at him like that, like there’s nothing but affection there.

It’s platonic, he tells himself. She’s my best friend.

You feel happier now than you have in a while. Things feel more complete when Eddie’s around. Things feel right. It’s all of your favorite people with no empty chair, it’s falling back into a friendship that’s existed for years.

When conversations split off into smaller ones, you lean your head on his shoulder, and the words sort of slip out of you, “it’s really nice to have you here.”

His heart beats louder, he leans his head on top of yours, “it’s nice to be home.”

And it is. Eddie loves touring, he loves playing his music, and he loves his job, but at the end of the day, he’ll always be this boy from Hawkins, and he’ll always be happy to be home, to be with you.

Catching the moment, Argyle—always sharing his thoughts—says, “sick, you guys are finally together.”

You and Eddie both sit up, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even when you’ve sat like that countless times before.

Everyone’s eyes seem to be on the both of you now, and you have a tiny panic inside. Have you really been that obvious with how you feel? Does Eddie know and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to hurt you?

You laugh awkwardly, “what?”

“Like, dating,” Argyle explains.

“Me and Eddie?”

He’d been frozen for a second there, surprised that Argyle thought that. Was he seeing something Eddie couldn’t? No, no way.

“Just friends, guys,” Eddie says. “Come on.”

You swallow, forcing out a word, “exactly.”

“They’ve always been like this,” Nancy says, which explains enough but also sort of nothing at all.

Just friends. It’s something you know, you remind yourself constantly. It’s all it’ll ever be, and still, hearing Eddie say it out loud has your stomach feeling heavy. Just friends, get over it.

Even as conversation picks up again, as you laugh with everyone, the two words play in your head over and over. Then, after saying your goodbyes, once you’re in the van with Eddie again, it fades, because if you can’t be in love with him, you can be his best friend, and you’d much rather have that than nothing at all.

Once he drops you off, Eddie thinks and thinks about what Argyle had said. He goes over memories, over how he feels around you, and it hits him like a huge punch to the gut.

He thinks he has feelings for you. Big, huge feelings.

It’s the same day, a different sky, the sun sunk behind the horizon to give way to a sky full of stars and a bright moon.

Eddie’s van is parked by Lover’s Lake, the back full of blankets where you both sit, the doors open to look at the sky and the way the moonlight reflects on the water.

There’s practically an indent in the ground in the spot he’s parked, the one that’s been your go-to for ages. From day picnics to nighttime smoke sessions, it’s another place on the list of the ones that are filled with memories of Eddie.

Beside you, he’s got a joint in hand, the flick of his lighter catching your ears over the crickets and the breeze. You watch him inhale, his chest expanding, the smoke slipping from his lips. You turn back to the water.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you the joint.

You grab it between your fingertips and bring it to your mouth, feeling the smoke trail down your throat, further, then you’re breathing it out, clearing your throat at the tickle.

“Out of practice?” Eddie teases at your small cough.

“My favorite weed dealer went out of business,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours, “so, yeah.”

He takes the joint back from you, “you don’t smoke when I’m not around? You know Argyle’s gotta have some stock.”

“Oh, he definitely does. A little too exotic for my taste. Besides, he won’t give it to me for free.”

“Getting cheap, trouble?”

You shrug, shoulder to your cheek, and give him an innocent smile.

It feels easy, the joint being passed back and forth between sentences until it’s done and stubbed out, the flow of conversation, the comfort that’s there. It’s always been easy with him, even when it hurts a little.

Eddie’s got on his worn denim vest, still full of pins, and you tug at it, “think this thing has a permanent weed smell by now.”

“I think that’s just part of my natural scent,” he replies, playfully flipping his hair over his shoulder.

His curls graze your cheek—that’s how close you’re sitting, thighs touching—and you giggle. You’ve had so many nights just like this one with Eddie, and it feels like some kind of reward that you get to have them still, even when they’re far less regular now.

“Doesn’t this make you think of high school?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Eddie’s hand is on his knee, his pinky twitches, reaching for your leg, “hell, I’m even wearing the same clothes as in high school.”

“How does it feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago?”

Eddie looks over at you, the warm glow of moonlight and stars on your skin, the way your sweater hangs off your shoulder, the shine in your eyes that’s part weed and part nostalgia.

“A lot’s changed since then,” he says. “I’m not a loser anymore.”

“You’re still my loser.”

How is it that even when you’re calling him a loser, the idea of being yours in any sense of the word is enough to have Eddie’s heart swell in his chest, a balloon floating up and up and he has to swallow to push it back down.

“Stop being cheesy,” he plays it off, ruffling your hair.

You shove his arm away, “I just miss you!”

Eddie looks at his arm, your hand still holding onto it, he follows your arm with his gaze until it lands on your face. He thinks you’re beautiful, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and no groupie could change that.

“I miss you, too, trouble.”

Something shifts, the air growing thicker, a sort of understanding between the two of you. There’s something here, something that could be a disaster but could also be so, so good. Could be everything.

“No way you think about me when you’ve got crowds and fans and-“

“I think about you a lot, honey.”

Honey. He’s probably called you that before, but never like this. Never dripping sweet and sincere, never looking at you like he wants to do something you can’t even let yourself imagine in fear of being let down, of hoping too much.

Eddie’s hand shifts from his own leg to yours, thumb running back and forth, burning you even through the fabric of your pants.

“You do?”

“All the time. You’re my best friend.”

Right. Friend.

“You’re mine, too, Eddie.”

And suddenly you can feel his breath fan across your cheek, your lips. His face is close to yours and the hair that falls over his forehead tickles yours. Just a second ago he’d been saying the word ‘friend,’ and now it feels like he’s going to do something to contradict that.

Against all odds, he does.

Eddie couldn’t help himself. Maybe he’ll blame the weed, or maybe he won’t, but before he knows it he’s reaching up with the hand that isn’t on his leg to cup your cheek and tilt your head. And he’s kissing you.

He’s kissing you.

It’s so delicate, so much you’re afraid to even breathe, like it’ll break in an instant. Eddie’s fingers squeeze your leg, urge you to kiss him back and there’s no way that you wouldn’t. Not when his lips are actually on yours, not when he tastes like weed and mint gum and something perfect.

