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munson-blurbs · 9 months

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086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 003: We're the Freaks

Summary: You muster up some courage and devise a plan to help Eddie remember the good parts of his life, while the effects of his alternate dimension adventure begin to sink in.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, mention of shock therapy, drug use, the beginnings of mutual pining hehehe

WC: 4.4k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 31, 1984

Eddie sees you before you can even greet him, lips turning upwards in a shy smile. It’s as though he was hoping you’d be at the party, desperate for the opportunity to talk with you. He stops counting the dollar bills clenched in his left hand and casts his eyes down for a second before looking back at you.

“Hey, uh, hi. What can I do ya for?” He bites the inside of his cheek in a silent berating. You can practically hear his brain chastising him for such an awkward opening: ‘What can I do ya for?’ Christ, am I Eddie Munson or Andy Griffith?

You hold out the twenty dollars from Carol. “Can I buy some weed?” If Worst Conversational Skills was an Olympic sport, the two of you could easily win the gold medal. Maybe they’d even create a platinum one for your extraordinary contributions.

Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you cringe at your own question, or he doesn’t care. He only nods, rifling through his tin box. “You want just the flower or pre-rolled?” When he’s met with no answer, he brings his focus to you again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Carol didn’t specify what she wanted; last time, he’d only had flower. Was she happy with that? Did she say anything about wishing it was already neatly rolled into a blunt for her to smoke? Your thumbnail tucks itself between your teeth, a nervous habit. You can practically picture her disdain at your potential mistake. And Heather won’t be able to hide her disappointment; not at your wrong decision, but the way you’re squandering your chance at popularity.

“You sure?” Eddie props one elbow on the counter and gazes directly into your eyes, concern woven into his kind smile. “So you know, it’s not like cutting the wrong wire. Nothing explodes if you choose one over the other.”

Except whatever semblance of a social life you have left. “Totally fine. I’ll go with flower. Thanks.” You show him the crumpled bill again but he waves it off.

“It’s on me.” He pulls out a baggie and gives it to you, the scent of marijuana pungent even through the plastic. “This is some good shit, too. Kinda makes me mad it’ll be wasted on Carol and Tommy.” He laughs when you freeze, caught in the act. “C’mon, you think I didn’t realize that you only bought from me when you started hanging out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in slightly, pleased with his discovery. “Do you even smoke?”

You shake your head shamefully, not daring to make eye contact.

“Do you want to?” This grabs your attention. “With me, not them,” he clarifies.

“I shouldn’t…my parents would kill me if I come home high,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” he says, latching the locks on the tin box. “Just figured we could hang out or something; y’know, maybe try and figure out how Carol manages to lodge such a huge stick up her ass.”

As if on cue, the person in question shouts your name from across the room, tone thick with impatience. Your middle finger itches to flip her off, but your cowardice wins—as usual. “I gotta get this to her,” you mumble, shoving the money back in your bag. “Thanks again.”

You begin to walk away, but his fingertips gently graze your wrist. An electric current flows between you, a spark that could burn bright if only you’d fan the flame. “Look, I’m not sure why someone as nice as you is hanging out with people like them, but if you ever need a friend—a real friend—just say the word.” The smile he offers this time is not one of amusement, but of empathy. I know what it’s like to mold myself into what people want me to be. “You like to read, right?”

His seemingly random question draws your brows skyward. “Yeah…?”

“Use that,” he juts his chin in the direction of your bag, where you’re storing Carol’s money, “to buy yourself a new book. A hardcover; none of that paperback bullshit.” He punctuates the statement with a wink. The gestures have your stomach in knots; all you want is to take his hand and talk with him for hours, leaving behind the pressures of status quo adherence, but you can’t.

“Um, hello?” Carol’s screeching voice snaps you back into reality, and you shuffle over to her without formally saying good-bye to Eddie.

You have eight months left until you graduate and can get as far away from Hawkins as you possibly can. But until that day arrives, you’re stuck playing the game.

March 31, 1986

“Eighty-six.”

The voice is a whisper, an angel beckoning him towards heaven.

“Eighty-six!” the voice hisses, urgently this time, much more Lucifer than Gabriel.

Eddie jerks awake, wincing when the handcuff clangs against the gurney’s metal bar and digs into his wrist. He’s become accustomed to it while he’s awake, but it still catches him off-guard as he rejoins the land of the living. “Jesus H. Christ, what?” he grumbles, expecting the sinister stare of a white-coated man.

Instead, he sees you in the doorway: fear seeping from every pore, but not an ounce of malice in your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” he says sleepily, ease flooding his bones when he realizes he isn’t being subjected to more unpleasant memories or poking and prodding–yet. He uses his free hand to scratch at the stubble forming along his jawline. “055, right?”

You nod, lip firmly tucked between your teeth. His grogginess means that he’s moving at a pace far too slow for your liking, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “Yeah, mhm; that’s me.” You check over your shoulder to ensure no one’s coming, then duck into his room. “The doctors are busy with another patient,” you start, omitting that their busy-ness involves electroconvulsive therapy for “non-compliance,” “so we have a few minutes for me to pull a memory, if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, softly but enthusiastically. A smile tugs at his lips. “Can you do another one with Dustin? But, like, a less, um, terrible one?” He can still taste his own blood in his mouth when he thinks about it.

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, standing in front of him. He looks naked without his signature wild mane; there’s no longer anything for him to hide behind. How many times had you seen him in class, carelessly running his hands through his hair, his rings getting snagged on a rogue curl? All of it–the jewelry included–is now gone. You can’t even reassure him that it’ll grow back, because the doctors will ensure that it’s kept closely shaved.

He assumes the same position as he did the previous day, but with one major difference: he extends his hand, an unmistakable attempt to hold yours.

“Oh, um,” you stammer, simply staring at it. “We don’t…you don’t need to do that for this to work,” you supply.

Eddie withdraws, not only his hand, but his body caves in from the rejection. He gives a quick nod, shoulders gently hunched so he takes up less space.

Immediately, your heart lurches. “I mean, we can if you…if it’ll help you feel better.” If you want to is too loaded a statement to make. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t, like, required.”

“I know.”

With those two words, you reach out and take his palm in yours, sweat-slicked despite the lab’s perpetual chill. The rough calluses on his fingertips scratch against your skin as his lifelines merge with your own.You remember comparing with Heather back in fourth grade, sitting on a bench during recess while the other kids played dodgeball or fought over the playground's sole tire swing. She swore that she could read some hidden meaning behind them. You’d always thought it was mumbo-jumbo, that there was no way she could obtain that information from etches in your hand or the direction of your fingerprint swirls.

When she’d read her own palm, how long did she say she would live? Was it eighteen years, the age she was on that fateful night?

“You okay?” Eddie’s head is cocked slightly as though examining the gears turning within your skull. “I dunno if this hurts you or anything, but we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll get my memories back another way.”

You shake your head, well-aware that there aren't any other feasible options, especially for happy memories. The scientists only want to see who was with him in the Nether, and from what you’ve gleaned, no part of that experience was pleasant.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, embarrassed that he has to comfort you. “It doesn’t hurt me. You’re the one who’ll end up with a headache,” you point out.

“Fair enough.”

You swallow your nerves, heart beating in your ears. If the doctors find you in here unsupervised and without permission…your mind won’t allow you to consider the consequences. Perhaps you’ll be next in line for Ol’ Shocky. “I need you to think about your friend Dustin. Picture him and bring the image to the forefront of your mind. Try not to let your thoughts wander.”