It could be seconds or minutes that you’re kissing, tilting your head even more to feel him, clutching his sleeve tightly. It never deepens, but it doesn’t have to, it says enough.

When you pull away, it’s not one or the other who does it, it’s natural, like it’s been rehearsed time and time again. Eddie leans his forehead against yours, his hand still on your cheek.

“Was that a bad idea?” He asks you, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” And you don’t, because there’s no way of knowing what’s gonna happen next, if things will be ruined, if this will fade away like it never happened, or, maybe, just maybe, if it’ll start something.

“Was it okay?”

“More than okay.”

You don’t talk about it that night, and you don’t want to just yet. You’re fine with enjoying the pink-tinted haze at least until tomorrow.

Eddie’s barely been gone for two days and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. After that night, neither of you brought it up, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. You were scared. And anyway, it was probably just the weed for him.

You’d never kissed before. Sure, you’ve come close, faces inches apart when you’d share a bed, whispers away, but nothing ever happened. Until now.

Now, sitting on your bed, chin resting on your knees, you’re reeling from knowing what Eddie’s lips feel like and missing him all over again. Rebuilding that piece in your chest.

Somewhere else in the country, in the world, Eddie’s position isn’t so different from yours. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, forearms on his knees, head bent. He wants to call you, and he’s figuring out what he’ll say when he does.

He misses you every time he isn’t home, but it’s never felt like this. There’s never been this ache in his stomach that won’t go away because of it. Fuck, he misses you more than ever.

The last trip back to Hawkins was different than anything else, because he brought back these feelings with him and he keeps reaching up to press his fingertips to his lips, like the memory of your own lingers there.

Sure, he’s had silly, sticky thoughts like waking up with his arms around you after a nap and thinking he could wake up that way forever, but he’s always pushed them down. Now, it seems, he can’t, the images too buoyant to ignore, floating back up every time.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sits up and reaches for the phone, dialing your number that’s stored in his memory. His leg bounces as the phone rings.

You’re startled by the screech of your phone on your bedside table, head lifting to look at it shake on the receiver. You reach over and pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, trouble. It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Eddie. His voice crackling through the phone sends a spike down your spine. You clutch the phone a little tighter.

You’d expected Robin, or Nancy, even Steve. Because there’d been a time, earlier in Corroded Coffin’s career, when Eddie would call you at least three times a week, and then the calls grew less frequent until they sort of died out to holidays and birthdays.

So, maybe a couple of years ago, you’d have expected Eddie’s voice, but not today.

“Eddie, hi. Not at all.”

“I- um, I just wanted to call,” a small pause, he clears his throat, “how are you?”

“It’s only been two days, you know how I am.”

“I mean right now.”

You twist to lay on your side, legs curling in towards your chest. You smile to yourself like an idiot. “Right now, I’m good. It’s lame, I already miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

The reply comes easily to him. There’s no thought to it, because in the past 48 hours, he hasn’t been able to stop missing you for a second. The warmth of your hand in his, the sunshine sound of your laughter.

He’s not sure why everything’s so big now, his feelings amplified, only quieted now, by the sound of your voice.

“Did you have a show today?”

You have a way of asking that makes it sound like you really care, Eddie thinks. He loves his music and he knows you know that. It means the world to him to do what he does, confusing feelings or not.

“Not today. We spent the day on the bus. Show’s tomorrow.”

“Nervous or excited?”

It’s something that you used to ask him before every small show in Hawkins, and the memory has a grin spreading on Eddie’s face. “It’s always both. More excited, though.”

“You should be,” you say. “You guys are really great.”

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite band member?”

He’s fishing, and you tease him rather than bite, “hmmm. Gareth.”

“Fuckin’ trouble. You liar.”

“You asked!”

“You answered the question wrong, honey.”

There it is again. Honey. You’re sort of glad he can’t see you right now because you probably look way too happy, burying your face in your pillow for a second before replying.

“You know you’re my favorite, Munson.”

“Yeah I am,” he sounds far too proud. And then, he’s softer, “I’m not keeping you up, am I? Time zones fuck me up.”

“No, no.” Even if he was, you wouldn’t tell him. This is better than trying and failing to sleep the way you so often do. “It’s not that late. What time is it for you?”

“Not that late,” he says, even though the clock on the nightstand reads 1:14AM. “So, what’s happening in Hawkins right now?”

“Mmm, it’s getting warmer. My window’s open and the crickets are loud as fuck.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, “it’s donation week at the library, so I’ve been shelving new books for a change.”

Eddie listens to every word you say, asks you questions like if you’d kept any books for yourself (you had, but swore you’d give them to the library when you were done) and hums between your sentences.

Somewhere along the way, he’d laid down while listening to you, eyes shut as he tried to picture what you might look like right at this second. If you’re in your pajamas or not, whether your hair would be a little messy, baby hairs a halo around your face.

Then his eyes grew heavier, your voice putting him at ease even with the sounds of his bandmates laughing from somewhere in the hotel.

“Eddie?” You ask after he’d been silent for a bit.

“Hm?” He hums sleepily.

“I lost you for a second there.”

If he wasn’t half asleep, he’d feel worse. “Sorry, getting sleepy.”

“You wanna hang up?”

“No, uh- keep talking to me? You have a nice voice.”

You smile, cheeks pinching with the size of it.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep talking.”

And you do, you keep talking and talking until you can hear the sound of Eddie’s tiny snores on the other side of the line. You’re smiling again at that.

Even after you’re sure he’s asleep, you don’t hang up right away, not until your own eyes are growing heavy. You put the phone back quietly, like you’ll wake him if you’re not careful. You whisper a soft ‘goodnight, Eddie,’ as you do.

There’s a small stiffness in your fingers from how tightly you’d been holding the phone, and still, you’d let your hand cramp for hours to talk to him.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with the pattern of the phone pressed to his cheek where he’d left it last night.

The TV sends flashes of color flickering across your living room and over your face. Usually, you’d be in bed by now, but it’s the night of the MTV awards and Corroded Coffin is nominated. You couldn’t miss it.

You’re not really paying attention to most of it, the sounds of performances and hosts and thank-you speeches filling your ears as you read your latest book. At least, you’re not paying attention until Eddie’s category is announced.

That has you shutting your book and sitting up, grabbing the remote to turn the volume higher.

They show the nominees, give far too long of an introduction before tearing open the envelope holding the winner’s names. You don’t know it, but you’re practically white knuckling the blanket on your lap.

“And the MTV award goes to… Corroded Coffin!”

You stand and place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating—racing—for the band, for Eddie. This is huge, it’s a dream, and it’s his. If you could, you’d give him a suffocating hug right now.

Eddie’s voice taking over, thanking his fans and Wayne, the boys and their team, then, thanking Hawkins and the people there, even when they gave him hell.

If you knew the right number to call to talk to him, you’d dial it in an instant.

Lucky for you, your phone rings the next night, late enough that you can only assume it’s Eddie given you don’t know anyone else who’s probably in a different time zone right now. You pick up quickly, fumbling with the phone a little before bringing it up to your ear.

“Eddie?”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Ummm, my amazing intuition? Telepathy?”

“Telepathy, she says.” There’s a soft chuckle on his end, you close your eyes and lean your head back to thump against the wall behind you. “How’re things, trouble?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that, mister MTV winner.”

Eddie’s been calling more often again, whenever he gets the chance, really. Even so, he never thought you’d be keeping up with him that way, that you’d care enough to watch an award show and remember what he’d achieved.

“You were watching?” He asks, heart thudding.

“Of course I was. I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You’re sitting with your back against your headboard, knees bent, hand absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread in your pajama pants. “I’ve got cheerleader pom-poms and everything.”

“You do not.”

“Do too. They’re super metal, all black.”

“Yeah, cause pom-poms are super metal, babe.”

Another pet name in the rotation, uttered like it’s easy, natural. You bite back a smile.

“Whatever. Mine would be,” you say. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too.”

“I wanted to call you yesterday,” you admit, twisting that loose thread in your fingers, “after I saw you won. I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

They’re words he hadn’t been expecting, but ones he’ll be thinking about over and over. He wants to keep making you proud, he thinks, and he’ll pour that into everything he does whether he means to or not.

“Thank you,” his voice is quieter, almost shy. “I wouldn’t be here without you, you know?”

“You would. You’re talented, and there’s no way that could stay hidden in this town, you’re bigger than it.”

Somehow, it’s easier to be so open with him on the phone. You don’t have to look at him, get distracted by his tongue running over his lips or the way his bangs get caught in his eyelashes sometimes. This way, all you have to do is speak, nothing more.

“Trouble-” he can’t even find the words to say, because there’s affection laced in your tone, seeping through the phone and into his head and, fuck, he wants to kiss you for it and he can’t. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” There’s some silence, and the overthinker in you worries that you’ve said too much even though you meant it with every part of you, that you’ve given yourself away. “Anyways, I should go, let you celebrate your win.”

It’s what he would be doing if Eddie’s thoughts hadn’t been so full of you and your mouth and your voice. It’s what his bandmates and friends are surely doing in some club around here.

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything.”

“No?” You try to lighten your tone, to joke the way you usually do, “don’t have groupies knocking on your hotel room door right now?”

Instead of playing along, Eddie’s voice is serious, still soft in the way he speaks to you, but serious nonetheless, “I don’t entertain them, honey.”

“You don’t?”

He’s tried. But ever since you kissed him, probably since before that, too, Eddie can’t seem to look at anyone else, let alone have someone else kiss him and tarnish the memory of your lips on his. He’s only ever thinking of you, it seems. So no, he hasn’t fooled around lately.

“Not in a while. I’m trying to write for the next album. No distractions.”

No distractions. He says it like that’s true, even though he can’t seem to fully focus, like there’s a piece he’s missing. Like every lyric he’s written since he’s been back isn’t somehow about you.

He’s so, so fucked.

“Look at you, Munson. Squeaky clean.”

You hope he can’t tell that you’re sort of a mess, a stupid blossom of hope planting itself where it shouldn’t. He’s your friend, he’s always been just your friend. But you kissed and it felt like something changed, and you can’t seem to let go of that.

“You sound surprised,” he teases, gathering his wits the best he can.

“Can you blame me? You used to have multiple lunchboxes reserved for your weed.”

“You loved those lunchboxes and you know it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

And then, like that moment was simply a blip, easily brushed over, your conversation turns back to your normal. Jokes with underlying affections, teasing while picturing what kind of smile the other wears when you laugh lightly into the phone.

Time runs away from you, and by the time you hang up it’s well into the early hours of the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

After hanging up, Eddie’s got this sinking, aching pull in his stomach. He knows what it is, has had bouts of it before where he misses Wayne’s hand patting his back or the way his mattress is worn-in just the right amount back at the trailer, when he thinks about what his friends might be doing or what science project Dustin’s got going on.

But it’s never felt this heavy. Eddie’s the most homesick he’s ever been.

He’d listen to your voice forever, but in that moment, he’d give anything to see your face, to see the shake of your shoulders when you laugh, the curve of your smile.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Eddie wipes his palms on his thighs before standing and walking out into the living room of his band’s suite hotel room. The guys are still up, and they’re all staring at him like weirdos.

“What?” He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her yet, or what?” Jeff, the electric guitarist, asks him.

“What?” Eddie says again because there’s no way he heard that right. He’d only just come to terms that he had feelings. This is much bigger.

“You’re joking,” Gareth pipes in, “you don’t even know it? Dude, you’re all ‘I miss you, trouble, you’re my favorite person ever.’” He does a knowingly terrible impression of Eddie.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You kinda do,” Jeff says.

“Why else would you be spending hours in that room on the phone, man? Come on,” Gareth sing songs the next bit: “you’re in loooove.”

Then Eddie thinks and thinks and thinks. The warmth that blooms when he hugs you, the jealousy he felt when he thought that server at Benny’s was flirting with you, the difficulty to say goodbye, the way your kiss haunts him in his sleep.