Eddie nods, mouthing Dustin’s name over and over as you delve deep into his brain, using his sole memory—and your memory of that memory—as guidance.

After what seems like eons, you latch onto one and tug it to the surface triumphantly. You can feel blood trickling down your nose and over your lips, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand.

Hawkins High’s cafeteria is buzzing with excited conversation, the phrases “I missed you!” and “how was your summer?” and “did you hear about what happened at Starcourt?” seem to be constants. A banner hung up in the entryway reads ‘WELCOME BACK, TIGERS!’, complete with an illustration that some poor art club sap was probably volunteered to paint.

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on the tile floor, avoiding anyone and anything. He just needs to get to his table, eat lunch, and repeat every day until—

The sound of a lunch tray clattering to the ground, followed by a cacophony of malicious chuckles, grabs his attention. He watches as a group of seniors gather around a table, laughing hysterically.

“C’mon, seriously?” A kid—Dustin, you both determine from the earlier memory pull—whines at the ruined pizza slice below him.

“What’s that?” One of them sneers. “I don’t speak Mushmouth.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips off the older kid. “You’re lucky Steve graduated already, or he’d kick your ass!” he shouts.

The second boy hides his face as though hoping he won’t be their next victim, but his vulnerability makes him a prime target. Down, down, down falls his lunch, followed by one belonging to a scrawny kid who looks like a poster boy for The Gap.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to ignore the situation, but his conscience steers him towards the kids. “Show’s over,” he grumbles, using the strength acquired from lugging amps to break it up. He grabs one of the bullies by the collar—a jock, Andy something-or-other, according to his letterman jacket—and snarls, “get the fuck outta here before I tip off your coach to check your piss.”

Andy just nods, attempting to play it cool, but Eddie can feel him trembling under his grip. He puffs up his chest and walks away, taking his posse with him.

“Thanks,” Scrawny Kid mumbles, haphazardly brushing chocolate milk residue off his clothes. He refuses to make eye contact, thoroughly humiliated on his first day of high school.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says casually. “Just, uh, it might help your case if you don’t dress like some prep school wannabe.” He grins, and to his delight, the boys smile with him.

Scrawny Kid shakes his shaggy hair from his eyes. “I’m Mike, and this is Lucas,” he points to the kid who’d tried to make himself invisible, “and Dustin.” The kid branded ‘Mushmouth’ gives a small wave.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Weird Al, huh?” he laughs, unable to hide his amusement at Dustin’s choice of t-shirt. “Christ, you three are clueless.” He cocks an inquiring eyebrow. There’s one place he can take them under his wing and keep them safe from the moldy jockstraps known as the Hawkins High basketball team.

“You little freaks ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”

The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall pulls you from his psyche, and you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You swipe at the blood under your nose, leaving a crimson stain in its wake. “I gotta go, but we can meet up again tomorrow.” You start towards the door, but his uncuffed hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, drawing you back.

“Wait…before you go.” Fear radiates from his deep brown irises. “I know you’ll have to pull more memories–bad ones–for them.” He swallows thickly, trying to stave off tears. “But if they ask you to do it while I’m sleeping, can you wake me up first?” he asks weakly.

Realization crashes over you; his first returned memory was his near death, watching his friend witness the life draining from his limp body.

“Yes.” The word is firm, confident, though you’re making a promise you’re unsure you can keep.

Eddie manages a small smile, but it emanates gratitude, and you return it. You want to stay, to search for every happy moment in his life and allow him to bask in their joy, even if just for a moment. But both of you risk serious punishment if you’re caught, and so you make your escape as inconspicuous as possible.

Eddie lays back, staring at the fluorescent lights until his eyes start to water. Thoughts swirl through his mind, a roller coaster off of its track. In addition to Dustin, there’s Mike and Lucas. And Dustin had mentioned someone named Steve, which rang the faintest of bells.

It’s a common name, he thinks. Could be anyone. Yet something deep inside nags at him, an instinct that he can’t shake.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He twists the bed sheet below him until the thin fabric tears with an audible riiiiiip. His life has been reduced to two meager moments: saving three nerds from a jockstrap with an inflated ego, and losing in a battle against some bat-like creatures. Nothing before that, and nothing between.

The after is right now, imprisoned in this room with no evidence of a crime, let alone anything pinning him as a suspect.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He wills himself to remember any other details. What was it that he said at the memory’s conclusion? Something about Dungeons and Dragons?

“C’mon,” Eddie mutters, eyelids shut tight in concentration. Maybe it would be better to keep them open, like he does when you’re pulling a memory. Since there’s nowhere else to look, he stares down the broken clock, all three hands frozen in place.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

Dustin Lucas Mike—

The hour hand ticks forward.

Eddie shoots up, yanking the cuff along with his body. No, he must be hallucinating. When was the last time he ate something? Or perhaps the ancient batteries had a little kick left in them.

Something implores him to try it again.

His eyes lock onto the clock, channeling all of his anger and confusion to move the hand another centimeter.

There’s a gentle splintering noise, so quiet that he’d be unable to hear it if another person in the room was breathing. It gets louder until the glass frame covering the clock face shatters completely, shards clattering to the floor like rain.

No battery glitch could explain that. And it couldn’t explain his nosebleed, identical to yours when you utilized your powers.

He can’t even clean his face before dizziness overtakes him, and it all goes black.

November 9, 1984

It’s been just over a week since Tina’s Halloween party. The talk of the high school is still Steve and Nancy’s bathroom argument—and subsequent breakup—though new developments about two teachers getting frisky in the staff lounge has taken some of the attention away from them.

“Hey,” Carol says, leaning against the locker next to yours and obnoxiously popping her bubble gum, “that shit you got from The Freak was pretty good.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and challenge. “If you can score some more, you and Heather should smoke with us.”

Translation: you’ll get more weed, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Heather that you ruined it for everyone. You can picture the look of disappointment on her face, slumped shoulders and dejected frown screaming, you let me down.

“Yeah, I’ll see if he still has any,” you mumble, grabbing your history textbook and slamming the door. You spin the lock’s dial and give it a tug to ensure it’s closed, giving Carol the chance to leave.

She doesn’t.

“Y’know, maybe it’s because Heather’s been vouching for you,” she starts, blowing another watermelon-scented bubble, “but you’re not as much of a drag as I thought you were.” It’s her version of a compliment, and you hesitantly accept it with a nod. “Anyway, eight o’clock. My place.” She flounces off, probably to find and cling to Tommy, leaving you with a churning gut.

The closest you’ve ever been to smoking weed was getting a contact high at the party. Carol and Tommy hadn’t offered to share, and you didn’t certainly volunteer yourself. If you try and end up coughing like a tuberculosis patient, you’ll never live it down. If you decline to smoke with them, you’ll all but solidify your role as the loser, straight-laced outsider and catapult yourself from their inner circle. And if you don’t show up at all? Heather will never forgive you.

You keep your textbook clutched to your chest, making a beeline for class. Goody two-shoes can’t be late. No, she’ll get there early; maybe place a shiny red apple on the teacher’s desk, and sit patiently with her hands folded. Just like she always has; just like she always will.

You’re so intensely focused that you bump into someone, your head snapping up at the sudden collision. The textbook slips from your grip and hits the ground with a thud.

“What’s the big rush?”

Eddie.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going—”

“No worries,” Eddie says with a small laugh, leaning over and picking up the book. He hands it to you and smiles. “See you around?”

Now’s your chance. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet up after school,” you force out the request, not realizing the implication until he cocks his brow. “To buy some more, um…” You look away, unable to finish the sentence in fear that the wrong person will overhear.

Eddie grins, eyes alight with anticipation. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. “After school, during lunch, even right now, if you want. Got it all in here.” He gives his tin box a proud slap.

“After school is fine,” you say hurriedly. There’s that one other favor you need; it hides behind your molars and sticks to your tongue. “Would…could you maybe…show me how?” Your cheeks are so hot that your face may as well be ablaze. “Carol asked me to join them, but I’ve never…and I don’t wanna look like a total moron…” Shut up, shut up, shut up.

His face briefly shifts expressions, something resembling disappointment, though you can’t pinpoint it before his usual shy smile returns. “Sure. Meet me by the picnic benches right after last period.”

“Thanks.” You give your book a squeeze, fingernails digging into the old newspaper you’d repurposed as a book cover. Eddie gives a quick nod before disappearing into the hallway, packed with students. The whole encounter has your head spinning; you’re going to smoke pot in the woods with Eddie Munson. It’s almost distracting enough to make you late to class.

Almost. You’re not risking detention for this.

March 31, 1986

Eddie awakens to the pungent odor of vinegar and something sulphuric, rousing him back to consciousness. His eyes water even after Dr. Snell removes the bundle of smelling salts from under his nose.

“086,” the doctor says stoically, fishing a tiny key from his pocket. His unnerving stare never leaves Eddie as he unlocks the cuff and untangles the chain. “I see you’ve been busy.” He gestures towards the pile of broken glass on the floor, lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

“It was an accident,” Eddie mumbles, flexing his wrist and feeling the blood begin to circulate again.

Dr. Snell chuckles, sending a shiver shooting down Eddie’s spine. “Was it?” He leans over; Eddie hates his confidence that he won’t be attacked. All he wants is to wring the man’s neck like a washcloth, but he recalls your advice to earn their trust. He’ll have to remain calm if he ever wants to learn more about Dustin, Mike, Lucas, or Steve; if he ever wants to learn more about himself.

Eddie nods pathetically. Technically, he’d only been trying to make the hand move again, to see if it was just a fluke, but he’d ended up with a shattered clock instead. “I don’t understand how…”

“Dr. Moseley would like to conduct some tests.” Dr. Snell selects his words carefully. “See what other new skills you’ve acquired during your little adventure.”

“No…” Eddie starts, catching himself before he can protest further. He swallows, throat sore with aridness. “I mean, I don’t think I have any other, um, skills.”

The doctor sneers. “That’s for us to determine, isn’t it?” He tugs on Eddie’s arm, hoisting him from the cot and guiding him down a long, dimly-lit hallway. His torso aches with each step, but when he tries to stop and breathe, Dr. Snell continues pulling him along.

“G-Gimme a sec,” Eddie finally pleads aloud, and the doctor relents with an irritated huff. It’s not from sympathy–Eddie doubts there’s a selfless bone in the man’s ugly body–but likely because he wants to avoid a ripped stitch or another fainting spell. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful for the small break.

The room he’s brought to is white on white; there’s not a stitch of color. He’s seated at a table while doctors attach adhesive-backed electrodes to his temples and forehead, cold and slimy on his skin.

Salt-and-Pepper—Dr. Moseley, he surmises—approaches him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good afternoon, 086.” But there’s nothing good about it, and Eddie can’t even be sure it’s truly the afternoon. “I heard you had a bit of an incident today, yes?”

The doctor already knows the answer, so Eddie doesn’t bother to lie. “Yes. I, um, made the clock hand move and then broke the glass. With my mind,” he adds, as though there was any confusion about the means in which it occurred.

“Excellent.” Dr. Moseley shoos the others out of the room, so he and Eddie are alone. As soon as the door closes, he sits in a chair across from his patient, tapping a pen on a clipboard.

“I’m going to ask you to complete a series of tasks,” he tells him, somehow already marking notes. “Some tasks will be to assess your existing abilities; others will be to strengthen them.” He motions towards a large monitor. “This will detect any changes in brain wave activity with remarkable accuracy.”

In other words, don’t phone it in. You will be caught.

Dr. Moseley grabs a rubber ball off of a shelf, rolling it in between his palms before placing it in front of Eddie. “We’ll start off slow; see where you are.” He clears his throat. “Move this ball–using only your mind–as far as you can manage.”

Eddie nods, clearing every thought except for move. Move move move. He chants it silently, his lips parting but no sound coming out. Maybe if he does this, they’ll be less stringent about memory accession. Maybe you’ll get him to a point where he can begin to connect the dots and remember on his own. Maybe—

“Focus, 086.”

He makes a strangled noise in response. Move move move. Move for Dustin, for Lucas, for—

The ball rolls slightly—not even a full inch—but it’s noticeable enough to draw approval from the doctor.

“Well done, 086. And on your first try.” God, Eddie would love to smack the smirk clean off of his face. “Let’s continue with our assessment, shall we?”

There’s a memorization task next; apparently, his short-term recall is above average, Dr. Moseley reports. After this, the doctor makes drawings on a notepad that Eddie must decipher without physically looking at them. It’s by far the most difficult of the activities. He harnesses all of his energy trying to determine what is being sketched, but he comes up blank each time.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, wiping the blood from his nose. “I can’t do it. I want to,” he adds, not wanting his inability to be misconstrued as disobedience, “but I can’t.”

To his utter shock, Dr. Moseley accepts this, likely because the monitor corroborates his admission. “Not yet. But with continued training, you will.” He detaches the electrodes from Eddie’s head snd motions for him to stand with one crooked finger, and Dr. Snell re-enters at the same time.

“Wait,” Eddie chokes out as the second doctor leads him away, “I noticed something.” He takes a breath, garnering the doctors’ attention. “I was able to break the clock and move the ball when I thought about Dustin—” he stops abruptly, not wanting to give away the secret session you’d had earlier. “I think if 055 finds more memories with them—him—I’ll be able to channel that emotion into doing more tasks.”

The room falls dead silent until Dr. Moseley speaks. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says.

Not a win but not a loss, Eddie thinks as he shuffles back down the hallway, feet sticking to the tile. But I’m not going down without a fight. No way.

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hailieshapedbox · 9 months

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senditcolton · 2 years

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call my bluff... call me babe (3)

CHAPTER THREE

summary - Madeleine moves into her new apartment and makes a friend... or maybe two, or three, or five.

word count - 5k

warnings - marijuana use

a/n - hello friends! this is a longer chapter because we are introducing some new characters, some of which will become very important in later plot points. and yes, we are now getting into the story! so excited to continue to bring you on Maddie and Tyson’s journey. (also keep your eye out for a bonus chapter coming out later today!)

previous part ~ playlist ~ series masterlist ~ join the taglist ~ bonus! ~ next part

The thud of the last carboard box hitting the wooden floors echoes around the empty apartment. Madeleine lets out a sigh, wiping the sweat off of her brow as she looks around her new place.

The walls were still barren and the only items taking up space as of right now were the multitude of boxes that Madeline transported for miles, across state and even country lines, shoved in the back of her powder blue ’69 Bronco. The moving truck was coming later that day but even now, in the somewhat empty apartment, Madeleine can’t help but feel a spark of hopefulness in her chest.