These idiots aren’t usually right about things, but just this once, maybe they are. Eddie Munson is probably, very likely, definitely in love with you.

Yeah, he’s so fucked.

♫♩♪♬

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you enjoyed please please please consider reblogging and letting me know what you think! it helps and means so much <333 i have plans for a part two, and if you’d like to see it, some support would help a bunch! ily!

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somer-writes · 7 months ago

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ALRIGHT CAMPERS HELLO

WHO IS READY FOR

SOMERS DODECANNUAL MONTHLY BEATDOWN

july edition

JULY 👏 WORD 👏 COUNT 👏: 55,737 WORDS TO Ao3

CURRENT 👏 WORD 👏 COUNT 👏: 842,038 WORDS ON Ao3

WE ARE EVER CLOSE TO 1 MILLION WORDS

WORKS (new/continued in July): 16 BABY!!!

MOST POPULAR: BURIAL RITES (reader discretion advised!!)

MY RECOMMENDATION: GOOD BROTHERS ON BAD DAYS

IN REVIEW: everyone blame @a-manicured-lawn for hyrule suffering this month! we do a little mummification as a treat <3 also had some super fun fluff including sky and twi getting blitzed and twi having babies <3

i also got a year older on july 9! thank you to everyone for the lovely birthday wishes, fics, and drawings <3

bloodtooth by @rebornofstars

A Moment Alone by @not-freyja

one foot in by @rosehipandroots

Bloodsports by @hotcheetohatredwastaken

Every Time You Go Somewhere, You Leave Somewhere Behind by @across-violet-skies

also @unexpectedstormy podficced New Threads!

fan joy july from @kikker-oma was this month too! thank you to @estelian-01 @la-sera @gerudoevernight @ajscico @noorahqar for giving me some love <3

Day 1 by @noorahqar

Day 9 by @la-sera

Day 14 by @ajscico

Day 14 by @gerudoevernight

we hit 200 works this month AND 3000 comments!!!

ty so much for all the support!! i love reading all your comments, reblogs, tags, and whatever else! thank you everyone who reads, kudos, bookmarks, or comments on fics!! ily!!!

starting tonight (july 31 my timezone) and running through tomorrow is the next 24 hour LU writers' marathon! please give it up for @hotcheetohatredwastaken and @not-freyja for keeping this up! also big s/o to @a-manicured-lawn @noorahqar @wanderlustmagician @gia-d @winterfen @tashacee @weavingstarlight @rebornofstars @zarvasace for modding!!!

ty as always to @hotcheetohatredwastaken @needfantasticstories @a-manicured-lawn and my lovely partner @wanderlustmagician for beta-ing <3

heres to the next 31 days of hyrule and twilight suffering <3

#somer writes #somers dodecannual monthly beatdown #lu fanfiction #lu fandom #fan joy july

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muniimyg · 1 month ago

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kakatapos ko lang basahin lahat ng chapters ng Paraluman... bumuhos ang luha't uhog ko jusko...

nawa'y makahanap ka ng pagmamahal na kasing rikit ng iyong pagsulat.

ILY, I'VE ALWAYS BEEN SILENTLY LURKING IN YOUR PROFILE, but Paraluman made me want to verbally relay my feelings (FEELINGS!?)

ay my gawddd, ang lalim ng tagalog mo girl na hilo ako HDFAJKSDFK.. ako pa yung na nose bleed ,, sorry i'm too conyo for this :') !!! but i love this ask and am PRAYING u send me more so i can learn more tagalog LOL

thank u for ur words,, i can't express my gratitude well in tagalog so i'll say it in engish! never have i ever thought i would be in a place where i could get reviews/comments in tagalog. it makes my heart flutter and feel like it's flying home <3 paraluman was single handedly the toughest fic i ever had to write because 1) i wrote it when i barely had followers/readers so i was easily unmotivated 2) the storyline was so complicated and delicate at the same time 3) i constantly felt like i had to prove smt to myself for finishing it... and i did. i'm glad it was received beautifully.

i think my writing has changed drastically since paraluman and in a way, i'm sad abt that because paraluman is the written proof of my learning and growth as a writer.

having people like you feel so much for it makes me so sentimental. truly feels like you've seen a part of my heart ,,, not to mention that some of the scenarios were based off my personal life LOL ,,,

maraming salamat sa inyong supporta at pagmamahal sa aking pagsusulat <3

mwah

all the love,

kimi

#ask kimi #🤍: fave ask #fic: paraluman

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daniclaytcn · 1 year ago

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Tumblr Fandom: A Year in Review 2023

i was tagged by @mistmarauder, thank you!!

Top Five Blorbos:

Eddie Diaz (9-1-1)

Nancy Wheeler (Stranger Things)

Nancy Drew (Nancy Drew)

Alex Claremont-Diaz (Red, White & Royal Blue)

Lucy Preston (Timeless)

Top Five Fandoms:

9-1-1

Red, White & Royal Blue

Stranger Things

The Haunting Anthology

Nancy Drew

Top Five OTPs:

Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1)

Lucy Chen/Tim Bradford (The Rookie)

Nancy Drew/Ace (Nancy Drew)

Lucy Preston/Garcia Flynn (Timeless)

Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor (The Haunting of Bly Manor)

Shoutout to Some New Friends:

@eddiediaaz we've been mutuals since last year but i feel like we talked a lot more this year, so i'm very grateful for that ❤ @poughkeepsies is one of my dearest mutuals on here and i love you and all your takes <33 and also @ice-sculptures i've adored following you over this year!

Shoutout to Some Old Friends:

all of my love to the one and only @tawaifeddiediaz, i don't know where i'd be without her to rant and get emotional over our blorbos with and she's just such a wholesome soul!! and of course, @bieddiediaz and @oneawkwardcookie, the besties, i love you guys so so much ❤❤

Favorite Creation You Posted This Year:

i'm very proud of my fic, but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) <3

Favorite Creation Posted by Someone Else This Year:

oh gosh this is SUCH a difficult question because there are so many amazing creations from this insanely talented fandom—but i'd have to go with @eddiediaaz's speak now gifset it was so incredible!