It was a new city, a new job, a new start. And the golden September sunlight filtering in through the blinds made her spirits lift even more.

The sound of the Toploader’s “Dancing in the Moonlight” emanates from Madeleines phone, alerting her to a call from Tyson. She wanders over to the kitchen counter where she left it and answers.

“Hey Tyson.”

“Madeleine, what’s the number of your apartment? I just pulled into the parking lot.”

“Apartment 517. You have to buzz me to get into the building but after that, you should be able to take the elevator right up.”

“Awesome. See you soon.”

“Sounds good,” Madeleine replies, hearing the short succession of beeps which signaled that the call had been disconnected. She hasn’t even set her phone completely down when the buzzer to her apartment sounded. Quickly, she makes her way across the apartment to the pad by the front door, hitting the unlock button before she turns her attention back to the mess of boxes behind her.

Madeleine manages to sort the boxes into little collectives corresponding with their respective rooms – bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/living – when she hears a knock on her door. Not containing her excitement, she practically bounds over to her front door before swinging it open to see Tyson standing on the threshold with a bouquet of flowers cradled in his arms.

There it was again, the fluttering in her heart as she watches Tyson’s smile brighten impossibly more at the sight of her in front of him. It is barely a second before they launch into each other’s arms, embracing and smiling. Madeleine can feel the tickle of the delicate flower petals that Tyson still had clutched in his hands against her arm.

Finally, they release each other and Madeleine steps back.

“Welcome! To ‘Chez Madeleine’,” she says with a dramatic flourish of her arm, welcoming Tyson to take a few steps into the new place she called home.

“Pretty snazzy Maddie,” Tyson says, walking over the threshold and taking in the apartment. “You got a balcony?”

“Yeah, I lucked out on that one,” Madeleine says, following Tyson. “I don’t have any outdoor furniture though so it might just be storage or something for right now.”

“You could buy a hammock.”

“And what would I do with a hammock?”

“I don’t know. Relax, listen to music, read. Just a few ideas.”

“Play ukulele?” she asks, her voice light, the teasing evident and Madeleine can’t help but laugh at the blush that lights up Tyson’s cheeks.

“I wish I never told you about that,” he mutters.

“Come on, Tyson. I think it’s pretty adorable.”

“Oh, so you think I’m adorable?” he asks, now his turn to tease her.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Madeleine says. “Besides, you’re not here for me to inflate your ego.”

“Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here: say hi, have you call me adorable. Now I’m leaving.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

“What do you need help with?” Tyson asks, placing the bouquet of flowers down on the kitchen counter, along with the small backpack that was slung over his shoulder.

“Honestly, not much right now,” Madeleine replies, staring at the assortment of boxes. “The moving truck with my furniture should be coming soon and that’s really what I need help with. But since it’s not here yet, I’m not sure what to do.”

“Well, what do you have done right now?”

“These are all the boxes that I could fit in my car. And I’ve organized them to where they go.”

“Well, how about we move the boxes into the correct rooms, free up some space, and then go room by room and unpack as much as we can?”

“That sounds perfect.”

They both get to work, Madeleine directing Tyson to each room in the apartment, inadvertently giving him a tour of her new place in the process. Tyson performs his duty diligently, making no complaint as he lifts box after box and carries it to the corresponding room. While doing this, they talk, telling each other about the trip to Colorado – Madeleine from her old apartment in Calgary, Tyson from his house in Edmonton.

“You by far had it worse when it comes to travel,” Tyson says, reappearing from the bedroom after dropping off the last box. “Border crossing in your car with boxes piled in the back? Did you have any trouble?”

“No,” Madeleine replies, opening the kitchen cabinets, scoping out the space. “I mean, the agents wanted to know exactly what I was doing, where I was going. You know, a girl travelling alone with a decent amount of boxes in the back of her car. But I explained. I also was thinking ‘if you all want to search my car, you better put everything back where you found it’.”

“And your furniture?”

“The moving truck should be here soon. But it’s just one of those portable storage cube things, so we’re going to have to unpack it by ourselves.”

“By us, you mean me?”

“Hey, I’ll help!” Madeleine says, spinning to face a jovial Tyson, grinning at her in that boyish way. “But, I mean, you are the big strong hockey player so you might have to do some heavy lifting,” Madeleine continues, her teasing tone matching Tyson’s expression.

“What if I invite more hockey players?”

Madeleine’s eyebrows furrow at Tyson’s reply.

“You mean… your teammates?”

“Yeah, who else?” Tyson chirps, forcing Madeleine to sigh and shoot him at look that screamed ‘you know what I mean’. He gives her a small laugh before continuing. “Nah, a few them are already here in Colorado and I mean, I figured that you’d be meeting them eventually.”

“What do you mean ‘I would meet them eventually?’”

“C’mon Madeleine. You’d have to know I’d be bringing you to team events as my plus-one.”

“Oh, you don’t have any other girl to bring with you?” Madeleine teases.

“No one as special as you,” Tyson explains, turning away from her and digging into one of the boxes labelled kitchen. His casualness concerning their… friendship causes Madeleine to pause.

Was he really that lonely here? Did he really have no one else?

Did he really miss her that much?

Madeleine watches him as he begins to unpack one box and moves about her kitchen, only half-listening to him question which cabinet she wanted the plates in. Tyson notices her lack of response and spins to face her, the stack of pale peach plates held in his grasp. His head tilts, a response to Madeleine’s pensive stare.

“What is it?” he asks.

There is no good response to that question. The truth was unthinkable; their friendship, while rekindled, was still fragile. They were still finding their way back to each other. She didn’t want to place weight on a statement that might have none. But Madeleine couldn’t outright lie to him either.

So instead, she placed her questions about their relationship onto a different one.

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

She can see it takes a minute for Tyson to register that she is referring to his teammates. But when he does, Tyson’s puzzled expression softens. He puts the dishes down onto the counter before moving over to Madeleine, placing his warm hands on her shoulders.

“Hey, they’re gonna love you. I think it’s impossible for anyone not to,” he replies, the sincerity in his voice warming Madeleine to the core, more than the gold afternoon sunlight.

“Okay Tyson. Invite your friends over,” Madeleine says, giving him approval for his earlier request and Tyson smiles at her before he peels away, grabbing his phone and sending a text to what Madeleine could only assume was a team group-chat.

“I have no idea who will show up. I hope at least you get to meet JT,” Tyson says, placing his phone in his back pocket as he wanders back into the kitchen area. Picking up the dishes once more, he turns towards her again before repeating: “Now, which cabinet do you want your dishes?”

Madeleine sighs, walking past Tyson and swinging open a random cabinet drawer and points into the shelves inside with a playfully exasperated point, one which Tyson takes in stride. He only shoots Madeleine another smirk as they both turn to the rest of the boxes resting on the countertops.

The two of them continue to work, the boxes slowly unpacked and the items that could be put away placed in their proper spots. About halfway through, Madeleine gets a call from the moving company, letting her know that her items were out front. Both she and Tyson venture down to figure out a gameplan, Madeleine’s new apartment keys firmly in her grasp. After looking at the work that needed to be done, Tyson suggests that they carry up as many items as they can by themselves and figure out the rest when the boys get there.

Madeleine and Tyson manage to carry up chairs, her television, coffee table, a few floor lamps, the boxes of her clothes, and set to work on bringing up the small dining table.

“You got it?”

“Will this even fit in the elevator?”

“It’s not that big Madeleine,” Tyson laughs, holding one edge of the table while she settles on the opposite end.

“Well, listen, I don’t know these things!”

“You just don’t want to have to carry it up five flights of stairs.”

“Do you?” Madeleine asks, her eyebrows raising in challenge. There is a pause before Tyson sighs.

“You got me there. Now, lift!”

The two of them manage to shuffle the table into the building and just barely manage to make it fit in the elevator – but only one of them ride up with it.

“Can you drag it to your apartment yourself?” Tyson asks, leaning over the wood to peek his head into the elevator in order to talk to Madeleine who was shoved into the far corner.

“I should be able to,” she replies. “Drag might be the operative word but yeah, I’ll manage.”

“Give me your keys. That way I can bring up a few more things and meet you up there.”

Madeleine wordlessly hands off her keychain to Tyson, before he removes himself from the elevator and the metal doors close. As the elevator starts to rise, Maddie can’t help but smile at the day so far. It was nice, especially having Tyson by her side. It made moving to a brand-new city a little more bearable; knowing there was someone there for her.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator stopping at her floor and that’s when she realizes that she is in a terrible position to even attempt to move the table out of the elevator. She’s about to leap onto the table in order to exit the elevator so she can pull it into the hallway when the doors swing open and she sees another woman standing at the elevator’s threshold.

“I’m so sorry, I did not think this through,” she explains to the brunette standing in the doorway, the confused look on her features.

“Do you need help?” the woman asks, her puzzled expression fading into one that was nothing if not amused which Maddie figured was better than angry.

“I can manage,” Madeleine says, once again readying herself to jump on the table before the brunette holds out her hand.

“It’s no trouble, really,” she says and before Maddie can say anything in rebuttal, the woman has grabbed the side of the table closest to her and starts to pull it out of the elevator. It takes a moment for Maddie to react, before she squeezes her way on the opposite side and lifts the table, allowing it to be maneuvered more easily.

Once it has fully cleared the doorway of the elevator, Madeleine sets the table down with a sigh before turning to the woman.

“Thank you.”

“Not done yet,” she replies, her hands not moving from the edge. “Where are we taking this?” Another pause happens as Maddie processes the question and once she does, she starts to stutter out a reply.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to. I’ve – I’ve already been enough of a nuisance to you.”

“Really, it’s okay. I’m happy to help. It’d probably be faster with the two of us than just you pushing it down the hallway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright, it’s 517.”

Together, they effortlessly lift the table and bring it down the winding hallways until they reach Madeleine’s front door.

“Thank you again.”

“Anytime,” the woman says before holding out her hand. “I’m Ashley.”

“Madeleine,” she replies, shaking Ashley’s hand.

“So, are you going to school at DU?”

“No, I’m actually working there,” Madeleine explains.

“Oh, no way. I work there too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I teach a few poetry courses.”

“You’re a professor?” Madeleine asks, not bothering to hide the shock that paints her voice as she looks Ashley up and down. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than Maddie and yet as Madeleine takes in more of her outfit, she notices the polished professional look and large laptop bag thrown over Ashley’s shoulder.

“Well, professor is a nice word. In reality, I’m more of an interim until they find someone to actually fill the role,” Ashley explains with a dry laugh. “But hey, we all got to start somewhere right? Speaking of which, I have to jet. Have a few things to get finished before the semester starts on Monday. I’ll see you around campus, Madeleine.”

Ashley turns and starts to make her way back down the hall. She’s almost out of sight before Madeleine snaps out of the haze that the random turn of events caused.

“I work at the library,” she shouts down the hall to Ashley, causing her to glance back at her.

“503,” Ashley calls back in reply and it takes a minute for Madeleine to register that that was Ashley’s apartment number; a simple invitation before she disappears from sight. Madeleine takes a moment, another smile creeping onto her face.

Did she just make a friend?

Madeleine resets with a quick shake of her head. Maybe Ashley would be a friend but right now, she was just a kind stranger that helped Maddie carry a table that she still had to get the rest of the way into her apartment. After swinging open the unlocked door, Maddie slides the table across the wooden floors into the living area.

She only just collapsed into one of the chairs her and Tyson brought up earlier when Tyson comes walking in, two picture frames held under his arms.

“Who was that woman that I just met stepping out of the elevator? She knew your name and somehow knew I was helping you move in.”

“Oh, that was probably Ashley,” Madeleine explains and when the bewildered expression doesn’t disappear from Tyson’s face, she laughs. “I only just met her. She helped me carry the table.”

“Well look at you – making friends already,” Tyson coos.

“Shush,” she chuckles in reply. “How are we looking down there?”

“Pretty good. It’s really just the big items left like the parts of your bedframe, sofa, and mattress.”

“Ugh, the mattress is going to be a pain,” Madeleine sighs, collapsing forward on the table, her face buried in her arms.

“We’ll worry about it later. There’s still a few small things but I can bring those up myself if you want to take a break.”

“Could you? I want to go through the place and make a list of things I’m going to have to go out and buy.”

“Sure thing,” Tyson says, patting his pocket to make sure he still has the keys before he disappears again. Madeleine sighs before lifting herself up from the chair and starts to wander around the apartment, the notes app in her phone open and two separate lists being created: one for groceries and one for every day apartment items. And as she wandered, the lists grew and the anxiety started.

If she was being honest with herself, this reaction was a long time coming; big stressful moments like these always got to Madeleine. They had since she was a kid. But now, realizing how much work she had already put into this move and how much work there was still left to do, it was slowly starting to become overwhelming.

So overwhelming that she doesn’t hear Tyson come in, doesn’t even register his presence until his hands touch her biceps, a touch which startles her, makes her spin to face him as Tyson quickly pulls his hands back.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, brown eyes scanning over her face, taking in her shallow heaves of breath and, most heartbreakingly of all, the slight glimmer of tears in the corner of her eyes.

“It’s – it’s just a lot,” Madeleine tries to explain, the waves of stress bringing on a fresh bought of homesickness. For what home, she wasn’t sure. Calgary? Kelowna? Canada? “I just… I just want this to be great.”

“Hey, it’s going to be awesome,” Tyson replies, his hands returning to their spot in her biceps. “I mean, look: you’ve got an amazing job, a fantastic apartment, and you already made a friend!”

His bright voice and attempt to inject some joy causes Maddie to laugh, the sound a little choked but made Tyson smile nonetheless.

“I don’t know if you’d call Ashley a friend. I barely know her.”

“Still, you’re going to be fine. And hey, I’m always here for you if you need it, okay?”

Madeleine glances up, her eyes connecting to Tyson’s and she knows that what he said is true. Sometimes it still feels odd to say that, since they had previously gone years without talking, but now…

There was something now that felt different than before.

After a small sniffle, her hand coming to wipe away the few teardrops that had fallen, before Madeleine nods her head, a smile appearing on her face.

“Okay,” she whispers, the grin that she always loved breaking out on Tyson’s face.

“Do you know what this calls for?” Tyson asks. Madeleine gives a negatory shake of her head. “A dance break,” he says, his voice so authoritative, a strong contrast to his words.

“What?” Madeleine laughs but doesn’t get much of a response as Tyson pulls away from her, rummaging in the small backpack he brought before he removes a small speaker from its interior. It takes another few minutes for his phone to connect and him to scroll before Madeleine hears the voice of Taylor Swift pour from the device.