People Who Brightened Your Year:

too many people to count—@buck2eddie @lover-of-mine @jeeyuns @diazass @kitkatpancakestack @bieddiediaz @tawaifeddiediaz and so many others i'm probably forgetting!

Anyone Else You'd Like to Mention:

there are just too many people to mention—every single one of my mutuals on here, and all the kind people who've sent me lovely messages (anonymous or not) and all the people who continue to follow me!!

Five of Your Favorite Authors This Year:

elless continues to be an all-time favourite, they have some of the most beautiful fics in the fandom ❤❤

@tawaifeddiediaz is the most talented person ever ily 😘

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels is another favourite!! your halloween fics were SUCH a treat and i'm sitll working my way through them!!

@cal-daisies-and-briars has fics with some of the most intriguing concept and is honestly a powerhouse—it seems like you're posting fic all the time!

@bvckandeddie i recently discovered your fics and they're just *chefs kiss* so delightful!!

Five of Your Favorite Artists/Gifmakers/Podficcers/Etc. This Year:

no list about gifmakers is complete without @eddiediaaz who is so talented and creative it makes me wanna cry (with joy!)

@padme-amidala while i don't follow most of the media you post gifs for, your work is so stunning and i'm so obsessed!!

@stationoneeighteen i love love all of your gifs especially the ones that focus on the firefam, they're so good ❤❤

@buckleys-diaz alie you haven't been around for a while (and i hope you're doing well!) but you've always been one of the most talented gifmakers in this fandom and i've always looked up to you <3

@roseapothecary your gifs are so so gorgeous and i've adored all of your rwrb sets!! they're so pretty and creative!!

Three Things You're Looking Forward to in 2024:

the new season of 9-1-1 and also the PJO tv series!!

Tagging:

tagging everyone who's already been mentioned in this post <33

#neethu speaks #tag games

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onlyswan · 11 months ago

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my day started very amazing and ended very horribly, so i wanted to stop by before i head to sleep to try and cheer myself up :') i'm reading through the newest drabble one part at a time to pace myself because apparently i love torturing myself by waiting a full 24 hours before i can pick up where i left off. so once i reach the end you'll probably get a 4 page long review of me raving about it :] anyway, had a quick silly question for iw!couple if it's ok...favorite place to kiss eachother? <3 (also! art !! i feel so giddy anytime you mention this new person in your life!! you are such a cutie hehe. i wish you good luck if you believe in that, and either way i hope you continue being happy, cause you definitely deserve it ♡ i'm sorry if this is too personal to ask so you don't have to answer, but does he know about your blog and/or your writing?)

anyway, i hope everyone has a nice day/night/evening and something good happens to all my fellow art lovers even if it's small. please try to find pride in the things you have accomplished regardless of small you may perceive it to be. thank you for reading! ily! -🌙

favorite place to kiss eachother? <3

“i kiss ____ everywhere, though. it’s too hard to pick a favorite.” jungkook smiles cheekily.

“that’s cheating.” you pout. “choose one!”

“fine! i’d say your neck then. you’re cute and sexy at the same time when i kiss your neck because you’re ticklish there.”

“ohhh, fair. i like that…”

you pucker up your lips in thought.

“i think my favorite place to kiss is your cheeks.”

“why my cheeks?!” he exclaims. “my lips are right there!”

“your lips are nice.” you shrug. “but i love the soft surface area.”

he sighs. “who says those words while talking about kissing?”

“me!”

—

aw my beloved i hope tomorrow and the rest of the week are better for you 🥺🥺🥺

omg your self control is on another level 😭 hehe please do take your time beloved and i hope you enjoy reading the rest of the parts !! <3 i look forward to hearing your thoughtssss ^_^

hehehe thank you so much <333 everyone’s been so sweet and supportive my heart is bursting with joy 🥹🩵 he knows what i write about but i don’t really share my blog with anyone irl !! yk how everyone got that one secret place they go to for destressing? this is that place for me 🥺 told him the same thing and he respects it so yeah

you’re the most precious human being <3 i hope the positivity you bring into the world comes back to you a thousand fold 🌼 thank you for stopping by!! sweet dreams always mwah ilyyyy

#art’s post office ☁️#🌙 anon #nevernotseekingmore <3 #ask the iw!couple <3

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blazethecheeto · 1 year ago

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ATLAS PARADOX RAMBLING

dude this book. i need to talk. about it. im going insane.

everyone who hasn't read it, PLEASE DO!!! it's a dark academia book about a bunch of gay silly magic people that join a society and try to kill each other. there's time travel, a big ass polycule, aesthetic scenes, the prettiest writing style in the world, science, philosophy, and fucked family. (opposite of found family).

(extremely chaotic unorganized long rant below, with spoilers. click at your own risk)

FIRST OF ALL WHY WAS THIS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE FIRST ONE?!!?!?

i had to power through the first one, it felt long, and unnecessary and like trekking through a JUNGLE with the thickest and most intricate ecosystem that i had to peel back and unravel for hours and hours. only to like move the plot by an inch.

BUT THIS. olivie blake found her footing because this was so good. i am aware the reviews hate on this book and some people don't like it, but personally i adore it and it's really well written.

CHARACTERS

bro they all had such wonderful voices, like they were distinct and unique from each other but not drastically, noticeably different I NEED TO LEARN FROM THIS. six of crows and the atlas six do multi povs so well <3 its like this book was made for me, each character was perfect and incredible and gay and silly and-

reina. love of my life. i look forward to all her povs because the plants are so silly and she's the best character. i said it. she's canon asexual now too YEES. i needed more of her because she was barely in the first one, and they DELIVERED. the juicy plot with her 'god complex' (ily callum) and her feelings getting hurt and learning she actually is lonely and wants friends? she's so wanda maximoff. next book better have her opening up and learning to love people or i riot (and also her killing people and being the badass she is)

parisa always my fave too, i do wish her character wasn't always talking about sex or romance, there were some great moments in this book where she showed off her telepathy powers (the prince in the tower!!) it was awesome. i'm glad they acknowledged that side of her with reina, (oh my god i ship them so much wait till i rant about them-) but dude i still HATE DALTON. SO MUCH. OH MY GOD. every time it's her pov i dread seeing dalton, i wish she could give that up. generic white men should die.