I promise that you’ll never find another like me.

Madeleine laughs again as Tyson turns back towards her, his shoulders bouncing to the drum line rhythm.

“Really?”

“Don’t lie to me Maddie. I know you’ve been listening to her new album obsessively since it came out.”

Madeleine can’t retort because he was right. The album had only been out for maybe three weeks and she already knew all of the words to every song. Tyson is still bouncing along to the music, attempting to hit the falsetto notes in the chorus causing Madeleine to laugh harder before she finally joins in, singing along and moving to melody.

They continue to laugh and sing and dance in the kitchen, the half put together apartment around them disappearing. The song hits the bridge and her and Tyson fall into the call and response of the lyrics.

“Girl, there ain’t no I in ‘team’,” Tyson sings.

“But you know there is a ‘me’,” Madeleine responds.

“And you can’t spell ‘awesome’ without ‘me’,” they both yell at the top of their lungs. “I promise that you’ll never find another like me!”

As the final chorus hits, Tyson surges forward, picking Madeleine up and spinning her around, causing shrieks of laughter to fall from her lips. Tyson continues to twirl around, the room around them blurring forcing Madeleine to close her eyes, her laughter never ceasing. That is, until an unfamiliar voice breaks through the noise.

“Are we interrupting?”

Madeleine is almost thrown by the speed at which Tyson puts her back on the solid floor before gripping her hips to turn her about-face. It takes a few seconds for her to shake off the dizziness before she registers the sight of five strangers standing in front of her.

“We can just go and come back later if you two are in the middle of something.” It was the redhead that had spoke, a smirk on his face as his eyes bounce between Tyson and Madeleine.

“Shut up JT,” Tyson says and Madeleine doesn’t have to see him to know that a light dusting of pink was making an appearance on his cheeks.

“JT?” Madeleine asks, finally finding her voice. “You’re Tyson’s friend. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she continues, composing herself and extending her hand to the redhead.

“Nice to meet you too,” JT replies. “Sorry about just barging in. We tried knocking but there was no response.”

“Oh, yeah… sorry about that,” she says, a blush of her own flooding her cheeks.

“No worries. Tyson, aren’t you going to introduce us?” JT asks, gaze jumping back to Tyson.

“Yeah. Right,” Tyson speaks, walking up to linger by Madeleine’s side before continuing. “Guys, this is Madeleine. Madeleine, these are the guys. Nate, Cale, Gravy, Burky, and of course JT,” he says, gesturing to the two blondes first before moving to the tallest of the bunch, and then to the curly haired boy.

“Gravy? And Burky?” Madeleine questions, her eyebrows raising at what she assumed were the hockey nicknames that were attached to them.

“Ryan,” the tallest says, holding out his own hand towards Madeleine, which she accepts, trying not to falter at how his hand basically engulfs hers.

“Andre,” the other mimics, giving a small wave.

“Andre is actually new on the team this year,” Tyson explains to Madeleine causing her to smile in his direction.

“Well, I guess this will be a bonding experience for the both of us then.”

Andre laughs at her words which lets Madeleine relax a little bit more, happy to make a good first impression.

“So, what’s the gameplan?”

It is Nate that speaks this time and out of habit, Madeleine turns to Tyson only to see his eyes fixed on her. It takes that for her to realize that she was technically the one in charge here since it was her apartment and her stuff.

“Oh, um, well it’s only a few big items left so… how about we bring the rest of the stuff up and then start assembly.”

“That works,” Tyson says. “I still have your keys so the guys and I will start to bring everything upstairs.”

“Perfect! Could you start with the bedframe? I’d like to not sleep on the floor tonight,” Madeleine jokes, a few more chuckles drawn from the boys around her.

“Will do. Let’s go boys.”

Madeleine watches as they all exit in a group out of her apartment, the beginnings of a conversation echoing down the hallways before fading and she was left with just Taylors voice singing about paper rings. She quickly turns towards Tyson’s phone turning down the volume before reorienting herself to the tasks ahead.

It’s Andre and Nate that return first and they bring part of her bedframe into the bedroom, followed quickly by the rest of the pieces brought up by the others and before Madeleine really knew it, all of her furniture was moved into the apartment.

The rest of the day devolves into laughter and stories all while attempting to get work done. It manages to go decently well, a few of them breaking off into small teams to get more things done; Nate in charge of hanging all her pictures because he is ‘pretty meticulous’ –

“Don’t you mean anal?”

“Shut up Josty.”

– Ryan getting to work on unpacking and organizing her books onto the bookshelf, Cale putting her sheets on her bed, both pieces of furniture assembled by Tyson and JT. Madeleine almost found herself put into a more administrative role, answering questions and providing guidance. But soon, she hated feeling like she wasn’t doing anything so she manages to take some time to hang and organize her closet and bathroom. After closing the last dresser drawer, she wanders into the living room where all the guys were now sitting, trying to put together her couch.

“Out of all the things that we needed to build, I didn’t think the sofa would be the most difficult,” Tyson grumbles, his head practically buried in the instructions.

“Eh, if it doesn’t get done, I can figure it out tomorrow,” Madeleine says, sitting down on the plush rug next to Andre.

“Yeah, besides, pizza’s almost here,” Ryan says.

“Pizza?”

“Yeah, while you were in the bedroom, we ordered a few pizzas for dinner,” Cale explained to Maddie.

“Ugh, that’s such a smart idea. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since early this afternoon,” Madeleine sighs, leaning back onto the couch cushion behind her.

“Tyson said you liked pineapple on pizza?” Andre asked.

“It’s a Canadian thing.”

“It is not,” Tyson says, exasperated because he and Maddie have had this argument since they were kids. “Madeleine, you’re talking to a room full of Canadians, with the exception of Burky and JT and you are the sole pineapple on pizza lover.”

“Well then, you guys aren’t Canadian enough, I don’t know what to tell you,” she playfully retorts, a chorus of oohs going up around her.

Eventually, the pizza arrives and Madeleine and boys don’t bother to move from the rug, arranging themselves haphazardly around living room before eating. Madeleine manages to convince Andre to try a slice of pizza and he likes it which makes Maddie let out a triumphant shriek, declaring that Burky is more Canadian than the rest of them. The pizza is consumed and as Madeleine takes a look around the apartment, she is slightly shocked to see that it has almost entirely come together.

“Hey, thanks you guys, for doing this,” she says, turning to look at the hockey players still lounging on the floor. “You really didn’t have to.”

“It was no problem,” Cale says, shooting her a soft smile.

“Yeah, it was nice to be focusing on something other than hockey and the seasons start,” Ryan adds.

“Want to lose focus more?” JT asks and everyone’s head turns to him. The smirk that Madeleine had come to recognize as commonplace was once again plastered on his face as he pulls a small circular object out of his pocket followed closely by a thin package. It took Madeleine a split second to recognize the grinder and rolling papers dangling from JT’s fingers.

“Really JT?” Nate asks.

“What? I thought a stressful move was the perfect time for a little smoke,” JT replies oh so casually. “But it’s entirely up to you Madeleine. It’s your place.”

Maddie takes a pause, thinking it over. She only smoked a few times in college, mostly with Logan huddled up in dorm rooms with the smoke detector covered by a toque and a towel shoved against the door. But she wouldn’t deny that she did like it.

“I could go for a joint or two,” she says. JT just hits her with that mischievous grin before he is lifting himself up to move to the coffee table that was placed off to the side. Madeleine watches as Tyson follows suit, wandering over to help JT, causing Maddie to furrow her brow.

“Tyson, you smoke?”

“Yeah,” he mindlessly replies, his focused trained on the rolling paper between his fingers.

“What would Mama Jost think?” Madeleine hums, her voice still light.

“Hey, there are a few things that we don’t tell her,” Tyson says, his own tone teasing as he shoots a warning glare in her direction.

Madeleine sighs and continues to watch JT and Tyson work. It isn’t long before Tyson hands her a perfectly rolled joint, pressing a small lighter into her palm, allowing Madeleine to take the first hit. She lights up, inhaling the smoke before holding it out wordlessly, only for Ryan to reach out, his elegant fingers plucking the joint from her.

JT finishes off his joint and lights it before passing it to Cale and Tyson rolls a second, taking a hit himself and hands it off. The seven of them relax back, the three joints being passed between all of them, the smoke dancing around the room. During the prep time, Nate thankfully had the forethought to crack open the balcony door, the fresh air breezing in.

The smoke calms Madeleine even more and she willingly lets the high carry her. Time passes and it isn’t long until Madeleine finds herself stretched across the rug, her legs thrown over Cale’s lap and her head perched on one of Nathan’s muscular thighs. It’s hard to stop the tingles from running down her spine as Nate runs a hand through her hair as he passes her the joint, which she gladly takes.

She inhales more of the smoke, the wispy tendrils falling from her lips as she wordlessly hands the joint over towards Burky who is sitting to the side. Madeleine’s eyes fall close as a sigh escapes her, getting lost in the moment.

This was happiness. Smoking with people she just met but who she knew would easily become friends, lounging in her new apartment. This was peace.

This was home.

taglist: @starjoyyy @fallinallincurls @kenna-thomson

#nicole writes #CMBCYB #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fluff #tyson jost x oc #buffalo sabres fic #buffalo sabres imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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fan-art-ic · 11 months

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Someone sent this ask to a blogger I like and they didn't bite, so I WILL

Gotham dream blunt rotation as rated:

Poison Ivy might seem an obvious choice at first, but she swears she can still hear the plant screaming inside your blunt, so if she isn't already hitting you dead the vibe has been killed: 3/10

Catwoman would steal all your weed and wrap a tighter blunt then you can imagine she would bring out wine spritzers and cheeses as the snack so it's fun but you will have to go buy a new ⅛ as soon as you leave, you will be starting to crush on her but she will talk about batman the whole time: 7/10

Harley Quinn would make those crazy ass joints that are like spider shaped and she would get toasted but youd get so couchlocked it'd be like a million years passed when you come to she's smoking a second spider and you have hyena drool on you: 5/10

Kite Man rips huge beefy clouds of smoke, spends half his evil plan budget on buying a gravity bong, has a shitty hideout in his parents basement, but his mom is really nice and can out-rip her son and she would bring some apple slices and water down for snacking: 6/10

Two-Face would have been a total weenie as Harvey pre accident and never touched the stuff, but after he will occasionally light up because he enjoys how both of his sides will shut up and he can think for a second. Doesn't care if it's shitty buds or premo flower it's whatever the nearest lackey has so you will be hacking up a lung either way. Spends the whole time telling you to be quiet when you try to chat: 4/10

Bruce would suck the only people he might be good in a rotation is wonder woman and superman, anyone else he is just silent the whole time and ignoring everyone to look at his phone, will sometimes double and triple hit before passing: 3/10

Stephanie stole her dad's weed as a teenager and is really bad at rolling blunts, but if you tease her, she will finger taze you, would have a whole set-up for a rotation set up with pillows and candles and bowls of chips, she either gets very mellow or gets really wild so it's a flip for if you're going to watch pirated movies or go roam the aisles of walmart: 8/10

Tim would act like a weed conneisur since Stephanie lit him up, but he'd be the type of guy you could give a weed a fancy name and sell it for $50 extra and he wouldn't even blink, rarely rotates but if he does he is punctual and never double hits, will ramble on and on about computer specs and graphic cards, will give you the last hit even though he wants it: 6/10 but only because sometimes Tim gets weird vibes

Alfred hits weed made for elephants its so strong he does it for muscle and joint pain at night so he won't share ever and if you ask he will act like he has no idea what you're talking about, if somehow you can get him to share it will be in the form of a weed cookie and when I tell you they're strong you will be seeing god: 0/10 or 7/10 depending

Jason tried marijuana but didn't like how it made his head feel and his hands shake and he could barely read so it pisses him off. If the blunt in question was a joint made of more tobacco than weed than he might sit in, but otherwise he is video taping other people being fools for future blackmail: 2/10

Dick smoked major weed with the Teen Titans when they were all a team the first time, he has exquisite taste but won't overpay but gets solid middle of the road shit everytime so you won't be ass blasted, but you will be laughing more which is why he loves rotations the communal act of passing, leaning in close to people, everyone getting loose and happier, he loves it and will totally make everyone custom snack plates: 10/10

Cass would try it with Steph or Dick, but she wouldn't like it in the end, would be a big fan of edibles though she'd like the floatiness and using it for sleep: 0/10 but not for lack of effort

#shut up mitch #dc comics #batman #dream blunt rotation

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inkpot909 · 2 years

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Josuke Higashikata x Hippie!Reader Headcanons

↳ Reader is written as gender neutral. There’s a lot of traits, habits, practices, and different types of people that fall into the definition of a hippie. This list is focuses on a ‘flower child,’ defined in the 60s and 70s.

Warning(s): Mention of drug use for underage characters. If positive mentions of marijuana will make you uncomfortable, or put you in a bad place, please do not read.

There’s hardly anyone who understands your ‘outdated’ fashion sense more than Josuke.

He would never think to describe his hair or your own in such an unfavorable way, however, the same cannot be said for others. Josuke hasn’t met many alternative individuals before in person, so it stands out to him to see someone with fashion so distinct.

Upon learning more about you, he in turn understands further the extent of what your community means to you. Fashion is quite special to you, a symbol of the counterculture that you find yourself at home being a part of. It’s a direct reflection of your values, as well as personal taste. Therefore, a direct insult or just a passing scoff might really sting.

It makes Josuke’s blood boil; the personal nature of counterculture styles reminds him of how he feels towards his own appearance. Whether you want him to or not, Josuke’s going to defend you if someone has something smart to say about what you wear. Josuke can be quite cruel protecting the honor of people he’s close to, and when it comes to you, he’s prone to even try to show off a bit. Even over the littlest comment, he’s at your side ready to clock someone over the head for daring to mess with you. If the insulter really hit you where it hurts, Josuke will use his stand to rearrange their face in the hopes that it’ll make you smile.

In turn, he’s throwing compliments at you all day- even prior to dating. He didn’t know much on how to flirt or show interest, so this was his go-to before becoming more familiar with expressing himself in that way. It was adorable, if not a little ridiculous at it’s quantity (although always genuine).

A more familiar and confident Josuke surprises you with his keen observance when offering compliments; he always knows when you’re wearing something new. From a brand new shirt down to the smallest accessory, he’ll be sure to say something sweet.