CALLUM. whatever turned him from complex, daunting, and a psychopath last book to janus from sanders sides this book- beautiful choice. he's literally the one sassy wine-sipping gay aunt that feels nothing and everything at once, also extremely mentally ill and depressed. he's SO FUNNY. his povs are fucking hilarious to read, and he quickly became one of my faves bc of how complex he is. i'm not smart enough to decipher and psychoanalyze him but god i LOVE CHARACTERS LIKE THIS.

i don't know what happened but nico is literally one of my faves now too, he's so silly and sweet and kind and i loved his relationships with everyone this book. like him trying to murder tristan in multiple different ways oml. he's my bbg. tristan was hit or miss for me, i did find him interesting but he's not my favourite. doesn't mean i hate him, he's so very british, i feel it radiating off the page. libby my queen my icon, her dream povs were so trippy i loved it- so so realistic to a real dream, that was the most surprising and unique part. also my bisexual queen seducing belen??

i did not like ezra and atlas was a little iffy here and there but tbh the cast was so well rounded and interesting and unique but paralleled each other so well?? THE RELATIONSHIPS. I DONT THINK ANY BOOK HAS THIS INTRICATE WEB-LIKE RELATIONSHIPS WITH EACH OTHER. they're one big polycule.

RELATIONSHIPS

nico and libby <3 i love them so much as siblings/queerplatonic partners. i don't ship them romantically, because i LOVE how they subverted the eye-rolling predictable ' YA academic rivals enemies to lovers' trope. when i started TAS, i immediately thought they were gonna get together and assumed the worst. but no, they still had the banter and importance in their relationship but without the romance? instead both of them were gay af. it's beautiful. i love subverting tropes so much. they're each other's 'other half' and they're hilarious together.

NICO AND TRISTAN. they were such a highlight this book, it was unexpected but so funny. nico trying to murder tristan and their little talks because 'they're not friends...just coworkers' yeah right, the best friendships start with creatively murdering each other. tristan being droll and chill af, and then nico bouncing off the walls my adhd king.

reina and nico broke me?? like that one chapter where they sparred and caught up with each other and reina was guarding her hurt feelings. DUDE THAT KILLED ME. made me stare at the ceiling for a good minute. their friendship is everything to me, they contrast each other so well. she deserves to be treated better- when they had that projection chapter and she saw that nico downplayed her skills...like she was good, but not good enough for him to care about her. AGGHGH.

REINA AND PARISA. NOW THIS. THIS HOOKED ME INTO THE BOOK. i ship them so bad guys. they parallel each other and are both hot and enemies to lovers and wlw slow burn and- look. reina is asexual, therefore the only person to truly see and understand parisa for who she is, and not be influenced by her body. like that one projection. she can help parisa understand HERSELF and who she is past her sexual desirability. how to love someone again. romantically. then, on the flip side, parisa can help reina see and understand OTHERS. reina only sees people as one trait, cut and dry- without any of the complex feelings. parisa is a telepath, she knows how to read others. THEY CAN BOTH HELP EACH OTHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER IN WAYS THEY NEVER COULD HAVE OMFDADJFLSKJADFL- also reina pinned her against a wall and they want to kill each other and every time they interact i scream into my pillow-

'You can't love anyone right?"

"I've met very few people worth loving."

*throws myself off a building*

now we just gotta play the familiar game "IS IT DELUSION OR IS IT JUST SLOW BURN" and find out whether their insane chemistry pays off in book 3.

the nico parisa scene was actually sweet ngl, even though i don't ship them. the whole callum and tristan thing was so bitter exes situationship coded and i ate every second up. especially that last conversation. AND OFC. GIDEON AND NICO?!!! AAAAA THEY WERE SO CUTE THEY'RE ENDGAME I SCREAMED WHEN THEY KISSED DUDE THEYRE SO-

PLOT

now for the actual plot. this book has so many interesting subjects and philosophies and debates i'm not smart enough for this. but past all the aesthetic glamour, it's science, time travel, dreams, multiverses, fate, reality, and the complexities of the human mind. and my god it's fascinating as fuck.

do i have any idea what they do in this society?? NO. am i entertained? YES. especially that whole explosion paradox to bring libby back to the future. the whole powering the connections via aurora borealis? the whole debate about being gods? i love it. i love it.

alright im so sorry for that rant, i gotta go now but DUDE I LOVE THIS BOOK NO MATTER HOW WEIRD IT WAS

#the atlas six #the atlas paradox #fandom rant #long post #jesus HOW MANY WORDS WAS THIS #this was long #parisa kamali #libby rhodes #nico de varona #reina mori #tristain caine #atlas blakely #callum nova #nicogideon #reina x parisa #tas #my faves #mine

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quokkabite · 7 months ago

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catch me sobbing over ur review of the first chapter ☹️☹️☹️💙💙💙

no but fr you're words mean so much to me. i started the draft for the first chapter on jan 1st this year and it's finally seeing the light of day, and i'm so excited to share it. your words are such a positive reinforcement that the time and love i've poured into this fic thus far has not and will not be a waste. this fic is loosely based on something i want to make irl, so it's kind of my baby sjdjdj. i'm just really happy you enjoyed it. ily 💙

(and ofc u can be added to the taglist my love <3)

enjoyed is an understatement baby - i loveeee it i absolutely adore it. i am happy to get to experience seeing your lil mind baby take shape keke 🤭 and im so so overjoyed that you feel that way about it not being a waste. because it’s totally not. anything you put effort and thought and love into is never a waste. even if there are times it’s hard to get it out just the way you pictured it, your writing is still a small expression of yourself, your imagination and creativity and getting a glimpse into that is something i will always love to see. i can’t wait for the journey to continue and i am so so so proud of you and grateful that you share your talents with us on the tunglr.website 🥺🥺

#catch me being your biggest supporter at all times 😤#and ik it’s been hard for you to feel up to posting your work and i’m just rlly rlly proud of you over here ☹️#ughhh me when ilysm !!!!!!!!#🫂🫂🫂🫂#lake 🍓#🩵💙