Josuke also likes to give gifts seemingly at random, a natural part of his love language. It serves to quietly expresses his grasp on your personal taste. Initially, he would misjudge how you’d feel about certain patterns or designs. He took every reaction you had into account, and adjusts his understanding accordingly. In short- he knows your tastes very well after just a month or two. From what you like wearing to what records you’re hunting for, Josuke becomes a walking encyclopedia on how to buy for you.

He’ll actively ask you questions about hippie history and culture. Josuke had a rough overview of the psychedelic era before meeting you, mostly limited to what he’s learned in school. Nowadays, it’s you he runs to for help if he has a test on anything related to that point in history rather than some boring textbook. Regular studying could never compare to the way your eyes shine when telling him about or events impacted by the community you identify with.

If you get so excited you end up speaking too fast or assuming Josuke already knows a particular aspect of the 60s time period, have no worries. It’s nothing short of adorable to him. If you’re that caught up in what you’re getting at, it speaks volumes of your passion. Before you began dating, it would make the two of you quite flustered:

“… Revolution 1’s message was panned by hippies everywhere; especially in the United States. If yippies themselves were anything to go by, it’s that the group wasn’t as deathly afraid of violence as Lennon, and other artists at the time, seemed to think. If the conversation was civil rights, of course they-“

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Josuke waves his hands in the air, chuckling lightly. “I’m sorry to interrupt- but… what’s a yippie?”

“Oh!” you blurt, eyebrows raising. Your gaze falls, eyeing your feet intently. A slight breeze picks up, grass tickling the bottoms of your shoes. The two of you were sitting together on a park bench, taking a (extended) break from walking. “Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t… explained that to you before have I?” you asked, rubbing the back of your neck.

A warm smile grows on your friend’s face, one charming and warm enough to make your heart skip a beat. He scoots closer to you, as always, ignorant to the bind he has you in. Poking your side teasingly, he laughs out, “You got ahead of yourself again!”

You swallow a lump of saliva down your throat, jumping at his touch. Josuke’s actions only made your cheeks heat further in embarrassment. How rude of me to speak without even thinking first! Josuke didn’t even know the difference between between mods and hippies until two months ago- certainly it makes sense he wouldn’t know much about yippies as well. I should’ve left that out- or asked if he knows what they are! Stupid, stupid. He must think it sounds dumb; everyone else does when they hear that word. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Next time, I ought to-

“You’re cute…” A sigh slips through Josuke’s calming laughter, blue eyes softening.

Oh.

You blink, pulled back into the moment. Staring at Josuke, his usual pale cheeks flush a full red color. It seems both of you let something slip out without properly thinking.

“You… you think I’m cute?” you ask honestly, voice quiet.

“I-I, uh,” Josuke stammers, avoiding direct eye contact and eager not to dwell. “I do happen to think that… yes. A-Anyway, please continue- you were telling me about yippies, then?”

If watching documentaries on the time period are your thing, he’ll be more than willing to sit down and watch with you.

Don’t- unless, that is if you actually want to pay attention. He gives it his best effort, but soon enough your lap looks too comfortable for him to resist. And once he’s perched there he may as well start playing with you hair. Just to tease, why not block your view for a moment? If you want him to leave you alone, he requires a kiss and then maybe he’ll think about it. All the while he’s cracking jokes; usually at the expense of whoever or whatever the documentary is on. His absolute favorite is to playfully critique the fashion on display, claiming with artificial arrogance he has a keen eye for vintage fashion thanks to you.

As far as music goes, it’s hit or miss with Josuke. He doesn’t mind the pop side of things; baroque pop specifically stands out to him. You lose him once 60s heavy metal are thrown into the mix. Something about blues’ influence on the era’s music also is something he’s not too fond of. However, Josuke’s not the type to complain about it much and he’s willing to give song’s a try for you at least once.

He will love teasing you a little over the era’s more illusive or avant-garde content if you’re not the type that minds. Sometimes he just can’t help himself, though. You tell him you’re playing a song by The Flying Burrito Brothers and he swears he’ll give it an honest listen after he stops rolling on the floor laughing.

The best support in activism you could possibly ask for. He may get into it a bit himself after some time passes- especially regarding human rights and environmental topics. He mentions it to just about anyone he brings you up to, a lovesick grin plastered across his face each time. Everyone in his close circle of friends is well aware of this fact about you, very well aware. He just loves boasting about you, and the deep care you have towards social issues is a shining example of your character.

Josuke’s eyes gleam with admiration merely thinking about it. To him, it’s your way of protecting your community (he respects it even more if you’re not a stand user). Josuke would never think of discouraging such an attitude, even if you favor unconventional methods.

Passing an electronics store, Josuke nearly trips over his own feet attempting to whirl his body around. Something particular caught his attention, causing his body to jerk. Regaining balance just in front of the window, he peaked inside eagerly.

In the display window, there’s a large set of state-of-the-art televisions being advertised. Each were turned on to the same exact station- a local news channel. Bending down, his jaw drops to concrete below. The reporter on-screen said nothing he could understand without sound, but stood calmly in front of a large crowd. Bold text at the bottom of the screen indicated the report was live, showing the current time as well.

Josuke’s gaze stayed glued to the report’s title, which told of a protest currently being held in downtown Tokyo. A gasp escapes the teen’s lips, immediately pressing his face and hands to the window. His cheeks puff out obnoxiously and warm breath fogs the window just below his line of vision.

An middle-aged man walking his dog glances curiously at the teen while passing by. After a moment, they approach the window next to him. Without a word, he curiously examines the TV sets. He reads over the marked prices over and over, rubbing his chin. The two stand there for a moment, the only sound coming from the man’s dog softly tugging on its leash.

On TV, the camera pans away from the reporter, showing a shot of specifically the protest crowd. Josuke slams his pointer finger on the glass, making the man and his dog jump. Josuke turns his head to the side, exclaiming proudly, “My boy/girlfriend’s there!”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, tugging quickly on their dog’s leash. Seemingly no longer interested in TV prices, they leave an attentive Josuke to watch alone. Not that he minds much.

If you’re a spiritual type of hippie, Josuke offers you a much quieter support that’s just as persistent. Religion and anything like it is sensitive, so he doesn’t press you on your views.

However, if your definition of a spiritual experience is laying outside in an open field buck-ass nude he’s all for joining you.

If you smoke pot, he might try it with you. Further along into your relationship (around a year) is when he’ll even think to consider it. Unless it’s a problem, he doesn’t care what you do. It’s just that the thought of doing it himself causes more anxiety than excitement for a while. Still, he maintains a curiosity about it. Given time, he may shyly ask you about trying it.

This is a huge step for Josuke trust-wise. If he puts himself in this position, it’s no doubt because he loves you and knows you would never do anything to intentionally scare him. He’s also insistant that it’s only the two of you the first time (Okuyasu wanted to join in and try it too, poor guy).

Josuke is quite giggly when stoned, but not hyper. His brain power equals to that of Okuyasu; tell him and he’ll deny it adamantly with rosy cheeks. He mostly likes to stay in and cuddle with you. Listening to music or watching television is all the same to him, it’s all up to whatever you want. He will draw the line at video games. Josuke refuses to make a fool of himself in front of you (gaming is one of his ‘cool’ hobbies; he wants to impress you rather than make you laugh over his impaired incompetence).

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #jjba x reader #headcanon #my writing #diamond is unbreakable #part 4 jojo #gender nuetral reader #hippie #okuyasu nijimura #anime #manga #johnny’s work

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