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tending-the-hearth · 9 months ago

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The outsiders obc album: a review that is totally not biased or skewed due to the face that i’ve been listening to it nonstop since it came out two weeks ago

“Tulsa ‘67”

Goes insane over the first line of the song because it’s the same as the opening of the book

Since this song/story is being written after everything happens, ponyboy recognizing how hard his brothers work in the opening verse makes SO much sense

“That right there is my best friend in the whole world, johnny cade” idk what it is about this line but it just makes me so happy

But ponyboy pointing out that part of what makes a soc a soc is graduation parties actually makes me so sad because so many members of the gang ended up dropping out of school in order to work so of course they’d view graduating as a privilege they don’t have, and that plays so well into darry and pony’s last fight at the end of the show

“CAUSE WE’RE GREASERS” the silliest gang ever <3

It’s just such a good opening number, the beat and music is so entertaining

“Grease got a Hold”

JOSHUA BOONE YOU ARE THE DALLY EVER

Him constantly calling pony “little brother” is everything

The spelling section of the song is SO fun

“E is for effortless swagger” and soda uses ponyboy and johnny to hold himself up they’re his little brothers!!!

“Show us how it’s done, then, einstein!” soda and two-bit are best friends!!!!

Also daryl tofa absolutely killing it on the run of “you better run for your life”

You only really get this from seeing the song live, but darry keeps ponyboy away from the rest of the gang during his section of the song until he makes sure that ponyboy knows what being a greaser truly means, he is such a big brother

“I love you superman” ace ily ily ily kissing your cheeks

Again, not part of the soundtrack but the performance, but the moment where ponyboy gets the upper hand in his little play-fight with two-bit, and dally gets so excited and starts jumping up and down with the rest of the gang like they are siblings!!!

“Runs in the Family”

Darry loml i know you’re having an identity crisis but this song is such a vibe

“So i dropped out of school cause i had to earn a dollar” the little dance i do every time i hear this line

vibes to the song so i don’t have to deal with the emotions i get as a parentified older sibling identifying with this song far too closely

“Now i’m stuck between the role of a brother and a father” someone get this man a hug and some therapy PLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU

I always love a little bit of an unreliable narrator, so the audience hearing this song and knowing how much darry is struggling, meanwhile ponyboy is SO sure and SO positive that darry truly doesn’t care about him is absolute perfection

“Great Expectations”

This song literally made me cry my eyes out the first time i listened to it, and then seeing the staging for it during the show???

But also ponyboy acknowledging that darry had a future, and how he had to sacrifice that after their parents died, and understanding his struggle

Honestly there aren’t words to describe my love for this song, it’s so beautiful and well-written, and brody’s voice is just so fantastic

“Friday at the Drive-In”

Again, the beat of this song is SO good!!!

emma pittman’s voice is everything to me

The instrumental for this song is “grease got a hold” i’m losing my mind!!!

This song is also just such a fun, easy-going song, that it works at feeling slightly out of place with how fun and lighthearted it is, especially knowing what’s going to happen soon

"I Could Talk to You All Night"

CUTIE PATOOTIE ALERT

I never have viewed cherry and ponyboy as having romantic interest in each other (maybe ponyboy with a little crush on her, but they become friends post-book events), and this song is just so perfect with showing why they connect with each other, because they understand each other

Have i mentioned how much i adore musical!cherry???

“And we talked so dang much i didn’t even catch the end” i love how perfect the accents are in this show, it’s really satisfying lmao

Cherry being the first one who’s ever truly listened to ponyboy my heart hurts

“Runs in the Family (Reprise)”

AHHHH THIS SONG

There’s just so much tension, and soda trying to be the middle man like always while darry is singing??? Painful

But also this song does such a good job at showing that it’s not even been a full year since the curtis parents died, so the boys are still grieving and processing, so it makes sense that this is a fight that’s happening

But ugh the way that the song ends with the slap???? Curled up sobbing

“Far Away from Tulsa”

I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH

I also really love how johnny joins in a little hesitantly, like he’s not sure if ponyboy wants him contributing, but then as soon as he starts he talks about having a little garden and reading stories

Now i’m thinking about post-book, the remaining outsiders gang turns the empty lot into a type of community garden in johnny and dally’s honor oh i’m going to be ill

“We’d be each other’s family, Pony, start this life anew” SOBBING MY EYES OUT JOHNNY KNOWING EXACTLY WHAT PONYBOY WANTS AND PONYBOY KNOWING WHAT JOHNNY WANTS THEY’RE THE PLATONIC SOULMATES EVER

God and then the song going into “great expectations” literal chills

“Run Run Brother”

Brody does Ponyboy’s panic SO perfectly you can feel his fear when he just keeps repeating “he stuck him in the back!”

Like he’s not freaking out about bob dying, he’s freaking out about the fact that johnny could get arrested

Mother hen Dally my beloved

“I hate to make you go” and “even though it kills me to say” those lines are everything, i love Dally just wanting to keep his little brothers close but knowing he needs to get them somewhere safe immediately

And the line “you’re a greaser now” getting repeated at the end???? I’m going insane, it doesn’t sound fun or happy anymore, it just sounds like a warning and almost like johnny and ponyboy are being taunted

“Justice for Tulsa”

Dally immediately calling out the cops for always going after the greasers and calling them his boys???? Obsessed with protective dally

Again, musical!cherry is everything to me, she doesn’t try to make excuses for what Bob did, she calls him and Randy out for drinking and ganging up on Ponyboy and Johnny, and calls Randy out for jumping Johnny the week before

Like in the book and movie she makes excuses and puts all the blame on johnny, but in the musical, even though she’s sad that bob’s dead, she understands why johnny did what he did, and doesn’t blame him for what happened

“Death’s at my Door”

Emotional damage

Jesus CHRIST the absolute slap in the face this song was during the show

Ponyboy blaming himself for everything??? Thinking he’s cursed because everyone he loves keeps dying or getting hurt??? Ouch???

But then johnny immediately jumping into reassure him and making sure ponyboy knows that he’s not alone??? They are the best friends ever???

I haven’t talked about how beautiful Sky’s voice is, if he doesn’t win a tony award i will riot

“The reason i’m living is you” SOBBING VIOLENTLY ON THE GROUND HEAVING AND HYPERVENTILATING

Johnny saying “i’ll never leave you alone” and it’s true even after he dies because he knows ponyboy will see him in the sunset that they always talked about and i’m going to go curl up in a corner for a little bit

“Throwing in the Towel”

Emotional damage part 2

Parentified older siblings how are we feeling about this song

Darry finally talking to his brother about how he’s feeling, and getting validation from Sodapop that what he’s been doing is being noticed and making a difference!!

But darry recognizing what Ponyboy can do and his potential and blaming himself for what happened and, like ponyboy, telling soda that he’d be better off without him

“I lost our brother and i lost my way” SOBBING VIOLENTLY ON THE GROUND PART 2

Darry is TWENTY in the books and never got a chance to truly mourn his parents it makes sense how much he struggles

Ponyboy joining in the song from the back of the set like it actually makes me want to bite something

Brent Comer how does it feel to understand darry like no one else <3333333

“Brother that’s what love is all about” JASON SCHHMIDT THE FACT THAT YOU WEREN’T NOMINATED FOR A TONY IS A CRIME

(they should have just nominated the entire cast for supporting or featured actor at this point tbh)

“Soda’s Letter”

Jason making me sob!!!!!

“Ponyboy this house ain’t a home without you” this song just starts out punching you in the gut

Idk why but soda including “say hi to johnny for us” makes me emotional, like the curtis brothers love johnny as much as they love pony he is also their little brother!!!

Brent comer i will fight you for the end of this song

“Hoods turned Heroes”

DARYL AND JASON KILL THIS SONG ACTUALLY THEY’RE THE UNDERRATED DUO OF THIS SHOW

New hc because of this song is that Soda and Two-Bit are as close to each other as Pony and Johnny are

i love love love the "owe it all to Pony and Johnny" line, because they recognize what the two have been through, and also acknowledge that yeah, it's because of them that they're getting a little bit better of a reputation!

Also again, not part of the album, but the song is so hyped and excited and happy and then immediately gets cut by Dally walking onto the stage with Johnny wrapped in bandages and my heart BROKE

“Hopeless War”

Favorite change is cherry going to visit johnny in the hospital and that being where she and pony have their conversation

What i love about this song is that it isn’t cherry going “this is silly, you shouldn’t do this” it’s cherry realizing that what happened to johnny was never deserved, why the rumble is important, and knowing that it’s going to happen, but her also acknowledging, like ponyboy does, that it’s not going to change anything.

I’m just so obsessed with emma’s voice and how she portrays cherry in the show

“Trouble”

I absolutely LOVE how aggressive and intense this song is, especially compared to “Hopeless War” coming right before it

I love “tonight” from West Side, and this song gives me those vibes, i love a good pre-rumble song

DARRY STILL LOOKING OUT FOR PONYBOY AND WANTING TO FIGHT FOR HIM

PONYBOY TAKING THE “LET’S DO IT FOR JOHNNY” LINE

“Little Brother”

Emotional damage part 3

The way the song starts out so soft and slow, and it building up and up as Dally becomes more and more worked up and looses it

“If anything were fair you would still be here” AND THAT’S THE POINT OF THE SHOW AND OF THE BOOK IT ISN’T FAIR THAT JOHNNY DIES IT’S FAIR THAT BOB DIES BUT JOHNNY DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE AND IT’S THE REALIZATION THAT EVEN THOUGH JOHNNY COULD DO SO MUCH MORE HE STILL DIES AND LEAVES THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE HIM BEHIND

“Do it for Ponyboy, do it for Johnny Cade” THOSE ARE HIS BROTHERS YOUR HONOR

The way Joshua just screams the last “Johnny can you hear me now?” absolutely destroys me, the song itself is all over the place, and it makes sense because it’s Dally’s breakdown

“Stay Gold”

Emotional damage part 4

When i saw the show the instruments were really quiet while Sky was singing so all you could hear was him and then the sounds of people quietly sobbing and sniffling (it was me)

Going from “i have seen a pool of blood run crimson red” to “i have stared into a thankful father’s eyes” johnny going from taking a life to saving lives i’m losing my mind actually

Not to be annoying about them again but Brody and Sky’s voices literally melt together and their emotions are so beautifully portrayed as they sing, going from melancholy to joyful as Ponyboy starts to accept Johnny’s death

And “I have known a love that many never know, and our love lives on no matter where I go” IT’S ABOUT THE PLATONIC LOVE OF THIS GROUP AND THE LOVE PONY AND JOHNNY HAVE FOR EACH OTHER AND HOW FRIENDSHIPS ARE STRONGER THAN ANYTHING ELSE AND I’M JUST GOING TO CRAWL IN A HOLE AND DIE THEY’RE PLATONIC SOULMATES

Ponyboy having the last “Stay Gold” line

“Finale (Tulsa ‘67)”

Darry reading the starting lines like Ponyboy did at the beginning of the show

Ponyboy going from idolizing fictional heroes to looking at his brothers as his heroes because they’re the reason he’s going to be able to make it out of Tulsa????

Just the way he sings about how Darry is the toughest guy he knows, and how Soda is the heart and soul of the family, how earnest and loving he is when singing it

“Trying to look tough so they're not beaten down again” in connection to Dally makes me sob, him using the grease and toughness as a cover so he doesn’t get hurt again

And this reprise of the song just feeling so much lighter and happier, compared to the opening, when ponyboy was talking about how everything was unbalanced and the differences between the Greasers and the Socs, how he and his brothers were struggling, to the finale being so hopeful and encouraging, because Ponyboy’s had his realizations, he’s reconnected with his brothers, he’s accepted Johnny and Dally’s deaths, but he’s making a choice to keep going

And also at the end, where “We’re greasers” was repeated in the opening song, it’s now been changed to “Stay Gold” being repeated

And the entire show ENDING with “Stay gold”???????

yeah i'm so so normal about this show i promise

#the outsiders #the outsiders musical #the outsiders broadway

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